Lock & Portal (My Demon Bound Book 1)

by Jade Bones

  “Yeah, it’s me.” There’s a smile in her voice that is never directed at me. Don’t get me wrong, Violet’s sweet and all, but she’s a total priss. Never has much time for the rest of us—she’s too focused on trying to fix that bond with her demon.

  “Cool…” I trail off, looking around for her. There’s something shapeless and translucent in the corner by the wall—it looks like it might have blonde hair. “Are you… down here too?”

  “No, I’m in my dorm.” The blurry thing shudders and reforms with solid edges, even though it’s still see-through. It’s definitely Violet, and her demon too. “You’ve found it, haven’t you?”

  “Sure, yeah, definitely.” I say, trying to work out the odd twist in my gut when I notice how close Alaztair and Violet are standing. It’s… real close. “If you can break us out of here, I’ve found anything you need.”

  “The key, sweetheart,” Alaztair drawls, and it’s nothing like when Daerek calls me ‘love’. My entire body shudders. “Have you found the key?”

  Daerek could model wristwatches. Alaztair looks like the drummer out of a goddamn emo band. Sure, he’d be great for a one-night stand, but…

  What the hell am I thinking? It’s the isolation getting to me already. I could never be a monk.

  “I hate to break it to you,” I grit out, “but if this is the key you’re looking for, someone definitely left out the fine print. It’s just a picture.”

  A picture that is beginning to tickle, strangely hot beneath my fingers. I should really take my hand away, but I… don’t.

  Wait.

  Violet turns to Alaztair, a slight frown on her forehead, and Alaztair reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

  What the fuck?

  “It’s a glyph,” Alaztair murmurs so quietly I barely hear it. More than that—his voice is soft with something I don’t recognize. Tender. “Means the key is down there somewhere.”

  My gut churns for reasons I can’t identify. Then it hits me: they’ve fixed their bond. Not only fixed it—it’s thriving.

  “Segue,” I interrupt, raising my right hand in the air. My left hand is starting to smoke a little around the edges, but it doesn’t hurt. Probably red flag number one, but I have other things on my mind. “What the hell is going on between you two? How did you”—I wave my hand between them vaguely—“do that?”

  The sick sensation in my belly writhes around violently when Violet blushes. There’s no way…

  Violet clears her throat. “Don’t know what you mean.”

  Alaztair grins, wolfish, and leans over her shoulder, his chin hooking into her neck. “We put some extra credit towards Vi’s public relations.”

  Oh my god, he fucked her in public.

  I’ve no idea where the thought comes from, but as soon as it appears I know it’s true. Just to make sure, I mutter the aura spell, and immediately I can see it. Their auras are entwined—pulsing together like one heartbeat.

  It should disgust me. I should rat her out to the nearest professor the second we escape from here, but instead my entire body begins to shake, impossibly hot. It isn’t with fear—jealousy is burning white-hot in my veins.

  “If you’ve found the key, you must have been hearing the voice,” Violet says urgently, sending chills down my spine.

  She knows about the voice?

  What’s so important about some random chick telling me to wake up? Wake up and get the key, I could buy, but if this is Violet’s mystery informant, she’s leaving a lot to be desired in my mind.

  Although… I swear she’s in my head right now. So faint it sounds like my own voice instead.

  It bothers me, even though I’m sure both the mystery lady and Violet are on my side. But that’s just it: everywhere I turn, someone’s trying to guide me.

  Can’t I do this on my own?

  Something caresses my fingers, catching my attention as flames begin to lick around the side of my hand.

  “Um…” Before I can introduce this recent development to the others, the stone with the glyph on it shudders and the entire freaking wall bursts apart.

  At least, that’s what it feels like, but in reality I just fall backwards as hundreds of white spectres leap through the brickwork—and me—into the tunnel.

  Violet and Alaztair disappear.

  Daerek catches me before I hit the ground. And by catch me, I mean, he cushions my fall. One second he’s in front of me, the next he’s crashing into cold, hard stone behind me, my landing soft and safe.

  As the spectres continue to race through the air above us, fading into the dark, I push subconsciously back into Daerek’s embrace. His arms tighten around me, and his soft breath brushes against my neck as he whispers, “These were the visions.”

  I’m confused for several seconds until I remember what he means: the visions he saw down in hell.

  It clicks.

  “Visions?” I shriek. “You call these visions? Why didn’t you just say ghosts like a normal person?”

  The last spectre disappears, and I can hear the grin in his voice as he turns into my neck—more than that, I can feel it against my skin. “Because then I wouldn’t get to see you jump like this, would I?”

  I swallow thickly, trying to repress the shiver that races down my spine. It doesn’t work. His hands slide lower, trailing over my hips. His heartbeat thuds against my back.

  What does it say about me that his teasing means ten times more to me than any sweetness?

  It’s because it’s real.

  Then something else becomes real: his lips grazing my neck. My breath hitches, and I shift just enough to see his green eyes staring into mine.

  “What’s that in your hand?” he murmurs, his eyes lowering to my lap.

  They pause at my mouth on the way down, and all I can think about is Violet and her demon doing god knows what in a darkened alcove somewhere.

  Is it allowed?

  Do I care?

  Daerek’s hand slides between my thighs and I bite back a whimper. Until I realize he’s reaching for my palm.

  The glyph is no longer a glyph. A golden key rests in my hand, the metal still glowing with the aftermath of red-hot fire.

  “What now?” I ask, the words more a whisper than the bravado I prefer.

  He pauses, eyes darkening as he takes in the heat of my cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of my chest. The hand tracing the key falters, lifts, and resets back on my thigh. Where I wanted it. My eyes flutter closed and I bite my bottom lip so hard I’m surprised the skin doesn’t break.

  Daerek trails his fingers inward, heat rising between us and higher still, where I hope he’s headed.

  I don’t mean to, but my legs fall open, just a little. I can’t look at him. My breath comes so fast now, there’s no way I can pretend I’m not into this.

  “Open your eyes, Stacey,” Daerek murmurs into my ear. “I don’t want you pretending I’m someone else in the dark.”

  My eyes snap open, my lips parting in shock at the idea he would even think that. Heavy-lidded, green eyes stare into mine, a wicked grin emerging from the shadows between us.

  But then the shadows vanish, a glowing light chasing them away. It shines from my lap, and for one absolutely delirious moment I wonder if it’s coming from beneath my skirt, as if Daerek’s demonic touch is some kind of holy enlightenment to my vagina.

  Spoiler alert: it’s the key.

  The moment is officially cockblocked, and Daerek’s fingers brush mine as he folds my hand over the key, hiding it from view. I can’t discern his expression, and his voice gives nothing away. “I think, now, we follow the ghosts. And we should make sure your magic is well-stocked.”

  Four

  Daerek

  Her expression darkens, and I realize I’ve fucked up.

  Right, of course, trapped down here with me? The last thing she’ll feel is joy. I shouldn’t have kissed her, but I couldn’t help it. The sounds she made intoxicated me. Like a priest tempted by sin, all I ca
n remember from those last few minutes is the way she moved beneath the barest touch of my hand.

  Oh yeah, and I definitely shouldn’t have touched her. But, hell… how could I resist the way she melted against me? Stacey doesn’t submit to anyone.

  Watching her give into me is my choice of poison.

  “You need joy. I can summon baklava for you?” I suggest through gritted teeth. Even her favorite dessert doesn’t seem to be enough to override her distaste for me, lately, but it’s worth a shot.

  Her frown deepens, and I rise to my feet with a sigh, brushing down my jeans. “Forget it.” I hold out a hand to help her up, hoping the gesture of servitude will make up for whatever my existence has ruined, but she ignores it and stands on her own.

  “It’s too dusty for baklava,” she snaps, making sense in a way that leaves more questions than answers.

  That look can’t be about baklava. God, she’s infuriating when she’s like this.

  But even more infuriating is how much my cock seems to like it.

  The wall behind us is untouched apart from the single stone that held the glyph; that one has shattered, the key presumably concealed inside before it dropped into Stacey’s hand. When I hold the flame to the gap, the darkness is too complete—none of the secrets within are revealed.

  Which leaves us with no other option than to do as I suggested and follow the ghosts.

  A flicker of white in the distance tells me they aren’t far. I really had meant it when I called them visions—they never acted like this at the institution. Back then, they were more like memories, echoes of the past that sometimes overwhelmed my daydreams. These are very clearly in the present, and I itch to summon my blades in preparation for the threat they might deliver.

  But Stacey can’t know my blades exist. When I first saw her, shimmering into existence from behind the summoning spell, she was frozen stiff at the sight of her first demon.

  By whatever small mercy, it wasn’t me.

  Aeden never learned to hold human features like the rest of us, and his claws and flaming heart revealed themselves before he could contain them. Stacey’s horror had radiated from the walls, and I quickly hid my birth face so our bond wouldn’t shatter before it even formed.

  I know how Stacey views my kind, and if I’m to cultivate her joy, I can’t have her shuddering at me like that. Ever. I have to give her what she wants.

  Of course, I no longer have any idea what she wants. Perhaps I should give up trying. Particularly with the way she looked at Alaztair and Violet.

  You’d have to be a complete idiot not to know what they’ve been getting up to.

  I swallow thickly, surreptitiously adjusting myself in my jeans. Clock’s ticking. I need to get us both out of here before the longing on her face fools me into thinking she’s actually interested.

  Shit, maybe she wants Alaztair. That’s an uncomfortable thought. I’m pretty sure his dick is pierced, and if that’s the kind of demon Stacey’s into… well… sorry, ladies, I’m out. A line has to be drawn somewhere.

  We reach the end the corridor, but the tiny room we appeared in is no longer there. In its place is a wrought-iron gate blocking off one half of the space from the other.

  And the space is… wrong… I don’t need to see the wrinkle of Stacey’s nose to know the magic is so much older in here than even before. Not centuries—millennia.

  On the other side of the gate I recognize the shadowy silhouette of Dremen Academy: home. The relief is too strong to question anything else.

  The ghosts line the gate like sentries. They aren’t the ones I witnessed years ago, worn stragglers of students past, beaten and bloodied by an academy that doesn’t care if they live or die. These are soldiers, and looking at them makes long-forgotten bloodlust sing in my veins.

  “What the fuck?” Stacey breathes.

  “I think this might be the boss fight, love.” I ache to unfurl my wings, show my true face to these bastards. But I don’t want to scare her—fear is counterproductive to what we both need.

  I’m just not sure what else to do.

  Those few moments at her bedroom door resurface in my memory, heat burning beneath my skin, making me wonder if I could do exactly what I crave without repercussions. But it was a fluke, nothing more. Her face when I kissed her said it all.

  “Well they didn’t attack us before,” Stacey mutters. “So bring it.” She marches up to the gate.

  As one, the front line of ghosts descends upon her, and the key in her hand disappears in a waft of smoke.

  It was a fucking trap.

  I don’t have time to think, to plan; my human mask disintegrates and my demonic power rears its ugly head. Black wings emerge from either side, iridescent scales reflecting the light from a dozen ghosts, and I launch into the fray.

  My blade can’t kill a ghost without a spell coating, but it certainly makes them scatter.

  Stacey casts her magic like a sonic boom, exploding everything outwards in a ball of yellow light that I think might be a shield. It distracts the ghosts enough to give me an opening, and I slice downward, cleaving one ghost in two halves with curling smoke around the center. I follow with three more and brace myself for the attack.

  The halves pause, shudder, and reconnect, but instead of attacking, the repaired spectres return to their post. An unspoken order seems to have been given, because the rest follow, settling as if they never moved.

  But their squadron shifts position and reforms, lining the space directly before the gate, and I doubt they’ll be as accepting when we try to break through again. I disappear my blades, hiding my secret once more, and rest a hand on Stacey’s shoulder.

  “We should wait,” I murmur realizing too late that while my blades are hidden, my human mask has yet to return.

  Stacey turns to me, already tense from the dozens of ghosts that swarmed her, and freezes.

  Her face does something complicated, and the words this is it run through my mind. This is the moment our bond shatters, because how can she ever feel joy around me when she knows what I truly am?

  But it doesn’t shatter. It ignites.

  I gape at her, reeling from the burst of power that surges between us, but there’s no time to assess it because we aren’t the only ones who notice. The swarm of spectres closest to my witch hurtle backwards, abruptly ejected by the force of her power. A hint of lightning in the air reminds me of the moments before the portal appeared, except this time it isn’t draining Stacey—it’s sustaining her. Electricity dances around her head like a halo, and her eyes glow white.

  Tipping her heard back, she stares unseeing into the darkness above us, blinded by her magic and whatever strange power she’s unleashing.

  The sight distracts me for precious seconds, and I almost realize too late the threat that descends upon me. A gnarled face, twisted in fury and white with death incites my reflexes, and I summon my blades once more and swipe them across its throat, severing its head from its body in a waft of smoke.

  The rest of the ghosts’ faces contort as one, the blank passivity morphing into rage now that a genuine threat has appeared. But for all that our power has grown, we are no more a danger to these forgotten memories than we are to the shadows on the wall. I slice my blade down again and again, but it only buys me seconds.

  Instead, the minutes claw their way towards the unstoppable end. Ghost after ghost launches at me, sensing me for what I am—the master link in this chain of power.

  There are too many of them. I may have kept my warrior roots hidden, but there’s no warrior alive who doesn’t recognize death when it stares them in the face.

  Part of me wants to use my final moments to convey some message, some parting revelation... But what’s the point in that? The revelation is a mystery, even to me.

  Turning my back on my witch, who can’t see me anyway, I steel myself for the end and charge at the enemy.

  The crowd parts, a hushed silence among even those who no longer speak. The soldier t
hat greets me is no cannon fodder. I may not recognize the insignia on his armor or what it signifies, but I know that much. My blade catches his arm, swiping through as uselessly as all the others.

  He grins, his teeth pearlescent amongst all the gray, and when I swing my sword his own meets mine like steel, not fog.

  This is how the end comes: on my knees before the ghost of a demon king.

  My blade blocks his attacks, but it won’t be forever. He’s barely even trying, his eyes cutting curiously over my shoulder.

  “You weren’t meant to be here,” the king rasps, his voice rough but piercing. “But no matter. Whether she’s here or there, I will find her and take what is mine.”

  But through the haze, the scene shifts. A blast of sound behind me shatters my focus, and in the aftershocks the ghosts scatter enough for me to see what I might otherwise have missed.

  Stacey hums, radiating power. Something burns within my blood, hotter than hell, hotter than any of the sorry excuses for strengthening rituals I called upon at the institution.

  There’s a familiarity about it, too. A sense of having been here before fills my mind, permeating my senses. It’s cyclical, inevitable, and I don’t even realize what I’m doing until my feet have carried me across the distance separating us and brought me to Stacey’s side. Her power clears the way between us, the untouchable squadron suddenly huddled over in pain I can’t comprehend.

  The inevitability fades, leaving in its place a sense of wholeness.

  Flame tickles Stacey’s palm, and when she raises her hands above her head, eyes glinting in the fire, I almost expect the heat to burn the dead.

  It takes me a second to realize what it truly does. The scent of crisped meat alerts me before my brain catches on: ghosts don’t burn. Stacey has turned the ethereal into flesh.

  The ghosts are no longer impervious to my blades.

  I’ve never seen anything like this. It should be impossible—a witch with the power to resurrect the dead?

  But there’s no time to dissect it now, and so I lift my blades and turn to the closest soldier as he stumbles on legs heavy with life.