Demon Dreams

by Nikki Sex

  “I’m not positive, but I think it’s him,” I send to Stafford. “He’s pretending to be human. Let’s lower our psychic barriers—we’re stronger together. You might want to think about also having your pack bonds online.”

  His only reply is to merge.

  Warm, wild, lycanthrope magic, and the supernatural strength of his beast flows through my veins. I see through the eyes of my own wolf, become aware of the golden mate bonds that join us.

  I gasp as magic from his ties to over six-hundred pack members connect. High-voltage, high-octane, explosive. Earth energy, animal magic, and erotic fire sizzle through me. What a delicious blast of power!

  The Beast Lord’s pack members openly contribute everything they have. I’m surprised by their generosity, as they hold nothing back.

  Aware of my thoughts, Stafford explains, “They are mine,” he sends, his Alpha arrogance absolute. “Now, they are ours.”

  I hear our pack member’s thoughts as they give themselves over to us. They’re as clear as the sound of a well-trained chorus, or perhaps more like a symphony of colorful music. Mentally, I sing along.

  “We are pack! We are pack! We are pack!”

  My demon, super-charged and euphoric, also sings in his own way. When healing Hope, he made a noise like nails against a chalkboard. Now he sounds like the soprano soloist in an all boys’ choir. He hits every note without singing the words. I’ve never heard this voice before.

  Wow. I’m blown away by his beauty. Has the power influx caused this? Do I need to be elevated to this height to hear him as he really is?

  Demonic magic entwines with the Beast Lord’s incredible energy, as well as my own. Man, we’re high as a kite! Supercharged from the phenomenal power influx, time alters. Everything moves in ultra-slow motion. Less than a second has passed since my mate, our pack, and I combined power.

  Existing in a magical state is much like being a ghost. Time and events pass differently.

  Slowly.

  Lazily.

  We have all the time in the world.

  Hyper-aware, I see through metaphysical eyes, strengthened by the connection we’ve forged. Initially, Stafford and I admire each other’s blue-black wings. Then we become fascinated by the angel’s true form. Like wereanimals, angels are human, but they’re also something else. Are they human with inner angels? Or are they angels with inner humans?

  Does it really make a difference? Potato, potahto, Tomato, tomahto. I don’t want to kill either of them. Let’s call the whole thing off.

  The angel’s hungry red-energy burns with the suffering torment of long-term starvation. Its ancient power pushes against me, making my teeth hurt. The poor thing’s in agony, wasting away.

  I taste Leonidas’s electric, ozone heat in its aura. It consumed the magic and energy of our Jugulo, but the creature’s still so very hungry.

  The angel’s power smells like my vampire—a breath of fresh air after a thunderstorm. Heartbroken, I should be furious. Vengeful. Consumed by red-hot hatred. He killed our friend, but I’m not angry.

  Isn’t that odd?

  The angel raises his arms outward, palms open. His wings unfurl to reveal, huge, striking, brilliant white feathers. My eyes widen, my mouth drops open. The angel’s beauty sears our eyes with incandescent flames.

  I can’t look at him, he’s too beautiful. I’m moved by his faultless perfection. Who deserves to gaze upon such radiance?

  Overwhelmed, ashamed of our ill-mannered audacity, Stafford and I quickly avert our eyes.

  Power and energy flash within us like lightning. The taste of magic lingers on my lips and tongue. My demon hums, my wolf is mesmerized.

  The universe changes.

  We turn back to him, gaze upon the angel in awe and wonder. A divine gift, we’ve been accepted! Only moments ago, we couldn’t bear to look at his magnificence.

  Enthralled, now we can’t take our eyes off him.

  The Beast Lord, his pack, my demon, our wolves, and me are flooded with a tremendous sense of happiness, joy, and accomplishment. Our senses expand. We hear colors, feel scents, taste music. So much energy swells within us, beautiful, wondrous music! We sing a song of life! Is this magic Heaven’s Mana?

  So, so happy! So very joyful. Euphoric! We are stronger than ever before.

  We are one with the universe!

  We bask in the sensation of true bliss!

  Suddenly, I’m conscious that my finger hurts. It’s throbbing. It’s scorching! Ouch! Is there a fire?

  WTF?

  Deeply buried thoughts rise, niggle at me. In a distant part of my mind, heart, or soul, I recognize the hypnotic horror of what’s happening. Wasn’t I supposed to be doing something? Stafford and I came here for a reason. Something important. What—

  My finger! It’s burning! Forced to look away, I stare down at my hand and see my ring. It all comes back to me. I regain awareness the moment I view my sentient ring.

  My ring! Shit. The evil angel!

  I snap out of my blissful trance as reality slams into me full force. The angel’s managed to draw us closer to its prison bars. The sneaky asshole’s been feeding on us!

  “Jan!” Stafford sends, also abruptly awakened. Mentally, he screams my name.

  After killing two people, then suffering the consequences, I’ve silenced most every dark instinct I’ve had. For my demon’s sake, I committed us to the virtues: prudence, restraint, humility, wisdom, justice, persistence, kindness, patience, and courage.

  But right this minute? To hell with the virtues! That damned angel killed our friends, family, children, and my faithful dog. He mind-fucked us within an inch of our lives, and screwed with our pack! I want to rip the SOB’s heart out.

  I raise my hand, point my ring at him. “You motherfucking bastard! Will you just fucking die already?”

  Once more, a discharge of crackling blue flame streams from my ring. This time, the devastating blast inexplicably stops midair, before reaching its target.

  What the fuck? Why did that happen? Does the angel have a shield?

  Suddenly, the world becomes eerily quiet. Abruptly, all sight, smell, every bit of sensory input I have, vanishes. No, I’m not in the void. My fucking demon has taken me over. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m demon possessed!

  My inner monster loves this fucking angel. He doesn’t want to kill it—he wants to be its God damned friend!

  Dammit to hell and back! Now he’s in control of all our magic, and energy! We’re totally at his mercy, all of us. Stafford, our beasts, the pack, me—we’re screwed! Oh shit, this can’t end well.

  With all our power at his fingertips, what the hell does my demon plan to do?

  Chapter 55.

  Here I go again—blind, deaf, weightless. I have no sense of smell. No taste. No sensation of bodily movement. Unaware of my own heart beat—nada, zip. Reduced to thought, I’m at the mercy of my demon.

  Cut off, I’m still conscious of the unthinkable amount of energy my demon currently wields, and how much of it’s being syphoned away. My inner monster’s feeding the friggin’ angel of doom. Like lambs to the slaughter, he’s offering the life-sucking psycho an all access pass to magic from Stafford, myself, and his entire pack!

  This is the biggest screw up I’ve made in my entire life—and I’ve made some doozies. If there is a Hell, I’m headed there in a handbasket, for sure. I recall recently thinking: What will I do if my demon disobeys me?

  Looks like today I’m going to find out.

  This is the thanks I get for teaching my inner monster the virtues!

  The Age of Reason is defined as when a child is held capable of discerning right from wrong. Some religions believe that age is as young as seven, some at twelve or thirteen. In many countries, children under fourteen are not subject to criminal responsibility.

  As an infinitely long-lived creature, I believe my inner demon is still a toddler. What is the age of reason for a demon? Normal demons feed on death, blood, lust, violence, and mayhe
m. My demon’s learned to gain power through non-harmful means, such as healing. But I never envisioned him helping this hungry child killer!

  Bang—I’m baaccck! Hmm, then again, not quite.

  I see, hear, feel as my senses return, but when I try to step away from the cell bars, I’m unable to move. Immobilized, I can’t even blink! My eyes are glowing, hot and red. Like a puppet master, my demon has full control of my body. I can do nothing except watch like a spectator, silently hoping for the best.

  He raises my hands, fingers spread, palms out.

  Incredible rainbows of power transfer from my demon to the angel. They take the form of music, spectrums of light waves, heat, and particles human vision is incapable of perceiving.

  Who needs head lamps? The angel’s incandescence lights up the dark.

  Terrible as it is to be reduced to my demon’s prisoner—I’m super-buzzed, awake, aware, alive. I have a deeper understanding of everything, as though I’ve transcended human reality. My “come to Jesus” moment makes total sense. Is this spiritual enlightenment? If so, I “get” what mystics blather on about.

  This is the heady blast of magic talking, yet, I feel as if, before this moment, I’ve spent my whole life asleep.

  My demon turns my head toward Stafford. No longer in wolf form, he’s stark naked, muscular, powerful, and dangerous—yet, he doesn’t look dangerous right now. Standing near the bars of the prison cell, bespelled by mesmerizing mindfuckery, the Magic Lands King has a rapturous look on his face.

  I overhear my mate’s reverent thoughts. Yes! You’re so beautiful, heavenly creature!” he’s thinking. “Bless you! Thank you for allowing me to stand in your presence.”

  Ugh. My poor mate, reduced to a brainwashed pawn. It’s painful to watch.

  I was in the same mindset until my ring intervened. Stafford must’ve momentarily snapped out of it, because he screamed my name. Recaptured by the Angel of Death’s allure, he’s gone again.

  Which reminds me, why the hell didn’t my angel-killing-ring work?

  My demon steps me closer, until my body touches the cell bars. The angel smiles at me like a benevolent god, but I don’t like the look in his eyes. Hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, as dread sits in a hard ball in my stomach. I have a bad feeling about this.

  The next few seconds pass with excruciating slowness. Unable to move, I helplessly watch every moment with strong awareness. The angel drags an obsidian knife from behind his back. He points it toward me, thrusts the deadly tip my way.

  “Move, dammit! Move!” I mentally scream at my demon, at myself, at my frustratingly unresponsive body.

  “Die, demon spawn!” the angel screams, his thunderous voice full of black hatred and disgust. “Return to the Hell you came from!”

  This fucking figures. It seems even energy-starved angels, slowly dying in prisons, have an overpowering instinct to kill the demon-possessed. Why-oh-why, out of every possibility, is this multi-universal trait the one thing all paranormals seem to share?

  Just my luck. It seems even energy starved supernatural prisoners have a strong instinct to kill the demon possessed.

  I watch and feel as the hard, sharp knife slowly penetrates my gut. It stabs through skin, fat, and muscle, and into my descending colon. Buried to the hilt, the point catches the tail of my pancreas, and left kidney. Unfortunate.

  Time continues to move forward at an excruciatingly sluggish pace. An immense gush of hot, fresh blood unhurriedly spills from the hole ripped in my body. My demon purrs with delight, drawn by pain and blood.

  From within the dark forest of my mind, her nose in the air, my inner wolf howls her displeasure.

  Traumatic vascular injury, I dispassionately observe. I’m hemorrhaging from within. Interesting.

  I sense intense agony, I feel it—it hurts, but I’m still only a spectator. Remarkably, fear and pain can’t get through the wondrous Zen state I’m currently in. Medical survival statistics calmly run through the back of my medical mind. Bowel trauma has a high mortality rate due to sepsis and bleeding out.

  A pool of my life essence forms a puddle at my feet. So much blood.

  I’d smile, if I could. My demon adores blood magic.

  Impassively, I observe my blood flowing, feel every cell, see each molecule as it’s torn from its intended place and form. My body responds instantly with the coagulation cascade, fibrin, platelets, thrombin, clotting mechanism—it’s incredible!

  Only seconds have passed in real time.

  Ling minutes in power-blasted Zen state time.

  As a trained physician, I’ve seen my share of accidental and intentional abdominal injuries. Gunshots, stab wounds, impalements—you name it, I’ve dealt with it. Yet this slow-motion devastation and instant bodily response, I’ve never seen.

  I’m captivated.

  I’m also dying.

  Watching my body fail in its struggle to survive is fascinating. Why am I still standing? My body should’ve collapsed from blood loss, pain, and shock.

  Hey, what’s going on here? I haven’t been paying attention.

  My demon moves me back from the bars. Makes sense, he wants my body out of dagger range. He holds my hands, palms open, in front of me in a guarding position. A swirling vortex of power rages above my head.

  Then, I know why.

  The air in the cavern crackles with power. My demon and the angel are engaged in a metaphysical tug-of-war, fighting to steal each other’s energy. The unearthly battle immediately distracts me from my lifelong interest in trauma, healing, and human physiology—not to mention my existential interest in my own death.

  My inner pal loves blood, but he’s unhappy his new friend stabbed me. Good. So much for his plan for a budding angel bromance.

  Invisible to all but otherworldly eyes, I regard the imperceptible, yet epic battle. They pull at each other’s energy and essence, struggling to possess it, to draw it within. Whirlpools of brilliant reds, oranges, yellows, greens, blues, indigos, and violets. Every hue, tint, shade and variation of color swirl before me. Discordant music, eerily enticing, see-saws back and forth. Pitch, rhythm, tempo, key, half notes, treble, bass, alto—their enchanted battle is a mesmerizing song of war, complete with visuals.

  Powerful warriors, they psychically assault each other like Greek Mythical monsters. It’s Clash of the Titans, right here in front of me.

  Without warning, my inner monster stops attacking his opponent. Instead, he pushes demonic power into me. A scalding rush of dark energy flashes through my veins in a mind-blowing live wire of direct current.

  Scorching energy slams into me in a heady rush. Magic and power so extreme, it borders on excruciating. Unable to gasp, moan, or even to shut my eyes, I stand there and take it.

  My body struggles to repair itself. Given half a chance, humans have remarkable resilience. With mild interest, I witness my flesh begin to knit, vessels repair, blood clots.

  Ah. OK. Not gonna die, after all.

  With the Beast Lord’s pack magic behind him, my demon has more juice. Unfortunately, healing my life-threatening injury, sets my savior back.

  Ancient and sneaky, the angel is jazzed with the vampire magic of Millicent, Paradox, and the Jugulo. He’s also absorbed wolf essence from Hope and Owen. Wonder Dog is both human and fae. Like a cannibal, I guess he also fed on him.

  The ass-wipe is using our own friends against us. Clearly winning, he’ll drain my demon into an ineffective husk. Once he does, he’ll kill me.

  Without my host, my inner friend will return to his world, to the home he’s never seen. Will he make demon friends, I wonder? Outnumbered maybe billions to one, will they kill him for being too nice?

  Still demon possessed, I watch the battle through a crimson-red gaze. My body is restored, but my demon is losing. I sense my inner friend desperately seeking energy, searching for a much-needed power boost.

  I gasp when my demon, abruptly and unexpectedly, releases me. No longer his human puppet, I’m in cha
rge of my body. We’ve returned to our usual roles: I am the host, he is my inner demon.

  Coming back to myself, I rub my face. Whew!

  Every nerve I have—hell, I suspect every cell, particle, and atom in my body—tingles with magic. My mate bond is intact. Thank God, I’m still online with the Beast Lord and his pack members.

  “Jan?” Stafford sends, his mind confused.

  “I’m here, I’m alright. Are you OK?”

  “What happened?”

  About to respond, my wolf howls. That’s the only warning I get. Lust, raw and lethal, slams into me like a battering ram.

  Chapter 56.

  My nameless inner pal has saved my life more than once. It looks like this is my chance to return the favor.

  I know where my friend’s going for power.

  The sexy stubble on Stafford’s handsome face entrances me. I’m struck by his earthy male scent, his strength, and his cocky self-confidence. Speaking of cocky, his is at full-mast. Throbbing, red, and ready, he’s hard as a rock.

  My mate’s eyes darken, a muscle in his jaw twitches. His gaze, hot and carnal, rakes me head to toe and back again. Raw sexuality pours off his body, washing over me in a dark, sensual wave.

  In less than a heartbeat, my breasts ache, my nipples burn. A river of arousal floods between my legs. My need for my mate is excruciating! I need to fuck him now—urgently, violently, brutally! I must have him inside—stretching me, filling me, hammering hard and fast.

  “Mine.” Teeth bared, my mate snarls like a feral wolf.

  “Mine,” I growl back at him through clenched teeth.

  Breathless, every nerve in my body tingles. I roughly strip off my sweater, glad he’s naked. This burning desire is so strong, I can’t control it. If I don’t have sex right now, I’m going to die.

  I am an animal.

  I hunger.

  I need.

  My mate’s face reflects the desperation I feel. A healthy male beast, all yummy smooth skin over hard cut muscle, his nostrils flare at the scent of my arousal. The guttural noise he makes deep in his throat holds the promise of rough, fast sex. His chest visibly rises and falls. Oozing raw sex, he stalks toward me with preternatural grace.