“I don’t believe. I know. My father was Andrew, a fallen angel. Surely you know of him.”
The man peered at him again, seeming to almost show an interest. Then his nostrils flared and he sniffed the air with the arrogance of a king.
“No matter. You are still nothing like us. We are not demons. We are predators. The most dangerous predators on this Earth.” He leaned toward Jordan again, exposing those dagger-like teeth. His voice came out in a feral snarl. “Now be gone. Before you become my prey.”
Moving too fast to see, the man disappeared and the door slammed in Jordan’s face. He stood motionless, his mouth hanging open. How dare he! He took a step forward and lifted his fist for the wooden door.
“I wouldn’t,” came a husky yet feminine voice from the shadow of the next house.
Jordan spun, his dagger out and ready. She chuckled and a figure emerged halfway out of the darkness— the same woman from the pond earlier, once again out when she shouldn’t be. She wiggled her fingers for him to follow as she sauntered down the path leading to the village center. His eyes cut to the door and then back to her, and he was torn by his need for answers and his desire to know this raven-haired beauty.
“I can help you.” Her whispered words floated to him, although she was too far away for him to possibly hear. “I know who you are and I know who you need to meet. I can take you.”
Jordan hesitated. He half-turned toward the door and renewed fear washed over him. He hurried after the woman.
He followed her out of town to a surprisingly small home on the outskirts of the village. She led him inside, where piles of pillows and blankets surrounded a low wooden table and a fire crackled in the stone hearth. A black pot sat in the coals, a sweet yet strange smelling steam swirling from its boiling contents. He looked around, but it appeared as though no one else was there.
“Whose home is this?” Jordan didn’t think it could be hers. She looked as though she should live in a palace or, at least, in a stone-walled, two-story home with a courtyard, kitchen and andron. But, then again, she apparently wasn’t like other women, controlled by men. Which both thrilled and bothered Jordan.
“Mine.” She sank into one of the oversized pillows.
“Where are all your slaves?”
The woman smiled and her eyes sparkled, as if she knew a secret. In fact, Jordan thought, she always seemed to look as though she knew something he didn’t.
“They are all around me,” she said, waving her hand in the air, although the one-room house was apparently empty. “Anyone can be my slave if I so desire.”
Jordan took a step backward toward the door. “I said I am not one.”
She laughed. “And I said I don’t need one. Not right now. And not you.”
“Then what do you want with me?” If she wanted a night together, paid or not, he knew he’d succumb. There was something about her that made him ache with desire.
“It’s not what I want with you. It’s what you want from me. What you need from me.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “I need nothing. However … ” He took a step toward her and pulled the strap from his hair, letting it fall loose against his shoulders. “ … I do want—”
She laughed, cutting him off. “Oh, I know what you want. It’s quite tempting. But not now, Jordan.”
His eyes narrowed. “How do you know my name?”
“I’ve been waiting for you. I’ve been sent for you. I have the answers you seek.”
He didn’t say anything, only stood in the middle of her pillow-laden, fire-lit room, and stared at her with bewilderment. She pointed to a plush pillow.
“Sit and I will explain.”
He hesitated. “Are you a demon?”
“No. I am Eris.”
“What is an Eris?”
She rolled her eyes. “That is my name. Sit, Jordan. Be comfortable. Here, have some wine.”
Eris held out a cup that appeared from nowhere. He took it and sniffed its aroma, then lifted it to his lips for a small taste. The woman was too mysterious to trust. He decided the wine was safe, however, and took a deeper draw, then sat on the pillow she indicated.
“Do you know those men?” he asked. “How do you know me? And what do you mean that you were sent for me?”
“Those were not men. Those were vampyres. They are not like you at all. You are still alive. They are not. Not quite.”
Jordan peered suspiciously at the wine, wondering if she had indeed poisoned him.
“Explain or I leave.”
“You came looking for demons. I will take you to the true demons. The Ancients. They sent me for you, knowing you would come looking. Those vampyres are their pets. You want nothing to do with them. Trust me.”
“Why should I?”
She gave him that coy smile again. “Because you want to. Because you have to. If you want the answers you seek.”
“But you are not a demon? Are you a vampyre?”
An angry hiss escaped her lips. “Certainly not! They survive off blood. Created by the Ancients for the sole purpose of preying on humans. They pretend as though they are civilized but they are more beastly than any natural animal on this Earth.”
“Who are the Ancients?”
“The Ancients are of the original demons. The fallen angels you seek.” She lifted an eyebrow, questioning if he understood. He nodded. “They are the origins of the Daemoni, demons who Satan ordered to create an army on Earth. They have created many kinds of creatures and beasts, including their beloved vampyres.”
“And if you are not a vampyre … ?”
She smiled coyly again. “My father was a sorcerer—a demon who possessed a human, allowing him to roam the Earth while keeping his magick. My mother was human. Her blood diluted his powers, but I still have the magick of our strongest warlocks. However, warlocks prefer the physical fight and I prefer to fight with my mind.” She waved her hand over her enticing body. “Why would I risk harming this?”
“Why indeed?” Jordan asked, momentarily distracted. He took another swallow of wine, trying to focus on her meaning. “You have powerful magick? Did you start that fire under my feet today?”
She leaned forward on her forearms, her golden breasts pushing out over the top of her peplos. Her voice came out even lower than usual. “I am not a prostitute. I couldn’t let you get away with calling me one.”
Jordan licked his lips and forced himself to pull his eyes away from her luscious curves. He looked up at her face unabashedly. Anyone else would have feared her and what she’d just told him about magick and demons, but, of course, he was not like most people. Knowing she had demon blood, just like him, made her even more desirable to him. He could tell she wanted him, too. He reached toward her face. She grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand back at him.
“I said, not now. Whether you believe it or not, I am not that kind of woman.”
Jordan doubted that. He also doubted she could so easily deny her desire for him. Something else had kept her from undressing them both the minute they entered the house. Because she was that kind of woman. He took another swig of wine, emptying his cup. She flicked her finger and it was suddenly full again. He looked up at her.
“You’re not a sorcerer or a warlock, so what are you?” he asked.
“Despite my power, they call me a mere witch.” She shrugged. “What they call me matters not. All that matters is my power. Something for you to keep in mind.”
“Are you part of this army of Satan then?”
“I am Daemoni, yes.”
“How do I become Daemoni?”
She studied his face for a long moment. “You want to fight for Satan?”
“Demon blood runs through my veins. And so does that of a warrior. Why wouldn’t I?”
She made a sniffing sound, similar to the one the vampyre had made earlier, as though dismissing him. “We shall see if you have the heart for it. The Ancients will know and they want to meet you.”