Demon Bound
The Camelot Archive - Book One
Nicole R. Taylor
Demon Bound (The Camelot Archive - Book One) by Nicole R. Taylor
Copyright © 2019-20 by Nicole R. Taylor
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
www.nicolertaylorwrites.com
Cover Design: Covers by Juan
Edited by: Silvia Curry
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
The Camelot Archive
VIP Newsletter
About Nicole
Demon Sworn (The Camelot Archive - Book Two)
More by Nicole
1
Madeleine Greenbriar, what have you gotten yourself into this time?
The lingering scent of sulphur tickled my nostrils as I walked down the dark street, the trail leading me towards Islington High Street.
Dammit, it was trying to hide.
I could hear the throb of heavy music before I turned the corner and my heart sank and rose, if such a thing was possible.
The line for the nightclub snaked down the block, humans dressed in their best outfits. Death-rockers, punks, and goths huddled in their cliques as they waited to get inside London’s longest running alternative venue, Adrenaline.
Mohawks, tattoos, and piercings were the flavour of the subculture, along with corsets, buckles, and elaborate hair extensions. There were a few futuristic looks—android-esque with plastic tubing hair and spiked welding goggles—and others wore more traditional goth attire made up of lace and velvet…and then there was me.
I had the all black thing down pat, but my profession demanded I paired the colour with tactical gear. Trousers with pockets, an arondight blade—a magical blade that retracted into its hilt—at my left hip, a cold iron dagger made from a meteorite on my right, and another in my combat boot. The rest of the uniform was a simple tight black T-shirt and a leather jacket. The last bit was an amendment on my part. My last shred off rebelliousness now that I was a full-fledged Natural warrior. At least my hair was naturally dark.
I scanned the crowd, my senses coming up blank. My target wasn’t out here.
I walked past the line of humans, my boots thudding against the uneven concrete. The security guards checking ID didn’t bother to lift their heads as I passed, but they wouldn’t have seen me even if they did. The first rule of patrolling was to remain concealed at all times.
I was a Natural—a demon-hunting mage—born to fight the Darkness from beyond the rift. Even though the rift was closed five years ago, it didn’t mean we ridded the world of the demons who sought to consume it. We’d gone from soldiers in a war to the cleanup crew. It wasn’t the kind of hero I wanted to be, but after I’d almost become a casualty of said war before I’d even graduated from the Academy, I supposed manning a mop wasn’t all that bad.
That’s how I found myself on the hunt at a goth club, of all places. I wasn’t supposed to be patrolling solo, but I’d ditched my partner hours ago, frustrated by the rules and regulations—and the distrustful glances she kept throwing at me. It was a recurring routine that pissed me off more than I should’ve allowed.
I worked better alone.
Inside, the venue was nothing more than a rundown warehouse of patched concrete. Four levels rose above me like a maze, full of clubbers and Light knew what else. Music vibrated through the structure, feeding into my heightened senses. I’d always wanted time off to go clubbing at the city’s premier alternative club, but there was never any rest for a Natural. This was as good as it was going to get.
Adrenaline was a place outsiders could come and express themselves without fear of being ridiculed, which was an admirable feat, but no one ever stopped to think about how the outsiders judged their own just as harshly. It was a human failing, despite striving for acceptance beyond the norm.
Then there was the other drawback of being different. Goths—more than any other human subculture—dabbled in demonic summoning the most. I didn’t know why humans would want to mess with the Dark, but I knew there were humans out there who thrived on shock value. Wearing a corset as an outer layer, shaving half your hair off and colouring it black and blue, wasn’t enough for some people.
Following the blip on my Light radar, I moved through the club, rising through the heaving mass of bodies. I passed a room playing traditional goth music and narrowed my eyes at the humans twisting their hands towards the ceiling, their long, lace sleeves trailing through the mist from a smoke machine. It was a dance dubbed ‘cobwebs in the ceiling’.
Snorting, I passed the door and kept climbing. It wasn’t until I reached the top that I stopped. The stench of demonic activity was potent—the putrid fart smell curling my nose. It was no wonder no one else seemed to notice it. The club was a melting pot of scents—stale beer, sweat, urinal cakes, the sickly aroma from the smoke machine, and the damp that always clung to old buildings like this one. No amount of pine disinfectant could cover all of that.
The bass of a heavy industrial song reverberated through the concrete floor, pulsing up my legs and into my body. The flashing lights cast an eerie glow over the goths dancing around me, their movements stuttering like an elaborate stop-motion animation.
It wasn’t hard to spot my target. It had leeched its Darkness all over the club like a putrid snail trail.
I watched the demon slide up against a woman in a sleek, black PVC corset. It’d inhabited a man’s body or had taken on the appearance of one. I wouldn’t know until I got closer.
It seemed the rarer cast of demons had fallen out of the woodwork since the rift had closed. The lesser, more rotting
