Daimon
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Cover Artist: Reese Dante
Editor: Corina Calsing
Daimon © 2012 Pelaam
ISBN # 9781920502447
Attention Readers:
This book uses Australian English.
All rights reserved.
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This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. The Licensed Art Material is being used for illustrative purposes only; any person depicted in the Licensed Art Material, is a model.
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Dedication
To my patient partner
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Dom Perignon
: Moet Hennessy USA, Inc.
Pol Roger
: Pol Roger & Cie SA Joint Stock Company France
Daimon
Daimon stretched and sighed. Sometimes life sucked. Bored and horny, neither condition unusual for his naturally libidinous nature, he reached to stroke one of his upswept horns. As he added a scratch to the action, he shuddered sensually. His shaft began to fill, and he relished the carnal sensation as he danced his fingers over his horn. Playing with the sensitive appendage was always a good start to pleasuring himself.
He turned away from the arched turret window, intending to continue things in the comfort of his bed. He suddenly swivelled back around and stared at the moon. A couple of days and it would be full; that thought created a shiver that caught Daimon by surprise.
The small niche in which he crouched restricted his movements, but he leant forward, peering into the night as he unexpectedly felt a soul-deep despair. The despair was so great it reached out and touched him deeply.
His house, a large, grey-stoned edifice complete with turrets at each front corner, set in its own grounds, had just a couple of other isolated dwellings in its vicinity. He had specifically selected it because it reminded him of a castle from his younger days. He hated many modern houses with their acres of glass. He preferred stone solidity, and he liked the night. The house and grounds gave him opportunity to enjoy both with a decent degree of privacy.
Therefore the feeling must have travelled some distance.
He continued to gaze outside. He couldn't shake the inexplicable feeling that he was meant to do something. The nearest house to his held a long-standing occupant. But the other…
A day or so ago he had watched some new people moving into the large villa. Two burly, non-descript human men had carried in some cases and other bits and pieces. However, the silver-haired, athletic male, who pushed a wheelchair containing a swaddled figure, had really caught his attention. Daimon had admired the movement of the man's muscles under a tight white T-shirt. Well-defined, powerful biceps were perfectly displayed under the thin cotton. Solid thigh muscles also caught Daimon's eye, thanks to cut-off denim shorts.
All in all, the silver-haired male had proven an exceptionally attractive package, and Daimon gave consideration to the best way of making his… acquaintance. His demonic powers had no trouble identifying the man as Lycan. He also knew there was a second—he assumed the swaddled figure.
He idly wondered if the proximity of a small pack of werewolves so close to a full moon had made him so horny. Whilst the change for Lycans wasn't a forced change during a full moon, it did bring their animalistic natures to the fore. It also made them more inclined to become sexually activity, something that appealed to his naturally carnal nature.
His mind returned to the feeling of despair. He made his decision and allowed his body to dematerialise, catching just a wisp of the red, sulphur-scented, smoke he always left in his wake.
* * * *
Daimon easily concealed his presence from the Lycans in the large stucco-fronted villa. They might get a little agitated with him around but couldn't actually detect a demon with his powers. He grinned; he definitely had the advantage over them. He opted to rematerialise outside and have a closer look around. Although the agonised feeling had gone, a resonance remained, and he knew this villa was the place of its origin.
He looked at the mansion. Wide stairs led to a portico, and the large, rectangular windows held heavy curtains. Some windows were fronted by small balconies on the upper floors. Daimon chose one such balcony and materialised on it effortlessly. He now had a prime view of the mansion's grounds, his demonic eyes seeing as well in pitch-blackness as they would in the light of day. The night had some illumination from the almost-f moon that cast cold, white light over immaculately manicured lawns.
Daimon's mind probed carefully into the mansion. Too much and the occupants would feel his presence, too little and he would read nothing. He registered three sleeping occupants and one awake. The three sleepers were comparatively close together. He sensed which room the feeling had originated from, and Daimon flitted to the balcony of that slumberer. He frowned at the sight of the thick metal bars that prevented ingress or egress. Clearly new, they fastened securely outside the window. Daimon looked at them and shrugged. Such physical barriers held no worries to a demon with his particular powers.
He simply materialised inside the room.
Except it was the wrong room.
He knew immediately it was another room, even as he glanced back to see the lack of bars. The slumberer made a noise and turned to face him, but something prompted Daimon to wait to see his face.
It was the silver-haired male. His sleep was clearly disturbed in some way. He was restless, knocking away the sheet to reveal a solid torso and a generous smattering of chest fur. Instantly erect, Daimon licked his lips. The pull he felt towards the other male was almost irresistible, but he pushed it away.
And just as quickly, he dismissed the thought that seared into his brain.
Mate.
He was a demon of desire, of carnality, he had no thoughts of taking a single lover, but the thought persisted.
He forced himself to dematerialise, certain his trail would evaporate before the Lycan could scent him. This time a sumptuous room greeted his eyes. The large fireplace was laid but unlit as it was summer and warm. The huge, wooden four-poster bed dominated the room. Gauzy curtains prevented Daimon's view of the bed's single occupant. He stepped forward and drew one aside.
Only rarely did he find himself stunned by physical appearance, but this… this exquisiteness he hadn't seen in a long time. He stared, mesmerised by the sleeping beauty before him.
Fine, silver-blond hair reached to slender shoulders and provided a suitable frame for a face of angelic loveliness. Daimon had bedded angels in his time, but such beauty rarely existed outside of divine circles. He had no doubts that behind the closed, long-lashed lids, the sleeper's eyes would be blue. Perfect pink lips in a Cupid's bow had parted slightly as the sleeper drew shallow breaths.