by Auryn Hadley
"They aren't all my lovers. Just Satan," I grumbled to myself, because he knew that. He just liked picking on me about it.
And the visage he was talking about was my self-portrait. Faces had always been hard for me to draw, except Death, but I'd mostly concentrated on his mouth. When I tried to make my own portrait, I'd ended up with two different sized eyes and a warped nose. From what Ronwe said, the lack of aether here meant I had to actually draw like most normal people on Earth, not just imagine what I wanted, because my super-special powers didn't have any oomph to make it better.
And this sucked.
When Nick had offered to strip my powers, I'd made the right choice by saying no. It seemed half my artistic talent really did come from aethersculpting, as Ronwe called it, and that was built from my emotions. I saw what I wanted something to feel like in my mind, and my powers made it happen from my hand. It was also why my art had a tendency to fall off the page, because it had never really been on it to start with.
"Ok," I reluctantly agreed. "I know you're right, but I really want to learn how to fly."
"Then maybe you need to stop always doing what you're told and start looking for answers that fit you better. Sia, why are you drawing your face if all you need are wings?"
"What?"
"And a tail." He winked. "Hard to steer without one of those, unless you plan to have feathers like Luke?"
I adamantly shook my head. "No feathers. That crap gets everywhere! I found fluff in my pajamas this morning."
"And what was Luke doing in your pajamas?"
"He wasn't! That's kinda my point."
"Mm." Ronwe leaned a little closer. "And what would Satan think if he was?"
I groaned. "Don't tell me you have the hots for him, too?"
"Satan?" Ronwe asked. "No. Lucifer, on the other hand..."
"Seriously?"
"Unlike you," he said, lowering his voice, "I happen to like feathers just fine."
Catching his eye, I flipped a few pages back in my sketchbook. "Ever seen Raphael in the nude?"
"No, how did you..." He sucked in a breath when I reached the picture from my Drawing class. "Angels always have the most beautiful bodies. I don't know why they have to be our enemy."
"Me, either. Might be because they all seem to be dicks." With a sigh, I moved back to the outline of my ideal demonic form that I kept trying to perfect. "So how do most demons make their skins anyway?"
He eased himself down onto the bench across from me. "They build it layer by layer, from the inside out. It takes many years to complete, and if they stop for too long, it will begin to degrade before they can slip it on."
"Like a shell?"
"Like a skin," he corrected. "The final part of crafting is to convince the body's molecules to trade places, using the skin as a framework to organize around."
I nodded, seeing how that would make sense. "So how do angels do it? Luke said they can't build things like demons, but they all seem to have skins?"
"Ah." He braced his left arm on the table and leaned against it. "They work from the outside in, starting just under the skin and forcing the molecules to change as they go. I can only assume it would be a very painful process, but no one has ever wanted to talk to me about it."
"Right," I mumbled. "So where does it go when we change worlds?"
He chuckled. "The same place the rest of you goes. Every atom is exchanged. That means you have a whole new body in every single world. A skin is just directions for the molecules to follow."
"So, on Earth, Demons really don't have wings?" I asked.
He nodded, smiling like I was a very good child. "Exactly! They've been amputated from the body's blueprint. You can imagine the bravery it took for the first demon to do that." He shook his head in wonder. "He risked being flightless forever, but it worked."
"Uh…"
Ronwe waved that away. "For your human mind, just imagine that you're making a body on each world and transferring your consciousness into it. Probably easier that way."
"But is it true?"
"True enough." He sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "The manipulation of aether alters the patterns of life. To you, it's magic. To us, it's science, but either way, there are still rules that we will teach you. You just have be patient enough to learn each step, and not try to rush right to the end."
"Ok," I mumbled. "So you're saying I need to learn more before I can get a set of wings, huh?"
He shrugged, using all four of his upper limbs to do it. "I'm saying that you're more than an aether vortex, Sienna. That trick may have worked once, but if you want to be a force of change, then you need to create, not just imitate. Be an artist. Your power is tied to your feelings. Photorealism isn't the only style. Try stipple, impressionistic, or even postmodernism. A style based on emotion. Create what you feel, and trust that it will work. That is how your talent works. Once you wrap your mind around that, you might be able to finally fly."
I chewed on my lower lip around a growing smile. He was right. That bird on my notes that Nick had stopped me from finishing? I hadn't drawn the lines. I'd just felt like I was soaring because of his attention. The infamous pencil? I'd been trying to convince myself to be studious, not distracted by guys.
Now, when it came to the body I'd probably be wearing in this world for thousands of years, I knew exactly what I wanted. Beauty. I wanted to make sure that my legion had eyes for only me. I also wanted to be strong enough to handle everything that would come at us. Most of all, I wanted to just be me.
"Ronwe?" I asked. "Do you have a mirror?"
"Mm." Pushing himself up, he gestured for me to follow. "In here."
Here was his bedroom, and it was a complete mess. Along the far wall, however, was the one thing I needed. The mirror was bigger than what I was used to. This one was a large square, at least six feet on both sides, with plenty of room for a demon to check out not just his body, but also his wings.
"Here goes nothing," I said softly.
"Wait," Ronwe gasped, holding up a hand. "You will need to disrobe first. Your clothing is not made for a tail, let alone the wings."
I looked at him in the reflection, lifting an eyebrow. "Uh huh. And if this works, what the hell am I supposed to wear? Not like you all bother with shirts!"
He stepped back, easing his way out of the room. "I know where to get a fae shirt. Please do not break yourself while I am gone, Muse? Satan would never forgive me."
I chuckled as he closed the door, then listened to him limp across his main room and out into the hall. Only then did I strip off my workout clothes and look in the mirror again. I could do this.
I also needed slightly bigger boobs, and I wished my nose was a little – No. I wouldn't do that. Wings and a tail. I wanted to be me, and I wanted to fly. Staring at my own image long enough to burn it into my mind, I closed my eyes repeating that over and over. Just wings and a tail. I wanted to be me, but able to fly. My guys didn't care about my pale skin and orange hair, they just…
Fire seared my back, and my ass hurt. A lot! Biting back a scream, I crumpled to my knees, but I wouldn't stop. I wanted to fly! Nothing would take that from me. Not a little – or a lot – of pain, and certainly not a lack of willpower. Trying to ignore the feeling of my body being pulled out from my spine and tailbone, I concentrated on the fantastical image of myself as a demon.
When the pain stopped, I was lying on the floor of Ronwe's room. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a copper tipped tail, complete with the metallic shimmer like Luke's skin had. I smiled and flopped back, then sat right back up when I landed on an extra set of something.
Trying to look sent a wing out to my side, clearing the top of Ronwe's bed. The pale ivory skin and copper edging proved it belonged to me. Even worse, the shock made my tail lash. I paused for a moment, mostly in confusion, then realized the one very big problem in my grand idea: I had no clue how to operate this many limbs.
But I knew someone who woul
d.
Grabbing the comforter off the bed with one hand, I pulled it across my naked body while my other clasped the blue diamond hanging from my neck. Satanael, I thought. Gonna need a little help here, so I need you, Satanael.
Less than ten seconds later, the outer door to Ronwe's suite burst open and feet stormed in. Lots of them. Clearly, he'd brought some backup.
"Sia?" Nick yelled.
"In here. I'm fine, just need some help getting up."
He shoved open the door and rushed in, stopping at the end of the bed. Behind him, Luke, Sam, and Bel spread out to get a better look at the pathetic thing lying helpless on the floor. All I could do was cock my head in a fake shrug.
"Um, I got wings, and I have no clue how to get up without breaking everything."
"Damn," Sam breathed, moving a step closer. "Our Sia just made herself into a succubus."
I rolled my eyes. "Just a demon, guys."
"Nope," Bel chuckled. "Succubus. She even has the sexy wings."
Luke reached up and patted Nick's back. "So is she all you hoped for?"
"Yeah," Nick breathed, nodding his head as if dumbfounded. "Our Muse is perfect. Now we just have to teach her to fly."
I lifted a hand. "Can we start with walking? Maybe standing without breaking one of my new limbs?"
"We can start with anything you want," Nick promised. "So long as that includes some clothes."
Dear Reader,
Right now, you're flicking the pages, hoping for just a little more story, something to keep the words flowing. Sorry, the first book in the Demons' Muse series is over. I honestly hope you enjoyed it, and I included a teaser to my other Reverse Harem series, the Rise of the Iliri, after this note. If you've already read that, I've listed my entire published works for you to check out, as well.
I love writing long and complex novels that never take the turns you expect. This one was no different. They say that there are always two sides to a story, and I wanted to see what Hell's point of view might look like. It shouldn't need to be said, but the people, concepts, and mythos in this series in no way reflects on real world religion. It is a story, meant to entertain, nothing more.
If you made it this far, I'd love to ask for a favor. Please consider leaving a review for this book. Good or bad, it doesn't matter. They all add up to help readers know which stories they should avoid and what books are worth taking a risk on. We authors don't expect anything complex. Even something as simple as "it was great and I couldn't put it down," helps immensely.
If you'd like to leave a review for the Kiss of Death, click here.
Keep reading for the first four chapters of my currently available series, Rise of the Iliri.
BloodLust
Rise of the Iliri, Book 1
Chapter 1
Weaving through the large, dark-skinned bodies of the soldiers around her, Sal touched the paper in her pocket like a talisman. It gave her the chance to apply to the Black Blades. They were the best of the best, but the last people she thought would take her seriously. At least they'd given her a chance. Now, she just had to prove that an iliri could be as good as any human. Easier said than done.
Distracted by her thoughts, she didn't see the blue-clad shoulder until it slammed into her, pushing her against a man on her other side. Her head snapped up, craning to see the soldier's face, and a growl almost slipped out. The human's dark eyes glared into her white ones. The scent of his fear was pungent.
"Out of the way, scrubber!" he snapped.
Sal quickly dropped her head, hoping her blue military issue cap would hide her pallid skin, and tried to keep her lips over her sharp teeth. "Sorry, sir."
He grumbled something and kept going. Hiking her pack higher up her shoulder, she did the same, but in the other direction. Humans would never like her. They said iliri were inferior, too aggressive to be trusted. They said her kind were little more than animals yet used iliri for everything they didn't want to do. At least life in the military gave her options – like becoming an elite soldier.
If she could do this, the humans would be saluting her, not shoving her. It was the only way her kind got freedom. For years, she'd been planning for this chance. Now she just had to make sure they took her seriously. She had to be perfect. She needed to prove that being iliri didn't make her worthless.
Beside the main gate, men in black clustered against the wall. Unlike the blue and gold of the common military, their dark uniforms set them apart. That was her destination – not only where they stood, but what they were. The Black Blades were hard and determined, the kind of soldier no one pushed around. To be feared like that was as close to freedom as an iliri could get. Sal lifted her chin and touched the paper, terrified they'd turn her away.
One of them saw her. A lean, lithe man broke from the group, heading in her direction. A glance at his shoulder showed he was an officer, but before she could salute, his hand snapped out, demanding her orders. She passed him the admittance slip, shocked to see how the stark uniform made his skin look almost as pale as hers. The corner of his lip twitched back as his dark blue eyes hit her without blinking.
"Private Salryc Luxx?" His voice was a growl, accented in a way that pleased her ears.
"Yes, sir."
"Ya will be number nine, please place yer belongings there -" He gestured to a row of numbers drawn on the ground. "- an' be at ease. The Lieutenant will be here shortly ta give ya orders."
He smelled so different from most men. There was no fear. Instead, the scent was deep and herbal, natural instead of sweet. She resisted the urge to lean closer when he handed back her papers, but when he bent his fingers to avoid contact, a flare of resentment hit. When she looked back up, his eyes were still waiting.
"Pure iliri?" he asked, his gaze too intense.
She stared back. "Yes, sir."
They stood like that for a moment before he looked down to her collarbones. "Females are rare," he said softly.
"Yes, sir. So I've been told."
With a nod, he dismissed her, but his mouth twisted almost up. Had she done something amusing? Unwilling to become the brunt of his joke, Sal turned for her marked spot and dropped her pack in the allocated square. That bag contained all of her worldly possessions. It wasn't much – but was more than she'd had as a slave. Step by step, she could do this. Slave to soldier, soldier to elite. She'd get there. Maybe the Corporal's almost-smile meant she had a chance? She turned to see the Black Blades better, hoping for some hint.
The lithe man had returned to the group and leaned beside a tall, nearly black-skinned human. Their mouths were still but both men looked right at her. Instinctually, her chin jerked up, making the human's mouth break into a grin. Under her cap, Sal's ears flicked back, but with them hidden from view, she made no effort to stop it. Then the larger man lowered his eyes. The blue ones still watched.
Sal turned her gaze onto the smaller man, shocked when his eyes dropped to the ground immediately. Did they realize what they'd done? Of course not. Humans didn't understand. They stared in her eyes or avoided looking at her as it pleased them. While she mentally chided herself for being foolish, another Black Blade joined them, but this one halted her mental diatribe.
His hair was gold and long. He was taller than the soldier who took her papers, but not by much. The black man towered over both of them, but this new man's coloration marked him as a crossbred. No one had hair that shade without iliran ancestry. It wasn't blonde; the color was too yellow. When he leaned beside the lithe Corporal, Sal knew she was right. The new guy's eyes were amber, and they never met hers.
It was hard not to smile, but she wasn't about to show her teeth. She didn't need to be accused of snarling at a superior officer. At least now she had hope. If they'd take such an obvious crossbred, then maybe she actually had a chance?
Wrenching her eyes away, the smile finally won. That one thought was enough to distract her from the scent of humans clustering around her. Each minute, more came, filling in the
grid of numbers until there were no empty spaces left. It didn't take long. Their arrival time had been clearly noted and none of them wanted to be late for this chance.
A bag hit the ground beside her, making her ears flick, but she refused to look. By the scent of his emotions, the recruit had noticed her. Fear and disgust were always distinct. Sal kept her eyes locked on the hard-packed dirt. She wasn't here to make friends, not with her competition at any rate. She just had to make a good impression.
"Hey Odi," the soldier hissed loudly.
"What?" This came from a guy in the row before her.
"You see this shit?" The man in spot 10 chuckled. "Guess they're hard up for recruits this time."
Around her, the gravel crunched as men turned to stare. Sal didn't move. Humans had gawked at her for as long as she could remember. Keeping her face calm, she reminded herself that she was a soldier whether they liked it or not. All soldiers – both conscripts and volunteers – had the right to apply for special operations with the elite units after two years of service. Sal had served three. There was no reason for the Black Blades to excuse her, and the opinions of these men didn't matter.
"You scared she'll beat you out of the running, Bardus?" Odi asked.
"Fuck that." The man beside her stepped closer. "Hey, bitch? You bite me, and I'll send your ass to the kennels, got it?"
Sal blinked slowly, but that was the only reaction he got.
"Too fuckin' stupid to even speak Glish," Bardus grumbled, making a few men around them chuckle.
Before things could escalate, the Black Blades suddenly called out, "Atten-tion!" making the two syllables into distinct words.
Sal snapped into position with the other candidates, glad for the distraction as the Lieutenant cantered through the gate toward them. Dramatically, he spun his horse to a halt. It pawed, and he patted its neck then dismounted. One of the Blades – the dark skinned man – stood ready to hold the animal for his commanding officer.