Abominations (Demonkin Book 3)
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2018 by Sean Hayden
Cover Design © 2018 by Sean Hayden
Cover Photo © 2018 by Depositphotos/FlexDreams
All rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination and or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published by Untold Press LLC
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Port St Lucie, FL 34983
www.untoldpress.com
PRODUCED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
It's only natural to want to, or even need to dedicate a book to one of your personal heroes. Your parents, your significant other, your partner, and even your children. Sometimes, maybe once in a lifetime, another hero comes along. A celebrity, someone who helped mold you, not personally, but with their creations. And sometimes you lose that person you've never met, or only met briefly. They move on from this life and you're left with a gaping hole where their creativity used to fill you and comfort you. That happened this week.
Our world said goodbye to one of its greatest heroes, Stan Lee. I did have the honor of meeting him on his last convention tour. He was 93 at the time, and you could still see the lust for life and the love he had for his fans in his eyes. I met him at a photo op. I didn't get to talk to him, merely tell him it was an honor to meet him. There were so many things I wanted to say to him and never got the chance.
So, I dedicate this book to his memory and to the millions of fans who feel the same way. I saw a tweet today that summed it up perfectly:
If you see a nerd crying today, be kind. For they just lost their Grampa.
Requiem en pacem, Stanley Martin Lieber
1922 - ∞
Excelsior!
When you wait four years to write your next damn book, the list of people to thank grows and grows and grows. Some kept urging me, some begged me to finish, one person even hit me with a hockey stick…
So here it is, the people to whom I owe my gratitude.
First, to my Jen. My beautiful, loving fiancé. She kept hounding me (beating me with a hockey stick) until I finished. She was there when I cried when it was done. She was there to help me edit. She was there for everything. I owe her everything.
I would like to thank Rayna Rose. You see, she won this contest four years ago and got to be the bad girl in my next book. She wanted to be hybrid, but I couldn't figure out how that would work in my universe. So, I one-upped her. Made her a crazy-ass demon. Ranya's part was a lot of fun to write and required copious amounts of rum.
I would like to thank my kids, Connor and Caelyn, for staying out of my office long enough to let me finally finish…
To my proofreaders; Diana, Deborah, Theresa, and Eric. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
And I would like to thank one last person, Lurch. Cosmo, Thanks for loving my books. Your mom said you would get a kick out of seeing your name in one of them. So, you're reading this one… I hope you like your character!
Thank you to all my fans out there who kept finding me on Facebook and Amazon, keeping in touch and being the reason I decided to start writing again. Thank you, too.
Using nothing but a talon, Belial etched the last rune of the summoning circle into the stone floor of Lord Asmodeus' keep. He couldn't use it to enter the mortal realm. After being defeated by the whelp, he was far too weak to break the spell around his vessel, but it could be used to amplify his connection to the relic. Even without the summoning circle, he could feel its call. He knew where it was, but his plan would never come to fruition without its magic.
Placing his bulk in the middle of the eight-sided star, he cast his essence toward the mortal realm. When he opened his eyes, he was seeing through the empty eye sockets of the skull his misbegotten offspring had trapped him in. Belial smiled at the thought of Greer's death at the hands of Asmodeus' child.
The skull sat in a glass container in a dark room, somewhere in the mortal realm. He focused every iota of his consciousness and called. He didn't specify a name, but called to his blood. His abomination, Greer, had sired hundreds of offspring during the millennia he had walked the mortal realm. To them he cast his need.
He felt the first stirrings of confused responses. They heard the call. He sent another wave of thought to them. Find me. Find me and free me. Your reward will be great.
He felt the eldest of them sever the connection. He was powerless to stop them. They had become powerful in their own right, and while he might be able to inflict his will on them in the mortal realm…here he didn't stand a chance. He smiled at the thought of making them suffer for their impudence once he returned to the mortal realm.
The youngest of the breed seemed eager to help. He smiled in the lightless room. Find me…
∞ ∞ ∞
Asmodeus sat upon his throne of bone and listened to Belial's call to the mortal realm. He could feel the eager replies and smiled. Hopefully one of the abominations could find a way to retrieve the Vessel of Belial.
The more he thought of it, the less sure he became. From what he had seen of the humans' world, they had grown strong. They had an uncanny knack for making things difficult for him and his ilk. Maybe the progeny of Belial didn't stand a chance against retrieving the skull.
Asmodeus hadn't become the ruler of his realm by taking chances. He needed reassurances.
"Vizier!"
The ghostly demon appeared prostrate at his lord's feet. "What is your wish, my lord?"
"Find me another way into the mortal realm. Travel to the courts of the other Princes of Hell. I don't care what it takes. Find me a way."
"The other courts, my lord?"
"Yes. I don't care what payment they require. Whatever it takes. Are we clear, Vizier?"
"Yes, my lord," he said and evaporated into the stale palace air.
∞ ∞ ∞
Asmodeus waited patiently for three days for his seneschal to return. The apparition did not have facial features, but when he appeared, Asmodeus knew he would not like the news.
"My lord…"
"Speak."
"There is a way."
Asmodeus slid forward on his throne, nearly hanging off the edge in anticipation. "How?"
"Abaddon, my lord."
Asmodeus hissed in rage at the very name. He had hoped Vizier would find a way before he reached the court of the war-mongering dog. He closed his eyes and calmed his ever-present rage. "And what is the cost of this favor?"
"He seemed to be in a generous mood, my lord. He asked naught, but for you to keep the instrument of your salvation when the favor is done."
"And what is this 'instrument' he speaks of?"
"Rayna, my lord."
Asmodeus opened his mouth to refuse, but something made him quell his opposition. "She is uncontrollable. She lives for nothing but pleasure and pain."
"She has a vessel in the mortal realm, my lord. She can travel to it at will."
"Then why is she still amongst the ranks of Abaddon's legions? Why is she not in the mortal realm feasting on the flesh of cattle?"
"Abaddon was ordered to rein her appetites in. He forbade her to travel to the mortal realm. It is rumored he keeps her chained in celestial irons in his chambers."
"And why would he give her to me?"
"She has escaped twice, my lord. He was tasked with her retrieval twice. He grows weary of her antics and wishes to pawn her off on your magnificence."
Asmodeus chuckled deep from within his belly. Abaddon loved his toys. Asmodeus had no such flaws. His minions were naught but tools with one purpose only, to do his bidding. Once Rayna ended her task, he would weigh heavily her merit. If he could find another purpose for her, she would live. If not…
"Tell Abaddon I accept his gracious offer. Have her go directly to the mortal realm and find my abomination. Bring me her head and she will be rewarded. If she fails, tell her it is her head I will add to my throne," he said and patted the arm of his throne made of bones.
Vizier bowed low and vanished once again.
∞ ∞ ∞
The doors to the ancient oaken throne room of the elves opened. Darenthalis, Seventh Lord of the Land of Twilight, Protector of the Veil entered solemnly. He strode forward, crossing the room with somber grace, but Oberon could sense the confusion pouring off him like fear. Darenthalis knelt before him and bowed his head low.
"This is the first time I have summoned you here, is it not?"
"Yes, my king."
"Do you know why I bid you come?"
"No, my king."
Oberon regretted what he was about to do, but even kings answered to higher powers.
"You have embarrassed not only your king, but your realm as well!"
"My lord, how?"
"You had the most dangerous abomination the mortal realm has ever hosted within your grasp. She came to you for guidance, and yet you did not rid the world of this indeterminable evil!"
His voice echoed over the stone floor, cascading to a small rumble as it reached the doors.
"Ashlyn, my king?"
"I do not know the abominations name. Nor do I care. I only care that you let it escape. The balance of order had been tipped, and you were in a critical place to right it. You were the fulcrum that let the balance be swayed."
"My king, Ashlyn does not possess the propensity for evil! If anything, the balance should have been swayed for good, not evil."
"Either way, balance should be just that. Balanced. A new abomination has been released. You let it go. You are responsible. Find it. Kill it. Correct your mistake and you shall be forgiven."
"Yes, my king."
Darenthalis stood and left the way he had come. Oberon watched his back with a small smile on his face. It disappeared when an all too familiar voice spoke from behind him.
"Do you think he will do it?"
Oberon turned and saw Raphael seated upon the Oaken Throne. "I do not know. If he is convinced of her innocence and goodness, I doubt it. Darenthalis is noble, even among elves."
"Good. It is not his task."
"Then why bid me to send him to do it?"
"All will be clear in time. There are forces unleashed upon the earth better left in the recesses of the hells. Darenthalis is merely a pawn in the bigger game."
"As you wish, father," he said and bowed low as the angel vanished with a smirk.
"Kid, wake up."
I opened my eyes and Thompson stood over me like a big black tidal wave threatening to crash down on me. "What?"
"It's an hour after sunset. Why are you still sleeping?"
I closed my eyes and felt around for the sun. Sure enough, I could feel it glowing well below the horizon. Most vampires woke and rose with the sun. I'm a little different. My name is Ashlyn Thorn and I was born a vampire. I use that term very loosely. Vampires aren't born; they're created. I was an anomaly to say the least. I didn't burst into flame when exposed to sunlight, but it hurt like a son of a bitch. I had talons instead of nails. My fangs are curved. Oh, and when I get really pissed off, I grow horns and my fangs and talons get longer. Yeah, I know. I'm a freak. I've been calling myself one for eighteen years. Especially since I don't eat people, I eat monsters.
The gigantic black man standing over me was Special Agent James Thompson. He had the dubious honor of being my partner. He's a werelion and a pretty tough bastard, so I haven't managed to get him killed like everybody else in my life as of late. He even actually kind of likes me…a little.
"Sorry, I'll get dressed. Shoo."
"Oh, you did not just shoo me, did you?"
"It's my house. Don't make me sorry I gave you the damn code to get in. Now unless you want an eyeful of naked partner, go wait outside. Be out in a minute."
Thompson chuckled and did as he was told. I smiled a little at his retreating back. He and I had been through a lot in the past six months. I had charged into a burning building to pull his fat from the fryer. He'd done a hell of a lot more to keep me safe. I couldn't imagine doing this job without him. A soft sigh escaped from my lips. As of late I had been having trouble doing the job even with his help. It seemed the more I tried to do the right thing, the worse I screwed up.
I stripped my clothes on the way to the bathroom and left them lying on the floor with the countless others. It was Wednesday, and I would probably be doing laundry all weekend just to catch up. If my aunt, the former owner of the house, were still alive she would never let me live it down. I glanced over at her picture on her dresser and the familiar lump formed in my chest. I missed her. I missed her a lot. If it weren't for the Special Agent in Charge of the Chicago Field Office, I wouldn't have the house, the picture of her, or anything else in Chicago.
When she died, I ran. I ended up being recruited by the FBI to smack around the monsters that couldn't get along with the normal people. I didn't want her memory tarnished as the lady who hid the freaky vampire, so I dropped my last name and just became Ashlyn. Special Agent Reese did a little digging into fatal car accidents that happened around the same time I came out of the vampiric closet and put two and two together. Smart man, that Reese. As it turned out, he had all my records changed to show my last name, got the house pulled out of probate and put into my name, and gave me more than a home. Thompson and I were originally supposed to be stationed in Washington, DC. We're both from Chi-town. His wife was very happy we were staying here. I was very happy, too. Mostly because I got to take vampire lessons from a hunky French blood sucker who owned a bunch of nudie bars. Shucky darns.
Thoughts of Marcel turned into memories of Vic. Vic was the first "like me" vampire I had ever made. I hadn't meant to, it just happened during a "I think you're hot, let me suck on your neck while you suck on mine" feeding frenzy in California. I fell in love with another girl. I made her like me. I got her killed. The memory haunted me every minute of every day, but that's what happens when it turns out the bad guy is the good guy you were trying to protect.
I silently cursed Governor Greer and hoped he was rotting in one of the seven hells. I put him there. I just wish I could have delivered him personally. The problem with that is I might run into dear old dad. Yeah, as it turns out, my papa is a demon. Asmodio-something. I planned on skipping all the family reunions since he wanted me deader than I already was.
I flipped on the light switch in the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like shit. My cheekbones were sticking out, my eyes were sunken, my flesh was pasty, and I had black circles around, below, above, next to, and to the right of my eyes. I looked like an undead raccoon. I tried to remember the last time I ate and drew a blank. I kicked myself and made a mental note to grab a lycanthrope juicy-pouch from the fridge on my way out the door. Yes, I kept werewolf blood in my refrigerator. Oh, and I'm a Scorpio.
I brushed my teeth and fangs and flossed to remove all the unwanted plaque and red blood cells from between my teeth. With half-lidded eyes, I rinsed with minty medicine flavored mouthwash. The floor suddenly tilted up at a ninety degree angle to smash me in the face. At least that’s what it looked like as I passed out.
∞ ∞ ∞
The feeling of cold liquid, burning like the sun as it hit my tongue, spread a nummy warmth throughout my body and woke me from my little nap. Thompson had my head in his lap and was holding a little plastic sack of Chateau de Werewolf Pinot Sangreal 2017 over my face, squirting copious amounts into my open mouth like a high school foo
tball team water-boy.
I blinked twice, took the pouch from him, and sucked it dry. I didn't have the strength to move, and honestly, the wonderful feelings spreading through my body were too good to ruin by standing up. I stretched like a cat and ran my hands over my stomach.
"Um, Ash. Ixnay on the etchystrays, okay?"
I looked up at his face and saw he wasn't looking anywhere near my eyes. They were transfixed on something about two feet down. I looked and realized I was still butt naked and rubbing myself in front of my partner, a happily married man. I punched him in the chest. "Get a good look, perv?"
I used the little strength I had gleaned from my juice-pouch and shot into the bathroom like a cheetah with a bottle-rocket up its ass. I wrapped a towel around me, choked down the sense of horrific embarrassment threatening to make me curl up into a fetal position, and walked calmly back into my bedroom. Thompson still sat on the floor. He had his elbow on his leg and rested his head on his fist. He didn't look angry or remorseful. He looked worried.
"Kid," he said without looking up, "Go eat some more."
"I will. I planned on eating before we left, I just didn't make it."
"I mean now. Go."
"Yes, sir," I said with a little more sarcasm than I intended. I walked through my very quiet, very dusty house and into the kitchen. I heard my bedroom door close and thought I could hear a cell phone dialing, but I couldn't be sure. My hearing was good, just not that good. He was probably calling his wife. He tended to do that when weird stuff happened between us. He called her quite often. I tried to keep positive and liked to think I was keeping their lines of marital communications open. It helped me sleep at night.
I opened the fridge and forgot about Thompson. My stomach sounded like somebody tried to flush a screeching squirrel down an airplane toilet. I pulled out three pouches of blood and sat down at the kitchen counter to enjoy my meal. By the time I was done, Thompson came out of my bedroom.