The Darkling's Kiss: Part Two: The Daemon Unleashed (The Daemon's Descendants Book 2)

by Charlie Richards

  What the hell is up with my reaction to this wizard?

  “I can feel your deception, Canto,” Philippe stated coldly. Swinging back around, he snaked out one strong arm and grabbed the front of the man’s robes. Hauling him close, he demanded, “What is it you hide?”

  Canto’s eyes widened as he shook his head. “N-Nothing,” he stammered out quickly.

  Losing his temper, the darkling cocked his arm back and slammed his fist into the other man’s jaw, releasing him and letting him fall to the floor. Sprawled on his back Canto opened his mouth. Philippe didn’t give him a chance to speak. Using what little control remained, he declared, “I’ll be watching you.” He strode from the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Philippe knew which room Deantmore had assigned to Kalylle. He found the door unlocked, so he eased inside, figuring his wizard lover had expected him. After locking the door behind him, he crossed to the bed.

  “Philippe,” Kalylle murmured huskily, peering at him with one, half-cracked eyelid. “You need something?”

  After undressing and folding his new clothes, Philippe placed them on a chair. He slipped into bed beside his wizard. After wrapping his arms around Kalylle and pulling his lover close, relishing the feel of his warm skin, he let out a sigh.

  “Just to be close,” Philippe mumbled, pressing a kiss to Kalylle’s shoulder.

  Kalylle grunted, then sighed. In seconds, his breathing had evened back out.

  Smiling at the simple novelty, Philippe followed him into sleep soon after.

  The morning dawned cool. Philippe could scent the chilling bite of rain in the air. A servant had entered the room earlier to start a fire. Her presence had woken him instantly. He’d cracked one eyelid and silently watched the elf’s movements.

  At one point the woman had glanced his and Kalylle’s way, but if she’d been surprised to see them in bed together, she hadn’t reacted. She also hadn’t seemed to notice Philippe’s perusal and had quickly returned to her work. She’d left soon after.

  After letting the blaze warm the room for a few minutes, Philippe rose and dressed. His nerves felt unsettled, even after he washed up and relaxed at the table with a cup of water. He decided it was time for him to get out of the city.

  Good thing we’re leaving this morning.

  He watched as Kalylle yawned widely before easing from the bed, then went and splashed water on his face.

  A scream rent the air, the sound echoing through the halls.

  Leaping to his feet, Philippe flew out of the room. Kalylle followed, his robes askew. Running, the two men burst into Canto’s room. A quick glance told Philippe the bed hadn’t been slept in. The servant who’d been in his and Kalylle’s room earlier stood trembling by the fireplace, the wood only half laid. With her brown eyes as big as saucers, she gaped in the direction of the desk.

  Canto sat in the chair. His head rested on his arms on the desk. At first glance, it appeared the man slept. Having killed many times himself, however, the darkling knew the cloying stench of death well. Drawing several steps closer, Philippe spotted the dark liquid pooling under the wizard’s arms. It dripped down the front of the desk onto the floor. The man’s brown eyes were open, staring blankly at the wall.

  Philippe slowly took in the room, his focus freezing on the stream of blood dripping down the wall to his right. His inner daemon uncurled, stirring within him. This had been a violent death.

  Kalylle followed his gaze, and Philippe immediately felt the wariness. The other man whispered, “When I left last night…”

  His lover didn’t need to finish the thought.

  Philippe shook his head as he growled quietly, “This wasn’t me.”

  Kalylle stared at him for a long moment, then nodded, obviously believing him. “Okay. Then who?”

  Philippe didn’t bother trying to answer the question as he watched Kalylle move toward the elven servant. As he watched, Kalylle wrapped his arm around her shoulders and led her out of the room.

  Several people stood just outside the doorway, and Kalylle commanded them to, “Keep clear,” as he led the woman past.

  Philippe watched him go, knowing Kalylle would question her. He also knew the man felt uncertain about believing him. He’d expressed his distrust of Canto on more than one occasion, and he knew that Kalylle wondered if that distrust had finally pushed him over the edge. It was a valid concern. Philippe would share his memories of the evening with his lover later, proving his innocence.

  Reaching down, Philippe touched his pale fingers to Canto’s skin and found it cold. He’s been gone some time. Something almost obscured by the body caught his eye. Shifting the man, he pulled a scrap of paper with writing on it from under Canto’s arm.

  There is no spell. Automatic. Girlion.

  Philippe read the words twice before they made any sense. That had been the lies he felt from the man. If Canto hadn’t been researching a spell to fix me, what was he doing traveling with us?

  Looking around him, Philippe stretched his supernatural senses to their limit. He searched for anything out of the ordinary…any trace of whoever else had been in the room. Canto’s neck had been cut cleanly, and Philippe would bet his life on it that it had been someone Canto knew.

  Most of the room was covered with a large, gold and green brocade rug, but it didn’t quite reach the walls. The corner of the rug under the splash of blood he’d noticed had been turned up. There were also scuff marks on the nearby wood floor. A trail of blood led to the desk.

  Kalylle returned without the girl, and this time Deantmore followed.

  Philippe beckoned to them. “Someone else was here,” he told them, pointing at the scuff marks. “They struggled, turning up the rug. The other got the upper hand and slit Canto’s throat here.” He glared at the dark splashes on the rug. “Canto dragged himself to the desk.”

  “Why?” Kalylle asked, incredulous.

  “To write this.” Philippe handed him the smeared paper.

  Kalylle frowned. “No spell,” he murmured. Then he pointed at the smudged final word. “Girlion. What’s that?”

  Philippe shrugged, admitting his ignorance.

  Deantmore frowned, asking the obvious, troubling question. “If you don’t need a spell to correct the problem, why was he with you?”

  Philippe raised a brow. “To monitor our progress?”

  “But who sent him?” Deantmore pressed. “The Council of Wizards? Or your enemies?”

  About the Author

  Charlie started writing fantasy when she was eight, and after stumbling onto her first erotic romance at age nineteen, she realized her true calling. She now focuses on writing gay erotic romance, normally of the paranormal variety, with heroes of all kinds. With the help and support of her husband, Charlie finally fulfilled one of her life-long goals…move to acreage with her horses. You can often find her curled up with her laptop and a cup of tea or glass of wine, creating her next adventure. Charlie enjoys exploring the mountains of her new Oregon home on horseback, 4-wheeler, or motorcycle.

  She can be reached at ch.richards2010@yahoo.com

  Or visit her at www.charlie-richards.com