The Demon King

by Heather Killough-Walden

  Dahlia shielded her eyes for a second to protect them from the blast. They were naturally sensitive to light since she’d become a vampire, and it would seem that was even the case for electric, magical light.

  She gritted her teeth and lowered her arm in time to see the hooded group of figures hastily dispersing, spreading out in order to circle her rather than the creature they’d summoned. The monster, a massive amalgamation of befanged muscle and black fur at least eight feet tall, seemed to be silently watching the unexpected goings-on. She had no idea what kinds of thoughts could be going through its enormous mind. Not that she had time to contemplate it at this juncture.

  In the space of time that exists during a life or death struggle, moments don’t lay flat for you and let you fill them up with reasonable thinking. Instead, seconds fly by or stand frozen before you, and coherent thought moves aside for the subconscious babble of self preservation. That babble usually sounds something like, “Oh shit – do this, wait, do this! Holy fuck, they’re everywhere, cast something! Move! dive! hide! RUN!”

  She followed the life or death instructions her fevered mind belted out, ducking low beneath a hurled bolt of magic that looked like a thrown ribbon of black silk. She recognized it as an ink rope, called such because it was darkness that would harden when it made contact with its victim, and coil around them like a rope.

  Dahlia dropped to the ground and rolled as her hands once more filled with her own potent power. She came agilely to her feet again in order to spin away from a third spell directed at her and retaliate with her own blast of magic.

  This time, she managed to include more than one enemy in her efforts, using a spell she knew would span over a wider space. A gust of wind raced through the warehouse with the power of a bansidhe’s wail. Four of the six hooded figures were knocked off their feet and sent flying. The beast inside the summoning circle was unaffected by the spell, protected as he was by the circle’s invisible wall.

  Dahlia attempted to slide directly into preparations for a third spell when she was side-swiped by the offensive magic of one of the two remaining hooded figures. She felt something cold brush along her left arm, like coming up against a sheer block of ice in nothing but your swim suit on a summer’s day. She inhaled sharply and stiffened, instinctively trying to move away from the shocking sensation. But the feeling not only froze her in her tracks, it spread through her at an unnatural pace, sinking into her skin, then the muscle underneath, and finally chilling her bone as if she were dipping it into liquid hydrogen.

  She felt herself going down, the pain of being instantly frozen too much to contend with. Her knees buckled, and she hugged herself in vain, fully expecting the pain to dip lower and grasp hold of her heart, stopping it instantly.

  However, the moment she stopped attempting to cast her own magic, the pain ebbed, her bones and muscles began to warm back up again, and she started shaking. When she exhaled, the air condensed before her lips. She heard shuffling and scuffling sounds, and a few groans of pain. It was the men picking themselves up off the floor where they’d landed when she’d hurled them across the room. It was too bad she hadn’t managed to kill any of them.

  “Grab her while she’s down,” she heard someone command. It was a man’s voice, one hardened by years of giving orders.

  Dahlia had once read, in a romance novel about motorcycle-riding assassins and down-to-earth heroines, that there was no greater pleasure than the cessation of pain. She was a firm believer in the validity of that statement, and the sensations moving through her just then were further proof that it was true. The spell’s cold had been so harsh, and the end to that hard freeze felt so good, she was momentarily stunned by the recession of the spell’s pain. Stunned enough that it took a moment for her to process what she’d just heard.

  But the second she recognized footfalls coming her way, she fully realized what it was the man had just said. And there was no way in hell she was going to become these slavers’ next victim.

  She quickly pushed herself up. At once, the pain was back. She winced and again inhaled sharply, hissing hard through clenched teeth. Clearly, the spell meant to punish resistance. With each passing second, Dahlia was more convinced that attacking the hooded figures had been the right thing to do.

  She didn’t let up now, despite the pain. Countless years of being forced into a kind of servitude to her Tuathan bloodline had taught her well that she was simply not born to be obligated or beholden to anyone. Ever. There was little more precious to Dahlia Kellen than her freedom. She had learned that lesson well.

  “Watch it, back off!” It was the same man who’d spoken earlier, warning those who had drawn near to her.

  Dahlia’s vision once more shifted, contrasts sharpened, and her hands flooded with power. She cried out as the spell that had been cast on her threatened to crack her bones in half and the cold continued to spread. She glanced down at her body, viewing it through battle-tones. She expected find her arm blue and covered with rime. But it looked no different than usual.

  No damage, then, she thought. Only pain.

  The spell was designed to hurt, not harm. For some reason, that made her even more furious. The fire building in her palms leapt with height and took on a purple cast. It had never done that before. She could feel it draining an inordinate amount of strength from her form, but at the same time, the darkening of her magic’s flames eased the strain up on her eyes a bit, allowing her to better see her targets. It also felt better. At first, why it felt better was hard to put her finger on. But as the magic continued to build, Dahlia realized it was deadening the pain from the cold spell that had been cast on her. It was negating it, warming her from the inside out like a hot drink of coffee in a snow storm.

  She smiled, allowing her fangs to show. She didn’t even care that she was being drained by this new dark fire. It was worth it.

  Across the warehouse from her, a single hooded figure slowly pushed back his hood. Piercing blue eyes glowed with a different menacing fire, locking onto her with their own kind of darkness. No, Dahlia thought. Not darkness. Wrongness.

  She would know it anywhere.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Realizing she could afford to wait no longer, Dahlia cast her spell. The entire process of spell building had taken only seconds, no more than one or two. But time seemed to slow as her enemy locked gazes with her, and the way her magic was draining her further stretched the moment out.

  Throwing it like a rock she was casting over her head, she hurled her dark force at the group of hooded figures, who now stood near their leader in a loose-knit group. They had no time to protect themselves or retaliate, having been intent on apprehending her only a moments earlier. The full force of the dark spell slammed into them in a tidal wave of deep purple, a crackling blaze that cut their sudden cries of surprise and pain in half.

  In the wake of their abrupt silence, Dahlia dropped to her knees, overcome with a dizzying wave of absolute weakness. Through vision that rapidly shifted out of its battle tones and blurred with sudden exhaustion, she saw the dark electrical fire dwindle like some kind of incredible CGI effect, leaving behind it a trail of swirling, wafting smoke and five unmoving bodies.

  The smoke faded, revealing a lone figure standing amidst his fallen men. It was his blue glowing eyes Dahlia could make out first. They cut through the foggy gloom like search lights, and Dahlia frowned.

  How? She wondered numbly. How could he be completely untouched by that?

  The sound of sirens drawing nearer sliced through the spell’s silent aftermath. It was followed by the sound of growling. Dahlia’s frown deepened and she blinked. From where she was kneeling on the dusty floor of the warehouse, she turned her head to find the relatively small brown form of the dog she’d met earlier. It had somehow managed to find a way inside the warehouse. The animal’s teeth were bared menacingly, her hackles raised. She crouched in an offensive and threatening stance, growling low and loud at the man with blue eyes.
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  “Bowie?” Dahlia called softly. Suddenly, she was scared for the animal. The solid realization that the man might hurt the dog settled like lead in her gut, and Dahlia shook her head, trying to clear it. Come on, Doll. Stand up. Beat this blue eyed fucker before it’s too late.

  With strength she truly hadn’t known she possessed, Dahlia found herself getting to her feet. She couldn’t even feel the ground beneath them. She felt lighter than air, completely empty. It made no sense. She’d eaten so much food at Evie’s cave….

  But that was just it. She’d eaten food. And that was the night before. She hadn’t fed. Not last night, not this night. And for all she knew, that magic food of Evie’s might not even exist in the real world. The moment she’d left the cavern, she might have been hungry again and just not realized it yet. She was using magic she’d never used before on an empty stomach. No wonder she was weak.

  Concentrate. Get another one going, she told herself fiercely as she reached out mentally for her power and attempted to pull it in. She needed to prep another spell, get some kind of shield covering the dog. But her enemy’s blue eyes were boring into her, and her thoughts were going into a jumble. She was having trouble concentrating.

  Her fangs throbbed. A burgeoning need was uncoiling in her belly and wisping its inky way through her bloodstream. That’s when she heard the low, rolling rumble. It was so much deeper, so much louder than the dog’s growl, it filled the entirety of the warehouse and caused the cement beneath her feet to vibrate.

  Dahlia pulled her gaze from the blue-eyed man’s and followed the source of the rumbling to the circle at the center of the giant room. The red, swirling, caging magic of the half dozen robed figures was gone now. The circle had been broken both figuratively and literally; the paint that had been used to draw the circle was smeared and separated, most likely melted and erased by the magic spell she’d cast at the summoners.

  The demon they’d drawn to this dimension was free now, but he remained in the warehouse, eyes burning, black fur raised like the hackles on the dog. His growl, and his red burning gaze, were directed at the blue eyed man.

  As if he was only now realizing the situation, the man with blue eyes glanced from her to the broken circle and its inhabitant. A slow smile curled his lips. He spoke a few words that Dahlia barely heard and barely recognized, and vanished. There was no swirling portal, no signs of transportation. He was simply there one moment, and gone the next, leaving behind his fallen comrades.

  Dahlia waited a moment, blinking a few times to make certain she was really seeing what she was seeing. No magic she knew of worked that way. But the monster’s low rumble drew her attention again. It had turned to look at her now, and the menacing growl was gone. Instead, it seemed to gaze at her almost questioningly, reminding her of the dog.

  The dog!

  Dahlia turned to where the dog had made an entrance. The pit bull mix seemed to look at her at the same time, its gaze sliding between her and the beast at the center of the room. Her hackles were no longer raised, however, which said something for the wisdom of the animal. It knew who its real enemies were.

  The beast in the circle was so tall, it reminded her of a polar bear on its hind legs, but was not at all bear-like. Rather, it was humanoid in shape and covered in dense, soft-looking black fur. It had a massive tail that was also covered in fur and ended in a series of red-tipped spikes. Its hands bore claws, but they honestly looked a little short for a beast of its size. Its mouth reminded her of some of Damon Chroi’s goblins, filled with teeth that rose up over the top lip as well as down over the bottom lip. It was the monster’s eyes that impressed Dahlia the most, as they seemed to crackle with an inner fire.

  Dahlia swallowed hard and summoned more strength she didn’t have. The blood in the veins of the fallen men several feet away called to her. She could hear a few of their hearts beating; they were still alive.

  And she was so hungry.

  But she ignored them and focused on the beast, getting to her feet so she could approach the giant. As she took the first step, something behind the furry monster shifted into view. She stopped. The monster turned slightly and looked down at whatever was behind it. Dahlia watched as the beast then nodded reassuringly – and a person slowly moved into view.

  What the hell? The beast had been so large, and its frightening visage had commanded so much attention, she hadn’t even noticed that there was something else in the circle with it! It was a young girl! She was maybe fifteen to eighteen years of age, dark skinned and dressed all in black. Her hair cascaded in long, tight ringlets that were black, highlighted with dark auburn. Her fingertips were a lighter color where she placed her hand lovingly on the arm of the monster beside her and ran her fingers through his fur. “It’s okay, Omran. I’m okay. We need to go home now.”

  She had never taken her eyes off Dahlia, though. And now they narrowed. “You’re Akyri?” she asked, her voice that sultry deep that told Dahlia the girl was not human. In fact, she was guessing she knew what she was.

  Dahlia shook her head. “No,” she said. “But you are, aren’t you?”

  The girl nodded. “I’m Amira. That man summoned me here when Omran and I were out walking.” The Akyri girl looked from Dahlia to the pit mix dog, who was now trotting toward Dahlia and whining low as if she were worried. Dahlia knelt and reached her hand down reassuringly. The dog licked it a few times and sat down at her feet.

  “I see you have an animal companion who is as loyal to you as Omran is to me,” the Akyri said.

  Dahlia looked back up. She didn’t know what to say to that. She’d only just met the animal… but she had to admit the dog was showing some gumption being so close to Dahlia at that juncture. She knew dogs had amazing instincts, and right now Dahlia was betting that she was emitting some pretty dangerous vibes. Her hunger was beginning to distract her to a painful degree. Her fangs were extremely obvious in her mouth, and her vision was starting to shift into hunting mode.

  So she was definitely impressed. And she was also… touched, for lack of a better word. Did it mean the dog trusted her? Did she know somehow that Dahlia would never harm her?

  But she had countless questions. Why had those men gone to all the trouble to summon an Akyri? Something that was strictly off limits to any warlock? Warlocks and Akyri had a symbiotic relationship, and Akyri chose to join a warlock – not the other way around. Jason Alberich would be furious if he knew what one of his kind was doing.

  But then again, Dahlia wasn’t so sure any of those men had been warlocks. Warlocks used dark magic, and this magic was not dark, it was forbidden. As she’d surmised before, it was just plain wrong. Plus, that man had used a kind of magic she’d never come across before: A spell meant to hurt rather than harm, and a transport spell that allowed him to simply vanish. What kind of magic was that?

  “Who were those men?” she asked, hoping the Akyri could give her some answers.

  “I know not,” said Amira. “They spoke in a language I don’t understand. But….” She hesitated, licking her lips and blinking, clearly trying to recall something. “One of the phrases their leader spoke sounded familiar.”

  The sirens that had been in the distance a minute earlier were now much, much closer. Dahlia was beginning to feel anxious on top of hungry. The dog at her side shuffled a bit where she sat, and looked up at Dahlia as if waiting to see what she would do.

  “What was the phrase?” Dahlia asked. Her voice was changing. She’d noticed since becoming a vampire that when she really needed to feed, when the call for blood burned inside her the greatest, her voice would deepen. It would become more sultry, raspier. Some would no doubt find it incredibly sexy – and she was guessing that was the point. What better way to lure in your lunch?

  “I believe it was something about a demon lord,” said Amira. “Or a demon king. Maybe queen. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more. What is your name?”

  “You should go,” said Dahlia suddenly. The bodies on the ground
were stirring now – three of the four who’d fallen had survived Dahlia’s dark force spell. Their hearts beat temptingly. Dahlia had plans for them, and for some reason she didn’t want Amira to see those plans.

  “Very well,” said the Akyri. “Thank you for helping me, whoever you are.” She looked up at the beast beside her, and the monster roared something completely unintelligible. When it did, a portal began to swirl to life between the pair and Dahlia.

  Dahlia waited until the pair stepped into the portal and it closed behind them before she left her place beside the dog and made her way to the nearest hooded figure. She knelt at his side and rolled him over. He was young, no older than twenty-five, perhaps. His cheeks had that baby-fat look to them that sometimes never went away on a man, even into adulthood. His eyes fluttered a little and then opened and focused on her.

  Fear gripped him at once. Whether it was her vampiric influence on him that caused him to stiffen with that fear or he was just smart enough to understand what was about to happen, Dahlia couldn’t know. She didn’t care.

  “You may as well just close your eyes again, sweetheart,” she said in her sultry tones. “It’s beddy-bye time.”

  With that, she lifted him with swift and inhuman strength, exposed his throat, and sank her fangs into his pulsing vein.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Laz was certainly not the closest cop to Dorchester that night. A lot of other people could have been called in on this, not the least of which were the officers actually stationed in Dorchester on a nightly basis. But the text he’d received wasn’t from an ordinary cop – or at least, not a human one anyway. And this wasn’t an ordinary disturbance. The area he was traveling to was not strictly known as the safest area in Boston. Just the opposite was more likely true. But it wasn’t the human population he was worrying about at the moment. The text was from Draecus, an Akyri soldier. When Laz had become the Akyri King, one of the first things he’d done was realize he was outmatched by the requirements of him in what he literally felt of as two different worlds. Here, in the human world as a detective for the Boston City Police. And in the Akyri world as their sovereign.