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Desires of Demons

Part 1: The Power of Blood.

If I could go back and tell my mother one thing, it would be this; "Do not play with a demon, a demon plays for keeps." Admittedly this would have accomplished little. Perhaps she wouldn't have done it, perhaps a year later I would have found a new life in foster care and she would have been dead. But had she listened it might have prevented the greater deaths to come.

**-1-

Suffering**

Desolation is by far the worst trap to fall in to, especially when one has a child to care for. Everything you do is for the child and it isn't enough. Nothing is ever enough to bring back the light in your eyes, to fill the gaping hole in your heart. Not love, not lust, not material things, not food, not even pain. Of course every single one of us must discover this on our own, in our own time.

-

It was past three in the morning and Janet was still awake. The ancient book lay open in her lap. It was old--very old and this only a transcription of the previous transcription. She knew not the century of it's make and most of the words took her a week to decipher. The language of those words were too a mystery but she did know one thing. Those words had power.

Once, only once did she bend her will to those ancient words. Once had been enough, the terrible works she had done out of naivete scarred her heart and mind. With that memory it took all of her weakened will to push her mind back--to the book, to those words. In truth they were just ink, strange perhaps but she was just beginning to understand the depth of them.

A headache pinched her brow but she pushed on. At first it was only titles, attempting to decide which would help her. She had chosen wrong twice before, weeks worth of studying mostly wasted but for the familiarity she gained with the script. So tired--so desolate she worked days and read through nights. Her sleep suffered and so too did her disposition. She put on a smile for her daughter, but the hunger was ever present in her eyes.

The book had once belonged to her great grandmother Nora; a witch she claimed. Her mother and grandmother did not know of the book. However her grandmother had nodded with a hollow eyed agreement, "A witch." She said when they had spoken of Nora decades past. As a teenager she had laughed it off, were not all grandmothers and great grandmothers witches and crones?

As a freshmen in college Janet's grandmother called her one day; Nora was dying. Janet had come to the hospital with dry eyes. She had never been close to the old withered woman. When Janet entered the room, there she lay, sunken yet strangely confident, "My dear child." Nora said, her voice raspy. She pulled herself up, sitting straight as she could with a heavy leather bound book in her lap. That book had seen better days; the cover was stained, page edges singed and molded.

With great care she lifted it, offering the heavy volume to Janet, "This has been in our family for generations. It is due for a proper illumination I think but I am far past caring."

Janet took the book and held it to her chest. It smelled of mildew, dust, herbs, and other scents she couldn't identify, "Thank you Grannie..." Janet said, then paused and asked, "What is it?"

The old woman cackled, coughed, then said brightly, "Why its my book of spells my dear. I thought you already knew I was a witch?" There was a teasing glint in the elder's eye as she said it, but also a hardness about her that suggested something more.

Janet opened the volume to a random page and gazed down at the splayed body of a man. The image was not unlike the drawing done by Leonardo Da Vinci, but darker. The man had been split down the middle with organs taken out, still attached, and laid about. Each one had a label, but the script was foreign to her, "I cannot read it."

"No, I don't suppose you can, but you are a smart girl, I am sure you can figure it out." Nora replied, then glanced out a window, watching the sun slowly set, "My daughters never had enough potential to give a damn about it." Her words came out bitter, laced with old regrets.

"Daughters?" Janet prompted, knowing of only her grandmother.

"Ah... Never mind that. Your mother married well, meaning you have some small potential, enough to perhaps carry on our lineage. It used to mean something once you know, but that damned man had to go off to war before getting me with child... I told him the British and Americans would attend to themselves. We are above that I said--but no, he did always love his politics." Nora rambled for a while and it became clear to Janet that the woman must have been at least a bit senile.

"The Germans you mean of course? The Great war?" Janet offered, trying to focus her Great Grandmother's thoughts.

"..." Nora stared at her a long quiet moment, then nodded, "Yes, the Germans, that's right. There have been so many wars lately, it's so hard to keep up with current events."

"That was over fifty years ago Grannie, hardly current events." Janet added and took a seat next to the bed.

Again Nora stared at her, quiet, "Your mother ever tell you not to correct your elders? Hmm?"

"She did--and then I corrected her, pointing out that ignorance is not a virtue." The younger woman replied. Again Nora cackled, then broke in to coughing. Janet quickly brought her a cup of water to quell the pain.

"She always was a bit of a cow, that one. Dull eyes and slow tongue. Wondered for years if my daughter adopted her, but I see a bit of the family fire in you." Nora said, cruelly. Janet flinched and looked away. No, she thought, mother would never win an award in science or philosophy but this bitter spite was unnecessary. Before Janet could respond her great grandmother continued, voice more serious, "I made a mistake once, I bargained for power and chose wrong. Because of that choice our family has nearly fallen. The wealth we once had is gone, the power we wielded has vanished. Find a strong man, a man of power, cleave yourself to him and have a strong child. I don't imagine you will ever be too much more than you are, but you can do that. Promise me, you will do that."

For a long moment Janet was silent, staring at Nora. The old woman had a fierce hardness to her, and a hunger in those eyes that shined like fire, "You want me to marry for money?" She asked, frowning. It was certainly an odd request and counterpoint to her friends at school, fighting for equal rights.

"No, not marriage and not money, power. Study the book, learn..." She paused, licked her lips, then added, "Page seventy eight, I've marked it. Start there."

Nora trailed off then as her shoulders seemed to wither. She was sad to be over a hundred years old and had been there all of Janet's life. For the first time she had seen her great grandmother looking scared and frail. Janet then left, taking the book and leaving only a single kiss to Nora's dry--wrinkled forehead. It was the last time they would ever see each other.

A year later Janet had put that book to the test. With Nora's final words in mind, she had sought out a man of great power, and bound him to her. The affair was brief and delicious, it had been the happiest time in her life she could remember. It didn't last; one morning she woke to find him staring at her as if a stranger. That day he left and she never saw him again. The binding had failed. Three weeks later she found herself with child.

Again Janet's mind came back to the book in her lap. She was so tired, but she had found a lead. It was a page that had smudges on it, her great grandmother's fingers had rested here many times. A page of importance, she was sure, but still did not know the name.

-

Hell calling, or telemarketing, those were the only translations she could come up with and she doubted it had anything to do with telephones. The words were a strange mixture of Arabic and Sumerian with unknowns added in just to throw off translation. Many of the characters were backwards or upside down and even some had been transposed with invented symbols. However the spell itself was complex but made sense, more so than any other she had read. It also contained one component that made her shudder. By the description it was what she wanted but the price, the price was too high. The words also spelled out danger and risk, for all involved.

Most of the book seemed to be ritual and dogma. Things to do, things not to do, what to wear, how to wear it. What ingredients to use on which phase of the moon under what stars and with what elements intended. This specific spell was to call--something and enslave it or strike a bargain. The price had to be life, female life specifically. The something also had to agree to the bargain.

Janet continued searching, for a week, for a month--but at last she had to give up. Half the book was read by that time, her decision would have to be made. She wasn't an occultist by a long shot, not a witch and no religion to speak of. However she drew upon all those sources she could think of to help her decide.

-

Less than a week from the full moon with the house dark and near silent. There was but a flicking of cards, a soft tap every so often. In that silence Delilah woke--an odd feeling in her gut. She knew her mother had been acting weird for months but couldn't know the depth of that strangeness. The little girl crawled from her bed and stumbled--bleary eyed through the house. She followed the flick of the cards to her mother's bedroom door.

The sound halted and she pushed the door open. Darkness beyond but for moonlight through an open window. The light illuminated her mother's bed, a bit messy, her mother's face, tear stained. Glossy faced cards were lain out around Janet over a decorative blanket, shining in the moonlight.

Janet turned to look at her daughter, "Come here Deli--I don't know whether to give you

the choice, or take the choice out of your hands. I don't know which you could live with. I can't live with either--but I won't have to."

Delilah stepped closer and glanced down at the cards. They weren't playing cards, that she knew. They were painted with strange colors and symbols, "What choice momma?" she asked, feeling both worried and frightened. She had seen her mother cry before, but now it struck her as desolate, and that scared her worse than anything. She reached out to clutch at her mother's arm, "What's wrong momma, what's going on? Why are you crying?" she asked with a trembling voice.

Strong hands steadied the girl and lifted her to the bed, disturbing the arrangement of cards no longer needed, "You can't understand, I don't want you to either. In a few nights, when the moon is full we are going to do something baby, for your future. Don't be afraid, don't cry, I will do enough of that for both of us." Janet hugged the young girl as tight as she could, wondering if this spell was what her great grandmother had regretted all those years ago. Daughters Nora had said, what happened to the other child?

"I won't momma I promise, I'll be strong for us both." Delilah said, trying to reassure her mother. Together they laid until the moon set, the sun rose, and Janet fell asleep.

Well into the morning Delilah slipped free of her mother's bed. Her eye caught on an old book, its covers warped, pages yellowed and moth eaten. She picked it up from the floor and carried it with her, opening it to the page that had been marked. She didn't understand it, but she saw drawings, horrible things that twisted at her gut and made her shudder inside. One such drawing pulled at her more than others; she wanted to help her mother.

My mother was stupid. She played with forces she had no business and lost. I blame Nora, her pride, her ego wouldn't let her lineage end. She had worn out her own blood and had nothing to bargain with, so she put the task to a child who didn't even believe. Janet, my mother, wasn't even twenty when that dark tome was given to her and then Nora died without imparting its secrets or dangers.

**-2-

And So Enters The Demons**

Ritual after ritual, cleansing, bathing, preparing materials and the place. Janet chose a location deep in the woods, far from the old family farmhouse. It was a clearing with a flat field-stone some meter across dropped in the middle. It was a peaceful place with a dark history of use. Great pines scented the air and oaks, elm and birch leaned in to catch the sun.

Delilah was off running in the fields every day, avoiding her. Janet didn't blame the girl honestly, no one needed to see what she was doing here. The stone painted in blood, tears, blessed oils and circled in a ring of salt with a single two foot wide gap. Janet wondered how much the ritual and components were necessary and how much were superstition. She found much of it trivial and silly, perhaps only set the mood and her mood had already been set by the last necessary component.

For three days she worked, preparing for the full moon night. Wood chopped and stacked in to unlit pyres, components set out and her body prepared. That last morning she found Delilah awake already with the spell book open at the kitchen table. She sat with a paring knife in hand and a pile of wood shavings littering the floor. Before her a length of green birch lay in her lap, the end being whittled to match the picture in the book.

So engrossed in her work, Delilah failed to notice her mother's gaze from the kitchen door, "Delilah... what are you doing?" she asked.

The knife jumped and bit the birch, gouging deeply the sapwood, "Momma!" she exclaimed wide eyed with a guilty look on her face. Janet looked to the open book, seeing the spell, what her daughter was making.

"Oh Deli--You shouldn't be..." she stopped, then pulled up one of the kitchen chairs, "You couldn't know, I'm sorry. When this is over I'm giving the book to you. It has brought me nothing but pain over the years, but you may make some better use of it. It was your great great grandmother Nora's spell book"

Janet went silent a moment, gazing down at the half whittled stick, then up to Delilah's face, "So, tell me what you are making sweetie"

The little girl set the knife down and lifted the stick, crudely hacked off with a hatchet at one end, the other had been whittled smooth, most of the bark stripped off. A few places she had begun carving the symbols, "Its a wand for tonight Momma. I wanted to make it, to help you out."

"It's not bad work Deli, your a natural. It's not a..." Janet started, then realized her daughter's interpretation was probably the more accurate translation, "No, it's a beautiful wand, and I'll be happy to use it tonight." A haunted look clouded Janet's face, a shadow of the emptiness she felt deep inside. Delilah saw it, and shivered herself, then buried the fear in her belly, she had promised to be strong. The thought entered her mind, that one of them had to be.

Trembling, Janet put the wand back down in Delilah's lap then went outside to water the garden. How could she tell her little girl, what use that rod would be put to. Was it worth it? She still didn't know but she had made a decision and she would follow it through.

-

The night was dark as she made her way to the clearing, book in one hand Delilah's in the other. The child carried the wand, it was rough, but probably better than Janet could have done herself. There were still a few minutes before the moon would rise and she had to start.

They arrived and Janet came to a halt, finding herself well truly terrified. She didn't know what would happen, she didn't know if she had prepared right, she didn't know if she had translated right. What business do I have playing with magic like this were some fairy tale? She asked herself quite ready to just turn around and abandon the whole thing.

"Come on momma." Delilah's somber voice penetrated Janet's self-involvement, "I'm being strong, you can too."

Janet nodded and silently reminded herself she was doing this for Delilah and for her bloodline. Delilah and herself were the only ones left. She hadn't understood Nora then when she spoke of power. She did now and Janet had made the promise.

She dropped to her knees at the altar. It reeked, though the flies had already been at it over the past three days. There was also a scent of energy in the air, real power that she had tasted only once before. She bowed to the stone, then stood again and got to work.

The pyres she'd prepared earlier that day and it took only a match a piece to start them. With the light of three raging fires, far outside the ring of salt. She turned to Delilah and whispered, "Deli... what I'm going to do to you will hurt. The things that will happen after may scare you, and they are dangerous. If I fail we could both die, if I succeed I may very well be dead anyway." Her robe hit the ground and she stood there naked, body painted with her own blood in patterns of diamonds.

Delilah, wide eyed and sober followed suit, her body without mark. She was the innocent virgin with pale flesh gleaming and coppery golden hair falling over bare budding breasts. Janet took her hand and lead her in to the circle. "You will be inside the circle, and I will be outside. Once I have closed it, do not break it, do not step through it. No matter what happens, you are safer inside the intact circle than outside a broken circle."

The girl began to tremble, her previous confidence lost. Something big was going to happen, and she wasn't going to enjoy it. Her mother's words evoked emotions of doctor visits and injections. A simple nod and she was lain back upon the stone, feeling the gritty, sticky texture of it against her naked skin. For a moment she wasn't sure which was worse, the fear of what was to come, or her disgust.

Janet's face in the firelight looked haggard and frightened. Somehow Delilah was sure this was the last night she would see her mother. Her arms reached up, wanting to hold her before the inevitable came. She was rewarded with a warm embrace and a kiss upon her cheeks and then--it began. Words spoken in a strange language, filling her with a sense of overwhelming tension.

The night blurred as the moon crept above the horizon and in to her eyes. It was so full, brimming with an awe inspiring power that no one could possess. Delilah's mind could sense all this in that singular moment, power calling to power. She could feel the dim flame of her mother's strength burning brighter as it fed on the moon light. She could feel her own flame, raging and sputtering out with each verse of the chant.

The pyres dipped low, straining to consume under the weight of the magic, then they flickered and died for a moment. Tension built within as a trickle of sweat ran down her hot breast. She struggled to contain this horrid pressure behind her sparking and dimmed eyes. Every nerve felt raw with the magical strength pressing against her mind.

Delilah's vision faded entirely and a new sensation enveloped her. Power, power everywhere, her body throbbing with it, streams of energy pouring in from the grass through her fingertips. The stone itself was a glowing pool of radiant energy. Even the sky was bathed in cold fire and her mother a dim flicker against that backdrop. Each tree was a skeleton of power, rigid and swaying inward with each of her labored breaths.

At last she screamed, her thighs slicked, her mouth watering, her body trembling. She did not know what was happening to her, nor what would happen next. The heat had centered in a line from her throat to her womb, boiling liquid fire that threatened to burn her alive. Her unbreached entrance clenched, as if trying to hold back the tide of energy. At last Janet proceeded, taking the rod of birch

in hand and laid it between her daughters slick folds. So tiny, so vulnerable, it ripped her heat in two as she thrust the keystone in.

A single first mistake was made, unimportant in truth. In her ignorance Janet had misread the spell, misunderstood the purpose of the keystone. The second mistake was more severe; a splinter of wood broke free somewhere within and punctured flesh, brimming life fused with other-worldly and natural energies, focused through the demonic symbols, it was a catalyst.

Delilah's vision returned like the flash of lightning, a vision so strange, almost dream like. The sky was a vivid swirling silver, wisps of energy radiating from the moon like solar flares. It fell upon her as might cobwebs, bathing her, cloaking her in chilled flame. The grass and trees glowed a vivid green, diffuse energy interconnected and flowing from plant to plant, leaf to leaf, tree to tree. She looked to the fires seeing the pure white sparks of the embers. As the chant shifted all of it began draining in to her, filling her.

Her hymen was ruined, her blood flowed and splashed upon the stone. It went up like a torch, shortly followed by the pyres, bursting in to amber flames tipped with violet and viridian. Her blood boiled in her veins, fire rolling along every nerve ending. Her cry became a shrill sob until it broke in to near silent whimpers.

Her vision cleared as the pain wracked her, not only the raw intruding energy but the thick birch rod and the splinter. The torrent centered on that quivering keystone, still buried in the child's body. Remnants of bark curled and burst in to flame, but the heartwood survived. Her mother backed up out of the circle and knelt to complete it, pouring the last of the enchanted salt.

The world was a flashing display of energy, real world with dancing fire, false world a violent maelstrom. She screamed again, fear gone but senses pushed to their limits and past. Her blood ran from her, the wood lodged in place, glowing a sickly violet. That maelstrom fell inward like a collapsing star, through her flesh, through her bones, through her womb.

Her mother's voice, barely a wisp of sound cut through, chanting words of power. Delilah's own voice began to join, fading in and out, compelled to utter the arcane. Voice became color and sensation, the field-stone a boat upon a stormy sea. Each crash of ether-light rocked her as they rushed in, causing hips to lift and muscles to clench. With the suddenness of lightning from a clear sky there was silence, not even a rush of wind in the trees or chirp of some curious night creature.

Dawn came to midnight as the world rent in twain about her, through her; she felt as if being split apart at the seams. She screamed, a scream that came from somewhere otherworldly. The scream grew more intense like the howl of an unearthly wind. The circle erupted in sparks of viridian and copper, then settled into rhythmic whirls of force, sealing it. Between Delilah's thighs the universe blinked. Flakes of ash rippled away from the wand then clung to its surface. She felt as if she was being pulled toward it, around it, even perhaps through it. She looked down to see the light of the fire bending past her knee, distorted as if by some great fun-house mirror.

Again her eyes blurred as a new force built and a chain reaction started ripping through her as well as the circle. The splitting sensation acute and her body seemed to open, from mons pubis to navel, navel to throat. Between, swirled energies lashed out at the edges of her cage.

The entrance was her, this other-world came through her body, like a doorway. The circle flooded, she choked on strange fumes and dusts; cloying scents of another existence. The fear, the pain, the tension, it was all gone and in its place a sense of delirious purpose.

The entrance to this other world spilled from her, drifting in wisps and jolts to the sky. She was the anchor to which this other world was attached, she felt solid, strong, and utterly bewildered. Wind began, pouring in to her and through. A pressure difference taking with it all those strange scents. She glimpsed visions in the fog forming around and above her; trees, a bloody sun, desert, strange beasts of scale, tooth and claw.

Again her mother began to chant and her own voice echoed the words, they sounded mournful and pleading to her ears even though she knew not of what she spoke. The vision changed, the fog began to solidify in to a mirror like surface, a mirror that reflected nothing.

Delilah's ears popped and the breath was stolen from her lips as that surface cracked and broke inwards, shards of energy swirling in to a vortex. At the other end a man stood, a man with the face of a dragon, the body the likeness of the ancient aurochs, and power, power like none she had witnessed before. Bright rippling waves of energy washed from him, up the opened portal as he took his first step. Testing the surface before he put his foot down.

Her body clenched, trying to shrink away from those probing tendrils, to escape him. But she was pinned by the spell, trapped, anchored in place as much as she anchored one world to another. She knew him, instinctively, not just his kind of which there were pictures in the book, she knew him some where deep in the animal part of her brain--and feared.

He and two others stepped through, corporeal and large as life. They landed with a thump in the clearing, trapped within the cage of shimmering energy. As soon as they were through the portal began to close with a crackling thunderous din. It snapped shut and the surreal dawn came to an end, the fires roared back to normal and the other-worldly sights faded.

From Delilah's torn and bruised sex the birch rod slipped and tumbled to the forest floor. It sounded like cinders and its surface was black as coal. She felt sore but at last she could move. Her aching body tumbled from the stone to land on her hands and knees, opposite the creatures that had arrived. She was no longer terrified of them, mostly curious, especially so since she could no longer see the aura surrounding him.

Oh Knaira, So put upon, up on your stoney throne. You respect strength, honor, and the old ways. How did you survive six year old me without ripping your horns off? I did and do love him as a father--after a fashion.

**-3-

Introductions**

Knaira had felt the Ahn'daletu--the sky door the moment Janet started the spell. Those energies that reached out to his world were familiar. An energy of which not tasted in nearly a century; not since the death of his last human meru. All he now had left were half breeds. He had ordered one loyal death chanter to draw it off course just in case. The building energies were slow and raw, coalescing as he watched. When at last he looked through the swirling vortex--that familiarity grew, Nora, it was Nora, he knew it.

Each step he took, he reached for her, a grin splitting his lips. He could feel the barrier humming with deadly force and he was careful not to get close. What did she want, he wondered did she use her blood up so soon? Though he was not concerned so much with that, a new offering would be a great gift in his current state.

As he grew closer he began to frown, the energies were far too unstable and crude. He glanced down and dropped from the mouth of the vortex to land in a crouch. The offering tumbled away before he got a good look at her, foolish not to bind her in place he thought. He stood and gazed about the clearing and his eyes came to rest upon the one who called him.

"Nora..." he began, then paused, her life energy was frail, even in death he doubted Nora would have allowed herself such weakness. "No, who are you?" Not the daughter, he would have remembered her. Not the granddaughter, perhaps...

"I am Janet, great granddaughter of Nora." She told him, naked body quivering, jaw set. She looked like a rabbit ready to bolt.

"Then Nora is gone?" He asked, genuinely saddened. Janet only nodded and took a step forward, to the edge of the barrier, "What do you call me for? You are too old to take my blood, you are too weak to bind me."

She trembled even more as he asked, lips opening, closing, opening again before she spoke, "For my daughter's sake. I am broken, I cannot care for her, I cannot raise her properly. I want a life for my daughter, in exchange for my own."

He stared, silent for a very long time. The strangest request he had ever heard, what could he do with a human child? "Then I agree." he said after a moment, though he still hadn't the slightest idea what he might do with her, he agreed, and hoped for more. "Come to me as sacrifice Janet Re'o Nora and it shall be bound to me--to care for your... daughter."

She paused, trembling harder, eyes wide and terrified. She took another step forward, then another. Before she could stop herself she stepped through the ring of salt, breaking it. She only had a moment to realize what she had done, what mistake had been made before she felt the demon's grip upon her throat.

She was whirled about and slammed to the field-stone, bones creaking and bruises forming. He said nothing to her, not admonishing, not mocking. He had gotten what he wanted, and he was pleased. Freed from the barrier, he could seek out more, younger, healthier breeding stock. This one though, this one would be rewarded, older and foolish as she was, he felt something akin to affection for the spawn of Nora.

She tried to scream but only a choked whisper came from her throat. She tried to struggle, but he was far stronger and heavier than she. He decided to take her then and there as he stared in to her wide hazel eyes. From his sash he withdrew something, a small copper flask and unstoppered it with a clawed thumb. The fume that came out was acrid with a hint of urea but he forced it to her lips. It was sticky

like honey and just as thick. He only gave her a drop and even that made her stomach heave and her eyes roll back. Personally he had never tasted the stuff but he knew what it did to a meru.

With a smile Knaira nudged her thighs apart and opened her vulnerable center to his lust. His penile slit had begun to swell as soon as his fist had closed on her tiny neck. His arousal rose with each violent pulse under his fingers. Her flesh so delicate and fine, bones so fragile, and the sweet scent of her body. It had been years since he had last partaken of the human delicacy.

His member slid free, splashing fluid from his sheath across her stomach. Rank and sticky, it made the woman's eyes water and nostrils flare. Pheromones teased at her senses as the Fire of the Achera began to permeate her veins. Janet didn't understand it as the demon above her sent a fire to her belly, sex clenching involuntarily on nothing, then again. Suddenly without warning she moaned and spread herself for him. There was no thought left to her but hunger; that hunger the demon enthusiastically--satisfied.

Though there is little from my childhood I can recall; that moment--that moment I remember most vividly. For many years I could not forgive her, my mother, for lying with the demon so readily. I did not understand that she was drugged. I did not understand that--even afterword she had managed to find a moment of joy and love.

**-4-

Acquisition**

Humans had always been susceptible to the demons, and demons had always been attracted to the humans. Through the ages they had come together, one side topping the other, but none ever truly won the war. Eventually both sides gave up the call to battle and intermingling fell to the few wise enough to remember how the old ways worked.

Blood mingled with blood, granting wild power and strange strengths. Purely demonic was little more than a beast of brute strength. Nearly unkillable, but no smarter than your average dog, if a dog could speak. They were however sentient and wise. Pure human was frail yet smart, but lacked the wisdom to utilize it. Together those bloods merged to create something more, something blessed. The Djheni, the demons knew this and carefully tended their lineage. The humans however forgot and soon only the strongest athletes possessed ancient blood, the power filtering out over thousands of years.

Nora had been at the tail end of her bloodline when she called to him the first time. She had drank of his blood and been reborn. The price had been her first born child. As the blood mingled in her system they met in bestial pleasure and it brought the spark of life to her womb. After which he returned home and waited for the day when she would repay him.

She bore him twins, innocent and fragile human children. Instinct set deep in her heart wanted her to refuse, wanted to keep them both but--she was honorable and what was blood without honor. Upon their second birthday shortly after she weened them; she opened a second Ahn'daletu. With tears in her eyes she laid one daughter upon the altar and closed the circle. Too young to show any spark of power, she had not known that of the twins only the one on the altar possessed even a hint of demon blood. The other child was almost purely human.

The gambit failed as the demon Knaira carried the child away. She had power, but her womb would from then on be barren, the power in her bloodline was likely to end with her.

-

Delilah watched in fascinated horror as her mother was raped. She sat there, hugging her knees to chest, eyes wide. The demon was not harsh, she knew this; the power in his form, the sharpness of his claws and teeth and the weight of his massive body. As best he could be, he was gentle with her mother. But still the woman cried and bled as his inhuman penis penetrated her.

She recognized that maleness, she had carved its likeness from birch only a day before. Graceful and beautiful yet powerful and threatening. She felt an urge in herself to reach for it, to caress it. Perhaps the pheromones in the air, perhaps something else, but her young mind felt no sexual desire, only the allure of power and beauty.

She shook herself free of those thoughts and forced herself to watch, to learn, to know. Her mother bled, she could see the trickle of life running from her torn entrance and staining the field-stone fresh. Her own stomach clenched in response, both queasy and excited. She felt sorrow for her mother but she had been warned, the words echoing in her mind If I succeed I may as well be dead. A shiver ran up her spine, wondering if she was watching the end of her mother's life.

Her mother's cries grew weaker, the blood flowed less then stopped all together. Soon she heard the panting moans of a woman in need, alien to her young ears. She clenched her fists and rose to her feet, standing behind and off to the side, no one saw her. She felt impotent rage boiling in her mind and heart, she wanted to blame the demon, wanted to send him away. It all began to fade from her mind as she realized it was her mother's doing, her mother's weakness. The anger turned to disgust as the demon came, her mother crying out in pleasure.

Delilah then turned from the scene at last and began to walk towards home. Her future uncertain but she knew she wanted nothing of their post-coital bliss. In her heart she was already alone, an orphan.

She knew these woods, she knew every rock, every tree. Tonight however she saw it in a new light. A silvery outline of moonlight shining through the barest hint of green. Every tree seemed fuzzy and diffuse, blurring in to one another, flowing in to the ground and sky. It reminded her of the demon's aura but less harsh, no cold hard edges only a gentle melding of existence.

Everything felt interconnected, belonging and she belonged to it who needs family a part of her thought. Deep in her belly she felt it, just as she had felt the anchor to the demon world, she felt anchored to this forest. She also felt inevitable loss, she would not be here for ever and it brought tears to her eyes. Tears she had held back for days. Alone in the forest she began to cry, desolation hanging upon her shoulders like a mantle of power far too large for her tiny frame.

-

The morning found Delilah curled up in the roots of a great tree, naked, covered in dry leaves and moist soil. The pit of her stomach was empty, her bladder full, and her body ached. From the dreamy vision that was the night before morning came like a cold hard slap in the face.

She stumbled to her feet and made her way home, wondering what would happen now. She tried not to think about the past or future, only the present. One foot in front of the other and the desire for food.

The house was cold, the door hung open, torn off its hinges and she could hear a soft crying coming from some where inside. Standing in the mud room of the only home she knew, it felt alien to her and violated. She wanted to blink and see everything the way it was before, but she knew it wouldn't be. Nothing would ever be the same.

Delilah gathered her courage and she took a step through the inner door. The living room was in shambles with furniture broken and upholstery shredded. The crying came from the bathroom at the center of the house. She tried the door, but it was stuck tight and her attempt caused whomever was inside more distress.

"It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you..." Delilah yelled but there was no response.

At a loss for what to do, she went to the kitchen to sate her hunger. One step inside and she screamed. There was blood everywhere but the mess was centered on the table. Bones, broken and whole, organs and skin... the top of a head, hair matted but recognizable. Her neighbor, a woman in her forties with two children, a son and a daughter. The son was much older, but the daughter was one of her only friends. Some how she couldn't look away, taking in every horrific detail. There were teeth marks and flesh torn free in great strips.

Abruptly she ran to the bathroom door again and pounded on it, "Maria? Is that you Maria? Open up!" She felt numb as the night before blurred in to the now. That dream quality which kept the horror at bay began to consume her. The wood blurred before her, diffusing, she pushed at it trying to force the door to budge. There was a hard edged quality to it though which glued it shut--a hard edge she recognized.

Delilah's fingers clawed at the paneling and it began to give way. Bit by bit she peeled the energy from the door until at last it fell open and she tumbled in. She caught herself on the sink as the world seemed to shiver and pop then solidify again, cold and hard reality.

Maria was laying in the bath tub naked and crying. There was a rivulet of blood running from her down the drain and she was masturbating desperately. With a jerk she stared up at Delilah, absolutely no comprehension in her eyes. Her lips pulled back in an animal grimace, baring teeth and a growl escaped the girl's throat, inhuman. Then she lashed out and Delilah stumbled back, "Maria?" Delilah begged, wanting some familiar spark to light within her friend again.

There was no recognition in those eyes as they stared back, eyes like Delilah had never seen before, eyes sunken and terrified. As quietly as she could she closed the door, unable to look in to those eyes any longer. They turned her stomach and she realized it could be her, trembling and bleeding, she had to escape.

She turned to run, to flee into the forest where she felt safe. The doorway was filled with the bulk of the demon, her only rout to freedom cut off. She stared at him, hard and angry, impotent rage building again within her. He at last noticed her and smiled... a smile full of warmth and familiarity, a smile that mocked her rage.

"I wondered where you had

run off to. Delilah, isn't it? Your mother has told me so much about you." He advanced on her and she felt her back hit the wall. "I wont harm you child, I made a promise. And in any case you are of my blood, you are my great great granddaughter."

The closer he came, the more she trembled, the rage beginning to fail her, replaced by fear. His words did little to calm her, "What did you do to Maria?" she demanded, fists at her sides, stilling herself against the wood paneling at her back.

"Hmm, who?" he murmured, then dropped to one knee though still towering over the little girl. His skin was smooth in places rough in others. He was entirely hairless with dark maroon tan and had strange spade like patterns in bright red green and black tattooed across his chest and back. His head was like that of a lizard but scaleless and with a shorter muzzle.

"The girl... in there." She gestured to the bathroom door. She could still here the growling sobs.

"Ah, she will recover. She refused to submit so I had to force her, there wasn't much left as she is rather weak but she will make good breeding stock." He told her. The way he said it, without remorse or even a thought towards the survival of the girl made her tremble deep inside.

Instantly she clung to his words, that he meant her no harm, "You... you won't do that to me, right?" She half asked, half pleaded.

"Honestly I don't know what I am going to do with you, but your mother's offer was too good to pass up, admittedly she didn't understand what she offered. I suppose I shall have to take you back with me when I have collected enough merusi. I don't intend to stay here until you come of age, as pleasurable as this world is I have duties and honor to attend."

He reached out and took one of her tiny fists in his hand and lead her outside. When she saw her mother standing there, nude and proud; the rage came again as fierce and violent as ever. On the lawn were two dozen or so women; a few cried and clung to one another, some were lost in perverse humiliating sexual exhibitionism and some, some were as feral as Maria. She recognized many of them, all lived in town a mile from here.

Over the brood stood the two other Demons, silent pitiless slave drivers. One was clad in leather, with a wicked looking sword across his back. The other wore a leather hood with stone mask, carved in the likeness of some beast. All of them including Knaira himself wore a decorated sash over one shoulder that passed between the legs. Metals and jewels were woven in to those pieces of fabric but none were as majestic as the demon at her side.

Her young yet intelligent mind began to make sense of it. All of them were young, from her mother the oldest to the youngest even younger than herself. Most were in late teens to early twenties, "You are just taking them?" Delilah asked, turning to Knaira.

He nodded down to her, a pleasant smile on his face, "Yes, they are all animals, highly prized animals at that. A few will go to my chiefs, the rest will be mine. It will be the greatest honor in five centuries. Your mother will be highly rewarded for it."

That rage was there again and burning brighter than ever. The world began to diffuse once more, the grass seemed to glow, the sun seemed to burn brighter. She lashed out at Knaira with her fists, feeling the surge of energy flowing through her feet, through her thighs, through her belly. She struck at him--she struck at him and... and he stumbled.

With that stumble the rage was gone, bewilderment in its place. Sudden laughter erupted from the masked demon. Knaira stood above her, staring with a surprised yet amused look on his alien features. "So Nora lives on after all! Come, your mother tells me there is another neighbor to the east." he again took her hand, and began walking east, leaving the wailing women under the watch of his men and her mother.

She knew the family, four children; Jessica, Ron, Sarah and Ashley. She had played with Ashley and Jessica on occasion, Jessica and Ron were the eldest, 15 and 17 respectively. Their parents Mr. and Mrs. Willard were kind folk and it troubled Delilah. However curiosity warred with fear, a detached part of herself wanted to know what would happen. The other part was terrified of what he would do yet she had little choice in the matter as he dragged her along.

His long legs made it impossible for her to keep up at the pace he set. She was half dragged and half carried through the dense forest. Though they followed the highway they stayed out of sight. Whatever power he possessed, he obviously did not want to attract attention. Naked as she was, her flesh was soon tormented by scratches and welts where underbrush slapped and clawed at her. Her feet were tough, from years running barefoot through the forest and fields but her pale skin was another story.

By the time they found their way to the Willard driveway Delilah was panting for breath. "Please, can we stop?", she begged and pulled on his grip. He acquiesced and let her go then simply squatted down and leaned against a tree while watching her. She found a fallen log to sit on and shuddered a bit at the wet moss under her bare skin.

"You are weak, too weak..." he told her, then went silent while contemplating.

She wanted to ignore him but she felt spiteful. "I am not weak! You're twice as big as me and my skin isn't dirty old leather like yours." She stopped, caught her breath and glared. Deep down she knew he could break her in two--or make her the same as Maria, but somehow she didn't fear him.

"I will make you stronger, when you are ready, when you have learned." He nodded to himself, then stood up, walking a few yards down the drive way, then looked back at her, "for now you can struggle to keep up. Come." he told her and when she still refused he returned to frog march her down the gravel path.

The driveway was thankfully short and they arrived quickly. The house was large, in a forested acre well back from the road, it was old money or so her mother told her. Stone and brick walls, a large three car garage with two places taken up by the old roadsters that Mr. Willard was working on. To Delilah it was a mansion, though in truth it was no more than a large country home.

Early as it was, the children were off playing behind the house and she could hear Mr. Willard working in the garage. Swear words and the clink of a falling wrench rang in Delilah's ears. Such a surreal contrast to her life as she now knew it. Semblance of a normality, moments from being interrupted forever. She knew--people would be dead in a few moments and others would be enslaved. There would be crying, there would be blood... but for the moment she took comfort in the familiar setting.

"Please, don't do this." she begged of Knaira, hoping he had some compassion in him.

He looked down at her, an eye-ridge cocked in question, "Why would I not? Four potential meru and not a breath of power between them."

She was silent a moment, staring into his eyes, he was intelligent, she knew that much. There was a mind as much human as it was alien behind those features, "Because.. because they have never done anything to deserve this... They have been kind to mother and me. Because I spent days here, playing, swimming, laughing while momma worked. I don't want to remember this place any other way." Tears had begun to well up in her eyes, and when she finished they broke, spilling down her dirt smeared cheeks.

He was not a monster, at least not by his own standards. He did not pity, he did not regret, but he did understand compassion, love, joy and pleasure. To him these humans were little more than animals, but even he as a child had loved pets. An achera pup had been his companion for the first fifteen years of his life.

"I understand child, I will do as you ask." he shook his head and laughed, such foolishness giving up so great a prize. He turned away and walked in to the forest, leading Delilah along, "Do you know of any others near by? I do not wish to stray too far."

She shook her head, her mother had chosen her home for its remoteness, there were less than a dozen homes in twenty miles, and most were in town. She began to speak, but behind her some one called out, "Hey! Who's that there? C'mon out where I can see you." it was Mrs. Willard and she was holding a rifle. From the garage there was a thump then a loud curse as Mr. Willard struck his head on the underbelly of the car he was working on. A moment later he appeared, rubbing his bald head where a bruise was forming.

Knaira tensed and turned, then looked down at Delilah, "If you wish them to live..." he trailed off, concentrating. She stepped forward, pulling her hand from his large claw and parted the brush. She didn't know what she would say or do, but only that she had to do something.

"Delilah honey! What happened? Where are your clothes." Mrs Willard exclaimed, lowering the weapon. If she could only have seen herself... covered in dirt, soot, dried blood, thousands of scratches and welts, nettle burns and bruises. Her hair was a tangled mess with leaves and twigs sticking from it. Dried blood caked with dirt covered her thighs.

She pretended to look dazed and confused, which wasn't particularly hard, considering. She stumbled forward and pressed herself to Mrs Willard's skirt, allowing herself to shake with tension. She said nothing, too fearful of saying the wrong thing and just let them bring her inside.

Oh Rachel... I still cry when I think of you, my heart yetaches.

**-5-

Stage Left**

It was an act, it was all an act. Her actions, her attitude, her tears. I am putting on a play Delilah told herself. An hour later she was washed and dressed, her wounds cleaned and the greater ones bandaged. There she sat at the kitchen table drinking a mug of chocolate. Still she had said

nothing, though they pestered her with questions. When one went to the phone to dial the police, she tensed, and they stopped... They would have found the line dead in any case.

Finally she spoke, "I need to go home--I need mommy." it seemed the safest thing to say. Again they asked her what happened, and she only shook her head, "Please. Take me home." she said, looking straight at Mrs. Willard, some how she knew it would be sacrificing her, she liked her, she had always been kind.

"Alright honey." She said pensively.

Delilah stood, pretending to tremble, and made her way to the door to the garage. The car ride was short and quiet and she felt Mrs. Willard's eyes on her every so often. Delilah knew the older woman was dying to know what had happened. She would find out soon, and it turned the little girl's stomach to know she would make it happen.

"Stop here, I can make it the rest of the way." She told her when they reached the drive way, a last chance she thought.

"Nonsense, your mother must be worrying herself into a fit." Rachel replied.

"Please, I'm begging you. Stop here." Delilah said again, starting to cry.

The chance failed as they passed beyond the last turn. Familiar trees, familiar rocks and the familiar sight of her house. The women in the yard were gone, though the yard was trampled and there were muddy places where the grass had been worn away. The whole area looked rather unkempt. Mrs. Willard didn't seem to notice as she parked in the driveway and got out.

It was quiet, there was no crying, no whimpering, not even a cricket in the grass. But there on the front steps stood her mother, naked, looking almost as worse for wear as she. The markings she had put upon herself the night before were smeared and hidden under the grime of the night. She smiled brightly, too brightly, there was something feverish in her expression as she came forward. Her arms encircled Delilah, but she said nothing, only held her.

"What is going on here Janet? What is this?" Behind Rachel Knaira stepped out of the forest.

Delilah shivered and turned towards the woman. "I'm sorry Mrs. Willard, I tried to make you turn back..." She looked to Knaira and asked, quietly, "Is.. is she too old?"

The demon shook his head and smiled, "Thank you Delilah, she will do nicely." His voice startled the poor woman who spun about. He reached up with one massive claw and cupped the side of her face. She was fairly young, mid thirties, attractive and athletic. His thumb claw slid between her lips and a droplet like golden honey at the tip stained her tongue. From that moment it was over, he stripped her clothing from her, exposed her caramel skin with not a mark or tan line anywhere.

Rachel trembled and sobbed as the Fire of the Achera took over, she was terrified of what Knaira was. She screamed, but then the scream faded as she lost herself. A rivulet of lust ran down one inner thigh and she began to undulate against the demon. Delilah looked away, both embarrassed and horrified as Mrs. Willard began to beg, "I need... please... Fuck me."

Knaira said almost kindly to the woman, "You should thank the child, if not for her, your mate and son would be dead and your daughters claimed along with you."

At his words Rachel turned and stumbled toward Delilah, enveloping her in a drunken hug. She could feel the older woman's heart, thudding a mile a minute. A moment later Delilah jerked up sharply as a hand brushed between her legs and teased a fingertip over her torn vulva, "Thank you... oh thank you thank you-thank-you-thank-you." Mrs. Willard mumbled then began to pant hotly.

Delilah pulled away, trembling and twisted up inside. Mrs. Willard stumbled, then fell to her hands and knees and moaned. Her rear lifted in to the air like a cat stretching. Knaira's heavy claw fell upon the woman's hair and dragged her back to her feet, "Now now, I don't think Delilah wants you to thank her that way."

All Rachel said was, "oh..." almost sadly then began to play with herself lewdly for all to see.

"What did you do to her?" Delilah asked, fearing the answer, but needing to know.

Knaira smiled and draped his arm around the woman, turning her in to himself, "Nothing permanent, its just a neurotoxin. I do not know the specifics but my Death Chanters tell me it gets in to the mind and traps it for a while. It locks the animal in all of us in to one thing, one of our strongest instincts. Reproduction." He held Rachel by the hair, guiding her in front of him as he started to walk. His other hand fell to Delilah's shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze, "See how easy she is to manage? She goes where I tell her assuming she will be rewarded if she does. No need for brutality or threats and if I leave her where she is, she will be so lost in her own self pleasure that she won't even think of running."

"And what about Maria?" Delilah asked as she glared at the demon.

He was silent for a moment at that, then shrugged and looked down, "Some react differently. Most only the instinct to multiply is triggered. A few... Maria couldn't help but fight, torn between breeding and killing. You are lucky she didn't rip your throat out as she tried to do Hemruhn's when he took his prize."

"His prize?" She asked, then realized a second later, "When he stuck his penis in her."

Knaira smiled and nodded to her, "Indeed Delilah, reproduction. I forget--humans are so secretive about their mating rituals. All of these meru will spend the rest of their lives breeding. I gave your friend Maria to Hemruhn. She will not last long I'm afraid, the fight instinct does not bode well for her bloodline. Yet--he may find some small amusement in her."

Delilah trembled with wobbly knees and sickness in the pit of her stomach. "Maria..." Delilah uttered in horror.

Knaira squeezed her shoulder then turned toward the deep forest, "We go home now child, and I figure out what is to be done with you." He had a bemused expression as he watched her, "Djheni, to me! We go." He yelled then, calling to the other demons.

At the clearing the women were huddling together, noisy and terrified, In total there were 37 plus her mother and herself. The demon picked up the birch-wood rod, blackened and charred, but the heartwood was still strong and full of power. "This ?this is your keystone? You truly are a fool Janet Re'o Emorre. Stone, bone, even living flesh.. but a plant? I will be lucky if this gets us home." He then began to chant, similar to how her mother had chanted, but instead of a slow draw of power, it crackled and boomed.

Delilah's chest and womb clenched, her inner scars ached and her body trembled. She felt herself once again an anchor, but this time it was an echo of that feeling. The rod was in truth the anchor and was beginning to flare with gouts of flame and energy. She could feel it being used up, fiber by fiber being torched and spent, drawing energy from the world around it. Like a filament in a light bulb it was going to burn out soon.

With a thunderous crack the wood split, still burning heartwood exposed. The demon's hand burned but still he held on to it. Delilah cried out, feeling her core wrench and her body vibrate. That crack had connected to her center, something inside of her split and blood began to flow freely down her thighs. Wide eyed and in pain, she stumbled forward, towards the pooling energy and reached, instinctively.

Along side her Knaira thrust that rod in to empty space--and it disappeared. Around that point the universe pulsed, blinked, then began to contort. A whirlpool of space and time folding, twisting, then tearing at themselves around the center focus of that wand. As she moved the wand began to crumble to ash, the ash puffed to dust, and the dust burned away to subatomic back scatter. Far too quickly it was consumed and Delilah started to scream.

The vortex began to close, a frothy film bubbled up from its throat. Her fingers grazed the cloudy surface and her touch made it ridged and mirror-like. Energy shot through her like a lightning strike pouring through a tree. She was the conduit, she was the focus and she began to burn. Her scream turned shrill and like a man gripped in the paralysis of an electrical torrent; Delilah could not let go.

Kuir'geirrus, the home world of the Djheni. My first memories of it are dry, dusty and uncomfortable. It was like that book my mother read to me once... It's name escapes me but I remember huge worms and strange glowing blue eyes.

That was me, in truth, my blue eyes stood out, and it was the first thing that set me apart. I couldn't be them, I couldn't live like them, but I was expected to.

**-6-

Ruminations**

It was only a single splinter of wood which bound Delilah to the rod. The rod was bound to the tree and the tree to the forest. A single splinter fused with her life energy and awoken by that magical torrent. She would have burned up with the last of the rod, she would have gone up like a dry pine in a lightning strike.

Perhaps it was her great great grandmother watching over her, perhaps it was simple instinct driving her. Her actions had saved her and the birch splinter and the tree and the forest. That splinter, it was a part of her body now, as much as one of her fingers and toes. A magic not of the world of demons, a magic not normally of flesh. A magic Knaira knew nothing about, if he had he would have killed her on the spot.

In her delirium, Delilah heard voices, a language she could not comprehend. Touches gentle, and touches harsh, bitter fluids upon her tongue, a damp cloth across her brow. She felt disconnected, as if she was floating between worlds, anchored to neither anymore and ready to cast off in to this sea of nothingness.

When the sharp edges of reality intruded upon her fuzzy other-world she felt drawn out. A string of taffy stretched

for miles. Still she was disconnected from all but the bed, at least there was something solid to hang on to in that.

The bed was leather and fur, it smelled of strange creatures and spices. The room she was in was made of tan stone, windows without panes cast long beams of ruddy light across her form. A hot wind drifted through the room from one window to the next bringing with it the scent of sand, sun baked stone and things undefined but not unpleasant. She was on another world.

With shaky legs Delilah made her way to the door. She pushed the flap of thick fabric aside and stepped out into this new sun. It was both bright and far too dim, with deep maroon shadows, the light was reddish from a sun that looked swollen and bloody. It filled far more of the sky than she was used to. Her eyes quickly adjusted and the vision before her took her breath away.

From the top of the tower she stood upon she could see far across a vast desert of brown stone and tan sand. Dotted here and there were clusters of strange trees about the base of bluffs. The wind blew harsh and hot from the desert, carrying with it dunes that encroached upon a city of stone and bright cloth.

A world of reds and browns, yet as alien as it was--it was still beautiful. The only contrasting colors were from the patterned cloth that streamed from every building. Below in the streets people worked and children played. People of all shapes and sizes, people tattooed in bright colors and wore little to nothing in the way of clothing. Skin pigment came in colors of red, black, gray, tan, and olive; with shades ranging anywhere between them.

The world felt new to her yet familiar in a strange instinctive way. It also made her smile, a smile from deep within her heart, a smile she could not explain.

Around the side of the tower she heard footsteps. Each the scrape of claw and the heavy fall of a demon's heel. She stepped back from the wall, her smile beginning to fade. It wasn't Knaira who came around the corner, it was a demon woman. She stood close to eight foot tall, olive and black skin fading into each other. Her chest was patterned with spades of pale blue, bright teal, and orange, in an almost spiral shape. Each breast heavy, tattooed before they had grown and stretched a teal spade across the right and orange across the left. Her head was dotted with stubby horns that jutted backwards from ridges starting above her nose. Her muzzle was longer than Knaira's, less human, but the eyes that gazed upon Delilah were slate gray and almost friendly.

"Ecch noth Delilah Re'o Nora." She said with a snapping voice that made Delilah's stomach quiver. The words were foreign but the tone was not. There was a momentary pause, then she repeated the words and pointed towards the doorway to her room.

Delilah stood there only a moment before obeying. The darkness of the room was stark contrast to the brilliant ruddy light outside. The windows slits that had seemed to let so much light in before, in truth weren't big enough to fit her head between. The woman stepped in behind her, and gently guided her back to bed, treating her like a fragile Christmas ornament.

Her hands were soft but strong, claw tips ground away to smooth nubs and painted in diamonds the same pattern as her chest. Those hands explored her body, prodding her stomach back and forth, watching for signs of pain. Bandages were removed, showing fine scars where she had been cut. She wondered how long she had slept, for most of those scars looked weeks old.

"Whats your name?" She asked the woman when she had finished her examination.

She looked at Delilah, muzzle twisting a little, not comprehending the words. She stood, then pointed to the bed and said, "Noth aed." then held up two fingers. She paused, then pointed to the sun outside the window. She made a circle with her hand then held up one finger, made another circle with her hand, and held up two fingers, "Noth." She stared some more, then turned and walked away.

Delilah got the picture; she was to stay in bed for another two. She felt fine, weak true, but healthy. However when she tried to stand up a sudden dizziness caught her off guard, "Perhaps... perhaps she is right."

The next day she felt better, and again stood outside her door, for almost an hour watching the world. She could hear the chorus of the city below, it made her curious, but she knew she would stand out like a sore thumb. A tiny frail human in a world of monsters. Eventually she returned to her bed and drifted in and out of consciousness. The healer woman returned on occasion to check on her, the only visitor she had.

The next day she awoke feeling stronger. When she rose from her bedding she was startled to find Knaira crouching in the corner of the room, watching her, "Good morning child, Omolaud tells me you are well enough to join me for an early meal."

Delilah absently covered herself, hands to crotch and chest, modesty and embarrassment spilling through her thoughts. She steadied herself as the sleep cleared from her mind and forced hands to her sides, "Omolaud... The healer woman?" she asked.

He nodded and rose, offering a claw for her to take. She laid her tiny hand in it and allowed him to lead her. The sun was low in the sky, deep shadows stretched across the desert. Again she was struck by the stark beauty of this alien world. Like her home forests, she wanted to explore it, turn over every stone, learn every secret.

Her footsteps had slowed some and she felt the impatient pull of Knaira drawing her down the steps. They were deep, requiring her to hang on his grip and jump. She began to realize just how large everything was, built for someone two to three times her height.

The tower she had been on was set far back from the city and she was on the top floor. Every floor was another door, some with solid doors, some empty, others with hide or cloth flaps. Ten floors down they finally reached the main complex, female demons, some looking rather frail and others young, meandered about. Only once did she glimpse a human face through a door way down another hall.

At the entrance stood two guards, fierce and silent, "Where are we?" she asked Knaira.

"My harem, I took the idea from a sultan I met ages ago, we exchanged females and blood. The female he gifted upon me taught me much of how meru breeders should be kept." The guards parted as they drew close, one holding the heavy carved stone door open.

"Why should they be kept this way?" she asked, then added, "How old are you?"

He continued to speak as he walked, casual and slow, "To protect from raids, I have not had a meru stolen since I created this harem. They do no heavy labor but still work hard, we have some of the finest fabric anywhere. As to my age, once we come of age we stop counting. I however earned my markings before Rome was an empire. I took the reins of my clan the century Rome burned." He nodded as he spoke, reminiscing on past exploits and history he had observed. He seemed so entirely happy and at ease, she guessed it had to do with the number of women he had enslaved.

"You have gained much honor with this... exploit." She added after he had gone silent again.

"Ah ?this was a great and unexpected achievement. My clan will bolstered for centuries to come. Connections between your world and mine have grown scarce. Humans seeking power are few and far between and the few who do exist are prized contacts. I truly appreciated your matriarch Nora. Your mother told me you had never met her, but you should be proud of what she did. You must honor her by continuing her bloodline and her clan. You are the last."

She stopped dead, staring up at the demon, "The last? What.. what about my mother?" she asked, suddenly terrified and alone.

He cocked an eye-ridge at her, an expression she had come to recognize as amusement, "She is well. It was a miracle she could even make the calling, she has less power in her than you have in a single hair upon your head. Likely it was only due to your own power that the gate opened. She would have never been clan, she is only a meru. And now she is of my bloodline, Re'o Emorre."

Delilah frowned, staring at the marble under her bare feet, cool and polished, "So... I am then not of your clan." she peered up at him, wondering, "Does that mean we are enemies?"

He laughed and started walking again, slow enough that she could catch up, "Hardly child, clan politics are far more complex than that. Consider my relations with Nora, we shared the act of breeding, we tried to both come out ahead in the deal we made. As I have learned from your mother, she had made a mistake and her clan almost died out. "

He gazed down at her for a moment, then continued, "There were two daughters, twins. On occasion human and demon blood separate like oil and water. Your great grandmother had no power to her name, nor did your grandmother. The other daughter was mine, she had it all. If I had known I would have traded children, a child with no power would have been worth just the same to me."

He slowed, turning to face her, "Nora and I were allies after a fashion. Oh I certainly would have claimed her as breeder if I had been given half a chance, but she was too smart for that. You, you have been awarded a privilege. I have been tasked to care for you, a foster child in clan Emorre, this will always be a home for you and your children. Though some day if you have a full clan of your own, we may come to battle in a raid, but it would be a pleasure. And when it is over, you would be welcome here as ever." He teased her, a talon tip running along her jaw line and over her ear, tucking her messy hair behind it.

She couldn't imagine herself battling Knaira over women, it was almost laughable. She stayed silent, watching him, wondering how he truly felt about her. She was proud of herself when she didn't flinch at his touch. She wanted to pull away, to hide some where from this strange man whom she had been foisted off upon.

Delilah asked the smartest thing she could think of, "What do I need to know?" this was a strange world, a strange people, where lives were stolen and rape was commonplace.

He stood up a little straighter and began to walk towards the door at the far end of the hallway, "For now, the harem and my private chambers is enough. Omolaud told me I could begin strengthening you but not quickly. You are underdeveloped, too much too fast could cause you more harm than good. You are strong, for a human, that will make it even more dangerous. You have power, you can draw upon it, and as you grow stronger so will the power. You will need to learn to control it or it will kill you and likely others near you." silently he was thankful his own children did not come in to their power until well after becoming an adult.

She frowned but said nothing, not knowing what he meant by power. She had assumptions, but her mother had taught her well assumptions were a the first step to being an ass. She reached out this time and took his hand, following him. A little gesture she didn't even think about, but he noticed.

They entered a dining room, simple and adorned only in cloth drapes along the walls. The fabric was fine, but not quite the quality of silk. It was light and drifted back and forth in the wind that flowed through the upper end of the room, taking the heat with it. The table was made of wood, very ancient and well taken care of, obviously from earth. Stone dishes were set together on one end of the table, empty and waiting. A chair was set out for Delilah, Knaira crouched as usual.

The meal started with some form of tepid tea, unsweetened and slightly bitter. She recognized it vaguely from her dreams, some one had been feeding it to her. They sat in silence for a long while, drinking, she finally broke through, asking him, "Do you usually eat alone?"

He set his mug down and looked to her, "Yes, on occasion I allow one of my children to join me, the promising ones." He went silent again, as another entered carrying a platter. It seemed almost like a restaurant, being waited on. When they were gone he continued, "You will not see much of me over the next few years. You will have a few private teachers at first, then once you know enough you will be granted your childhood. Humans develop slower than Djheni do, your coming of age will be delayed." He paused a moment, in thought, a frown crossing his face.

She took that pause to ask him, "What are Djheni?"

For a moment he looked startled, then that familiar smile touched his lips, "Why we all are, you call us demons, we don't complain, it fits."

She only made a soft "oh." Then returned to her drinking. Her eyes danced over the meal laid out before her, strange foods, strange smells, but she was hungry. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Knaira pick up the food in his fingers and swallow it nearly whole. Table manners it seems are not part of--Djheni culture, she thought.

Bit by bit she picked at the food, finding pieces she liked and pieces that turned her stomach. Most of it was cooked, but some things were raw, or even still alive in one case. When what looked like asparagus tried to squirm out of her fingers she nearly screamed--but then proceeded to try and eat it anyhow, in truth it was delicious. Eventually though she had eaten her fill.

Knaira looked upon her with amused appreciation, "I told them you would eat it." He laughed and called out in another language. He spoke for a moment to some one through the door, laughing all the while.

"You bet on me?" She asked, a little bewildered.

"That I did child. Now, are you ready?"

She blinked up at him, brows furrowing, "Ready--for what?"

He moved closer and took one of her hands in his, looking down at the tiny pale digits, "To be strengthened, to mix your blood with mine."

She clenched her fist, then opened it again, splaying her fingers out against his rough skin, "Like Nora?" he nodded, "I'm ready." She told him, but her stomach fluttered, not feeling ready in the least.

She watched him draw a talon across the side of his thumb. Blood welled, so dark it was almost black, the bead became a trickle, flowing steadily. He brought his thumb to her lips, hot bitter warmth spilling down her chin. Her tongue darted out, timid at first. As bitter as it smelled, salty, coppery, and made the surface of her tongue tingle. She drew his thumb between her lips and suckled, filling her mouth with his life essence.

Her vision flashed, blurred, she saw his aura again, sharp contrast to the diffuse surface of everything else. That aura was flowing into his wrist, up his hand to his thumb, lines of power swirling back and forth then into her mouth. She swallowed and the demon's aura seemed to shiver and shrink. At the same time she felt a clenching in her stomach.

Another swallow and his aura shrank further. She could feel him inside of her, flowing into her veins, along her nerves, tingling through every inch of her being. She looked up into his face, his eyes wide, bewildered and dazed. Another swallow and his face paled, he was gasping for breath.

She released his hand, pulling away. It tried to follow her lips but she pushed back, "Knaira... are you okay?" She asked, genuine concern in her voice

His eyes focused again, looking at her. Between them his erection stood, proud and throbbing, she had never seen it so swollen, even when he had taken her mother, "That... was new." He uttered breathlessly, then stood. He glanced to her once more, "I will see you again soon Delilah." He glanced down to his thumb, to her, then stalked from the room as quick as he could with his obvious arousal.

Her insides still quivered, every nerve on fire, every muscle burning. She could still see the essence of everything, and if anyone had looked close enough, her eyes were filmed over with wakes of power. She tried to stand, but legs refused to support her, she didn't feel weak, instead she simply felt so distant from her feet, nothing in her body seemed to respond properly.

Delilah tumbled to the floor with a gasp as pain wracked her body and unique sensations teased her mind. She didn't know what was happening to her, only that it was something Nora had gone through and if her ancestor had so could she. All the while changes overtook her body, she clung to that thought.

Hours later some one found her, curled up on the floor under the table, asleep. Her skin had taken a darker olive hue under which her bulging muscles drew it taut. Her face had distorted some, a muzzle forming where once there had been only flat slightly pouting lips. Her pert pointed nose had flattened, nostrils drifting outwards and down, becoming slits above her upper lip.

She woke, rocking slightly in some one's arms as she was carried to her room. She said nothing, far too exhausted to speak. Simply she pressed herself into the warm breast she was held to. In the darkness she heard quiet muttered words, sharp and harsh but the touch that held her was gentle. Under her breath she murmured the name, "Omolaud." The embrace tightened and she drifted back in to oblivion.

End of part 1