Daemon’s Kiss: A Dark Paranormal Romance (Atiernan Book 2): Daemon Blade Book 2 Read online

  Daemon's Kiss

  ATIERNAN BOOK TWO: DAEMON BLADE SERIES

  LANA SKY

  Also by Lana Sky

  DARK MAFIA ROMANCE

  Beautiful Monsters

  Crescendo

  Refrain

  Mezzo

  Allegro

  El Mundo de Sangre

  Dinero de Sangre

  Blood Money

  Blood Ties

  Blood Bound

  Diamante de Sangre

  Blood Diamond

  The War of Roses Universe

  The War of Roses

  XV: (Fifteen)

  VII: (Seven)

  I: (One)

  The Complete War of Roses Trilogy

  Of Mice and Men

  Ruthless King

  Queen of Thorns

  Shattered Throne

  Mended Crown

  DARK BDSM BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE

  Club XXX

  Maxim: Submit

  Maxim: Obey

  Maxim: Surrender

  Maxim: The Complete Trilogy

  Vadim: Control

  Vadim: Corrupt

  Vadim: Conquer

  Vadim: The Complete Trilogy

  DARK ROMANTIC SUSPENSE

  Painted Sin

  A Touch of Dark

  A Taste like Sin

  The Complete Painted Sin Duet

  Dragon Triad Duet

  Moth

  Flame

  The Complete Dragon Triad Duet

  DARK AGE-GAP ROMANCE

  Standalones

  Pretty Perfect

  Crossed Lines

  DARK PARANORMAL ROMANCE

  The Ellie Gray Chronicles

  Drain Me

  Chain Me

  The Complete Ellie Gray Chronicles

  The Black Mountain Pack

  Shift

  Howl

  The Daemon Blade Series

  Atiernan

  Daemon’s Blood

  Daemon’s Kiss

  Logan

  Daemon’s Blade

  Daemon’s Bane

  NEWSLETTER EXCLUSIVE

  Rockstar Rebels

  Dirty Lyrics (Newsletter Exclusive)

  Daemon's Kiss

  Daemon's Kiss By Lana Sky

  Copyright © 2022 by Lana Sky

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design and Interior Formatting by Charity Chimni

  Editing by Charity Chimni

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks so much to everyone who supported this draft along the way, including the many beta readers who provided encouragement! Please keep in mind that this story includes dark, graphic, and explicit content matter that may not be suitable for readers under the age of 18—or for readers who are uncomfortable with the following subject matter: age-gap relationships, explicit sex, and graphic depictions of violence.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  A Word from the Author

  About the Author

  Also by Lana Sky

  Chapter

  One

  “Please, for the love of whatever God you pray to, try not to get blood on my floor,” a gruff voice commanded. “I just waxed it. And I hope it goes without saying that using magic here, out in the open, is a no-go. I don’t have the resources to memory wipe a score of mortals. I just hope no one saw you appear out of thin air.”

  After days spent in Atiernan’s protected corner of the world, Miranda had forgotten what it felt like to be a part of the painfully modern, bustling reality most mortals lived in these days. There was more to it than electricity and advanced devices.

  Most people—mortal and daemon alike—had such a blunt way of discourse apart from the rich, coded language Atiernan and his ilk preferred. More jarring than the realization that she had somehow traversed two realms in an instant, was hearing someone speak of magic so openly.

  Especially when they shared such a striking resemblance to her former captor. Feeling dizzy, she inspected the man in question from over her shoulder. His dark hair and eyes were the main features that set him apart from Atiernan, the daemon lord. Otherwise, they could have been twins.

  Or father and son.

  “There is one reason why I haven’t killed you,” Marcus explained, sitting across from her at a polished wooden table. After ushering her inside, seemingly through the back door, he’d led her here—a spacious, clean area that she couldn’t name the purpose of right away. A dining room?

  “Can you guess what that might be?”

  “Where are we?” Miranda demanded.

  Not in a dungeon, at least. In any case, it seemed worlds apart from Atiernan’s lavish, gothic-style manor. The walls were paneled wood, the same color as the table, which sported a metal napkin holder and a dispenser of plastic silverware—several identical tables filled the spacious room. The sight recalled a long-lost memory.

  She hadn’t gotten out much before her abduction, and only while under the strictest of surveillance by one of her mother’s peons. During her early childhood, she’d left the forest with a group of witches traveling to a nearby field to harvest vegetables. Afterward, they had stopped at a diner for the youngest girls to use the restroom. Though, the furniture there had been a bright vinyl instead of dark wood, both establishments sported the same cozy aura.

  “This is my place,” Marcus said gruffly, proving himself far more evasive than Atiernan preferred to be. “Now, this is the part where you tell me how the hell you got here.”

  Miranda sighed, unsure where to begin. In essence, the answer was simple—she had teleported to the mortal realm by drawing her own blood and using it as the basis for a spell impossible to craft by any other means.

  Blood magic.

  To his credit, she sensed that Marcus might have suspected as much. He’d bandaged her arm already, wrapping it in a length of clean gauze to staunch the bleeding. That act of kindness alone said more about him than any words could—few men would keep first-aid supplies so readily in reach.

  He was used to violence. Given his apparent talent for breaching manors in Hell, she could only imagine what else he got up to in his spare time.

  “You live in the mortal world,” she said, rather than answer him. Viewed through a large window, the sky was a beautiful blue, and sunlight fell over the sleepy street beyond. There were no bars on the windows, and any passersby seemed more than willing
to walk by this building without any visible signs of disgust.

  Not only did he live in this realm, but he lived among mortal humans, with no witches or daemons in sight.

  The fact confounded her. His life seemed to be a relatively comfortable one, not confined to a cage or tucked away in some forgotten corner of a coven, forever shunned until the time came to fulfill his purpose.

  “I do,” he said warily. “And at first, I assumed you were stalling, giving your cohorts time to catch up. Now, I think the truth is far more serious—you’re in shock. How much blood have you lost? Those wounds don’t seem very deep—” He nodded to her wrist, which she promptly shoved behind her back.

  Shock. Miranda scoffed. What a dramatic term for a mental state more akin to abject loathing and disgust. While physically, the observation made sense—she was shivering, her teeth chattering audibly—she deserved to suffer far worse for what she’d done.

  After swearing never to do so again, she had used blood magic. It was her fault—she’d let herself become too accustomed to Atiernan’s strange mixture of kindness and mocking. For a brief moment, she’d let her guard down.

  And when the daemons revealed their intentions to contain her, she let fear goad her into doing the unthinkable.

  “Tell me what happened,” Marcus suggested, changing tack. “I think I can guess how you got here. But why?” His level tone prompted her to speak without thinking.

  “I never…” She eyed her bandage, noting droplets of scarlet were already seeping through the ivory material. The sight triggered tears she couldn’t keep at bay. They fell silently, dripping onto the table. “Never. I’m always stronger than…I’m never weak. I never use it on my own, never.”

  “Blood magic,” Marcus said softly, confirming her suspicion. “You used it to find me.”

  She scanned the room again, spying a bar and menus and another window revealing part of a quaint, small-town street. With her gaze on it, she could only shrug.

  “It doesn’t matter. I should go back.” If Atiernan realized her absence, the bastard would rush to retaliate. In fact, she wondered if that had been his main goal—trick her into breaking their bargain first to save him the trouble of upholding his end.

  Well, the daemon lord had another thing coming if he thought to evade her so easily.

  “You should eat,” Marcus replied, rising to his feet. He gestured to a small sandwich on a paper plate hiding behind the napkin dispenser. “And get some sleep. You need to restore your strength before you can think of going anywhere. Besides, I’m sure they wouldn’t expect you to return quickly. Magic strong enough to teleport between realms usually requires the sacrifice of a limb, let alone a few drops—”

  “You know what I am,” Miranda croaked, clutching her injured arm to her chest. “That wasn’t real, honest magic. That was corruption. I deserve to lose far more than a limb.”

  Marcus frowned, but she couldn’t tell exactly what he thought. His eyes were hard to read, heavy lidded and averted from hers.

  “Either way, your current circumstances remain unchanged. You need sleep,” he insisted firmly. “My apartment is upstairs. You can use my bed. Then we’ll talk about why you’re here and how to get you back.”

  “And that’s it?” Miranda asked skeptically. “You let me stay, even though I used twisted magic to find you? You have no idea what my intentions are.”

  “Ah, but you’re wrong.” He shook his head, and a low, gruff note crept into his tone. “I already told you. There is one reason why I haven’t killed you yet—you were able to enter this building unscathed—” He extended his arms to imply the room around them. “Believe me, if you wanted to so much as steal one of my baby hairs, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now. This place is protected far more securely than that compound you came from. Now, sleep.”

  There didn’t seem to be any point in arguing. Marcus seemed like Atiernan in yet one more way—both men could see through someone like no other.

  Her especially.

  One flight of stairs led to Marcus’ apartment, accessed from a back hallway, near a kitchen that was surprisingly similar to any found in Hazel's Way.

  Despite resting on a surprisingly comfortable mattress, she couldn’t sleep. Her mind continued to race, giving her no respite from the fears weighing on it. Here in the mortal realm, her coven was but one teleportation spell away—and for once, Hazel’s Forest was the furthest thing from her mind.

  She needed to get back to Hell. Face Atiernan. Get the light wood tree.

  Then return to Hazel’s Way with some shred of honor restored.

  That mantra was all she had, and she clung to it. Eventually, she gave up trying to sleep at all and began to pace, puzzling out what logical spell might be able to help her return.

  There wasn’t one.

  “This isn’t what I meant by get some rest,” Marcus remarked from the doorway of his bedroom. She wasn’t sure how long he’d stood there, but his size made the space feel infinitely smaller.

  While cramped, the room itself was simply furnished. Miranda had to admit that even her dungeon cell had more personal charm. Ironically, it was yet one more similarity between him and the man he claimed to be his father.

  They put little stock in personal mementos.

  “How have you lived this long?” she asked him, forsaking niceties. “I’ve heard that daemons gain their long lives from the number of souls they steal.”

  However, a glance at him revealed no fangs peeking beneath his upper lip.

  “I wouldn’t call twenty-eight particularly long,” Marcus replied, crossing his arms. The movement allowed her to view the large knife tucked into his pants pocket with an ornate, black hilt. “You don’t look much younger, so I’m sure you’d agree.”

  Her eyes bulged. They were the same exact age. “How? If you are Atiernan’s son—”

  “My mother has mastered various, as you would say, ‘corrupted,’ magics. I don’t know which one she used to arrange my birth. Frankly, I don’t care to. What I am sure of is that the daemon Atiernan is my sire.”

  A fact that he didn’t seem proud to acknowledge.

  Miranda could only shake her head in confusion. Even blood magic wouldn’t be able to preserve a child—a living one at that—throughout the centuries. “How?”

  “Was he your sire too?” he asked, avoiding the question. “Atiernan.”

  Miranda flinched. “No… It—he was another daemon.”

  A monster she couldn’t even bear to apply the term father to. Merely the creature who supplied the seed required to give her life.

  “I need to speak to Atiernan directly,” Marcus went on, his tone serious. “My mother is planning something, and she seems to want him dead very much. I need to know why that is.”

  Once again, Miranda felt her eyes widen. “Liva is alive?”

  Marcus chuckled. “I’m just as disappointed by that fact as you seem to be.”

  “You mean that you aren’t in contact with her?”

  “No, and I prefer not to be.” A darkness fell over his expression, strengthening his resemblance to a certain daemon lord. “To her, we are not children, but tools. I would rather not play a role in her scheme, whatever it may be.”

  “We? Do you have siblings?”

  That was one burden the universe had spared her from—no other cursed siblings to fear for. None that she knew of, at least.

  “That doesn’t matter right now. What’s important is that you’re trembling. Sweating. You also have a fever, most likely. I may not be well versed in magic, but I know the signs of some poisons. That is a nasty one flooding your system,” Marcus said, once again ignoring a direct question. “I’m sure you realize it. Something that strong would require an antidote, which I don’t have access to.”

  Miranda sighed. “I know.”

  She’d just ignored the signs—far more than “shock” was responsible for why she was swaying on her feet, barely able to see straight. For now, the toxi
n in her veins mainly caused a dull throbbing in her muscles, but soon the effects would paralyze her body from the inside out. One method of ingestion for such a poison? A steaming cup of tea, provided by a cunning mage.

  Not that Miranda blamed Peony one bit. Of course, the daemon would have a failsafe. She cherished her loved one’s safety and would ensure no one could threaten them for very long.

  Not even witches armed with daemon magic that her lord chose to lock within a stone crypt for the hell of it.

  “I think you have roughly ten hours, at most, before it runs its course,” Marcus added. “Blood magic won’t help you there. Returning to Atiernan’s fortress, on the other hand—”

  “No,” Miranda spat. “I’d rather die than use it again. I can’t.”

  “My skills aren’t as vast as yours,” Marcus admitted. “I could only last minutes at most in that realm before my spell lost its potency. I have yet to even see Atiernan, let alone speak to him. What you saw was merely a projection of my soul. Not a corporeal body. But you… It appears you were able to enter this realm relatively unscathed.”

  Miranda’s cheeks flamed. “My corruption is far more insidious than yours,” she spat. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”

  “No, not at all.” Marcus raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m part-Raeth, remember? If anyone understands the struggle with internal corruption, it’s me.” She startled at his grave tone. Atiernan sometimes seemed wild when he fed. Did his alleged son experience the same?