Demon Blessed Read online

  My unbreakable rule has always been to avoid supernatural complications. Why risk being found out? The moment my demon is discovered, we’re both finished.

  Yet he asks so nicely. What kind of person could walk away? Abandoning this kid and his sister is out of the question. I can’t call an ambulance, either. Not with these wounds.

  If these two live, they’ll become werewolves—if they survive the transformation. Yet if they have no hint of magic, the shift to wolf will kill them anyway.

  For a moment, I psychically reach for them, intensifying my senses.

  Nothing.

  These two kids are supernaturally numb, deaf, dumb…and human. I can sense no magic in either of them.

  Dammit to Hell. Looks like they’re both shit out of luck.

  It makes no difference. I can’t leave them here to die. I’m glad my friend and I are both well-fed as they tempt the hell out of my demon. Humming with excitement, he’s hungrily drawn to feast on them, to suck up every drop of their life force, to drink their blood...

  Yeah, yeah, don’t go there.

  There are moments in a person’s life that completely and irreversibly change everything. This turns out to be one of them.

  “You and your sister are coming home with me,” I tell him.

  Chapter 14. Lust and Adrenaline

  I’m stronger than I look when I manage a fireman’s lift. One at a time, I place the siblings into the back of my car. The girl is short, the boy is taller, and both are way too skinny. Have they been living on the street?

  Their wounds ooze, but they’re not freely bleeding. A vampire bit them—everywhere except through major arteries—an extraordinary thing to do. The werewolf also gnawed on them over and over.

  This attack makes no sense.

  I keep O-negative blood around for my own emergencies—not for other people’s problems, but I’m glad I have it for these two. Fortunately, O-negative is a nearly universal blood type.

  Adrenaline is a real bitch. It’s fantastic for running or fighting, but right now, it makes my hands shake. Not only that, but the power surrounding us has my demon mad with desire.

  Lust is also a bitch—it makes me tremble for an entirely different reason.

  To fuck, to throw up, or to run away screaming?

  Despite overpowering hormones charging through my veins, I manage to shakily place two IV lines in each patient. I run a solution of saline and viscosity enhancers to thicken their blood as fast as their veins can take it.

  My new nearly-became-a-ghost friend is gone—returned to his body, I assume. With blankets wrapped around them for shock, the car heater on high, I head for home.

  When I arrive at my building, I drive to underground parking, and pull up as close as possible to the elevator. Janice St. John “rents” a small studio in this same building. No one would believe I could afford a place like this on my salary, so I purchased both. The studio is my mailing address.

  I’ve learned how to live within layers of camouflage.

  I press stop on the private express elevator, lift the siblings out one at a time, and manage to get them up to my penthouse apartment. Owen is moaning, a good sign. I place him and his sister in the spare room, together on a king-sized bed—mainly for ease of management. Also, they can keep each other warm.

  I get a bowl of water and clean my visitors as best as I can. I cut their bloody clothes off, examine every inch of the damage, disinfect and bandage the worst of their bites. I place their clothes in a plastic bag to deliver to the werewolves. My demon smells most things, but the pack alpha may scent more.

  With treatment, their vitals quickly improve. I’m confident both of my patients will survive. Doomsday preppers have nothing on me. I’m equipped to handle anything.

  Toby is interested, sniffing, checking everything, but not intrusive. From time to time, he glances at me, sensing my mood and wagging a hesitant tail. He’s definitely concerned about my guests.

  What’s with that dog? If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was a shifter stuck in canine form, but he radiates no spark of magic. The mystery of Toby is the least of my problems.

  The moon will be full on Sunday, two days from now. I must find someone who will accept them into his or her pack before then.

  I remember the power swell I felt to the north when I arrived at the tavern tonight. The memory of potent magic gives me an instant rush of goosebumps.

  At least I know where to go.

  Fuck.

  The northern alpha is the one I’ve heard rumors about—the determined fighter, the killing machine. These two kids will have to take their chances with the angry alpha from Hell.

  Frowning, I peer down at them. Owen and his sister both have green eyes and sandy brown-hair—they’re definitely related. Her brother is in his late teens. Because the girl has Down syndrome, it’s hard to determine her age.

  Jesus. I’ve never heard of a Down syndrome lycanthrope. Why not, I wonder? Maybe the Alpha will kill her. I sigh. It’s a risk she must take.

  I’ll be in danger, too.

  Too bad I can’t get out of it. It’s lucky it’s the weekend and I’m off work. I’ll drop these two kids off tomorrow morning. The sooner, the better.

  Certain my injured patients are OK for the moment, I shower and change into a soft cotton nightie and bathrobe. I can’t fall asleep with Owen and his sister here. One of my standing rules is to never lose consciousness with others nearby. If I do, who knows what my demon might get up to?

  I don’t even know if he does sleep.

  I tend to my patients and finally take a moment to rest my eyes. I can’t stop yawning. Weary, I rest my head on the back of the chair, and go over the events of the day. I’m so exhausted, I surprise myself and fall into a deep sleep.

  What does my demon do when I’m sleeping?

  I’m about to find out.

  Chapter 15. Demon Magic

  I think I’m dreaming—this dream is incredible! I don’t want to wake up. I’m free. Nothing stops me, I can do as I please.

  I know this isn’t real, yet I feel so damned good.

  I can’t see them, but I think I hear birds—or maybe fallen angels.

  Why do I keep thinking of angels?

  Wings flutter and flap. Is it the raven? For some reason, I’m not concerned. With the powerful flare of magic surrounding me, my nightmare doesn’t seem scary. For all I care, the raven can use his red, red eyes to watch me all he wants.

  Excitement blinds me—blood, flesh, and pain. Torn skin, bodily fluids, clean and pure—the agony is exquisite! Such torment. Such unhappiness! Delicious.

  Physical torture hurts the body, but agony of the heart tortures the soul.

  It’s a revelation.

  The taste of this heady largess rolls over my tongue, tipping me to new heights of pleasure.

  I dream I’m a seven-year-old boy walking through my house with a playmate. He pauses by the basement door.

  “Hey, Owen, what’s down there?”

  “Nothing,” I lie.

  The abomination lives at the bottom of the stairs. The hand of God is there. Punishment. Evidence of sin. Proof we have to hide away from others.

  Later—years later, when my parents are in bed, I open the door to my sister’s underground room, turn on the light, creep downstairs. A small TV is on. Hope is working. This month she’s taking apart components in refrigeration units. Dad says she has to earn her keep, but he never gives her a penny.

  “Hi.” Her smile is as big as her heart. Hope gets up, crosses to me, gives a generous hug. The top of her head barely meets my chest.

  “I knew you would come,” she says with innocent trust. “I love you, Owen.” Her features are flat; her speech is funny. Often her tongue pokes out.

  I think she’s beautiful.

  “I love you, too, Hope.”

  I stare affectionately down at my sister. The bruise father put on her face looks a lot like my own. My chest hurts. I don’t understan
d. She’s no genius, but why are we so ashamed of her? There’s such goodness in Hope, such selflessness and love I’ve never understood why anyone wouldn’t love her like I do.

  I feel guilty. I’ve been embarrassed by her, I’ve hidden her from my friends, and I avoid her.

  Hope is a better person than I am.

  While I live out Owen’s memory, I tremble with pleasure. Humans are inexplicable. Baffling. Alien. Yet I understand anguish. I know dread.

  A painful vision of the father slapping the boy hard on his ear comes to us. “Hope?” the angry man shouts. “We should’ve named her No Hope. Or Hopeless. It’s what she is.”

  Owen’s fear and pain runs deep—oh, so deep. It’s delicious. Will his agony equal his joy?

  I call the power, feed on the power, roll and bathe and breathe the power. Sensual and delicious, magic crawls over me, and across the flawed body I examine so closely. Electric tingles of raw energy create goosebumps.

  Every nerve-ending I have is on fire.

  As with Webb, the man from the tavern, the energy we bring forth is far more than we need. The baby who entered another realm intrudes in our memory. I discovered something.

  Something new.

  When the two of us share, there is more—not less. This is a different thought to so many others.

  I sense an imperfect heartbeat. A heart murmur? The defective human will die. Her lifespan is short. Why wait? Shall I absorb her now?

  Blood. Flesh. Life force.

  Magic and energy roll over our tongue. We can smell it, feel it, taste it. The one named Jan joins me on this quest.

  The wind of power blows, faster and faster, increasing as it raises awareness. I hear her thoughts: Is this astral projection? A dream? An out-of-body experience?

  It feels real.

  Soundless, skinless, boneless I expand, growing lighter and larger. As my consciousness swells, I remain in contact with them, the young boy and girl, the sources of my power.

  I see a 360-degree view, but “see” isn’t right. I sense, feel, hear, smell—I recognize weight, heat, and view past the visual spectrum, including infra-red and ultra violet waves. I pass through walls with ease, I avoid each atom. Every sparkling molecule seems large to my sight.

  Magic fills me. Her. Us.

  The power! The delicious strength of it! Free of my physical form, I soar through the darkness of the heavens. Ancient mysteries of the universe beckon me on this journey. I watch the birth of stars and planets—the death of worlds, swallowed by suns and oceans. I see life evolve from one-celled creatures, to the intelligence of animals, and the savagery of conscious greed.

  For this one eternal moment, I understand everything.

  A psychic tug pulls me—a soft whisper in my soul. Inflexible as gravity, it drags her/me/us back from the voyage.

  I soar past the moon, through the atmosphere, to the northern hemisphere of planet earth to Canada to Vancouver to the tiny penthouse near Stanley Park.

  Yes! I return to find magic everywhere. I savor each taste. I feed. I fill myself on delicious human guilt, pain, and misery. I glory in power, strength, blood, and flesh.

  He has suffered so much. Shall I reward the one named Owen?

  Yes. Yes. Why not?

  Magic hums around me, singing with the joy of creation. I gorge myself, I’m too full. I absorb every drop of power, but I don’t need it. Instead, I push it down, down, down into the defective human.

  I view the imperfect one at a molecular level. I visualize her body as pure and flawless. I change her. I fashion her to perfection.

  I make her live.

  Enchantment flows into every cell—making, remaking, creating. There is no effort, only a natural attraction to the visual waves generating sensory beauty and a sense of rightness.

  The power knows what it wants.

  So effortless to make the sick one right.

  The psychic tug becomes more demanding. Her/me/us…we have to come back!

  Wait. I’m not finished! I compress, become solid. I sense limits to my perception. This mortal flesh is thick and heavy.

  Consciousness filters into my awareness in small, piercing tendrils. I writhe with bodily sensation. I am within my own skin; it contains the non-corporeal me that is me. Muscle, bone, and blood surrounds all that I am.

  What is this dense, human flesh, this human form?

  I feed on life, on pain, on grief, fear, and blood. I’m drowning in power—floating on sensual waves of energy. I’m delirious with the pleasure of feeding, but for once, I don’t consume lust.

  My loyal hound licks my feet, barking and whining. This isn’t a good sign. Toby never barks.

  What’s going on?

  The rasping sound of a raven’s call acts like a syringe full of adrenaline shot straight into my heart.

  Called back, I jump as if electrocuted.

  “Shit.” I sit up.

  Between one heartbeat and the next, I’m now wide awake.

  Toby gives one last woof and wags his tail. That small bark communicates apprehension, approval, and a huge well of relief.

  I look around to find I am lying between Owen and his sister. Recoiling, I mutter, “What the hell am I doing in bed with these two?”

  They breathe easily, normally. Quickly, before they wake, I slide down to the foot of the mattress, and quietly leave their bed. Thankfully, my unconscious patients remain asleep.

  “Wow.” I mutter softly to my demon and my dog. “That would’ve been awkward.”

  I’m still wearing my bathrobe. Good. For a moment there, I was worried I had somehow unconsciously had sex with them. A terrible thought, but it didn’t happen. It’s another good reason to never risk sleeping with others nearby.

  I drift in a haze of magic and pleasure. All is well, but Lord Almighty, what a vivid dream! Of course, much of it wasn’t a dream but Owen’s memories.

  These two have a sad story; I know much of it now. Owen and Hope ran away from their parents who lived in a secluded country area near Langley—about an hour away. Intentionally isolated from others, their dad is a bully who rules with his fists while he criticizes, belittles, and shouts. With an authoritarian father and an abused, beaten-down mother, Owen decided to escape to a new life with his sister.

  A sensible choice in my opinion.

  People talk about dysfunctional families. As far as I can tell, there’s no other kind. My mother was a darling, but she was mad as a hatter. What kind of mom uses leeches on her daughter to summon a demon? On the other hand, at least neither of my parents punched me in the face or locked me in a basement because they were ashamed of my existence.

  My energy levels are buzzing; flashes of memory invade my thoughts. That wonderful 360-degree vision of the world had been mind-blowing. I felt as though my spirit was on the verge of merging with the whole universe.

  Was it a dream, or reality?

  “Thanks, buddy,” I say to Toby, generously petting him with gratitude. My voice seems strange, almost an echo. Talk about an out-of-body experience. Toby snuffs, rubs his body against my hand, wags his tail.

  “You’re a great dog. What would I do without you? What would’ve happened if I hadn’t snapped out of it?”

  My senses are heightened, the room is vibrant and alive. I hear three distinct human heartbeats, three human bodies breathing. Toby’s heart beats faster—his normal rate.

  Everything in the room seems magical, sharp and clear. It’s the usual clarity and awareness I feel after a good energy feed.

  I check the clock: only two hours have passed. Not only that, I feel super well-rested despite my lack of sleep. Power will do that to you.

  A sudden thrill of fear shoots up my spine. What did we take from these two?

  I check on my two patients; their color is perfect. Amazing, actually. Owen is sprawled on his back, lightly snoring. Hope sleeps on her side. I carefully pull down the covers and cast my gaze over their wounds.

  They’re gone.

 
Wide-eyed with surprise, I gently remove the bandages I placed on some of the more savage bites, the ones with badly ripped flesh. The worst ones have healed completely without even a bruise or blemish to show they were there. Only a few smaller ones remain, but they’re insignificant.

  My God, we did that—or at least my demon did. There’s no question about it. I shake my head and cover them once more. How will I explain this to the pack Alpha?

  When I move closer to study Hope’s face, I unconsciously take a step backwards in shock.

  Hope has ordinary facial features, with no upward slant to the eyes!

  Quickly, I check her ears. They’re no longer small! When I open her palm, there isn’t a deep crease across the center. I check the space between her big toe and the second toe. No deformity. Her physical features are normal.

  Normal.

  Hope no longer has Down syndrome. For the love of God, what have my demon and I done?

  Chapter 16. Still Not Normal

  Stunned, I stare at Hope’s smooth, regular features. Studying her intently, I’m certain she’s even grown a few inches to maybe five-two now, instead of an even five-foot. A cloud of magical energy hits me—I feel it, clear as can be. She has a normal human body—yes, but she’s not a normal human being.

  Hope is something much, much more.

  I scan them both, sensing the obvious. Owen and Hope have been transformed. There’s magic here, unparalleled magic running through each of them. Owen scents of pine and earth; she is air and fire. Jesus. They’re both powerful. Maybe even witch and warlock powerful. Who knows?

  There was no sign of the supernatural in either of them last night.

  Hyperventilating with shock and astonishment, I can’t be unhappy about what my demon has done. This young woman no longer has Down syndrome, and her brother is also changed. Now, as humans with that psychic extra, they’ll easily survive the change.

  “You’re amazing,” I murmur to my inner friend. I feel his pleasure, his pride. “I never knew you could do something like that. You took Webb’s darkness, too, didn’t you?”

  He radiates satisfaction and pride. Oh, yeah, he’s pleased with himself alright. He should be. He’s given me lots to think about.