Deliverance (Knights of Black Swan Book 12) Read online

  Deliverance

  Knights of Black Swan, Book 12

  by Victoria Danann

  Copyright 2018 Victoria Danann

  Published by 7th House Publishing, Imprint of Andromeda LLC

  Read more about this author and upcoming works at VictoriaDanann.com

  ***

  If you’re under the impression that I’m an easygoing grandfather who’s sometimes comical, sometimes even foolish, you are right. At least you’re right to the extent that you’ve seen one side of me - a version I’ve carefully crafted and chosen to project.

  But if you think I’m a harmless boy toy, you’re sorely mistaken.

  I’m not harmless.

  I’m demon.

  Deliverance

  I’m an Abraxas demon though my kind is known by a myriad of other names. Lilin-Demon in old Mesopotamia. Lidérc in Hungary. Alp in Germany. Karabasan in Turkey. Boto in the Amazon. Trauco in Chile. Tokolosh in South Africa. Incubus in Roman Catholicism.

  And on and on and on. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah.

  Yes. Abraxas demons have been busy.

  All over the world.

  No. We’re not like the reports. Except for a couple of isolated incidents. Mostly we’re more like what people think of as angels.

  I know you’re laughing. If not outwardly, then inwardly.

  That’s the problem. Angels are geniuses at shaping public thought. Couple that with deception and what you get is a profoundly fucked-up version of tangled half-truths. Up is down. Down is up. It’s the angels who should keep you up at night.

  A deviant’s most valuable tool is beauty. Keep that in mind.

  Back to the point and it’s this, my life is monotony in its most excruciating extreme. I’m a sex demon who would give anything for a respite from sex. Anything. Just for an entire day with a dry wick. A week would be bliss beyond my ability to imagine. A month would be paradise.

  I can no longer remember what it was like to want sex.

  For almost three hundred years I’ve been driven to copulate. Fuck or die. Not constantly. But almost. So I fuck. But I’d like to die.

  Don’t tell my daughter or granddaughter that. They’d worry about my state of mind and I have a preference for keeping things the way they are… with only me worrying about my state of mind.

  For centuries I’ve accepted this state of being, believing it was an affliction. What I didn’t know, until recently, was that it had been deliberately set upon me, by whom and for what reason I don’t know. A curse, my granddaughter tells me.

  Now that it’s been identified and named it makes perfect sense, but before I’d just assumed that I’d had the misfortune of contracting some rare form of sex demon disease.

  Just the idea that my granddaughter might be able to find a cure by tracing the malignancy back to its origin... I don’t want to give a name to how that makes me feel because it’s one of the buzz words angels are most fond of. I’ll just say that it’s taken the sharp edge off my interest in death.

  I know there are no guarantees, but if anybody can do this thing, it’s my Rosie, named after her grandmother. Whom I loved.

  Well, her name is actually Elora Rose, but we call her Rosie, which was her grandmother’s name. Rosie Pottinger was a Pendle Hill witch who became obsessed about a family story that her ancestor had summoned a demon. Witches are given to obsession. And one thing about folklore is kind of true. They have a weakness for demons.

  That family story turned out to be true.

  How do I know?

  Because my Rosie got pregnant and demons can’t procreate with creatures who have no demon DNA. At least not in the way most people think of when you say ‘procreate’.

  She ended her life because she couldn’t stand knowing that I was with other females several times a day. Every day. It was a sorrow that eventually overcame her. Now I’m the one who lives with a sorrow that never strays far away. It’s with me each and every hour.

  I was stricken, consumed with grief. I thought the world had ended and, in a sense, it had. For me. That’s not an excuse for leaving my daughter in the hands of fate. The degree of my self-involvement proves the wisdom of the guideline that elementals are not to procreate with other species.

  How I wish… Well, if wishes were horses or whatever.

  It was unforgivable.

  And, yet, Litha forgave me.

  CHAPTER One ORIGINS

  The Order began to accumulate information on Deliverance when his relationship to one of Black Swan’s employees became known. He is the father of Litha Brandywine, formerly thought to be a witch tracker. That classification was amended when we became aware that she was also half demon, sex demon to be exact.

  His early history was supplied by his daughter, to the best of her knowledge. Other bits and pieces have been noted and applied as available.

  His origins were typical of the species. He was the progeny of a mating between a dark male named Obizoth and a light female named Ariel, born in the fire dimension of Ovelgoth Alla. He was conceived in the deep green waters of a fossilized lava pool and, three days later, walked full grown onto the shore in all his magnificent glory as the masculine personification of lust. If Deliverance had to be described by one word, it would be irresistible - not in the ordinary usage of the term, but in the true meaning of raw compulsion that cannot be resisted.

  Incubus folklore wasn’t entirely without basis. Medieval art often depicts night spirits accessing a woman’s bedchamber through her window at night and ravishing her as the rest of the household sleeps. The stories took flight when abraxas demons were caught pleasuring willing recipients of their attention.

  To save face, the families would claim that the daughter or niece or sibling was the victim of an evil night spirit out to spoil her purity and, perhaps, impregnate her with a devil’s minion.

  Incubi were often confused with fauns, like Pan the Healer. In fact, abraxas demons often ministered to sexually abused women for healing of body, mind, and spirit.

  Deliverance learned about his relationship with Litha because of an incident involving one of the knights employed by the vampire hunting division, Sir Chaos Caelian. Sir Kay had killed Obizoth. It was justified and sanctioned by Black Swan because Obizoth had been instrumental in assisting with sex trafficking. When Sir Kay saw the condition of the women in the New Persia facility they had raided, the berserker part of his personality was unleashed and he tore the demon’s head from his body.

  The demon familial code obligated Deliverance to carry out a vendetta on his father’s behalf. The fact that he hated his father and might have enjoyed killing Obizoth himself, didn’t release him from the duty to exact revenge.

  After stalking Sir Caelian for some time, Deliverance determined that the best way to carry out his grudge imperative would be to abduct Kay’s fiancée and leave the knight always wondering what had become of her. Of course he would let the vampire hunter know that a demon had abducted her.

  It should be said that Deliverance got no personal satisfaction from carrying out the code directive. For him it was nothing more or less than an item on a to-do list. But life is strange and fate is stranger. He could never have imagined that the quest to avenge his father might lead him to the first joy he’d experienced since Rosie Pottinger threw herself into the wintry black water of Audley Clough on a moonless night.

  Litha knew nothing about her heritage because she’d been left on the steps of a Pendle Hill church and adopted by seven monks who made up the Order of Cairdeas Deo in the California wine country. The monks suspected she was, at least partly supernormal species because she was exceptionally bright, cu
rious, and excelled at anything she took seriously. Of course, that alone wouldn’t be cause for suspicion because many human children are thus gifted. But Litha caused tables to rattle and flames to leap when her temper was provoked.

  It wasn’t exactly a surprise. The monk who had been called to England to claim the child had known that the vicar wouldn’t go to such lengths for every orphan.

  CHAPTER Two WOMEN

  What’s the most precious thing in all the dimensions and in-between realms of the World?

  Women.

  No. Not the ones who give me fuel.

  The ones who give me life.

  My daughter Litha, and my granddaughter Rosie.

  I hadn’t begun to live until they came into my life. As I remember, it was a happy accident. I may have been misbehaving when Litha found me. - Deliverance

  Of course Litha knew nothing about her unusual heritage or the source of her extraordinary gifts. She could not know that she had her father's hair and a light kiss of his bronze-tinted skin that gave her color even through a long Scotia winter. She could not know that she had her mother's deep green eyes, rosy cheeks, and luscious lips so naturally red they never needed artificial color.

  What she did know was that she was different. The monks had gone to great lengths to teach her from infancy that those differences must be carefully hidden from most of the people most of the time. There were some things that not even The Order knew. For instance, she had a miraculous resistance to the dangers of fire. In other words, she couldn't be burned.

  Though she’d known that all her life, she hadn’t learned that she could also generate spontaneous fire with her hands, given sufficient emotional turmoil. She hadn’t known that because, prior to meeting Sir Engel Storm, she’d never been vexed to a degree that would express itself as fire starting. He’d been the catalyst that spiked a jealous reaction, something she’d not previously had occasion to experience.

  At first she was afraid that if others found out, she might be reclassified as dangerous. After all, she had accidentally started a fire in a public place that endangered people and property. At that time she had no idea why she would share traits commonly manifested among Abraxas demons.

  As fate would have it, she was assigned the task of tracking Kay’s fiancée, Katrina. Sir Storm was also assigned to escort her on the journey to locate his partner’s bride-to-be, as the berserker himself was being kept in a forced coma until she could be found.

  Using formal and informal magics, Litha followed Katrina’s energy trail to an ancient narrow street in Sienna, Italy.

  One minute Litha was in Sienna preparing for a kiss that would last her a lifetime if needs be. The next minute she was in the ‘no place’ that she would later call ‘the passes’, the corridors that separate realities.

  Her senses informed that she was in a place without geography, a grayness where nothing was solid, where direction wasn't concrete and therefore didn't exist. It took her mind a few seconds to adjust to the shock, but she’d been trained to keep her wits about her even when circumstances defied conventional reference points.

  When consulted as a psychic, Aelsong had indicated that it was an incubus demon who had taken Katrina to another dimension. So Litha was prepared, when she embarked on the assignment, for unusual occurrences.

  She decided the most logical course of action would be to begin by asking for what she wanted. She took the housing off her pendulum and without removing it from her neck, said simply, "Katrina."

  A whirring, rushing sensation filled her ears and she sensed movement even though she wasn’t entirely sure she was walking. Suddenly she landed unceremoniously on her rear end on the sand floor of a limestone room with torches on the walls and randomly placed dark puddles of some viscous substance that was on fire. Fortunately the sand had absorbed the sound of her entry. She quickly took in the scene.

  She’d come to the right place.

  Katrina sat in a cane and rope chair staring straight ahead. She looked no worse for wear physically, but she did look scared and disoriented. And her wrists were bound. When she saw Litha, she opened her mouth to say something, but the witch put a finger to her lips and then turned to assess the figure, whom she assumed must be the incubus in question, who now had his back to her.

  As Aelsong had correctly related, his hair was black as night and hanging to his waist. He was shirtless, wearing loose, tan-colored pants that draped his form like fine, soft suede.

  Litha got to her feet as quietly as she could and had risen to her full height before the demon turned and saw her standing there. It would be a gross understatement to say that he was shocked. In nearly a thousand years no one had ever found their way into his private lair. Without entertaining whether there might be merit in asking questions first, he gathered an impressive fireball into his perfectly formed hand, drew back and launched it at the intruder.

  The fireball was aimed right at Litha's torso. Out of pure reflex, she raised both hands and caught it in front of her midsection using exactly the same movements one would use to catch a basketball. For a moment she held still, staring at the fiery orb with surprise and fascination in equal parts. Then, as if she knew what to do instinctively, she clapped her hands together. The fire vanished as if it had never been.

  Lowering her hands to her sides, she calmly raised her eyes to the demon, and waited passively to see what he would do next. There was a part of her mind that was questioning her bravado, admonishing that it might be more appropriate for her to be, at least, a little afraid. And yet she wasn’t.

  In fact it was the demon who was afraid. Just as he’d released the missile, he was struck by the fact that the creature standing before him was the very image of Rosie Pottinger. He was terrified that he might have reacted too quickly and hurt her.

  He cursed himself and wished, a millisecond too late, that he could recall the flame to his hand. But whether he deserved it or not, the gods had been merciful. He was granted a reprieve for acting without thinking because, evidently and miraculously, the fire had done no harm. And so it happened that Deliverance found himself staring into the eyes of the witch he loved. Eyes that were the same dark green as the lava pools of Ovelgoth Alla.

  "Rosie?" he whispered.

  "No. My name is Litha. And you are?" she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  The demon cocked his head to the side as if he could study her better from that angle. Her manner was decidedly more assertive than Rosie's, but she spoke with Rosie's voice. Just as he was about to ask, “What are you?” he saw that her hair was not brown like Rosie’s. It was black. Like his. Her lips were red like Rosie's. So much so that the reminder made his heart hurt to look at her, but the creature’s skin was also not so fair as Rosie’s. It was tinted with fire. Like his. Last, but not least, she was a firestarter. Like Abraxas demons.

  Reaching out with his senses, he was struck with the knowledge that the woman who’d found her way into his lair, this woman who was not susceptible to fire, was the baby he’d forgotten about once he knew that Rosie had flown beyond the veil and was no longer within reach of the living. The woman, the baby grown up to be magnificent in every respect, had not been invited to the demon’s private lair, but she was oh so welcome.

  As Deliverance continued to study her, Litha was likewise assessing the male who was every bit as remarkably formed as incubus demons are purported to be. When the stunning creature before her began to smile, his appeal increased exponentially. Just seconds before, she would have thought that impossible. Her previous conceptions about ideals of beauty were being revised minute to minute.

  "Deliverance." He gave the impression of enjoying his own name and said it with a little bow. "In these days of fashionable informality people sometimes call me Del, but I think you should call me..." He smiled even broader, "...Dad."

  Litha didn't react to that visibly. She was calculating whether to proceed as if he was insane or allow him to make the case for his claim of paternity. She
decided there was enough of a chance to allow a little exploration into the possibility.

  As surprising as it might be, even to her, she took this information in stride. After all, she knew she had been fathered by someone. She also knew she had abilities that were unusual and, in light of the disturbing fire starting incident, growing more unusual lately. Truthfully, being fathered by a demon could explain a lot.

  "You believe you're my father."

  "I do. It’s true. No doubt," he said.

  "What proof do you have of that?"

  "Well, first, there's the fact that you're standing here." He swiveled from the waist and gestured around him. "In my lair. How many witches do you imagine have ever managed that?"

  "Three?"

  “You’re funny. I like that.” He shook his gorgeous mane of hair and smiled indulgently. "You’re the only uninvited guest to ever make an appearance here."

  "Okay. I’m a tracker. Not everybody is. So what else have you got?"

  "Daughter, except for the fact that you grow my hair and wear my skin, you are the image of your very comely mum." He turned away and then back again. "Whom I loved, by the way."

  Litha frowned. "An incubus demon in love?"

  He shrugged. "Happens."

  "Not that I've heard about."

  He waved his hand and the fires burned lower. "Not often, I grant you. But she was very special. Sweet, delicious Rosie." The last three words were said in a lowered voice, almost to himself. "Your family has been passing demon blood for generations. None of them had as much concentration as you of course. But enough to make babies."

  As much as she didn’t want to believe him, things were falling into place. "The Pendle Hill witches."

  "Indeed.” He grinned. “You're quick. And powerful for a halfwitch.”

  "Please don't call me that. It sounds way too much like halfwit."