The Purebloods (Daemons of London - Book 3) Page 10

  “No. If I remove the chair leg, Lillian will reanimate.” Damian shrugged.

  I looked down and shuddered. “You can’t!” I pleaded.

  Henry shot Damian a look. The curling orange whorls on the air, crackling embers of slow-burning hatred, connected them. Without a word, I felt the fabric of Reality fold together, and we blinked out of existence.

  Henry was a Pureblood again.

  Henry laced us to my Camden flat. Onto the grimy olive tiles of the bathroom, to be precise. He placed me gently onto the closed toilet and turned on the shower. It wasn’t until the bathroom was thick with steam and we could barely see each other, that Henry began to remove the strappy, BDSM monstrosity that Lillian had dressed him in. He climbed into the bath and allowed the shower to cover him. Steam rose from his skin. Water dripped from his face, but he closed his eyes, resigned. Henry curled over. He collapsed on himself and took the wash brush from the side and silently, and methodically began to scrub his skin so hard that it became red and angry.

  I wanted to ask so many questions, but they all died in my throat.

  Lillian Blaire had been inside me once. Had tainted me. Once.

  Henry had been dealing with her psychosis since 1934.

  I opened my mouth to speak, to tell Henry that I had seen his past, but I couldn’t find the words.

  I didn’t know how to make it better.

  I couldn’t offer platitudes. I couldn’t apologise for her actions because they weren’t entirely my fault. A small part of my brain still held onto the blame for what Lillian had done to him. I had pushed Henry away, and he had gone back to her.

  I slapped both of my cheeks, to remind myself that he had not gone back of his own free will.

  No one should blame the victim of abuse.

  But I still blamed myself. Even if I was determined not to be a victim.

  Henry blinked and looked up at me through water decorated eyelashes. His expression was stoic, and I could almost hear the unspoken words scratching at the back of my mind.

  I needed him. And he needed me to be okay. For us to be okay.

  I did the only thing I could think of; I began to peel my clothes off, and I joined him in the shower. We stood on opposite ends of the bath. Both of us were afraid to make the first move. Both fragile. Wounds fresh and not yet scabbed over and healing.

  I felt fingertips skim over my shoulders, but Henry had not moved. It took me a second to realise that it was his magic. I had never felt anything like it. It was midnight Jasmine and sandalwood. Pure, earnest and hidden promise. It was all Henry.

  If it were possible, tears would have beaded in my eyes. I tilted my head to the side as Henry’s magic cupped my face. I leant into it. I allowed him to comfort me. My skin prickled with his phantom fingertips. They were soft like butterfly’s wings.

  Was he scared to touch me? Or did he think that I feared his touch?

  I kept my eyes closed and imagined my own fingers reaching out and grasping Henry. Pulling him into my body and feeling every inch of him. Surveying every crease of his muscles and travelling down his stomach.

  I wanted to comfort him. He was a part of me that had been missing. Even when he had returned to me before, I had sensed that he was holding himself back. Not anymore.

  I jolted in surprise as I felt his body envelope mine in an embrace. The hot water pelted his back, but his muscular shoulders protected me from it. I felt his hard length against my stomach. He had moved past the tentative touches of magic, and he needed to be close to me. To transverse what separated our souls into two different bodies.

  I blinked. “I don’t have a soul anymore, Henry,” I whispered. “Are we still soul mates?”

  Henry buried his head in my hair. “You have my mark. You may not have a soul, but you can share mine.”

  I wondered if that was why I was still able to feel. Even though my judgement and morals were skewed.

  “I ached for you. You were so close to me. I screamed and tried to rip apart my internal prison, but I was not strong enough to make it back to you.” Henry whispered, broken. His fingers splayed against my naked back and held me to him tightly.

  “I am strong enough for the both of us now.” I smiled weakly.

  Each wrapped in a towel, Henry and me padded out of the bathroom. My desire for him, coupled with my desperate urge to feed. To feel his skin and to devour his emotions. I couldn’t compartmentalise my feelings, they had become a melting pot of arousal.

  A part of me held myself back. I could have pushed for intimacy, but when it came down to it something had broken inside of me. My ability to give my body freely to someone that I trusted had been stripped away.

  I glanced at Henry from the corner of my eye, at his broad back and mahogany hair. I wanted to bury my hands in it and never let go.

  I didn’t feel like I deserved him.

  I didn’t feel like I could voice any of my concerns. When it came down to it, Henry Blaire had been through worse than I ever experienced. From what he had said in the bathroom, I gathered that even though he was locked inside of his body—he had felt and experienced everything.

  “Go into the living room, I’ll get you a glass of water.” Henry urged. I allowed my lips to curl into an easy smile. Maybe it will be okay. I allowed myself to think.

  Then I saw Trix, face down on the living room floor. Lying in a pool of her own blood.

  14.

  When I rolled Trix over and prepared myself to perform CPR, she coughed and spluttered. Showering me in a fine spray of Witchling blood.

  It smelt the same as her magic. Tinged with the perfume burnt plastic. It was unappetising.

  Her hazel eyes flickered and rolled. They darted erratically, looking at everything and nothing.

  I plunged my hand into the pocket of her ripped black jeans and searched for her phone. I struggled to get the little black square out of her pocket because her trousers were too tight. When my trembling fingers brought her phone to my face to dial, her tiny hand gripped my wrist and squeezed.

  “I need to phone an ambulance,” I said, not knowing if she could hear me.

  “No…” She gagged on the blood at the back of her throat. “William…Kain…” Her eyes rolled back into her skull, and her head thumped against the carpet as she lost consciousness.

  Henry stood in the doorway, his glass of water landed bottom first onto the paisley carpet. It did not shatter, but bounced against the soft floor and rolled under the sofa. Leaving a puddle in its wake.

  Henry rushed to her side and began to put Trix in the recovery position. Her words echoed through my mind.

  “She told me not to phone an ambulance.” I whimpered. “What do I do?”

  “Trix asked for William, didn’t she?”

  I nodded, my voice gone.

  “Then she needs daemon blood,” Henry said, he took the phone from my shaking hands and dialled a number from memory. His fingers left crimson smears on the touchscreen.

  “Can I give her some blood?”

  Henry shook his head. “Remember what Pure Blood did to you the first time? She won’t survive. Or she’ll go mad. Neither are viable options.”

  The dial tone clicked and what would have been a barely audible had become loud and obtrusive with daemon hearing.

  “We can’t take her on the Tube like this!” My voice pitched into hysteria.

  Henry hefted Trix over his shoulder like a rag doll. His energy signature dispersed like grey smoke and he disappeared into thin air.

  I had no choice but to follow him.

  “Answer your bloody phone when someone calls you!” Henry roared in William Kain's face.

  I walked in just in time to hear Henry’s desperate shout. I blinked, realising that both of us were still naked apart from the blood-stained towels that were wrapped around our bodies. William took Trix and cradled her to his chest.

  “Why is she like this?” William whispered, pushing a lock of her peach coloured hair behind her ear in a g
esture that was far too tender for the boisterous man. William was careful to balance Trix in such a way that his skin never came directly in contact with hers.

  “She needs daemon blood,” I whispered. William nodded and took her to the bedroom, tilting her unconscious and pale face towards his own with a delicate finger.

  As the Elite daemon walked into the bedroom, I went to follow. Henry gripped my wrist and held me back, shaking his head sadly.

  I folded into his embrace. It was all my fault. I had burnt her out. My only friend and I had taken everything from her. Forced her to use her powers so much that her health was in danger.

  Trix was powerful, but the more powerful the witch—the more of a physical burden the magic was. When we were Bleeders, she had only used magic when she was tattooing. It was a way around the Witchling flaw.

  I buried my head against Henry’s naked chest. It did little to comfort me.

  All I ever did was take take take.

  I was a daemon after all.

  15.

  We stood on the platform of London Bridge Underground station; in front of a rather appetising ten-foot-tall advert for Russia’s Finest Vodka. A rolling ticker tape informed the waiting passengers to expect delays over the weekend because of the London Marathon.

  Henry was by my side, but we did not touch. We weren’t a hand-holdy couple. I kept stealing glances at him out of the corner of my eye. If I could have read his mind, then I probably would have tried. The best I could do was look at his face. All the energy from the crowded platform disappeared like ink in water as something inert in our bodies sucked it up.

  We watched a train come and go, both of us stood on the platform until it emptied. It was only then that Henry turned to me to speak.

  “I assume that you are aware of my curse.” He said stiffly; his gaze was far away.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Yeah,”

  “I didn’t ever want you to find out.”

  I clenched my fists until my fingernails dug into the palm of my hand. “Why?”

  Did he like being Lillian’s toy? Is that why he hid it from me?

  “I was ashamed.” His voice shook. “I did not want you to think of me as weak.” He had said those words before, but they didn’t make sense then.

  Another train whistled past us and pulled up to the platform. The doors opened in front and we got in without a word. I hung onto the metal pole, and Henry’s tall frame curved around mine. An unsaid message that I was taken.

  I hadn’t been around many humans since Asmodeus, but I couldn’t help but notice that people would shift in their seats. Their eyes would dart to the exit and the emergency stop. As if their instincts fought against running away or staying close.

  A man behind me reached forward, and I felt his hands trail against the curve of my bottom. I was in the least revealing outfit that I had probably ever worn.

  William Kain had lent us both clothes. My reserves of power were too shallow to consider Lacing back home.

  The evening was coming, and with it: my Demon Tenant.

  I sighed heavily and leant into Henry’s chest, as he gripped the roaming hand of the stranger behind me and a threatening growl vibrated inside of his chest. It was a two-line hop to Hyde Park Corner and to Damian’s estate on the edge of the expansive park in the centre of London.

  We got off the Piccadilly line and jumped onto the Jubilee line with no trouble. The crowd seemed to part for us, as if we were famous. I caught someone taking a covert video when Henry paused to check the platform signage.

  I was used to fading into the background and the new attention I was garnering made me uneasy. I shuffled from one foot to the other, uncomfortable with my body. The Queen of Hell had seeped into my skin. She had moulded me into an object of Lust.

  If anyone else tried to cop a feel, I would remove their hands.

  When we got to the Cross Estate, walking on the streets and parting the crowd with little effort, it became apparent that we had caused a disturbance.

  Both clothed in what looked like workout gear, sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt, I was hardly dressed to impress. If I was, maybe I could have lied to myself and said that the reactions I was causing in the street were because of my looks. But that would have been a lie. Something about Asmodeus called to humans. I just hadn’t been around enough of them to see the reaction I could cause in them before.

  I wondered if Trix and Sarah-Belle felt that way in my presence.

  It was beyond irritating. I watched a man push past the crowd, and it wasn’t until I spotted the long lens of the camera around his neck that I ducked under Henry’s arm and hid.

  I cleared my throat as Damian’s iron gate swung shut behind us.

  “I’m not going to be myself tonight. The Queen is going to take over my body, and I won’t be able to control what she does.”

  Henry took my hands and placed a kiss on top of my knuckles. “I know.”

  “She’s going to sleep with Damian. Or someone else. I don’t want it to be you, even if it’s my body.”

  Henry nodded in understanding. We walked into the mansion together. The luxurious hallway was empty of other daemons. Only the sound of a ticking clock punctuated the silence.

  I smiled wryly. “So many words.” I joked.

  I saw a shard of agony behind his calm exterior. “Do not think for a second that this is not one of the hardest moments of my existence. It is what it is. I cannot change it. All I can do is watch.”

  “I don’t want to be with him,” I whispered. “I only want to be with you.”

  “How much time do we have?” Henry took my face in his hands. His scent saturated my own and enveloped me in a haze of sandalwood and menthol.

  “Not enough,” I replied. I tangled my fingers into his thick and unruly tendrils and brought his lips to mine. As if a dam had broken, I inhaled his essence. Everything that was Henry Blaire roared through my ears like I was falling from a great height. It was intoxicating.

  Henry kissed me back just as fervently as if I would disappear at any moment. His fingers splayed under the fabric of my t-shirt; his grip was firm. His tongue pressed against my lips in earnest. We were drowning in each other. I had never guessed what it could have felt like to be a daemon. I hadn’t truly experienced anything like it. Intense. Perfection.

  I was inside Henry, and he was inside of me. Every inch of skin was a memory, emotion, a plea to each other. Invigorated by the power that pinged between us like electricity; we did not break our embrace as Henry walked me backwards and my spine hit smooth wood of my room’s door. Henry grabbed the door handle and clicked it shut. I crossed my arms over my stomach and pulled off my borrowed t-shirt. Henry did the same, and we collided again.

  He gripped my thighs and pulled them around his waist. Henry’s lips broke from mine only to trail kisses down my neck and the top of my bare breasts. He rolled one of my nipples in his adept fingers and then swallowed my hiss of pleasure with his own lips again.

  I was on fire.

  I had forgotten how good we could be together.

  I needed him like humans needed oxygen. There was nothing that could compare to the feeling of Henry Blaire between my legs. On my skin.

  He sheathed himself inside of me, and our eyes met again. Disbelief coated his Celestine irises as if he couldn’t believe that it was happening. That he was with me. Henry rocked his hips, and I felt him, every solid inch. My nails gripped his naked shoulders. Memorising every part of him.

  As we climbed closer and closer to the edge, I told myself that it was all worth it. Every dysfunctional minute was worth it, for Henry Blaire’s love.

  “Where is Lillian Blaire?” Asmodeus asked as her head rested on Damian’s chest.

  Both were in bed, even though they could not sleep. Damian traced patterns on her pale skin. Stars, suns and moons, and every other sight that he could remember from the sky above their original home in Hell. He even missed the winds, with their melancholy song. Coup
led with the howling screams of sinners in the chasm below.

  Damian smiled sadly. “Lillian is in custody. She will remain in that state until I decide what to do with her. It is more beneficial for her to be locked away for the moment.”

  Damian was lost; he tried to put the reality of the situation out of his mind. Even though the body in his arms did not belong to his beloved, the mind behind her eyes and the power in her veins did. He gave a long sigh without meaning to, and Amore rolled over to face him. The Vessel’s dusty violet eyes stared at him, inquisitively.

  “What is it, Damian?” She asked, although the Vessel’s voice was low—it did not have the same husky, sensual quality that Amore’s real tone had.

  Damian stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “Why didn’t you inform me about the conditions? Why didn’t you tell me that you would only be able to inhabit that body at night?” He put his head in his hands and leant against the headboard. Asmodeus pulled her naked form onto her haunches. Her nudity was proud and on display.

  “It is but a small penance for leaving me in Hell while you walked the surface.” Her lips were red and luscious. Pursed, as if to hold in laughter.

  “I only walk this reality because you asked me to,” Damian whispered.

  Amore let out a loud belly laugh and draped herself over his body, “I know.”

  Damian leant in and placed a delicate kiss on her lips. Amore closed her eyes with a sigh and tugged him against her. He placed two soft kisses on each of her closed eyelids and took her face in his hands. She belonged to everyone and no one. She was the burning pleasure that coiled in the bellies of the amorous. She was the desperate gasps of forbidden love and stolen touches.

  He wanted to say that she was ‘his’, but he could only ever be her most loyal subject.

  “Be still, Damian.” She said against his lips, not opening her eyes. “My time will be soon. I will walk by your side. I will reign down chaos and feed from the spoils.”