The Purebloods (Daemons of London - Book 3) Read online

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.

  “The London Coven is making moves.” Beatrix reached forward and grabbed the jug of water in front of me. She poured herself a glass and deliberated her answer. “They’ve been killing daemons and Bleeders.”

  I clenched my fists. “What does that have to do with you?”

  Trix sighed and looked at Damian. He knitted his fingers together in front of him, his demeanour implied he was speaking to children. “I caught Ms Klein in a rather unfortunate situation with the London Coven and decided to offer sanctuary. It was fortuitous that I was able to use this to break Amore from Hell.”

  “You let him use you?” I whispered and stared at my best friend. I felt betrayed. All my emotions were much stronger now that my mental illness was at bay.

  Trix’s lips curled, she blinked. Taken aback. “I had no idea about his long game.”

  I clenched my fist and stood up, so quickly that my body had moved before my mind had had a chance to register what was happening. I slammed my hand down onto the mahogany table and watched a crack appear down the centre. Tiny wood fragments flew into the air from the force of my strike. I stared at my best friend.

  “Your sister came to the Festival. She tried to use an… Anima Mundi… to kill all the daemons.” I tried to keep my voice level.

  Damian looked amused at the destruction of his table. “She would have succeeded.”

  My nose crinkled in disgust and I walked around my chair with delicate steps. I did not look back at Beatrix Klein or Damian, as I left the room with gritted teeth.

  My bare feet slapped against the marble floor, and the labyrinth of doors whizzed past as I walked out. My eyes flickered over my surroundings, searching for the exit. A hand gripped the top of my arm, but it didn’t hurt. I whirled around, my fists clenched and my teeth bared in a snarl. Ready to unleash hell on whoever had grabbed me.

  It was just my luck that it was Beatrix Klein. The person I was angry at.

  “You’re the one that told me to stay away from Damian,” I snarled. “You told me not to let him have my body under any circumstances.”

  Trix rubbed her tattooed hand over her face. “I know what I said.”

  My eyes widened, pleading. “I need to know what’s going on.”

  “Damian said that he could protect me. He said that he could protect us.” Trix blew a breath from her plump lips and shook her head to clear it. Her almond eyes held the most emotion that I had ever seen from her—except the enthusiasm that shone out of her when she was high on daemon blood.

  “Sarah-Belle told us that the Bleeders were disappearing, do you remember?” Trix spoke slowly as if I had lost most of my cognitive ability.

  “I’m a demonic host. Not stupid. Of course, I remember.” I bristled.

  Trix looked to the end of the corridor, her peach coloured hair whipped back and forth and her grip remained on my forearm. Without another word, she began to walk to a non-descript door. She pressed down on the brass handle and ducked down. Her entire demeanour was shifty. I guessed that she didn’t want us to get caught.

  “You’re making me nervous.” A laugh bubbled out of my chest.

  Trix turned around to face me, her icy expression melted. “Something bad is killing daemons. Bleeders.” She clarified. “But Damian saved me.”

  “From what?” I asked.

  “The Oni,” Beatrix whispered. As if saying its name would conjure it. “It’s a soul eater. A beast. Someone has summoned it. It’s looking for Bleeders.”

  “You saw it?” My voice was incredulous. “Why would Damian say it’s the Witchlings if he doesn’t know for certain?”

  Trix shrugged in response. We heard footsteps outside of the dark room; we stayed silent until they faded.

  “I did some reading. The Original Seven can’t leave hell for extended periods of time. I knew that you would have some control over your body.” Trix explained as she wrung her hands hesitantly.

  My eyes could not produce tears, but that didn’t stop the crushing sadness inside of my chest. It felt like someone had grabbed my heart and squeezed it. For the first time since I had woken up, I found myself missing my apparition of my sister. I was cornered and alone.

  “I don’t know if I can forgive you,” I whispered, my voice croaked. The edges of my vision seeped with black. Trix looked around the room, her eyes squinting in the darkness as she noticed that her breath fogged in front of her. Ice spread over the door and up the walls like brittle fingers. The temperature of the room had dropped.

  Trix’s eyes narrowed on mine. “We’re survivors, Taylor.”

  “I almost ran,” I admitted, flippantly. Choosing my words to maximise the hurt I wanted to inflict. “When they led me to the platform, to give me to Damian. I almost ran. I thought, ‘fuck it’, I’ll let her die.”

  Trix’s facial expression was an impartial mask.

  I continued to speak. “But I didn’t. I walked into that fucking Festival. Dressed up as a sacrificial lamb. Because they told me that it would get you back safely.”

  “I—” The Witchling opened her mouth to speak, but I held up my hand to stop her. It wasn’t often that I talked about my feelings out loud. I kept them bottled up inside, lest people think I was weak and crazy.

  “You went with him.” I laughed humourlessly. “Willingly.”

  “This is bigger than either of us now. Sophia Taylor.” Trix replied.

  3.

  The world started to spin, and the floor rushed towards my face. Trix gripped my shoulders and pulled my lanky frame upright, using her body weight to secure my balance. My eyes flickered around the dark room but could not focus. Bile burnt up my throat, but it was an echo rather than a physical reaction. I felt like I had been stuck in a car too long on a hot day.

  “I feel dizzy,” I mumbled; my voice was muffled. I couldn’t decide if it was my hearing or my vocal chords that were affected. “I’m basically the Queen of Hell. This shouldn’t be happening.”

  Trix struggled to get me to my feet. My ankles dragged and caught against the flat marble surface as she strode down the corridor with purpose. I had no idea where we were going, but I trusted Trix to a degree even after her betrayal. She had been in Damian’s mansion longer than I had.

  “When’s the last time you fed?” Trix demanded as we descended a spiral staircase. My mind whirled with déjà vu, but I knew I had never set foot in the entrance hall before.

  A flash of Henry’s eyes, pale Celestine blue and full of anguish, appeared as if I had been struck by lightning. “I…I don’t know,” I admitted. “How do I feed?”

  Trix shook her head as if she was addressing a child and walked us both to the front door. I was conscious of my bare feet, but I noticed that Trix wore neon pink running shoes. I quirked my brow as if to ask a silent question but she ignored it.

  “Call Damian,” Trix demanded, she crossed her hands over her chest and stared down at me until I squirmed under her gaze. “We’re survivors, Taylor. Call Damian this second or I will.”

  I sighed and opened my mouth, unsure what she wanted me to do. I thought of the Pureblood’s face, his chiselled jaw and his all-American looks. The kind of handsome features that said, ‘I’m not a threat to you.’ Only, his power contradicted that, it had been like needles on every square inch of my skin when I had been human.

  As if thinking about him had pinpointed my own power, I felt his energy like a thread tethered to my soul. It was different than the crimson smoke that led me to Henry Blaire.

  Damian stepped into the space to my left, as if he had opened a door instead of walking between the fabric of reality.

  I blinked and resisted the urge to rub my eyes and make a cliché joke. I swallowed the lump in my throat, but my bo
dy still felt weak. Like I had gone too long between meals. I thought back to the steak on the table and my lack of physical hunger. They didn’t want me to…feed like a daemon, did they?

  “She needs to feed.” Trix tilted her jaw in my direction. “Feed her.”

  “She doesn’t want me.” Damian smirked, “And I don’t think I could force her.”

  Trix rolled her hazel eyes. “Feeling rejected, are we?” She grabbed my hand and opened the heavy oak doors to the outside world.

  Damian reached for my wrist as it swung limply by my side. If I had still been a hundred percent human, I was certain that my skin would be bruised.

  “Where are you taking her?” Damian’s aura was a stern, a wave about to crest and take us down like a boat. They both spoke about me like I wasn’t stood next to them.

  “I’m taking her out to get laid.” Beatrix Klein showed her teeth in a snarl.

  I found my voice, but it was weak. “No,” I whispered. I cleared my throat and forced strength behind my words. “I’m not going to do that. I don’t want to touch anyone, and I certainly don’t want to kill anyone.”

  “You didn’t mind last night,” Damian purred as he tucked a lock of my chestnut hair behind my ears. I shivered, though disgust or desire, I did not know. The two whirring forces battled inside of my body.

  “I want Henry Blaire.” I forced my eyes to lock onto Damian’s, and in a split second my vision became his. I saw myself through his eyes. A mixture of pathetic desolation and inner strength. My emotions were written on my face, shining like a beacon. I bit my lower lip. Damn. I wished I wasn’t easy to read. I channelled Trix and took a deep breath, forcing my facial muscles to relax into her patent stoicism.

  Damian clenched and unclenched his jaw as if he was chewing something tough to swallow. He couldn’t find the words that he wanted to say and the whites of his eyes shone a pale ice blue that spindled into his irises the longer he focused on my face. It was as if he was looking past my skin, muscles and bones into Asmodeus’s swirling lust filled darkness. His face broke into a grin, and I pretended that I hadn’t just witnessed his internal turmoil.

  “Fine,” Damian chirped. “But you must take Anna, my personal guard.” He nodded, agreeing with himself. He sucked on his lower lip and a low whistle echoed through the empty entrance hall. His guard was summoned like a dog. I shook my head, incredulous at his attitude.

  Anna knocked once on the door, a shy rap and walked in without hesitation. She was as tall as I was, and that was no mean feat. At five foot ten, I often towered over other women. Her shoulders were broad, but her body was lean. Anna was all muscle, with an undercut on the right-hand side of her head. Her remaining hair was honey blonde. When she turned to nod at Damian, I noticed a cartoon sugar skull tattooed over her ear, on the shaved side of her head.

  “Boss,” Anna’s voice was small, barely more than a whisper but she had an East London accent.

  “Escort these two to the Stables,” He instructed.

  Trix narrowed her eyes, “What about Henry?”

  “I have not a clue where Haage is.” Damian shrugged.

  A slow burning anger had started to take over, rising inside of my body. The temperature of the room dropped, and I knew Damian felt it. He squared his shoulders as if challenging me.

  “Need I remind you, Damian?” I cooed sweetly, reaching forward and running a finger down the lapel of his shirt. His eyes followed my hand with distance and disdain. “I can refuse to feed. What would happen to your girlfriend then, hm?”

  Damian said nothing, but I pressed forward.

  “Find Henry, bring him to me,” I demanded softly, a gentle press rather than a harsh command. “I want to feed from him.”

  Damian narrowed his eyes but glanced at Anna, and I saw an imperceptible nod as he conceded to my wishes. He turned around, but I shouldn’t have thought of his actions as a retreat. He was no defeated animal. Damian looked over his shoulder, one last time, with his hand on the bannister of the spiral staircase. He smirked wickedly and licked his lips.

  “It’s a shame you portray yourself as virginal, Ms Taylor. Considering you woke up, covered in my cum.”

  My mind rushed, and I remembered the dry and flaking mess on my chest when I had woken up. The sheen of exertion and sweat. My mouth dropped open in horror, and my stomach plummeted to my feet.

  Damian walked away with a spring in his step.

  I left the mansion with shame on my skin like thick perfume.

  The Stables were in Hackney, but I hadn’t ventured into North East London in what felt like an age.

  I remembered being a teenager and forcing Chris Archer to drive to a dirty, sticky carpet, pub that way. A place that I had heard would serve people without checking ID. I remembered Chris parking up, and when I looked back to his blue Corsa when we walked away, someone tried their luck with the lock. We were barely twenty steps away when the thief made off with an A-Z of London and a ‘Now that’s what I call Disney’ CD.

  Damian had provided us with a black SUV and a silent driver to take us to his chosen destination. I still swayed with all the grace of a drunk.

  As we walked through the gated courtyard to the steps of the Stables, the only thing that I saw that alluded to anything equestrian was the giant statue of the four horsemen in the centre of the fountain.

  Trix and I approached the door, and I allowed her to thump the knocker with an angry grip as I surveyed the surroundings. Plumb and fully bloomed roses edged the path, their fallen petals were littered on the cobblestones as if it was seldom used. The door opened with a creak. Where I had expected heavy pulsating music, only silence greeted us.

  “Master Cross informed me of your arrival,” A tall man in a black suit told me, he was human. A delicious appetiser. I licked my lips and leant forward before I caught myself.

  “Are you the butler?” Trix sniped.

  His smile was relaxed. “Yes. This way please.”

  I looked back, unused to the way fear lit up the soul behind the man’s eyes when he took me in. I wondered if he felt the same pressure that I did whenever I encountered Damian when I was human. With a shaking hand, the man reached forward and tried to touch me. I pulled my arm out of his way and my mouth set into a grim line. There was fear, but a compulsive lust in his eyes.

  “You’ll have a booth to yourselves, while you wait for your guests.” He wrung his hands, as if desperate for something else to do with them. “I’ll bring your deserts along shortly.”

  It wasn’t until we walked into the quiet darkness of the club, that I noticed by deserts, he had meant people. Each booth was enclosed, which I guessed was why the establishment had earned the name ‘The Stables’. I looked around, my eyes caught on every facet like a tourist but Trix strode forward with purpose. When we reached the end of the hallway of booths, she pushed open the door and hurried me inside.

  It was empty, and I breathed a sigh of relief and sunk down in the leather upholstered seating. Trix’s expression softened in concern and her scowl vanished. She slid into the booth by my side and took my face in both of her hands. Beatrix searched for something in my expression, but I was lost. Adrift. I had no idea what she wanted from me or expected to be there.

  I didn’t even know what emotions were mine, and what belonged to Asmodeus.

  Another wave of sickness washed over me, and I pinched the bridge of my nose and leant back to try and re-establish my equilibrium.

  “Taylor,” Trix’s husky voice was concerned, searching. “I’m worried about you. Trust me.”

  I opened my mouth to ask what she meant. How long she thought Henry would be? If Damian or Anna would even be able to find my daemon. Instead, Trix silenced me with a kiss.

  Her lips were soft, but her grip was insistent. I gasped in shock, but I felt the rush of energy pulse through my body as it left her soul and swam to mine.

  I deepened the kiss, both hungry for her energy and for her softness. The comfort of my best friend. A
sharp metallic taste hit my top lip, and I tried to pull away, Trix gripped my wrist and would not let me. Her back arched as if she was unable to control her body.

  I tried to break away, I didn’t want to hurt her. But I was unsuccessful. I opened my eyes and realised that the salty, metallic taste was Trix’s blood. She had a nose bleed.

  She was using her Witchling powers. At what physical cost? I pushed her away in a panic.

  We stared at each other, our chests heaving as if we had run a race. Trix looked guilty, but I opened my mouth to thank her.

  A lyrical voice drifted into the air of the both and broke us both free from our trance.

  “Well, isn’t that nice?” It said.

  I looked over my shoulder, and straight into the emerald eyes of Lillian Blaire.

  4.

  I hated Lillian Blaire with such a visceral reaction that it made my soul feel sick.

  Lillian was a hundred-year-old Witchling, who had stolen Henry’s demonic magic and used it to tie him to her for the rest of time. Henry had called it a curse.

  When I looked over my shoulder and saw his vacant stare, his blank expression and the way his hands held limply by his side. I knew she had done something to him. Her curse had hollowed out the man I loved until only a husk was left.

  An irritating feeling niggled at the back of my mind, I knew that I had never seen Lillian before; and yet, I recognised her on a level that I couldn’t face. She was stunning. Her dark as night hair was cut into a blunt bob, and her eyes were the colour of spring leaves.

  I hated her. She made my insides ache. Her voice was like candy-flavoured nails on a chalkboard.

  Anna, Damian’s personal guard, shifted from one foot to the other and broke the staring contest that Lillian and I had going down. I was confident that if it came down to it, I would win. Her smug attitude told me that she didn’t think that I was a threat to her. My fists clenched and the jagged nubs of my bitten down fingernails ripped into the palms of my hands. I imagined my thumbs digging into her eye sockets. I played thousands of scenarios in my head but made no action to move out of the booth to welcome her.