Defy Me
The Demonology Series
Book Two
By
Felicity Brandon
Copyright © 2020 by Felicity Brandon
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: [email protected]
This book is entirely a work of fiction. The author does not condone, nor endorse any of the acts in this book.
First edition July 2020
Cover design by Eris Adderly.
Editing by Personal Touch Editing.
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“In the end, it is our defiance that redeems us.”
— Mark Rowlands
Chapter One
Tara
I welcomed him. I was ready.
To serve.
To kneel with awe.
From the first time I’d donned my favorite black attire to the moment I’d found the occult, I’d been preparing myself for this—this moment—my entire life.
But I’d been wrong. Nothing had prepared me, and as the black mass twisted into shape before me, manifesting painfully, pulling the oxygen from the air, my heart pounded as if it was about to leap from my chest altogether.
Panic.
Blinding panic, the sort I’d never known, rose to my throat, closing the cavity until I choked.
“Who beckons me?”
His voice was like black thunder as it rumbled past my ears, making me gasp, an involuntary sound which was lost in the new, oppressive gloom.
“It is I, Solomon.”
I had no idea if this was how I was meant to address the demon I’d just conjured. No one had told me what I was supposed to say. The old, yellowed pages of the books I’d studied had no words of advice for this pivotal moment.
Having created the conditions and spoken the words, I was responsible.
I had summoned Solomon, demon of wrath.
I was on my own.
I should have been paralyzed by fear, and a part of me was, but excitement stirred inside me, as well—hope.
This is what I’d wanted. For so long, I had planned, dreamed about what I would do with a little demonic power on my side. I’d fantasized about all those I would turn that supremacy on, given half the chance. I’d imagined what I’d need to offer in return for his dark favor, and now it was all unfolding. As Solomon formed in front of my eyes, I was filled with eagerness and a desire to wreak the revenge I’d craved for so long.
“You?”
I shuddered as his voice hung in the air like fog. A shiver tore up the length of my spine, his timbre so chilling it almost took my breath away. The room around me trembled at his presence, the sparse furniture rattling as the ground shook. Not knowing what else to do, I fell to my knees, keen that the first sight he had of me would be subservient.
I didn’t want to do anything to piss him off or ruin my chances.
“Who are you?” The voice was softer now, and as I dragged my glance north, I found it was accompanied by a body—a taller and more rugged body than I’d dared to hope for. “Who is it that demands my presence?”
“I am Tara.”
My voice was tiny and staring up into his dark eyes, it was difficult to summon the rash courage which had led me to this moment.
Solomon was huge.
Big, I had expected—big, strong, and dark, all the things you imagine in your head when you think of the word demon—but he was more than that.
Exponentially more.
Looming over me, it seemed as though he stood at least seven feet in height. His body was wrapped in black robes that trailed to the floor, but the arms were ripped free, revealing two muscular limbs that looked as if they could tear me to pieces. I gulped, steadying myself as I peered up to the face of the demon I’d invited. Solomon glared at me, his dark green eyes first narrowing, then seemingly relaxing as he took in the sight of the woman on her knees before him. He had high cheekbones, and lips which twitched as our gazes locked for the first time.
“Tara.” I couldn’t tell if he was amused or irritated. “Tara Levinson.”
Crap, he knew who I was…
“Yes.” I hesitated, uncertain how to address the dark lord who’d just displayed himself. “Sir?”
“Master.”
He answered my query, though I hadn’t vocalized it, his tone calm, yet emphatic, reinforcing the title I should use. My throat dried, and I swallowed before I replied.
“Of course,” I croaked. “Master.”
“I have been watching you,” he smirked, moving closer, although I never saw his feet shift position. “We have been watching you with interest.”
“We?” I pulled in a shaky breath, still aware of the way my heart thundered inside my ribcage.
“Oh, yes.” His lips curled wider. “It is me you have summoned, but I am Legion, as well as Solomon, and we are many.”
“Oh.” Tension peaked in my limbs at his predatory look. “I didn’t know.”
“There is much for you to learn, Tara Levinson.” His brow rose with the assertion. “Now, you will tell me why you have brought me here.”
“Master, I need your help.” I lowered my gaze, trying to recall all the well-crafted speeches I’d practiced in my head when I’d imagined this moment.
But it had never been like this before.
The air had never been so cold. The ground at my knees had never shaken, and my heart had never raced. Suddenly, it was difficult to think, difficult to even recall the answer to his demand.
“My help.” He sounded amused. “And pray tell, why should I help a mortal like you, Tara Levinson?”
I lifted my gaze back to his glowering face.
“Because I am loyal, Master, and obedient. I have sworn to praise you and your masters. I want to serve.”
Solomon laughed softly. “My masters? What do you know of my masters, child? Do you, for example, know who I am, who I answer to?”
I caught my lip between my teeth, praying my many months of reading and research were about to pay off.
“You are the demon of wrath.” There was awe in my tone as I recited the words I knew by heart. “And you kneel only to Satan himself.”
He grinned at me, one dark eyebrow rising.
“Very good,” he purred. “So, you can learn. That means you can be trained.”
“Yes, Master,” I replied eagerly. “I want to be trained. I would like that very much.”
“Would you?” His brow furrowed for a second. “And why is that, Tara Levinson? Why are you so enthusiastic to leave your mortal life behind? Why do the pits of hell appeal?”
My attention fell to the bottoms of his robes, now less than a foot from the place I knelt.
“I am tired of this life.” I practically spat the words at him. “It has shown me no favor, and I have no wish to persevere with it.”
“Hmmm.”
Silence fell over me, the weight of it seeming to keep my head down, or perhaps it was the memories of Gavin and the things he had done to me, of th
e things he had made me do…
“Rise.”
My focus flitted back to Solomon’s face to confirm I had understood the final instruction correctly, and as he nodded, I rose slowly to my feet.
“Tell me more.” His penetrating gaze speared me. “Tell me why you are done with the life you have been gifted.”
“I am tired of being a victim,” I said through gritted teeth, recollections of Gavin still flashing through my mind. “I swore I would never be one again, and finding out about you has helped raise me from my depression, yet my suffering continues.” My hands balled into fists. “And I am done with it.” Anger spiked at the admission, the same anger I’d been burying for years—the same furious frustration which had driven me straight into the arms of the occult.
After Gavin, I’d looked for meaning—an understanding of why, of how the crimes he’d committed had been allowed. I’d found nothing in the pages of any staple religious text—nothing but witticisms and shallow drivel. Those books spoke of forgiveness and compassion as if they were confetti I could just shower around me. But there was no forgiveness for the things Gavin had done, no way of moving beyond them. As for empathy and consideration? I’d wanted to laugh. Where was Gavin’s care when he’d exploited me? Where was my mother’s care when she’d found out? A fresh stream of rage erupted inside me at the hopeless thought. Compassion? The world had shown no compassion to me when it left me homeless at fifteen.
I was done with goodwill and benevolence.
I wanted vengeance. The sort of revenge that would satisfy my burning desire, the sort that could compensate that lost and crying girl—the girl I’d once been.
“So, it is revenge you seek.” Fire burned in his eyes, the flicker of charred orange and crimson evident through the green as he glowered in my direction. “Retribution for the things you have endured?”
“Yes.” I blinked away the tears that had formed at the painful memories. I had no time for that emotion anymore. My crying days were over. “Yes, Master, that is exactly what I need.”
“And you think I can help? You think my wrath, directed in the right way, could garner this satisfaction?”
Pulling in hot ribbons of air, I nodded. It was peculiar—the air in the room had chilled since Solomon’s manifestation, yet the temperature around us seemed to have risen, and I could sense sweat at my brow as I replied.
“Yes, Master.” My voice was surer now, despite the lingering notion of doubt. Paranoia, at this, the most fragile of all moments, that the devil I’d placed all my remaining hope in would reject me and send me away. I wouldn’t be able to come back from that. It would slay me.
“I have anger enough for myself, but I need you to help direct it. To use it to bring down the people who hurt me.”
“I understand, Tara Levinson.” Solomon pressed his lips into a hard line. “Though I shall need to hear more about this Gavin and what he did to you.”
My brow knitted. Had I mentioned Gavin’s name to Solomon?
“You do not need to,” he answered, once again replying to my private thoughts. “I can hear your musings.”
“Then you know already,” I said with a sigh. “Or you could if you looked inside my head.”
“I could,” he confirmed, his eyes almost black as they burned into my flesh. “Yet I choose not to. I want to hear your story, Tara Levinson, and I want to hear it from you, from your lips alone.”
My shoulders fell at his verdict. Somehow, in all of my daydreams, I’d never envisioned having to say the words out loud, like an excruciating counseling session.
You want to make me suffer more.
“Perhaps.” His tone was indifferent. “I, too, can enjoy your suffering, then we shall see what I can do to assuage it.” He paused, a dark smirk painting his compelling face. “To compensate it.”
I swallowed. “Okay.” I let out the word in one long exhalation. “I understand, Master.”
“Not yet,” he assured me with a predatory smile. “You have no way of understanding yet, Tara Levinson, but you will. One day soon, you will understand, and you’ll know what it’s like to be enveloped and protected by the greatest power in all the world.”
I liked the sound of that. I wanted his power. I wanted it to smash Gavin into the ground and obliterate him entirely.
“Yes, Master.”
“And you’ll know the toll for such protection.”
“Toll?”
“Of course, Tara.” He grinned, revealing a row of near-perfect white teeth. “For if I choose to help you, the debt you owe me will be considerable.”
Chapter Two
Solomon
It was curious to watch her, the miniscule flicker of fear and uncertainty at my proclamation, followed by acquiescence and acceptance. She recognized my right to make demands, her thoughts confirming so while her gaze slid toward the floor.
“Okay.” Her reply was scarcely a whisper. “I understand I will owe you, Master, but will you tell me what the debt will be?”
It seemed Tara was different from most mortals who dared to summon me. Usually, they did so recklessly, with little heed of the consequences, but it was clear she was well aware of them.
“I will,” I confirmed. “Once I have decided what is suitable.”
Glancing around the room, I blinked into the milky sunshine spilling in from the far window. It had been a long time since I had taken human form, and even longer since my eyes had surveyed daylight. It only lit a quarter of the space, highlighting a small wooden desk and chair. To the other side of the apartment was an equally unimpressive bed, a small, worn rug with a group of ancient-looking texts piled on it, and as I looked to my right, I could see a cracked white basin in the other corner. The place was in obvious disrepair, and there was a lingering aroma of mold and mildew, which would no doubt crawl into her lungs and cause her harm if she stayed too long.
“What is this place?”
“It’s where I live, Master.”
I tilted my head at the answer. I had known mortals in trenches with better living conditions than this.
“Tell me what has befallen you.” I strode past her to the window, staring out the dirty glass. “What has led you to live like this?”
I sensed her trepidation before I heard the tremble in her voice.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know it’s not much, but I—”
I lifted one palm, the act silencing Tara in an instant as she twisted her body toward the place I stood.
“You need not apologize for that which you did not create.” Turning in her direction, I immobilized her with my gaze. “Yet you will explain yourself to me as I have asked.”
“May I sit, Master? The story I must tell is not a pretty one.”
I wanted to rub my hands together with glee—but I did not. Despite all the malevolence I had created with my master, it seemed like an eternity since I last heard a decent story. Time spent in the company of humans had taught me how to act around them. I knew how to praise and encourage, how to destroy and denigrate, but critically, I also understood tact and timing.
“You may sit if it helps.” I gestured toward the rickety-looking bed. “But I warn you, I do not like to be kept waiting.”
“Sorry, Master.” She scuttled to the structure, perching on the edge before her wide eyes returned to me.
“So, start at the beginning. Who is this Gavin?”
“My stepfather.” Her right hand shook, and she had to physically restrain it with her left to resist the movement. “My real father died when I was an infant, and my mother married another man when I was seven. Gavin was that man.”
All at once, her sorry story unraveled. I could see the fear that once glimmered in the eyes of that child and the intimidation she felt at the hands of the man her mother had married.
“I see.” I lifted my chin at the admission. “Tell me about this man.”
“He was a devil.” Her tone was low and cutting, but I couldn’t resist the urge to
scoff at her choice of vocabulary.
“Now, that cannot be true,” I said with a laugh. “For if it was, I would surely have known him already.”
Tara’s gaze narrowed. “You’re mocking me.” There was a trace of anger in her tone, and I liked it.
“I shall do as I see fit.” I waved my hand at her dismissively. “It is you who has conjured me, Tara Levinson, and if you want my help, you will answer my questions.”
“Fine.” Her jaw tightened. “He was a predator. A man who married my mother just so he could have unfettered access to her young daughter.”
“And what did he do to that innocent child?” I took a step closer to her trembling body. “What did he do to you, Tara?”
“Everything,” she hissed, lifting her chin at my approach. “He controlled my entire life and took whatever he wanted from me whenever he wanted. He’s a vile, sickening excuse for a man.”
I hesitated, the venom in her voice welcome, yet surprising from such a willowy woman.
“Stand.” My voice was quiet. “I want to see you.”
“What?” Tara shook her head. “Didn’t you hear what I just said, Master?”
“I heard it.” I paused, waiting for her to obey. “Why are you not standing?”
“I’m sorry,” she huffed, forcing herself to her feet. “I was expecting more of a response to my story, that’s all.”
I chuckled at her petulance. A few lifetimes serving me would soon knock that out of her, assuming I decided to take the mortal—to keep her.
“Let me look at you.”
I pointed to the middle of the room, and she shuffled in that direction, presenting a sorrowful image of an already tragic woman, but that appraisal did not concern me. Quite the contrary, I was drawn toward those with troubled lives. They were the ones who needed me, the ones who were open to receive me. There were few more satiating things left in the world than taking control of a soul who wanted to be possessed, who craved it like a drug—like nicotine.
That was the potential I saw in Tara’s green eyes as they fluttered at my attention. She was a slender young thing, likely to be in her late twenties, though the state of her appearance did nothing to accentuate her youth. Her long hair fell lank past her shoulders, the ends a deep, satisfying black hue while her roots revealed the real, chestnut color which grew from her head. Her skin was pale—too many hours spent in this matchbox had no doubt taken their toll, and her eyes sunken from years of mistreatment, rage, and resentment. But beneath all of that, I could see her possibility—the chance of the woman she might become and the immortal I could make her if she pleased me.
Defy Me: A Paranormal Demon Romance (The Demonology Series Book 2) Page 1