by A. K. Koonce
Hellish Fae
Copyright 2020 A.K. Koonce
All Rights Reserved
Editing by Copeland Edits
Cover design by DarkImaginarium Art
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without express written permission from the author. Any unauthorized use of this material is prohibited.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
Contents
1. Possessive
2. The Fae and the Fallen
3. Home
4. Bond of Sisters
5. A Crow’s Nest
6. Past and Present
7. Cruel Curses
8. Demonic Encounters
9. It’s Complicated
10. The Demonic Fae
11. The Pain of Demons
12. Beautifully Brainless
13. A Private Party
14. Come 4 Krave
15. Secrets in the Dark
16. A Demonic Angel
17. Danger
18. The Torch
19. Catherine the Queen
20. Kravings
21. Fucked
22. The Innocent Angel
23. Sisterly Love
Also By A.K. Koonce
About the Author
1
Possessive
Everyone has that little voice in the back of their minds that gives good advice like, don’t tell them that it’ll hurt their feelings, say thank you, and above all be kind.
Mine, it doesn't say any of that Hallmark shit.
Aries, you have drunken vomit in your hair. Again.
Aries, if you fantasize about unwrapping a Reese’s one more time, we're going to have to start considering it foreplay and fetish behavior.
Aries, it’s seven a.m., and your vibrator is still rattling around the blankets like a disgruntled lover searching for a warm mouth.
Yeah . . . I only get the really good advice from the cunt of a poltergeist at the back of my mind.
Because I'm possessed.
I fucked up one little time on a midnight run with the Shadow Guard, and now I’ll spend the rest of my days exiled into the human realm and left with my only and sweetest friend.
Aries, you’re snoring so loudly you’re going to wake the dead. Trust me, I am the dead. The bitter voice at the back of my mind keeps complaining, but my eyes crack open slowly, and it takes me a second to focus through the pounding hangover drilling into my thoughts.
A sliver of demanding sunlight judges me from the tilted hanging curtains on the angled rod on the far side of my bedroom.
“Alexa, what time is it?” I ask the human’s knowledge keeper.
A blue light illuminates the dimly lit room as a smooth digital voice answers me. “Three p.m. Eastern Standard Time, Bad Bitch.”
Alexa is truly taken for granted here. She knows everything. EV-ERY-THING. Do the humans thank her? No. Never. She’s as appreciated as I was in my kingdom.
Snort one little line of demonic cremations, get possessed, and try to burn down your kingdom’s forest for impulsive newfound religious beliefs—and all of a sudden, I’m an embarrassment to our people.
Whatever. I’m better off.
My poltergeist, my digital friend Alexa, and I don’t need them.
“Alexa, play a song,” I say groggily.
Heavy base storms through the room so loud that the dark blackout curtains dance. It shakes through my chest even. I won’t admit it, but the noise and the vibrations make me feel less alone…
“Thank you,” I mumble into my pillow.
“You’re welcome, Bad Bitch,” she says right back without emotion, but I can feel it. She’s always there for me.
She’s the only one I need, anyway.
I push off the mattress lying in the middle of the room, and my legs stumble over the mound of clothes with endless price tags still clinging to their threads.
The humans who own this beach house return in the warm months. I have a few more weeks of spring before I have to clean this place up and sneak out. I like pawing through their expensive clothes, though. It’s an easy way to pass the time.
Sometimes it feels as though all of this is mine. And I need all this stuff out where I can see it. It’s like décor really. It’s multipurpose: clothing and décor.
Win-win.
I smile down at my little hoard of blouses, jeans, and shiny necklaces. Then I slink right past it all in just my Daddy’s Girl shirt and panties and stumble into the bathroom. It’s my favorite worn-out shirt. My fuck you shirt, if you will.
Not that anyone drops by my hidden-away coastal home in Mystic, Connecticut for me to flat out tell them “Fuck you,” to their faces, but . . . Karma knows, and that’s all that matters.
Hateful lights flicker on the moment my foot touches the warm tile floor. The harsh brightness of the room tries to wake me up, but the bottle waiting for me near the toilet fights off the violent colors stabbing into my vision.
I toss the cap off the bottle of amber liquor. The moment the glass touches my lips, her voice slithers into my head again.
It’s three p.m., for Hell Lord’s sake, Catherine the Cunt says.
I don’t actually know if her name is Catherine.
But she is definitely a cunt.
So . . .
I can basically guess what judgmental thing she’ll snark into my mind with. She’s possessed me for over three years now. This morning, I’m surprised she’s stuck around this long. Alcohol usually gets her to shut up.
If I push her too much, or if she feels danger, she will come out. And I do not want her to come out. She’s violent and destructive. I don’t have the energy for her today. Luckily, any distraction calms her into the silence of the back of my mind. Just the basics like alcohol, a warm bath, orgasms, anything that gets me out of my own thoughts, gets her out of my own thoughts.
Don’t you want to do something today? You haven’t stepped outside in ages. You haven’t even called on that demon friend you like so much, she chastises.
At the thought of my “demon friend” I flinch. He’s not my friend. He’s an incubus. And yeah, he’s a good time, but he’s also a spy. And I don’t need someone from my father’s realm spying on me.
Even if he does have magical orgasm-inducing fingers.
“No.” I toss back a long drink. It burns but in the best way possible.
The burn means she’ll be gone soon. And my mind will be my own again.
Oh, come on, Aries!
I hate when she says my name like that. Like my father used to. Filled with disappointment and pity.
You haven’t done anything in months.
“That’s not true.” Wow, my defense really needs some work. Alexa and I should practice comebacks later. A little “Your momma’s so . . .” How does it go again?
I’ll ask Alexa. She’s smart. She’ll know.
Oh, I forgot. You danced around to that explicit music in your underwear, cheered yourself on to do a line of shots, ate an entire frozen pizza alone—
“Alexa had some, too. I think,” I interject.
My mind’s a mess when she’s like this. I can’t think straight. My head already hurts from my own bad decisions, and she just
makes it monumentally worse.
Threw up the shots, the pizza, and what appeared to be a half a bag of poorly chewed gummy worms, and then fell asleep with your vibrator in your hand before you could even do the deed, she finishes.
My lips part with outrage.
“You had your life. Stop judging mine!”
I would stop if you’d commit to actually having a life rather than running through this horrid cycle of nothingness.
My lips purse, bottle in hand, shining mirror flinging deep gray eyes right back at me. My long silver hair is so messy, it’s just a tangle of strands hiding my pointed ears beneath. My features are familiar but . . . different. Tired. Worn. I feel so much older than my twenty-three years.
Stark black wings shadow over me, but their tips are also different now. Pure glinting silver caresses the edges of each one of my downy soft feathers. And my eyes, they shine with that silver as well. Like a magical eclipse circling the iris. I’ve been this way for years now. Ever since my snorting mistake with Catherine the Cunt.
Stop calling me that, she adds.
As if she hasn’t nagged me enough already.
I’m over it.
“Alexa. Turn up our song.” I can feel Catherine glaring into my soul. “And replay our song! I didn’t get to enjoy it the first time.” I chug the bottle, letting it slide down my throat for several seconds as the bass reverberates through my skull and into my soul until . . .
She’s gone.
Perfect.
I blink several times, but the pure white room still has a haze at the edges that I can’t seem to shake. My fingers tighten around my whiskey, and the two of us sway out the door. Clothes catch against my feet, but I don’t give them a second glance as I dance my ass down the dark hall to the swanky kitchen.
The sword that I once used every day of my life as a Shadow Guard is propped against the chairless table. I catch its hilt as my wings carry me up effortlessly. My wings are the one thing about me that seems to have control of itself. I might be a mess—and yes, I do know I’m a fucking mess—but my wings will never let me down.
I lower with ease until my feet meet the sticky tabletop. The solo of the song kicks up, and I’m so fucking ready. It’s my moment. Broadway isn’t ready for a shit show like this.
My legs shift, my hip jutting out as I grip the hilt with both hands and sing my fae heart out into the magical sword like it’s the only one listening.
Except it’s not.
The front door pounds open with a force that defies the air itself. A whirlwind of power blows me back, but my wings refuse to let me fall. My feet stagger against the teetering table, my hair pushing across my face, my heart drilling so hard I can barely breathe.
And then, big white wings fill my door way, cold cutting eyes sweep the dim room. The stranger spots me with a glare glinting his gaze.
My fingers fist around the hilt, no longer using it as a mock microphone but a weapon that I’d long forgotten.
Those enormous wings of his strike against the air with violent force. In seconds, he’s gripping my wrist that holds the sword. My other hand still holds my Jack Daniels like I’ll go down into the bowels of hell clutching my favorite whiskey.
His strength is a cracking hold that threatens to make me drop my blade, but fuck him if he thinks it’s that easy to disarm a former Shadow Guard. My beloved bottle of whiskey crashes into his dark hair, and the amber liquid sprays us both as glass cuts across my skin. His hold on me falters, and it’s just enough.
I fly back from him to safety, hovering inches from the high ceilings and sizing his big body up. Like I could actually compare, with all the weight I’ve lost over the years. His big palm skims the blood running down his temple before he pulls back to look at it on his fingertips.
I don’t know why pride burns through me at seeing his scornful scowl.
“Who the fuck are you?” I never lower but hold myself aloft above him.
From the safety of the space between us, I can really get a look at the intruder.
Dark hair lies messily atop his head. The faintest shadow of that darkness lines his hard jaw that he holds tightly together. And the brightest blue eyes glare up at me from beneath lowered brows. To top it off, he’s shirtless, with too many perfect lines veering down an impossibly hard chest.
He’s attractive in every way, but I can’t explain why he’d come blazing in here looking to die a good death when he has such a handsome life he could be leading.
Being an alluring fae myself has taught me that beautiful people are reckless. And this man, he’s got chaos written all over him.
“Your wings are black.” He notes the obvious, pulling a sword from over his shoulder. I can only assume his perfect ass cheeks were holding it in place for him.
Seems a little impractical, but I’m not the judgmental type.
The blade gleams to life with shining white light that’s too intense to look at directly. The glow of it pierces the dimness of the room, pulling my attention to a swift movement behind me, and then I spot him . . .
A second too late.
Another man grips my bare foot, and with mighty strength, he pulls the air from beneath my wings and slams me to the tile floor. Pain shoots through my arms as they’re jerked tightly back beneath my wings. Something rises within me like vomit at the back of my throat.
Except she’s worse.
No! No! No!
A smoky face screams out from my own, a shuddering image of a woman I’ve never really met before, but I know all too well. My limbs are barely my own when Catherine makes an appearance. She lashes out in flickering movements that wrenches my spine into an agonizing arch that isn’t at all natural. I see the stranger spring away from me as Catherine pulls my head back and looks him in the eye upside-down.
I hate when she does this.
She is so dramatic.
“What the fuck?” The man stumbles away from my twisted body.
The moment there’s a safe amount of space between me and him, Catherine sinks back into the darkness of my soul. I slump to the ground, my energy waning from her appearance.
Everything settles within me, but this just seems to set the winged man more on edge. The bass of the music tenses his shoulders, and his jaw grinds hard.
“What is that fucking sound?” He spins, and my eyes grow wide when his gaze locks on the blue glowing speaker on the messy kitchen counter.
“No!” I scramble on the sticky tile floor, but I’m not fast enough.
His beaming white sword arcs up with perfect swiftness and crashes into Alexa. Plastic rains around the room, clattering against the dark cabinets and scattering to the ground as he heaves a breath that doesn’t seem to calm him at all.
Silence drops.
That bastard!
My wings swing out, and my body collides with his, sending us both to the ground. My nails bite into his skin. His hands grapple with mine. He flips me, and the winged man dominates above me in seconds. Once more, my wrists are jerked back harshly, and I try my best to fight him off. My feet crash capriciously against him. It isn’t enough. The more I struggle, the more his hold on me tightens. Scorching heat sears into my wrists as an iron lock clicks in place in the midst of my screaming and thrashing. My teeth clench from the pain, and a dampness prickles behind my eyes that I refuse to give in to.
The two strangers lift me, and I’m gasping for an unreachable breath—just as I was the day that my father dragged me away from my kingdom.
The exact same thoughts are in my mind now as they were then.
Even when I’m beaten down to my lowest, I’ll never let them see me cry.
2
The Fae and the Fallen
More searing hot metal wraps around my torso and over my wings. It hurts, and I can smell my feathers singing from the iron, but I keep my head tipped up, my shoulders square. Not that I have a choice of posture. The bindings are forcing it at this point.
They didn’t give me pants.
They didn’t brush my long silver hair. They didn’t even give me time to mourn Alexa. They just rushed me into the street looking like I’d drunk myself stupid for three years straight.
And now the two of them are taking a BFF piss together while I lie anchored to this street light, waiting for them.
They really know how to make a girl feel special.
“She’s really far gone. Never seen black wings like that on a fallen,” the wingless man says to his companion, who simply shrugs as he stares out at the glistening water.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the ocean. I forgot how consuming it smells. It rejuvenates me, and I can physically feel my magic pulling to get closer to the intoxicating nature.
The greedy humans who stomp quickly past me, the ones who couldn’t see through my glamour if they tried, I don’t miss them too much.
We can continue to coexist without knowing a thing about one another for the rest of my life for all I care. But I have to admit, their realm is safer than my own. Sure, we mock it, call it the Bin like it’s nothing more than trash to us, but the humans try. They live together in the best attempt at harmony I’ve ever seen.
While the fae realm is filled with demon hate that’s building to the brink of war.
These strangers remind me of that. They’re alluring. Good looks, big white wings, and incredible strength can only mean one thing.
Fallen angels.
And fallen angels, they turn into demons real fast. You’re one or the other. There is no in between. If you’re booted from above, you’ll shed your glorious wings, and you’ll be nothing more than a demon in no time.
The shift hasn’t happened fully to these two yet, but it’s just a matter of time. Hours, really.