Page 4 of Demonchild

He hadn’t truly been sleeping, not in the way that mortals sleep. Rather, his mind had been banished to that empty no-place of the void with nothing but his own black thoughts to keep him company.

He wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d been away. He only knew that it had been a long time.

Averylong time.

The last time the priestesses had woken him, there had been no trees for miles around, and the land had been locked in a perpetual state of winter. Now, a summer forest surrounded his prison. A forest that was not only incredibly dense, but which also appeared to be quite old.

Seven hells, he must have been asleep for a thousand years.

So, who had woken him?

And why?

He’d not had a chance to see her clearly. His eyes were still hazy from his long slumber, his senses dulled by centuries of darkness. He’d only gotten the briefest glimpse of a naked backside darting off into the woods.

A decidedlyfemininebackside.

Was she a priestess? Perhaps. The priestesses had always been the ones who had summoned him before. They were the ones who had built this darkstone prison and trapped him inside with their magical incantations.

But if the woman who had summoned him tonight was a priestess, why had she bolted into the woods like a frightened rabbit at the first sound of his voice?

And where were her followers?

Normally, when he was summoned, there would be a good-sized crowd of supplicants gathered around the darkstone ring, all of them holding candles and chanting. Tonight the area was utterly devoid of people. The moonlight revealed only an empty clearing, and beyond that the dark wall of trees.

Cautiously, he took a step forward, then another. As he neared the standing stones that formed a ring around the altar, his skin prickled with warning, and he felt a repulsive force pushing against him, keeping him from advancing further.

Obviously, the power of the ring had not waned.

There were five candles burning atop the smaller stones of the ring, but he knew from experience that there was no point in trying to blow them out. The candles were a necessary part of the summoning ritual, but the power of containment was a constant effect inherent in the standing stones themselves. It had to be removed by a different ritual, one which could only be performed at certain times of the year, when the veil between the material and immaterial realms was at its thinnest.

He had to admit, the priestesses who had built this prison had designed it well.

But what about the woman who had summoned him tonight? She didn’t seem particularly clever. If anything, she seemed a bit foolish.

He reminded himself never to underestimate a woman. It had been a woman, after all, who had tricked him into imprisonment in the first place. And it had been women who had forced him to do their bidding.

Well… perhaps “forced” was not the right word for it. There had always beenexchanges. Still, he was resentful of the way the priestesses had used him, and he was eager to vent that frustration on someone.

The round little backside he’d just seen darting off into the forest would have been a fine place to start.

If only it weren’t for this damned barrier.

He paced the circumference of the ring again, studying the ground that lay beyond the standing stones. The woman’s robe was lying on the grass where she had left it when she fled. The fabric was unlike anything he had ever seen before, black as night and soft as the fur of a bee. He wanted very badly to touch it. He even started to reach for it without thinking, but he drew his hand back at the last moment, before the magic of the darkstone ring had a chance to burn his fingers.

Now who was the fool.

With a sigh of frustration, he moved back to the center of the ring and sat down on the altar to consider his options. They were few.

If he wanted to, he could send himself back to that empty place where he’d lain dormant for such a long time, buthe immediately discarded that notion. Simply sitting here in a clearing all by himself was preferable to the boring, black nothingness of the void. At least here he could listen to the wind whispering through the leaves. He could smell the rich fragrance rising from the damp earth. He could look at the stars.

And someone was bound to wander by sooner or later. It might take a day, or it might take a millennium, but eventually someone would find him here, and when they did, he could trick them into setting him free.

All he had to do was wait.

He tilted his head back and stared up at the night sky. The stars glittered like a million scattered jewels above him. He knew each and every one of them by name. He’d been there when the Creator had hung them in the firmament. He’d helped.

Off in the forest, a twig snapped.

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