Demon Dreams

by Nikki Sex

  “Look, just let me get through this.”

  “Alright.”

  What else can he say?

  “I honestly thought I was past all this shit.” I shake my head. “I guess I assumed I was a better person than I am. You see, recently, after I broke the demonic spell and set the ghosts free, I did a terrible thing. Something only a truly bad person would do. That’s what I must discuss.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “In order to escape the sorcerers spell, I required vast amounts of energy and magic. Ultimately, I took it from everyone I’ve ever shared power with. My demon claimed so many that day. Hundreds of pack members—all of them, really. The Jugulo, you, a few other psychics in the human world who I should look up. My boss. Colleagues.”

  “Claimed?” he asks, focusing on the word.

  I wince. “Um…you know how I accidentally collared you?”

  Gaze penetrating, he nods.

  “Well, during the ghost-freeing, er, event, my demon took the power he needed. He captured anyone we’ve ever helped, or healed. They belong to us. Every. Single. One.”

  Stafford’s back straightens in alarm. “What are you talking about?”

  “Did you notice how your pack accepted me, even before you gave your speech? They used to hate me, you must be aware of that.”

  “Resisting change is natural.”

  “Yes, but since the events at the cavern, your pack mates have done a complete 180—they can’t do enough for me. I’ve been in denial, but it’s time to face the truth.”

  Stafford shifts restlessly. “We’re mated. Together, our magic is stupendous. They sense your wolf, they’ve benefited from your presence. Everyone understands your worth.”

  “Maybe that’s part of it, but I think there’s another reason for their change of heart.” I slide the chair forward so we’re knee to knee, I lace our fingers together.

  “Close your eyes.”

  Stafford does.

  “Good. I see things you can’t—it’s a demon gift. I think I can pass this ability to you as my demon accepts you. After all, he allowed you to draw on his power when healing those pack members who were unable to shift.”

  Eyes shut, he smiles. “He did, and I didn’t have to destroy those people. For that, I’ll be forever grateful.”

  “I’m glad. Give me a minute, I need to talk to my inner pal.”

  “Sure.”

  “Listen, buddy,” I say out loud. “I love your beautiful wings. You know how you, um, can see your children and their invisible wings?”

  Stafford manages to keep his mouth shut, but his fingers tighten on mine. The idea of demonic offspring freaks him out.

  He doesn’t know the half of it.

  I clear my throat. “I need the Beast Lord to see what I see. To have your ability to view these magical wings. Is that possible?”

  My demon expresses himself through violent sensation, strong impulses, images, and an occasional impression that could be considered thought. His communication takes a bit of back-and-forth. Ambiguities and interpretations can be tricky, sometimes I find him hard to read.

  Just when I think he understands my request, he abruptly takes me over, possessing me completely.

  What the fuck? No!

  You know what it feels like to be possessed by my demon? I say my demon, because he’s unique. Other demons would unleash unimaginable suffering on their host. They love causing pain and misery. Driving a person to commit homicide or suicide is their thing.

  But not my inner monster.

  My demon loves me, in his way. He’s my child, or I am his. After all this time, maybe we’re closer to siblings.

  Unexpectedly, his magic slams into me, making it seem as though I’ve stepped into the void.

  My senses cut off. Blind, deaf, weightless. No smell. No taste. I’m only conscious of the strength of my demon’s power.

  Bang—suddenly, I see everything. Details, colors, spectrums of light my human eyes could never perceive. Demonic power fills my senses, a dark, languid roll of profound sensation.

  Strong magic tingles over my skin, raising the hair on the back of my neck. I smell it, hear it, see it. Drunk with power, it feels so damn good, I’m cruising the stratosphere. Only a satellite could hope to reach such delightful heights.

  I love it.

  Like a puppet master, my demon’s taken control of my body in a way he never has before. Raising my hand, he places my palm to Stafford’s forehead.

  Zap!

  Raw energy hurls directly into the Beast Lord. It’s like a burst of fiery embers escaping an open fire. All the power, magic, and pleasure leaves me.

  Transfers, to him.

  Stafford gasps, jumps to his feet. I follow, keeping my hand in contact with his brow. I feel a surge of magic—demonic power marches through his body in a breath-stealing, skin-tingling rush.

  My mate’s big frame shudders, his inner wolf howls.

  The Beast Lord opens his eyes, gives me a pleased, yet somewhat scary smile. Open mouthed, I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

  Eyes burning like fire, Stafford stares back at me with a crimson-red gaze.

  Oh, fuck a damned duck!

  Chapter 31.

  Millicent

  “This is your safe place,” the vampire named Leonidas says, opening a door, then backing away so she can pass. “I will not enter, unless you ask me to do so.”

  Millicent stares at the room with trepidation. Is this just another cell? Will he lock her in? Can she lock him out?

  Resolute, she steps inside.

  The sound of wind rustling leaves and trees outside seems loud to her ears. Her senses heightened, her hearing is far more acute than ever before. Birdsong, the skittering of insects—even the ruffle of feathers is as blaringly obvious as a fire alarm on a quiet night.

  Everything’s too loud. Too bright. Too real. With so much sensory input, it’s difficult to focus.

  The door remains open. Just outside her new bedroom, the vampire stands in the hall, his heart pounds away, slow and steady. Thump, thump, thump. Low on magical energy, her own heart is silent.

  True to his word, he stays out.

  So far.

  The vampire doesn’t move. Aware of her need for space, he considerately keeps his distance. Seemingly respectful, he’s being awfully nice, which scares her.

  When a dangerous creature acts sweet and agreeable, Millicent’s alarm bells go off. In her experience, people act nicest when they’re about to do something tremendously cruel.

  Millicent studies the walls, ceiling, and corners. Unlike her prison, there’s no surveillance equipment. She moves slowly through the room, looking around, marveling at the improvement in her circumstances. Most likely her good luck won’t last. Still, she plans to make the most of it.

  Running her hand over an attractive wooden desk, she inhales deeply. Everything smells brand new. No sign or scent of others. No smell of food, perfume, or cologne. From the dungeon, she heard the vampire shifting furniture, putting this room together.

  He bought these things for me? Why?

  Unused to kindness and luxury, it throws her off balance. No doubt it’s all part of his plan. Why is he being kind? He can get anything he wants with brute force or glamour. She closes her eyes momentarily, perfectly aware that she would be unable to stop him.

  I’ve been drinking blood. Am I a vampire? Or is my mind being clouded by magic?

  Metallic shutters cover both windows—she’s heard them activate at the barest hint of ultraviolet light. Vampires are said to burn in the sun.

  As soon as I figure out how to break open the light-tight metal, I’ll expose a finger. Then I’ll know once and for all if I’m a vamp.

  The four-poster bed looks inviting—cozy and comfy, especially compared to the thin cot in her basement cell. A carved cedar chest sits at the end. The golden chenille bedspread looks like a field of roses. It smells new. Definitely not the vampire’s.

  This room
is an enticement. A bribe—a carrot, created especially for me. For what purpose? What does he want?

  It must be something terrible.

  Forcing fear away, she continues to scrutinize the new space. There’s a small writing table, soft fabric covered armchair, modern computer, desk lamps, chest of drawers, bookshelves, books. A flat screen can be viewed from anywhere in the room.

  This place sure beats the dungeon.

  Millicent’s lips twitch into a slight curve as she drifts around the room, her hands running over the fine furniture. A comfortable night gown rests on the pillow, ready for her.

  Glancing into the ensuite, she imagines standing under the shower, hot water on full-blast. If she wasn’t starving, if she was clean, and could have a few hours of sleep in that inviting bed—her life might even be worth living.

  Leonidas’s voice reaches her from the hall. “If you wish to change anything, you have my permission.” He pauses a beat. “I have purchased basic clothing and left a credit card by your computer. Buy whatever you want, use the address I listed. Naturally, no one delivers to my home. I will pick up anything you order.”

  When she doesn’t respond, he adds, “I am sorry everything and everyone you once knew had to be left behind. Regrettably, that is your past. You are a vampire now—you cannot go back. Have a shower,” he orders in his familiar air of command. “When you are ready, come out and eat.”

  Eat. He means drink vampire nourishment of the liquid kind. He knows I’m thirsty.

  Fuck, he’s right. Suddenly, her stomach twists, clenches with hunger, while a lower part of her anatomy heats in anticipation. Ignoring the sensations as much as possible, she says nothing.

  Millicent has not once verbally responded to him.

  “When you are ready for sustenance, you will find me in the music room. You are a stubborn woman, Millicent Porter, but I hope you understand you are a vampire. Vampires must consume blood. Do not attempt to sleep without food. You have tried before, it doesn’t work.”

  The instant she hears the door click shut, she rips off her clothes and jumps into the shower. Her new hyper-sensitive awareness causes her to revel in sensation and scent. So wonderful to be clean again! The body wash, shampoo, and conditioner are high end brands. They smell incredible.

  The vampire has good taste.

  Millicent washes her hair three times, conditions it. The jets of hot water feel divine against her skin. Unfortunately, she can’t stay here all day.

  Hopping out, she dries herself with a soft, thick towel, admiring her fragrant, clean body in the full-length mirror. With a flick of power, her face takes on its usual, unpleasant appearance. Releasing that power, she briefly returns to her actual, attractive form.

  I’m not ugly. I’m not fat. I don’t have warts.

  It’s still a shock.

  For years, her magic had been unconscious, instinctual, and unknown to her. Without her spell of glamour, she’s beautiful—not that she intends to let anyone find out. Without feeding or sleeping, she didn’t have enough energy to maintain the impression of being obese, but the crooked nose and general repulsive impression takes little effort to maintain.

  Glamour back in place, she enters the bedroom, rifles through the wardrobe for clothes. The lovely sound of a piano echoes through the vampire’s home.

  That’s new. Usually, he plays saxophone.

  Hmm. Snooping through drawers, she picks out a pair of good quality panties, purchased by the vampire. Oh no, like that’s not embarrassing. Of course, feeding from him is also awkward as hell.

  All those womanly mysteries when she was growing up, marriage, sex, and being “in love.” The “Big O.” For her, sex had never been anything but another form of torture. Until she came to Leonidas’s fortress home, she’d never imagined wanting any man to thrust inside her again.

  Now that’s all changed.

  The vampire makes her burn with desire, while every suck of his blood slams her into a spine tingling, mind-melting climax. Shuddering from overwhelming pleasure, it’s not enough to satisfy her. Empty and needy, each time she comes, she wordlessly begs to be filled.

  He remains unmoved. During every one of her passionate orgasms, the monster maintains a totally straight face. As always, he displays no emotion at all.

  I had my first orgasm by sinking my fangs into an evil bloodsucker’s veins. What does that say about me?

  Chapter 32.

  Millicent

  The vampire is such a mystery. Does the leech like her? Hate her? Have any feelings for her at all? How can she possibly tell with a creature that’s always so still and aloof?

  The beautiful bed beckons, but she can’t sleep. Not yet. Wearing jeans and a forest green sweater, she takes a deep breath, walks out of her new bedroom.

  Alone, she’s pleased for the opportunity to wander around the house, to satisfy her curiosity. Clean and tidy, light and airy, the walls are white. His fortress—seemingly so much like him—is made of stone. Seen through her bird-friend’s eyes, it’s in the middle of nowhere.

  Her verdict? The vampire’s home is stark, practical, yet comfortable.

  It says a lot about him. Self-disciplined, self-denying. On the other hand, every piece of furniture, book, carpet, is high quality. The few works of art on the walls, and the odd sculpture, are tasteful and likely quite valuable.

  She strokes her hand up the ceramic form of a muscular, carved naked man. The fascinating sculpture is lifting a large block of wood. It’s beautiful.

  Maybe he made this? If he’s an artist, does that mean the bloodsucking monster has a soul? Music is supposed to be the voice of the soul. The songs he plays nearly make me weep, they’re so passionate.

  Taking her time, she explores various rooms on the way to where she can hear the piano playing. A moody classic, of course.

  Millicent senses the mystical bond between them. The vampire knows where she is, feels what she’s doing. Unfortunately, the connection doesn’t work both ways.

  Drawn to the vamp, a craving she tries to resist. It makes her feel like a freak, this weird desire to be near him. Her unwelcome overseer.

  To the vampire, she is what? A possession? A slave? An irritation?

  Entering the music room, she sees a spacious area, built to heighten acoustics. Several different guitars are scattered throughout the room, also a cello, a saxophone, and a drum set.

  He must know she’s here, yet he continues playing. The vamp is seated, his thoughts seemingly turned inward—to the music, or maybe to himself. He plays so effortlessly, his fingers flowing over the keys of his grand piano. Note after note, the song swells in intensity, moving toward the crescendo. Unbearably sad, impossibly beautiful, the sound makes her heart lurch.

  Millicent forces herself to ignore how much his music moves her.

  This is the bastard who holds my invisible leash.

  Moistening her lips, Millicent knows he senses her thirst. She hears his blood rush through his veins. Her stomach flutters as she inhales the scent of its richness.

  And of him.

  He smells delicious. Unable to resist, she breathes in once more. Deeply. Audibly. The vampire is beyond description. He has the most intoxicating, irresistible scent she’s ever smelled in her life.

  He knows. He must know!

  Embarrassed, she stiffens. She hates feeling so drawn to this creature. Her need intense, she aches for the bloodsucker. Until him, thanks to memories of being rutted upon by slobbering, self-serving men, she felt repelled, even immune, to the baser urges she’d read and seen in books and movies.

  Like crossing the line at the end of a race, the song finishes like an athlete, exhausted, triumphant, yet complete. The last notes echo in the room, her every sense turned to it, and to him.

  Calmly, with liquid grace, he pushes to his feet, shrugs out of his suit jacket. He’s always so expensively and carefully dressed. Formal. Restrained. The ultimate in control. Does he ever have fun? Does he cough, or sneeze? Slouc
h? Accidently trip, feel foolish, or laugh at himself?

  She can’t imagine him ever letting go.

  Millicent’s eyes intently follow as he strides to a nearby couch. Dropping down upon it, he rolls up one snow-white sleeve. His cuff contrasts sharply with his bronzed skin and the black trousers that hug his muscled thighs. The vampire’s skin is smooth, his bicep bulges.

  She gasps as a jolt of raw need slams into her. Bloodlust, hunger, desire—all mix together into the madness of longing.

  He’s everything to me. For better or worse, I can’t live without him. Literally.

  The vampire’s shockingly beautiful, electric blue eyes flick up to meet her gaze. “After you feed, I intend to shackle one of your ankles to a long chain. This is for your safety, and the safety of others. If you behave, you will never be locked in the dungeon again.”

  Frowning, she finds it difficult to processes his words. Every cell in her body responds to his comment, “After you feed.” Yes! She needs to feed. Still, compared to the dank prison cell, a chain doesn’t sound too bad.

  Speaking with calm disinterest, he pats the couch. “Come, sit beside me.” His dark eyebrows arch, his head tilts. He waits, but he knows what her response will be.

  Damn him to Hell! He’s so sure of himself, so certain I’ll rush to him.

  But he’s right. How she hates that.

  Drawing it out as long as possible, Millicent is unable to resist the temptation of him. Step by step, moving ever closer, she barely manages to refrain from running to his side.

  He holds out his arm, offers it to her.

  So fast—vampire fast!—she grabs his taut, muscled flesh, drives her fangs into the large vein at his inner elbow. Her first deep pull of blood is a white-hot bolt of lightning. Relief floods her every nerve, every cell. Her throat works as she swallows, blinded by profound pleasure.

  As Millicent drinks his magic down, the vampire’s essence sizzles though her. Her skin flushes, her body sings with power. Heat spreads from throat, chest and arms, racing to every part of her body.

  Now, her heart doesn’t simply beat—it pounds with life and energy. Like warring tribal drums, beating a call to arms, it’s a stirring, erotic sound. A song she must answer.