by Calista Fox
Deadly Attraction
Calista Fox
He conquered a world in decline, then set his sights on the raven-haired object of his desire…
Eight years of tormenting sexual yearning have left the Demon King Darien with a burning need to claim the one woman whose allure he can’t escape. Yet his first erotic encounter with Jade—a human from the village that lies in the shadow of his vast kingdom—leaves the powerful, immortal king in the vulnerable position of wanting to give his mortal bedmate more than just physical pleasure.
Jade has never known sexual bliss until the Demon King takes her, again and again. Yet she is fiercely loyal to her kind, and her forbidden interludes with Darien leave her facing a fiery, potentially deadly attraction as tension between the humans and demons ignite once more. There is no debate when it comes to choosing sides—and their love may not be able to conquer all.
A Romantica® erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
Deadly Attraction
Calista Fox
Chapter One
North America, 2051
Not all humans are good. Not all demons are evil.
Jade Deville had heard those words uttered by her mother on more than one occasion. Never publicly, of course, for that would incite much controversy.
Yet she would whisper the sentiment when Jade, as a young girl, had asked her to talk about the demons so that she might better understand the creatures that ruled their world. Many of whom made residence within and outside the castle walls of the Demon King Darien. His kingdom sprawled along the ridge that overlooked the small human village of Ryleigh, in northeastern Maine, not far from the New Brunswick border.
Jade had never been able to take solace in her mother’s compassionate opinion. History books and the sparse remainder of humans across the continents following the ten-year demon wars that started in 2016 provided sufficient proof the demonic community was more dangerous and much deadlier than the threat of bio-weaponry and nuclear bombs had ever been—could ever be, were they still in existence.
The terrorization humans once inflicted upon each other in their quest for supremacy was long obsolete—and child’s play in comparison to the demon warfare tactically employed, which nearly decimated the human race. The mortals had had little opportunity to fight back.
The only thing that could kill a demon was another demon, an experienced slayer or a potent vanquishing spell. The last two were extremely rare and the former only happened during uprisings, which weren’t commonplace because of various pacts and alliances that banded most of the fiendish creatures together. Though renegades existed and sometimes they wreaked as much havoc on the human populace as they did the demonic one.
Now twenty-six years old, Jade still had a difficult time understanding her mother’s utterances about not all demons being evil. It made no sense to her. After all, it had been werewolves who’d viciously attacked and killed her parents fifteen years ago.
As she left her cottage on the banks of the narrow river that snaked its way along the outskirts of town, she zipped up her black leather jacket against the chill of the crisp, autumn evening. Fat snowflakes glistened in the darkness surrounding her, catching the occasional ray of moonlight when it penetrated the dense forest of skyscraping pine trees and the spindle-fingered cloud cover overhead.
Jade wove her way along the worn path that led to the heart of the village. The ground was hard beneath her feet, frozen, and with a light dusting of white that would likely turn into a foot or two of fresh powder by the time she returned home. If she returned home. One could never be too sure in this day and age, and Jade in particular.
Someone watched her. She sensed his presence. Felt his gaze on her. It wasn’t the first time. Nor was the one who followed her human. There were no snapping of twigs beneath his feet, as with her own. No scent wafting on a stiff breeze. And she didn’t hear the slightest hint of his breathing or see a puff of frosty air, as was the case with her, a human.
She suspected what tracked her was a wraith from the king’s army. They were the most difficult to spot with their black cloaks blending into the dark night as they floated weightlessly over the land, making nary a sound. Yet they left an ominous chill in the air, if one paid close enough attention. Jade always did.
Despite not being able to see her pursuer, she had the right to demand he show himself and to confront him. The Demon King—who’d come into power thirty-five years ago when the immortals first took on the mortal world—had issued several royal decrees following the wars. One of which declared no demon within his allegiance could stalk, hunt or harm a human, unless said human was a slayer who’d made the initial predatory move. But there were fewer of those in existence these days.
Ryleigh was fortunate to have two of their own slayers, who served as magistrates. Most villages shared a slayer amongst a hundred or so other villages. Not great odds against those rogue demons who defied the law and certainly not a comfort or assurance of safety, Jade suspected.
Her small community was well protected for a reason. Regardless of the laws governing demon interactions with humans that might suggest it wasn’t necessary to have two slayers in such a remote, lightly human-populated area, the village sat in the shadow of the king’s vast legion of allies.
King Darien was the most revered of demon warlords. Given he had the largest following, he possessed the power to command the three other warlords on the continent. They were located in the west and central regions, and in a defined territory from Mexico to Panama. As part of his law that kept demons from hunting humans, the king had also proclaimed no more than two demons at a time may roam close to or enter a village, the perimeter of which—in Ryleigh’s case—the slayers patrolled.
That latter pact might not have been broken this evening, but the “no hunting” restriction had clearly been violated by whoever tailed Jade.
A dark shiver chased down her spine and it wasn’t from the frigid gust whistling through the trees. It was from the wraith himself. Agitating her further was the fact she couldn’t discern in which direction the threat came or how to counteract it. Although she possessed above-average fighting skills, thanks to her father, she’d be no match for a ghost—the very reason she didn’t call him out.
Quickening her steps, she reached the small village, dimly lit by crudely fashioned lampposts topped with low-blazing torches in glass orbs. There was little activity on the cracked and brittle sidewalks or the pothole-invested streets, which had accumulated so much dirt over the years from lack of use, it was difficult to believe asphalt lay beneath the dark soil.
The snow built on the ground as Jade made her way to the tavern at the end of the block. She took one more look around her, pausing just outside the lively establishment, listening intently for any sign of the stranger who stalked her. Not a peep, save for the hint of noise that penetrated the thick tavern walls and the chiming of the bell in its tower in the village square, signaling she was right on time for work at seven o’clock.
Shoving open the door, she crossed the scuffed hardwood floor as she peeled off her jacket, shaking the coat to dislodge the snowflakes and wet drops many had melted into.
“Hey, Jade,” a few of the villagers greeted her.
“‘Evening, everyone,” she said as she passed by on her way to hang her jacket on a hook in the far corner.
The tavern was as faintly lit as the streets. Candles on the long wooden tables and sconces hanging on the stone walls provided the only illumination, with the exception of the occasional lighting of a twig or dried needles set against a flame when a patron splurged on a hand-rolled cigarette.
Electricity, among other things, was not a commodity in this part of the country. Jade had heard years ago that the
humans on the west coast had struck a bargain with the warlord serving as steward in their region and he had permitted them to restore limited power lines within larger communities. The technique employed was rumored to be circa late-nineteenth century, when electricity first made its way into homes in America.
Thus far, the biggest concession in that vein the easterners had achieved was mass purification of water. Desalination procedures using condensers fueled by fire that boiled the liquid and pumped steam through salvaged pipes created condensation that turned into drinkable water. This made it easy to keep the icehouses stocked with both the huge blocks cut from frozen lakes for general purposes as well as sterilized cubes.
The blocks were good for packing metal replicas of refrigerators in order to keep perishable items cold. Though in the winter, that was hardly necessary, since the units could be moved outdoors and they’d be equally effective without any ice at all. Come tomorrow, the kegs at the tavern would be intermittently stored out back in the thick banks of snow and monitored regularly to ensure the beer remained cold, but didn’t freeze.
Since Jade had never lived in a world with electricity, she didn’t miss it. She could prepare meals over a fire and read by candlelight. Having purified water for a bath, cooking and drinking was by far a greater necessity in her mind.
A smaller concession was that transportation by way of horses and wagons were allowed, as were the occasional steam locomotives following the restoration of a main coast-to-coast railroad. The demons themselves preferred their own two feet—or four, in the case of various animal shifters—or the gleaming black Arabians they were prone to breed.
Modern creature comforts, it seemed, were of little use to the demon population, and that meant no major manufacturing plants or advanced technology. Unfortunately, the humans who’d lived before the wars and had survived them suffered because of lack of innovation, but most had adapted to rustic life.
On the plus side, domestic importing had not been outlawed and breweries in the west shipped kegs of beer to the east. When business was good for the tavern, particularly in the winter when the villagers weren’t tending to outdoor crops and instead were bellied up to the bar for warmth and companionship, they were also able to acquire a few casks of wine and brandy. The owner, Michael Hadley, had built his own distillery for vodka.
After yanking off her gloves and stuffing them in her coat pocket, Jade stoked the fire in the tall hearth. She then rounded the bar, where Michael served beers to the regulars gathered at the counter. The pine surface was deeply scarred, but nobody seemed to mind. One simply had to be careful where they set their mug, so as to not perch it precariously in a groove.
“Damn cold out there, isn’t it?” he asked her.
“Still mild, relatively speaking. Jinx predicted a long, hard winter. After today, we won’t be seeing the ground for another six months.”
Jinx Cromley was the local psychic who had plenty to say about everything. Jade enjoyed his ramblings for the most part, but never paid much attention when it came to his forecasts that the human world would someday more closely resemble what it had been at the turn of the millennium.
The early 2000s had seen its share of highs and lows, mostly economically, but the historians had reported the people of those times had enjoyed sophisticated technology, including computers, phones and televisions. Obviously, with no electricity, Jade had never seen a TV in real life—not that there were production companies to generate programs—and she’d never made a phone call or sent an email. Even the famed Internet she’d read about ceased to exist at the advent of the series of wars.
“Ah, the town crier strikes again,” Michael mused.
Indeed, the old psychic Jinx was the one they counted on to spread the word, no matter what the topic, given there was no newspaper in Ryleigh. What news didn’t come from Jinx came from those few people who dared to travel the regions, despite the threat of attack by rogue demons not in the king’s alliance.
Michael continued. “Jinx isn’t one to dampen spirits, but his winter predictions always leave something to be desired.”
“I don’t mind the snow,” Jade admitted as she reached for Donovan Jak’s mug to refill it. She pumped the keg and cracked the tap. “All that fluffy white helps to counter the bleak gray and brighten up the village.”
Just as the daily grind of serving drinks and chatting with the locals helped to take the edge off Jade’s jangled nerves over once again having been followed. Though she didn’t allow herself the luxury of false security. Something waited for her outside the doors of the tavern.
No demon other than the king or the general of his army had the authority to pass through a human door without invitation—which was something she’d never heard of happening—but the law didn’t exactly put Jade’s mind at ease. Nor did knowing she had a half-hour walk home ahead of her at the end of the evening.
“Did you see our shipment of merlot came in?” Michael asked. He reached for one of the non-labeled wine bottles he recycled. The dozen or so he stocked didn’t fill the two six-foot-tall recovered riddling racks made of mango wood that he’d mounted on the wall behind the bar. However, it was nice to see the bottles had finally been put to use again. “Wanna sample it?”
“Sure.” She preferred wine over beer, though the former was a rare treat because of the exorbitant prices. So many of the vineyards back east had been trampled during the wars and there weren’t enough experienced vintners or workers to fully revive them.
Money was an issue as well. As a rule, the humans didn’t possess much of it. For most, bartering was a way of life, not the exchange of funds for goods and services, with some obvious exceptions. Jade, for one, had nothing to trade, so she needed the small wage Michael provided her.
He pulled the cork on the merlot and splashed a decent amount into two glasses.
“Here’s to your favorite season,” he said before tilting the rim of his wineglass to hers. It made a soft clinking noise she enjoyed hearing. There were too few toasts to make in their lives, so even the most inconsequential one was a nice change of pace. “May we not freeze our asses off this year.”
“Not like we’re going to run out of wood for our hearths anytime soon.” Thick patches of forest surrounded the village and there was also plenty of ground debris to gather.
Jade sipped her wine, hoping it would relax her further. But the glass Michael poured was all she’d allow herself. Clearly, she needed to keep her wits about her.
“Not bad, huh?” he asked as he gave her a casual grin.
Her lifelong friend was easy on the eyes, with a ruggedly handsome face, an engaging, dark-brown gaze and a head of tousled, russet-colored hair, a tad on the long side. He was tall and muscular, with long, sinewy limbs and strong, slightly calloused hands. They’d been lovers once, years ago. Both eighteen and without a clue in the world as to what they were doing.
That was the year Michael’s parents had died. His mother had been a midwife and she and her husband had traveled to a neighboring village to help deliver twins. They’d been caught in an avalanche on the way back, trapped for nearly a week before the bodies were recovered. Following that tragedy, Michael had pulled away emotionally, and so had Jade, as memories of her own loss haunted her.
He’d taken over the tavern after the deaths and Jade had tended bar with him ever since. They were the best of friends, though she never failed to miss the lingering glances he gave her. The hint of “what if?” in his chocolatey gaze.
But eight years had passed, and although he still had the ability to make her heart flutter with a grin or a chuckle, a romantic reunion didn’t seem to be in the cards. Mainly because neither one of them spoke of their pasts, which was something they both knew necessary in order to reconcile their inner turmoil and regain the emotional ground they’d once shared.
Instead of delving into painful memories, however, they chose to ignore them. Keep them buried and securely locked within their hearts.
In fact, Jade didn’t reminisce about the years as they drifted by. She focused solely on the present. On surviving when evil hovered too close for comfort around the fringes of the mortal realm.
Pushing her distressing thoughts aside, she said of the wine, “Not bad at all. The Delfinos will be very pleased.” One of their best customers.
The evening progressed in its normal manner. Some of the patrons got a bit tipsier than others, which no one minded, since everyone would agree it took the sting out of the repression most of the villagers felt, being under the thumbs of demons. And given they would be walking home, no one had concerns over causing an accident.
Jade, on the other hand, worried about what awaited her as the village’s bell tolled at midnight and the bar closed. She, Michael and Josh, the server working that evening, cleaned up and locked the door behind them.
They bid Josh good night. Then, as he did six nights a week, because the tavern wasn’t open on the holy day out of memoriam for the villagers’ slaughtered ancestors, Michael turned to Jade and asked, “Want me to see you to your cottage?”
She shook her head, as always, when his query came. “It’d hardly make sense and you know it. We’re on opposite sides of the village. You’d have to walk all the way back here. And then some.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said, hedging as though he had something to say to her. His gaze locked with hers, his brown eyes full of unexpressed feelings Jade couldn’t quite wade through. “I keep thinking someday you’ll say yes.”
To what? She couldn’t help but wonder. Yes to an escort? Or yes to so much more?
He brushed away a strand of dark hair that had blown across her face and stuck to her eyelashes. Tucking the lock behind her ear, he said, “I hate to think of you all alone in the cottage. You don’t have any neighbors, Jade. It concerns me.”
With a soft smile, she told him, “I’m very good at taking care of myself. Been doing it for a long, long time.”