Page 2 of Stolen By the Demon

“DeVille might find her entertaining. Let her pass,” the second burly man with a bald head asserted in the same strange accent, nodding at me.

The music was even louder as I stepped by the two men into the pub. It was so loud it hurt my ears. How did they do that? And why did it seem to come from everywhere at once? It was strange, too, played by instruments I wasn’t familiar with, and the lyrics were… I blushed, or thought I did, as they contained words that would never leave my lips. Vulgar words, words I knew the… who? Who used?

My head spun as I desperately tried to remember… something, anything. Then it came to me: guards. My father’s guards used some of the words when they thought they were alone.

I slowed my step as I descended a narrow, winding stairway. Something else pulled against the edge of my memory, causing a wave of dizziness that made me nearly lose my step. I grabbed the railing for support and closed my eyes for a moment, fighting the spinning in my head.

Laughter and someone jostling me made me open my eyes again in time to see a couple making their way up.

Disoriented, I moved down the last steps before I reached the ground level, where I had to close my eyes again against the lights coming from all directions. The light didn’t come from the sun, torches, or candles, yet it bathed everything in vivid hues that reminded me of the colors I'd seen in church when sunlight filtered through stained glass windows.

Church? I didn’t know where that memory came from, but another wave of dizziness overcame me, and I stumbled forward just as another person bumped into me so hard that I tripped and fell right onto a stranger’s lap.

“What do we have here?”

I hardly heard him over the beat of the music.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” I stammered, trying to regain my footing.

“Sir, she called you sir.” Another man, sitting inside the same rounded booth, guffawed.

“Let her be. She looks frightened,” a girl sitting with them yelled. I would have estimated her to be in her early twenties, like me, but heavy face coloring made her appear older.

“I think I’ll keep her.” Hands held on to my butt and squeezed. I yelped, pushing at him with more strength than I thought I possessed. The move propelled me upward, back on my feet. Outraged, my hand flew automatically forward, slapping him straight across his face. How dare he?

“Now listen here, sweetheart.” The man rose. And rose.

I swallowed, or tried to, but there was nothing to swallow down, only dryness, reminding me of my painfully increasing thirst. I rubbed my throat to find some relief, staring up at the giant towering over me. With an angry snarl, he grabbed me by my shoulder and shook me. “You stupid bitch, you slapped me. I’ll teach you—”

His large hand flew through the air, coming down straight for my face. I closed my eyes in anticipation of the blow.

On the rare occasions I visited this club, I was able to tune the loud music out, the scent of sweat in the air that made my nose burn, and the acidity churning in my stomach from too many people having fun.

Not tonight, though.

I still wasn’t sure what brought me here tonight. I avoided my clubs whenever possible. I would have much rather been stuck back in hell, being tortured by my father, than watching all these humans laughing, drinking, having the times of their lives.

These were things I hadn’t experienced in hundreds of years and knew I would never again. I poured all my energies into building more clubs, bars, and restaurants to increase my wealth and power. It was the only thing that held any kind of allure for me. Ever since she had been taken from me.

“Remind me why we’re here?” Vasili, my best friend, partner, and head of my bodyguards—as if I needed those—shouted over the ruckus that was considered music nowadays.

“I don’t know,” I replied distractedly searching over the heads of the many patrons, not having a clue what I was searching for.

I was supposed to be in Milan, overseeing the grand opening of my newest club. Instead, for days now, I had felt an urge to come here. The urge had gained intensity until it became nearly unbearable. Tonight, it had been so strong that I couldn’t resist any longer.

“You’ve been acting strange for days, brother,” Vasili yelled. “Antonio is going to be pissed that you aren’t there.”

“Antonio is compensated well enough to handle Milan on his own,” I replied distractedly as I watched Brock—another of my friends and bodyguards—strut by the dancefloor. Ever since I turned him into a demon a few years ago, he thought of himself as invincible and irresistible. A belief reinforced by the eyes of women following him as he made his way to the stairs. I smirked; he had deserved to be risen as a demon after he gave his human life, thinking he was protecting me—a power only my brothers, I and my father possessed. He was a good man, loyal.

As he made his way up the stairs, my eyes caught sight of red hair. As always, when I spied that particular shade my stomach dropped, no matter that I knew how impossible it would be to find her. She was dead. Had been dead for hundreds of years.

And yet…

The woman who descended the stairway was an exact replica of her. Down to the outdated clothing she wore.

Impossible!

My entire body tensed as all my senses homed in on her. She was paler than I remembered, much paler, but it suited her, made her look even more ethereal. With the outdated gown she wore, she looked like… she looked like she had stepped out of a time machine.

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