The Forgotten (Demons Book 2)

by Marina Simcoe

  But he rose over me, separating us way too soon.

  “You have to ask me questions, my queen.” His eyes searched mine, imploring me with an unnerving sense of urgency.

  “I have none.” I clung to his shoulders, refusing to let go. “Now that you’re here, there is nothing I miss.”

  “Oh, Katherine.” The regret on his face puzzled me. Then a dark cloud of dread extinguished my happiness with the sudden realization that I was about to lose him.

  “Don’t leave.” I flexed my fingers, digging them deeper, as the reality of the plaza with the fountain thinned around me and the sound of trickling water was slowly being replaced by the eerily familiar muffled noise of traffic.

  Ivarr!

  Panic overwhelmed me, and I opened my mouth in a scream of despair, but no sound came out. Instead, a silent gasp tore through my chest, as my eyes opened and the white ceiling of my bedroom came into view.

  I lay in my bed, covers on the floor, my hands fisted in the sheet. The panicky sense of loss still rang though my chest, swishing in my ears with the blood pumped fast by my racing heart.

  Panting, I closed my eyes again, willing the wonderful delusion to return, even as I knew it was useless to hope it would.

  It was a dream, as vivid and as realistic as it seemed, none of it was real.

  With a frustrated sigh, I rolled over on the mattress. The delicious ache of satisfaction rocked through my body as I stretched head to toe.

  Dream or not, the feeling of having been thoroughly loved followed me into this world.

  Chapter 31

  FOR DAYS AFTER, THE dream wouldn’t let me be.

  At work, everything was back to normal. By working long hours and taking on any extra projects that came my way, I tried really hard to prove that my “amnesia” did not affect my performance in any way.

  Losing myself in work helped me focus on things that had nothing to do with the demon of my dreams through the day. At night, however, the thoughts of him barraged my mind and the memories of his touch tormented my body.

  Lying in bed, staring into the dark, I wondered at the vivid clarity of the dream.

  That I definitely orgasmed in my sleep felt incredible to me, that and the distinct feeling of having been filled—I could have sworn he had been inside me. His touch lingered on my skin long after I awoke.

  Incubus—a demon who came to women in their sleep. That was the general knowledge about Incubi. So, how much of the dream was actually a dream?

  Despite my close encounter with Incubi, I knew very little about that aspect of their demonic nature. I hadn’t had a chance to discuss it with Ivarr, and Delilah never mentioned anything about it.

  I turned to the Internet for answers. Of course, none of the information I was able to find could be considered factual or in any way scientific, but almost all sources I came upon confirmed Incubi’s ability to appear in a person’s dreams. The reasons for them doing so and the consequences of such visits mentioned were what got me confused and even disturbed.

  One of the earlier sources mentioning Incubi was a long analysis, recorded by monks centuries ago. It speculated on how the sex demons would steal semen from dead bodies to impregnate unsuspecting women by assaulting them in their sleep.

  Other claimed that prolonged sexual relations with an Incubus resulted in deteriorating physical and mental health and eventually led to death.

  The mentioning of cambions, the hideously deformed offspring of demon-human unions, made me shut off the computer, killing the desire in me to read any further. I might not have to worry about having children with an Incubus—and all of this could be just fiction, anyway—but the fact that speculations like that even existed left me feeling uneasy.

  For centuries, it seemed the existence of Incubi had been blamed by people caught having wet dreams and self-pleasuring. Sex demons had also been accused of impregnating unmarried women who never left home without a chaperone. The allegations in these cases most likely were invented to cover up domestic sexual abuse and explain unwanted pregnancies.

  Obviously, people’s sexual desire and even human crimes were often blamed on demons.

  That didn’t help me to understand exactly what was happening with me.

  Could my dream be a result of Ivarr actually visiting me while I slept? Or did I miss him more than I realized for my subconscious to conjure the unusually vivid dream?

  The alternative was to accept that the ancient sources were right and my mental health actually was deteriorating as a result of fornicating with a demon. I was literally beginning to lose my mind.

  Real or not, the dream did nothing in helping me let go. On the contrary, the longing for him flared up every time my thoughts drifted to him.

  Worry over him still gnawed at me daily. As I waited for Delilah to tell me anything about his condition, I kept recalling the images of him from my dream, searching for any possible clues to his wellbeing and whereabouts.

  In the dream, he appeared to be well, but I believed the shadows of hunger on his face were actually more prominent than before.

  I kicked myself for not thinking about it and for not asking him any questions even when he prompted me.

  But then and there, despite the visual and sensual clarity of the events and surroundings, my mind still seemed to be wrapped in the usual haze of a dream where the logic was flawed and the focus was narrow.

  The utter joy of having Ivarr near me had cleared any concerns from my brain, as if he were to remain with me forever. I hadn’t even considered that he’d leave me, until it happened and I woke up.

  I didn’t know how I made it through the days that followed until—finally—Delilah called with news of him.

  Ivarr was being held at the Base, his injuries healed. A decision had been made not to send him to Inferno. Instead, the Council somehow made him agree to feed within the current norms.

  I wondered how they made him comply so quickly after centuries of rebellion but forced myself not to dwell on the actual way he’d be fed while at the Base.

  According to Delilah, with all captured women being released, Incubi were allowed to feed from willing sources only. How exactly that was being accomplished, Delilah couldn’t tell me, as the changes were still being developed and as a non-member, she wasn’t privy to that information.

  She let me know that she wouldn’t be able to get any more updates for me. Now that I knew Ivarr was doing fine, I should focus all my energy on moving on.

  I’d hoped that learning Ivarr was well—not tortured by Deep Sleep or burning in Inferno—would release me from his constant presence in my mind.

  Distressingly, it did nothing of the sort. On the contrary, knowing that he was here, in my world—not banned to another dimension—seemed to only bring him closer.

  Instead of disappearing, the worry about him shifted in another direction. Now, I wondered if he was suffering from debilitating hunger. At the same time, the notion of him finding a willing source to feed from simply destroyed me emotionally.

  None of it was made easier by the idea that Ivarr may have already forgotten about me. If the dream was just a dream, then I was simply obsessing over a figment of my imagination.

  Calling on all the common sense I could muster, I managed to resist whispering his name before falling asleep for over a couple of weeks. As another week started though, the pain of not having him near became unbearable.

  I was too far gone. Now, that I’d discovered a way to “see” Ivarr, I no longer could deny it to myself.

  He’d become my weakness, my addiction, and just like a person craving a fix, I kept lying to myself.

  No one needs to know.

  Just this once, I can stop after that.

  Sure, the sexual desire for him burned hot through me like always, but it was the simple need for his arms to hug me tight that made me finally cave in and call his name again.

  Lying in bed, wearing my beautiful pink nightgown, I recalled the feeling of peace I
had when he held me, the silk tendrils of his hair tickling my face, the scent of his skin surrounding me. I had to feel it again, needing him more than my next breath.

  Still, in the last attempt to resist, I didn’t call the name he gave me.

  “Ivarr,” I whispered the name I used to call him when I knew him. “Where are you?”

  Ivarr. . .

  MY EYES CLOSED, I STRETCHED head to toe on the bed. A light breeze, warm and refreshing all at once, stroked my body through the pink silk.

  I lifted my face to its caress and opened my eyes to sheer white curtains billowing in the wind around the four posts of my bed, a bright blue sky above me instead of a canopy.

  Sunshine slid along my face, making me squint. I smiled in its warmth.

  A light, airy feeling of delight and excitement reigned inside me, with not a speck of worry or apprehension.

  “Ivarr,” I murmured, thinking that I would love to share these amazing emotions with him.

  “I’m here,” immediately came his reply. The mattress dipped at the opposite side, as he climbed in, and with a happy giggle I rolled into his arms.

  “There you are.” My palms splayed flat on the hard planes of his naked chest, I kept smiling as he covered my face with kisses. “I didn’t use the word, how did you still come?”

  “My Mistress.” He rolled onto his back, dragging me on top of him. I rose on my elbows propped against his chest and moved his blond strands from his face. “Unlike other humans, you can summon me to your dreams by any name you know me by.”

  I ran my fingers through his hair and spread it on the pillow, carefully arranging it in a golden halo around his face, strand by strand.

  “Am I your Mistress, then?”

  “I chose you.” He placed a quick kiss on my wrist when I moved it close enough to his lips while playing with his hair. “I felt you were my everything, Katherine, long before we parted, but I gave you my demon name, too, just in case.”

  “How long have you been Ivarr, Eligor?”

  “Since I first came to Norway.”

  “Was I right? Were you a real Viking?”

  “No.” He laughed. “I came to Norway a couple of centuries after the Age of Vikings, the Norwegian Empire had already been established by then.”

  “You’re still my Viking,” I murmured, kissing the ridge of his strong jawline, my lips sinking into his beard, fuller this time. “You didn’t shave it off?” I placed another kiss higher, on his cheekbone.

  “You told me to let it grow.” I sensed the warmth of a smile in his voice.

  “Is it because of that Mistress rule? Will you have to do everything I tell you now?” I kept kissing up to his temple.

  “Not because I have to, but because I want to, Katherine. I want you happy, and I’ll do everything for that.” He ran his hands up my sides and shifted me to better see my face. “You have to keep asking me questions, only then can I tell you things.”

  “Why wouldn’t you just say what you want to say?”

  “Because it’s your dream, Mistress. You need to ask the questions.”

  “It’s not a dream.” I shook my head. “You’re real. I can touch you.” I cupped his face then slid my hand down the thick cords of his neck to his chest and circled his nipple with the tip of my fingers. He groaned softly, tensing under me. “I can kiss you.” I slid down his body, straddling his hips, and leaned in to trace the ridge of his pectoral with my lips.

  “Katherine.” His voice came from deep inside his throat. His large body arched under me, but he threw his arms aside fisting his gloved hands in the satin of the bedding as if to stop himself from touching me. “Where are we?”

  “In my bed, silly.” I darted my tongue out to taste the warm saltiness of his skin, slowly moving down his stomach over the hard landscape of his abs.

  “Look around,” he rasped.

  I glanced to the side quickly, not wanting to pause for too long in my exploration of his body.

  The curtains swayed in the breeze blowing around the top of the mountain ridge where the large bed with the dark ornate frame stood.

  “If you don’t ask, I will. Does it look like your bedroom?”

  “I’m not sure. . .” For some reason, I couldn’t tell for certain what my bedroom looked like, but I knew this was where I lived. “This is home.” I nodded and reached for the button of his dark pants, determined to avoid any further interruptions.

  Right now, I needed him as close as a man could be with a woman. And I knew this was what he wanted, too. His insistence of talking was puzzling, the delays created by it irritating.

  Yet he wouldn’t stop.

  “Where do you work?”

  “In the office,” I replied quickly, using both hands to rip the fly of his jeans open, to free his bulging erection.

  “What is the name of the firm you work for? Do you know it?”

  “Of course I do.” Thinking about my work brought an image of a desk and a computer, but not a building, a logo or the name. “Um . . .” Any effort to remember the name only annoyed me further, distancing me from this moment where I wanted to remain. “It doesn't matter.” I slid my fingers up and down his straining length, making him bare his teeth and roll his eyes into his head. “Nothing matters when you’re with me, Ivarr.”

  He sat up in bed abruptly and grabbed me in his arms, shifting my hips to his. I rocked against him, making his hardness rub between my slick folds.

  “Just remember,” he whispered against my mouth, between his hungry kisses. “You’ll have to ask me where I go when I leave.” Quickly ripping his gloves off, he tossed them aside then found my breast with his bare hand. Freeing it from the lacy cup of the chemise, he rolled my nipple under his thumb.

  “Don’t leave.” I wrapped my arms around his neck, vowing to hold on to him with everything I had. “Don’t go.” I lifted my hips to let him align us perfectly then slowly sank down, taking him in. “Never.” I flexed my legs to slide up and down his shaft.

  Any confusion brought by his questions disappeared, as I slowly lost myself in the exquisite sensation of him being inside me once again.

  “Katherine,” he exhaled my name, as if finally surrendering to the moment with me. Tightening his arms around me, he held me close, seemingly also lost in the rhythm created by our bodies moving together.

  I angled my hips to make sure the most sensitive part of my body was rubbing just the right way against him.

  Our joint climax exploded, my nails digging into his back, his head at my shoulder. Then sudden fear moved in before we had a chance to relax into each other.

  “Stay!” I ordered, circling my legs around his middle, and tightened my arms around him. The panicky sense of helplessness to prevent what was happening fractured me from the inside.

  Then I felt the graze of his teeth at my shoulder, before he jerked his head to the side.

  “Remember.” His whisper came with the wind from a distance.

  He was no longer in my arms.

  Chapter 32

  “NO!” I SOBBED, CURLING into myself, feeling acutely the void in my arms and in my chest.

  Even before I opened my eyes, I knew I was back in my bedroom—in my actual bed—painfully aware that he was no longer with me.

  The agony of loss seemed even sharper this time, making my first impulse to try forcing myself to go back to sleep again.

  Ridiculous! I can’t spend the rest of my life asleep.

  But was it possible? To fall asleep for years? I actually considered this—a lifelong coma in the sunny happiness of an endless dream with the illusion of Ivarr in it.

  You’re pathetic, Kitty.

  I groaned and shoved from the mattress to roll myself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, my feet dangling just above the floor.

  What was I supposed to do? Was it time to come clean to Doctor Yung about Ivarr’s nighttime visits? So far, I had been completely open with her about my time in Incubi captivity. Together, we wor
ked through my emotions about being held and pleasured against my will.

  However, anything that had to do with Ivarr felt too private to discuss even with my therapist. I reasoned that since he had no part in my incarceration, I could keep the memories of him to myself.

  Doubts gnawed at me again, though. What if the unusually vivid dreams were simply some kind of aftereffect of too many intense events happening in a relatively short time in my life. Was this some weird way my mind chose to process the stress of severe emotions? Then I would need professional help with it, wouldn’t I?

  I hopped to the floor and raked my fingers through my hair.

  A slight movement against my skin made me jump with a cry of surprise. I swatted with both hands at my arm and shoulder, convinced there was a spider crawling over me.

  The lacey cup of my camisole fell away from my breast, the fresh air of the room puckering my exposed nipple.

  Quickly, I turned on the light on my night table.

  The delicate shoulder strap was ripped in two. The ends frayed and a little moist.

  ‘Remember,’ Ivarr said when he must have bit through it. Making sure I had a proof when the dream was gone?

  Stunned, I fingered the ruined strap, considering everything for a minute. It appeared it wasn’t Doctor Yung I should be calling after all, but Doctor Neri. Despite her strong aversion to all things Incubi, Delilah was the only one capable of giving me any answers.

  I grabbed my phone from the night table and searched for her phone number.

  “KITTY, DO YOU UNDERSTAND that this obsession with one of them is unhealthy. Did you discuss this with Doctor Yung?”

  “It’s not an obsession.” I mumbled stubbornly, dismayed that our conversation once again resulted in an argument.

  I realized Delilah had solid reasons to be wary of Incubi. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any other source of information about them but her.