The Purebloods Read online

  As if drawn tightly, like the string of a bow, Amore’s eyes popped open and were attracted to a man amid the sexually charged daemons below. He stood, tall, against the mass of bodies and stared up at Amore. His expression was stoic as if he was made of ice. His deep indigo eyes flared to pale ice blue, but he was unmoving.

  The man looked at Amore as if he both loved her and hated her just as fiercely. He surveyed her every feature as if studying her for a sign of something more.He was looking for the woman he loved. The who no longer inhabited the body that Asmodeus wore.

  A name floated to the forefront of her mind.

  Henry…

  His eyes never left hers, even when an orgasm wrenched itself from the Vessel’s body; heightened by the numerous other orgasms in the atrium of Damian’s hall.

  Amore opened her eyes and looked down at the man that the Vessel recognised and wanted above all others. Asmodeus knew that Henry Blaire was tied to the body she had stolen.

  His eyes flared pale ice blue, but Henry turned and left.

  He didn’t look back.

  2.

  I woke up with my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth and my naked body swaddled in soft white cotton sheets. I nuzzled the fabric, and I felt as if I had woken from a dreamless sleep.

  It smelt like spring. Wildflowers and sunshine. The edges of my lips hinted at a smile, and I stretched my arms above my head like a cat on a hot day.

  I blinked and sat up in shock when I realised that it was silent.

  Melanie, my dead sister, had followed me around for so long and whispered disgusting words into my ear, that it had taken me a second to realise that I couldn’t hear her voice. Mel was nowhere to be seen. I stretched out my fingers and looked at my hands as if I was seeing them for the first time. The trembles that came from alcohol withdrawal had gone. The gnawing craving for daemon blood was also absent.

  I felt healthy, normal and full of vitality.

  The catch? The memories of the night before rushed into my mind. I had told the Queen of Hell that I wanted to live, and gave her permission to use my body like a weekday tenant. I fisted my hands in my long chestnut hair and found it damp with sweat. When I looked down at my naked form, I discovered that I was sticky. I itched my chest and found that something white flaked off under my bitten down fingernails.

  Was that…? No…?

  I shook my head and pushed all the disgusting thoughts away.

  I noticed an adamant wall around my thoughts. It was carefully constructed, and I imagined it holding back the murky waters of my subconscious. It was protecting me from the darkness in my mind. I tried to retrieve a memory from the night before, but I drew a blank, like a web page that wouldn’t load.

  My mind was protecting me from something, but what? Was it what Asmodeus had done with my body the night before? Or what had happened at the Equinox Festival?

  I remembered flashes, but nothing succinct. I could feel the cold glare of emerald green eyes and pressure on my wrists. Nothing else.

  I looked around the room and couldn’t recognise it. I wasn’t at Dartmouth House, nor was I any place that I had ever been before. As with most daemon owned properties that I had been in, it screamed opulence. It wasn’t as stuffy as Vincent’s mansion, but it wasn’t as stark as the penthouse at the Shard either. Every inch of the room had been crafted to be welcoming, like a Pinterest board titled ‘the perfect home’.

  The walls were off-white but somehow different from the asylum. Warmer. The bed sheets were ivory and the accents of the room, accessories like a strange sculpture of a fat horse on the nightstand, were made of copper.

  I had no idea whose home I was in, but I found the notion of a daemon owning a statue of an obese equine to be hilarious. My shoulders shook with laughter, and I wrapped my arms around my knees. It had been so long since I had laughed so freely and found humour in something.

  I allowed my vision to relax for a few seconds, to survey the unseen energies of the room. The swirling crimson mist around my hand was present as always but weaker than I had ever seen it. Other than that, the swirling coloured dust motes that hinted at life, energy, and humanity, were gone. The room was lifeless and dead.

  Shivering, I jumped up, startled by a heavy knock on the door. I looked around the chamber and found a royal blue silk robe on the stool by the vanity. I dived over and wrapped it around my body. My feet sank into the luxurious carpet as I walked to the door to greet my caller.

  My hand hesitated when I reached for the handle. I looked down to my outfit, my dishevelled hair and the cool sheen of other people’s sweat on my visible torso. I looked a state.

  The door had no peephole, so I had no idea what waited for me on the other side. Like ripping off a Band-Aid, I pulled it open.

  A young woman stood on the other side, she shifted from one foot to the other. Her energy was nervous. It flared in a kaleidoscope of colours. I found myself licking my bottom lip with the urge to touch her. Her lips were painted red, and her makeup was thick. The woman looked up at me from synthetic lashes. Behind the bravado, her expression was apprehensive.

  I held out my hand, awkwardly, for her to shake. The curled tones of her aura screamed her humanity at me, the same way her strong perfume infiltrated my nostrils.

  “Hello?” I asked, cocking my head to the side.

  The woman was young, early-twenties was being optimistic. She clenched her tan trench coat over her curvy frame and looked down at my hand as if it was a poisonous snake. She quickly locked down her expression, choking her fear off. She took my hand. Hers was clammy and cool.

  “My name is Jaz – I mean Jazmine.” The red headed purred as if she was trying to be seductive. I looked down her body and then back up at her face. When I said nothing, her face fell. “Master Damian sent me here to…help you?”

  I opened the door wide and stepped to my left to let her through. Jazmine looked over her shoulder and then walked into my room with her head down and without a word.

  Maybe she thought I would protect her in a house full of daemons. I had no clue. Without paying attention to her, I walked over to the dressing table and picked up an ornate pearl comb from the mirrored edge. My hair was a state, the back was messed up, and I attacked it with vigour.

  I turned back to the redhead, I opened my mouth to ask exactly what Damian wanted to help me with, only to have my words die in my throat.

  Jazmine had undone her tan trench coat and allowed it to drop to the floor. She was completely naked, slathered in fake tan and had no pubic hair to speak of. I cleared my throat suspiciously.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  Jazmine dived forward and put her mouth on mine. If I wasn’t so taken aback I would have been impressed with the staying power of her vermillion lipstick. I gripped her shoulders and tried to stop her falling as she tottered on her patent heels. She misunderstood my body language and grabbed the front of my silk robe and began to tug it off. Even though I felt healthy, I was still weak.

  “Please… stop…” I begged around her mouth, my voice was panicked.

  Her hand slid down my robe and over my stomach and rested on my nipple. She thumbed the nub between adept fingers. A scream build in my throat and bile rose.

  No. No. No. My internal voice shouted, but my body was frozen in fear.

  I should have pushed her off me, but I couldn’t. Flashes of red gouges on my wrists and a stabbing pain from my core to my chest made me double over. The vomit that I held in made it way out of my mouth and onto the expensive carpet. I noticed that it wasn’t vomit but crimson blood.

  Jazmine reached forward to comfort me, touch me, try and fuck me? I had no clue. I slapped her hand away and scrambled back. She stepped forward again, the sounds of her heels were dulled by the thick carpet, but I couldn’t stop the uncontrollable trembles that wracked my body.

  “Please!” Jazmine panicked. “I have to help you. Damian said I had to.” She dropped to her knees and tried to part them, but
I slapped her hands away and backed into the corner.

  “No. No. No.” I chanted as I rocked back and forth.

  “Please. I don’t get my hundred grand if I don’t do this.” Jazmine’s high pitched voice hitched into a sob.

  I curled into the smallest ball that I could become. The roaring power inside of my chest started to spindle out like a black inky spider’s web. The light flickered and the tall bay windows frosted over. The redhead stumbled back, naked apart from her high heels. Reaching blindly, she found her trench coat, but instead of putting it on, she held it in front of her like a shield.

  “Get…out…” My voice broke. My vision had turned to black and white. All I could think about were harsh hands between my thighs. Pain.

  “I’m dirty,” I whispered.

  Jazmine rushed to the door as the black tendrils of Asmodeus’s power started to creep forward like thick forest vines. The magic was protecting me. It was going to devour her whole.

  Her ankle twisted, but she didn’t seem to notice as she wrenched open the door.

  The redheaded prostitute slammed straight into Damian’s hard chest. I blinked to try and clear the tears from my eyes. I didn’t want to show weakness in front of such a powerful creature, but I had no choice.

  “What is going on here!” The Pureblood snarled, grabbing Jazmine by the shoulders and shaking her. As if a dam had broken and terror had finally caught up with her; she began to sob.

  I stared at them both and brought my fingers to my face. My skin began to twitch and writhe like thousands of squirming insects lay under the surface. It looked like Asmodeus’s hair. The edges of my vision dulled to black.

  Damian strode forward with such confidence that it didn’t occur to me to try and protect myself. My body knew him and my arms lifted to grip onto him like a lifeboat.

  “Amore?” His eyes were the colour of bracken. Dead leaves on a forest floor. I gaped like a fish, unable to find the words. When he put out a steady hand to touch me, I flinched and pressed myself into the corner. I hoped to make myself as small as possible. I hunched in the edge of the room like a cornered animal.

  “Please, don’t hurt me.” I croaked. All fight had left my voice, I was done.

  Damian’s fingers twitched and halted. He cocked his head to the side, and his eyes widened in horror. “Amore?”

  “Amore?” I hiccoughed.

  Damian combed his tasselled blonde hair back with his fingers, and a roar burst from his chest that was more animal than man. He slammed his fist into the mirror on the wall above my head.

  I opened my mouth to scream, but clasped a trembling palm over my lips to stop myself. Glass dust and shards rained down, and I ducked my head. Damian shook his hand, to alleviate the pain, and started to pace in the room.

  “Amore, I know you’re in there,” Damian said in a low voice, as he shot a look over his shoulder at me. I watched the thin cuts on his hands heal in an instant. The only evidence of his presence was the spots of Pure Blood on the cream carpet.

  I blinked back tears and didn’t speak.

  “Please,” Damian whispered.

  I stared at him but was unable to form words. The encounter with Jazmine, the way her hands had gripped my knees and tried to pry them apart was still too fresh. I had no idea why I reacted in such a way, but I found my fingers reached for the skin on my arms. I wanted to scrub myself raw, but instead, I settled on scratching at my wrists. I could still feel the phantom fingernails, flashes of memories that I wasn’t sure belonged to me. I wanted to rip my skin off until I bled and could no longer feel the strange invisible presence.

  “Where am I?” I asked gently. Unable to take my eyes off the spots of blood on the carpet. I saw a cut on my foot, and I wasn’t sure if all the blood was Damian’s or not.

  The Pureblood crouched down until he was level with me as if I was a child. “You are at my home. Cross Manor, near Hyde Park.”

  I nodded silently but had no idea what he was talking about. It was probably some traditional stately home from way back when people could afford to have a garden in Central London.

  “Sophia Taylor?” Damian asked gently.

  I nodded again, numb.

  “Did Jazmine touch you without your consent?” Damian reached forward to push a tendril of my chestnut hair from my face but then thought better of it. He was surprisingly thoughtful, approaching me like a skittish animal.

  I shook my head, unable to form words. I couldn’t describe why I had reacted the way that I had or what had happened to me.

  Without a word, the Pureblood stood up and looked down at me. Something akin to longing, or pity, turned his perfect lips into a frown. It was a crime for someone so godlike, so angelic, to look so sad. He walked away without a word, and a deep stirring in my chest missed him.

  I rubbed the skin over my heart. I knew who it was, it was Amore. Asmodeus, I guessed. The hitchhiker inside of my body. My saviour and my curse.

  I heard running water and Damian came back with his sleeves rolled up. Without a word, he dipped down and lifted me up as if I was as light as a ragdoll. He carried me to the bathroom, where he had drawn a bath. Steam curled and the artificial smell of roses saturated the air. He walked to the edge of the claw-foot tub, and I glanced down and noticed I was already naked. Damian placed me into the warm water like I would shatter at any moment. His lips were in a set line, his brow furrowed in concentration. As if he wasn’t used to such acts of care.

  I guessed that it must have been because of the Hell Queen inside of my body. I felt the sting of jealousy. I wished someone loved me enough to take care of me with such fervour.

  I wanted Henry to fight for me. To hold me like Damian did. Like I was precious.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and relaxed as I found my body submerged in the water. Damian turned around stiffly and walked to the cupboard under the sink. He took out a scrub brush and a candle. He placed it on the edge of the porcelain sink and leant down. As if he was blowing out a birthday candle, he set the wick alight with his breath. His lips twitched into a sad smile, and he turned to me.

  “You’ll feel better after you’ve had a bath,” Damian murmured.

  I blinked, unable to summon words. The man that had given me the gift of insanity, and was directly responsible for the stranger that lived under my skin with me, stared back.

  When he shut the door and left, I couldn’t have said if I hated him.

  And that scared me.

  Damian lifted a wine glass full of red wine and took a light sip. I followed his lead, sat on the other end of the ostentatious dining table. I swirled the glass, ignoring my trembling fingers and brought the wine to my lips. The undertones exploded on my tongue, and it felt like pop rocks on my taste buds. Everything had become more intense since Asmodeus. I still had no idea what to call the metamorphosis on my body.

  I looked down to the steak dinner and the various knives and forks, each with a different use. I had no innate desire for food. The sight of the bloody meat did nothing. It was long since dead, all its lifeforce had been cleaved from it and the browned outside did not appeal to me. Damian had no food in front of him.

  “I need you to tell me what Lillian Blaire did to you,” Damian said, severely.

  I ignored his question and picked up the serrated blade of my steak knife. I pressed it to the pad of my thumb, but it did not break the skin.

  “Do you not remember?” Damian put the wineglass down. His expression bored, tired of my lack of cooperation.

  “It’s not my fault,” I said defensively. I cleared my throat and changed the subject. “Why is there food here? Daemons don’t eat.”

  Damian chuckled and leant back in his Louis Quinze dining chair. His foot dangled above the Persian rug. “Curious, aren’t you?” His lips twitched into a smile, but his hazel eyes darkened maliciously. “If I didn’t know better, I would say that My Amore was playing a rather cruel trick on me.”

  “What do you mean by that?” I b
ristled, the fabric of my sweater suddenly felt too tight. Conversation with Damian straddled the line between pleasant and life threatening.

  His power no longer pressed against my skin like a thousand needles as it did when I was human. He was a tune on the air, a frequency that I found it easy to synch myself to.

  “I thought you would enjoy the food.” The Pureblood shrugged. “Humans seem to like the familiar,”

  I quashed a laugh. “And it doesn’t matter that I don’t need to eat anymore?”

  Damian’s eyes were lasers, boring into my own violet irises. “You could eat if you want to. You just don’t need to.”

  The door behind me clicked shut softly, and I jumped. Our eye contact was broken.

  “Taylor?” A weak but familiar voice drifted over my shoulder, and I temporarily forgot where I was as unfettered joy washed over me. It was my best friend and my surrogate sister. Beatrix Klein. I stood up, knocking the table and causing the crystal centrepiece to rattle but I didn’t care. I turned around and flung my arms around my best friend.

  I breathed in her heady scent of jasmine and ink. I felt her insides as if they were in my hands. Her heartbeat. Every sickening, squelch of her bodily processes was audible to me. I had to shut down and focus on her face. I hadn’t been around a human since Asmodeus had set up shop inside of my mind. Trix's aura was a glowing beacon of colour.

  I licked my lips and gestured for Trix to sit down at the empty place setting by my side.

  “I’m so glad you’re alive.” I breathed. Damian took a slow sip of wine. His face was smug, but I ignored him.

  “I’ve been fine,” Trix said as she reached over and took my plate. She started to eat with abandon. Once she swallowed her mouthful, she looked up at both of us. “Did Damian tell you why I’ve been here?”

  My brow furrowed in confusion. “I thought it was to force my compliance.”

  Trix snorted, and her cutlery clinked against the bone china. Even though her emotions flared with fear and trepidation, her face showed none of the turmoil that she was feeling. I envied her for her stoicism.