A Study of Blood and Ichor, page 1
Copyright © 2024 by Katia Black
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The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
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Cover Design © Fantastical Ink
Editing by E&A Editing Services
Contents
Author Note
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
EPILOGUE
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Author Note
Content Warnings:
A Study of Blood and Ichor is a Paranormal Why Choose Romance with dark content and themes as well as heavy sexual content, and is not intended for any readers under 18. This story contains content that may be potentially triggering for some readers including…
Demonic possession, violence and gore, body dismemberment, torture, on-page death, explicit language, explicit and graphic sex, edge-play, masturbation, loss of physical autonomy, survivor’s guilt, parental abandonment, sibling death, depression, drinking, smoking, vomiting, blood sharing, abuse (not between MCs), mention of past self-harm and past suicide attempt, mention of infertility.
For anyone who has ever felt
as if they weren't enough…
you are.
The fragile lines that separate our realms are thin. I can hear the monsters from the other side—these demons, they whisper through the cracks between worlds. They promise to bring nightmares and otherworldly terrors upon us. They offer power to those who are fools enough to take it. They will only lie and steal your soul.
I pray to you, do not go knocking at the door when you do not know what might answer.
- Erasmus Davio, The First Accounts of the Holy Order, 1616
ONE
Ava
The sour stench of ichor flooded my senses as I raced through the corridors of the Moreau Coven. It hung heavy in the air and on the fighting leathers of the witches and half-demon cambion hunters who had just returned from the field.
As familiar as I was with the scent of demon blood, it still didn’t keep my gut from churning with unease, bordering on revulsion. I couldn’t help but send up a silent thanks that my vocation kept me off the front lines. As a demonologist, my place was always behind the walls of the estate. I was a scholar, never a fighter. I was built for books and knowledge. Not bloodshed and ichor.
“Out of the way!” someone shouted at me as they shoved past.
The raid tonight on a demon nest had forced the infirmary beds to flood out into the hall. Soft cries, groans, and keening wails pierced my ears, every sound causing me to wince.
Healers leaned over the wounded with their elixirs and palms aglow with the warmth of their restorative magic and spells. The cambion fighters might recover well enough with the help of their demonic heritage, but we witches were mortal. Even in passing, the severity of many of their injuries was obvious, as judged by the deep lacerations through soft abdominal flesh, the torn and mangled limbs, the pools of blood—too much blood…I had to wonder how many of them would die tonight.
I couldn’t squeeze past the bodies fast enough. My heart was in my throat, and my boots thudded against the worn carpets and cracked herringbone tiles as I flew through the rest of the east wing of the estate. Working my way down the grand staircase and into the foyer, only more blood and ichor greeted me.
Our coven, which usually felt like a safe house, looked like a war zone. A few weapons laid abandoned, surely left in the chaos to tend to the wounded. Fighting leathers had been discarded, some left in tattered ribbons amongst pools of crimson and tar-black blood that starkly contrasted the white of the marble floors. I took care not to track my steps through them as I pressed on toward the cellar stairs.
The itch of excitement had the tips of my fingers buzzing and my breath catching in my throat. Because beneath the underbelly of our coven’s fortified walls, a demon had been captured.
It wasn’t often that a live demon was brought in for my study anymore. Though they ran rampant in our world, having escaped from the dark rifts that separated their realm from ours, they were far too dangerous to be kept alive for longer than necessary. So, while to most, the very thought of a demon at all—let alone one being kept within our walls—was horrifying, to a studied demonologist like myself, my warped fascination of their kind only shot a thrill through me.
I paused at the base of the steps, my hand resting on the wooden door, and squeezed my eyes shut.
Steady your heartbeat, I told myself. Clear your mind.
Even with a decade of demonology study under my belt, no amount of training ever felt like enough when coming face to face with one of them. But as much as the prospect of it was damn-near petrifying, there was no denying the accompanying excitement that made my body practically hum with restless zeal.
Rolling my shoulders back, I pushed open the heavy door and strode into the entryway of the cellar. The familiar stale musk of wet rock and decay invaded my nostrils, and my footsteps echoed off the stone of the open chambered space.
Lena Moreau, the High Witch of our coven, stood tall with her back facing me and two other witches at her side. She was a striking image of authority when adorned in her official High Witch regalia. Her wavy golden hair spilled over her shoulders, which stood out against the cobalt-blue robe that pooled onto the floor around her. The silver rings adorning her slender fingers glinted in the flickering lights from the sconces along the old walls.
I had to force myself not to audibly groan when I noticed who escorted her. Thomas, I had been expecting. But I didn’t miss the sharp glare that Luke gave me from halfway across the room, his stern features already set into a deep scowl from the sight of me alone.
“You’re late, Ava,” Lena said coldly at my approach.
Sometimes it was easy to forget that Lena was only fifteen years my senior. She was one of the youngest High Witches ever appointed within any coven, and a little over a decade in the position had not been kind to her, given the state of dark circles around her eyes and rather pallid complexion.
“Have you been briefed yet?” she asked me.
“No,” I said. “I rushed down as soon as I heard.”
Lena gnawed at the corner of her lip, a habit I’d quickly learned to mean she was fighting hard to bite back her annoyance.
“Our hunters subdued a demon during the raid and brought it here for interrogation. We currently have it contained in the Hull.”
The Hull? It must be a very powerful demon if they had been forced to keep it there. The rest of the holding cages and cells below the estate were strong enough to keep most lesser demons suppressed, so The Hull was only used on the rarest occasions. I could only recall a handful of times during my assignment at Moreau that it had been necessary for more powerful higher demons.
“Thomas,” Lena said, “make sure the wards are sufficient. No cracks, no weak spots. We don’t want to risk the demon escaping…for all of our sakes.” Her warning tone made my heart race faster. I reminded myself to tamp any anxiety before we confronted the demon.
Show no weakness. Give them nothing that can be used against you.
I repeated that mantra while I built up the walls of my mental shields that kept my thoughts and emotions contained, while also keeping the likelihood of a demon’s prying claws out.
I made the mistake of catching Luke’s hardened stare and glanced away before the look turned my stomach. If it weren’t for the fact that he was Lena’s attendant which forced him to be at her side for all hours of the day, I was sure that he’d rather be literally anywhere else if it only meant he wasn’t forced to be in my presence. The feeling was decidedly mutual.
The High Witch’s dark eyes fell upon me as she said, “Ava, you know the procedure. You are to observe only for this session.”
“Yes, Lena,” I affirmed, meeting her gaze.
She nodded and then turned to lead us past the other cells that lined the hall. A few guttural growls and scraping of claws from the lesser demons within darted around us as we walked past, but I kept my eyes trained ahead, focused on the looming doors of the Hull.
Lena shoved open the large iron doors. The hem of her robe trailed behind her, grazing the floor with a gentle hiss as she strod
I’d never liked this room, even in the few times I’d been inside. The circular chamber felt cavernous, too large and too empty. The open space always brought on a prickling sensation of anxiety that was impossible to ignore.
Our footsteps echoed around us, bouncing off the worn stone floor and up to the high, rounded ceiling. Suspended above the center of the room were three enormous rings—gold, iron, and silver—intertwined in an endless rotation and humming with power from the binding spells etched into their bands. The metal glinted off the light coming from the five bronze braziers lit around the edges of the room.
The hair on my arms stood on end, but it wasn’t just from the magic emanating from the rings overhead. There was another force present—a power that radiated from the center of the room, both dark and ancient.
An icy chill ran down my spine, and my gaze flew to the tall figure standing shackled in the middle of a pentagram etched onto the floor.
The demon looked surprisingly human at first glance. There were no obvious indications of horns, no tail protruding from its backside, and no claws nor any other physical abnormalities that their kind commonly possessed. Its skin was slightly tanned, and strands of dark hair fell over its face as it stared at the floor with its hands clasped together at the waist. Someone had already bound each wrist in a set of iron manacles fitted with heavy chains that bound the demon to the floor and restricted its movement.
It was often the demons who appeared more human than monster that were the most dangerous. I kept that thought in the back of my mind as we approached it.
Lena stopped at the outer circle of the pentagram, leaving a healthy distance between herself and the first line of wards. She nodded to Thomas who broke away and circled the demon trap.
Lena clicked her tongue as if to catch its attention. “Hello, demon.”
Slowly, the demon lifted its head, and I stifled a gasp when I looked upon its face. Eyes of pure onyx peered back at Lena. The whites had been enveloped by fathomless dark voids so deep that they glinted whenever they caught the firelight from the braziers.
It was not merely a demon. No, the man who stood before us was possessed.
A sick twist of uncertainty formed in my gut.
Why hadn’t Lena warned us? Warned me.
The demon curled the human male’s lips into a wicked grin that was all teeth, directed at Lena. “Hello, witch,” its voice purred, smooth as silk and laced with a malevolent hunger.
Thomas nodded his approval after finishing his inspection of the wards and Lena returned his motion. He took his place beside me, and I thought for a moment that I caught his hands trembling before he forced himself to still.
I looked back to the possessed man. He couldn’t have been much older than me, mid to late twenties if I had to guess. Tattoos covered both his arms, starting at the wrist and stretching upward until they disappeared beneath the sleeves of his tight, black T-shirt. Above the neckline of his shirt, there was another tattoo that stood out from the rest—a V on the left side of his neck, a few inches below the edge of his sharp jawline.
“Has the High Witch come to finish me off then?” the demon asked playfully. Its voice sounded unnatural, almost warped as it came out of the human’s mouth. Too low and too dark. “Or have you tasked one of your pupils with the deed?”
“You will be dealt with in due time,” Lena promised.
“Oh, I should hope so. Please tell me what you have in mind. I want to know all of the viciously delightful ways you’re going to make me suffer.” The demon licked its lips and eyed Lena hungrily.
My mouth curled in disgust, but I forced myself to regain a neutral expression before the demon noticed.
Show no weakness.
I triple checked that my mental shields were still firmly in place.
“Release this human from your possession,” Lena ordered.
“Rude of you to demand such a thing without even the proper manners.” The demon raised its chin. “I don’t think I will though. It’s warm in here, and I’ve made myself very comfortable. I won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.”
Onyx black eyes flicked from Lena, to Luke, passing over Thomas, and then landed on me. They lingered for far longer than I would have liked, and my hackles rose in warning.
Primal instincts screamed for me to look away, but I continued to mask my horror, praying that I was feigning enough confidence to mirror Lena’s stony demeanor. However, in the presence of this demon, it felt as if my mirror was nothing but an empty frame, allowing it to see right through me and glimpse the terrified, trembling girl behind it.
The demon let out a languid laugh. “On second thought, that one looks tempting.” It cocked its head to one side as it studied me. “Perhaps I’ll slip out of this vessel and into hers instead.”
A sharp tongue peeked out from the corner of the human’s mouth before it mused, “She looks delicious. Pretty too.” The demon’s head snapped toward Luke. “Tell me, mortal. How well did she fuck when she warmed your bed? What sweet little noises did she make when she—”
Heat rushed to my face, and I snapped, the words spilling out of me before I could stop them. “Shut your mouth, demon.”
I knew that it was a mistake. Never before had a demon elicited that kind of response from me. Lena stiffened, and I knew that I would hear from her later—but not here.
The demon’s attention glided back to me, satisfaction and awe reflected on the features of the human face it wore. Its lips parted slightly, and I was sure it was going to respond with another foul remark, but Lena cut in instead.
“Let us speak with the human you possess.”
I was grateful when the demon finally pulled its attention away from me and back to her. “I’m afraid not, witch. He won’t be coming out to play. He’s a little shy, and to be honest, I’m much more fun anyway.”
Lena’s eyes narrowed as she concentrated her magic into an incantation I knew well. The familiar words flowed from her lips, and immediately, the human’s body twitched in response as the demon within fought against her. I did not attempt to hide the smug, satisfied grin that formed at the corners of my mouth at the sight of its struggling.
The metal rings overhead spun faster, their soft vibrations quickly turning into a rapid whir. The chains rattled angrily, and the demon growled through gritted teeth while it strained against the magic as it attempted to maintain control of its vessel.
But however powerful the demon was, its strength had been severely diminished within our wards. The veins in its arms and neck bulged, its muscles vibrating with tension until the incantation finally finished and the human fell forward.
The wake of silence that followed was almost as unsettling as the demon’s presence had been. For the moment, the demon would remain trapped in the dark recesses of the human’s mind where Lena had driven it back, but it would resurface once it was able to regain some of its strength.
The man knelt with his head hung low, swaying slightly as he became reacquainted with his autonomy. His chest rose and fell with slow, heavy breaths. He looked like he might collapse onto the stone floor at any moment.
“What is your name?” Lena asked, her voice gentle but firm.
There was no response, only the sounds of him dragging air into his lungs and the crackling fire from the braziers echoed throughout the room.
“Your name,” Lena repeated, sharper.
“Rory,” the man said, his voice gravelly and hoarse compared to the smoothness of the demon’s. He did not lift his head. “My name is Rory Masters.”
Unease twinged in the back of my mind. I couldn’t place why, but my gut was telling me something wasn’t right. I wondered when the last time was that Rory had been in control of his body.
“Are you aware of what has happened to you?”
Still on his knees, Rory shifted his weight and placed a hand on the stone floor within the pentagram as if attempting to ground himself. His movements were slow and careful as he eased upright. That’s when the wrongness struck me.
Rory was…calm. There were no pleas for help or mercy, no screams of terror or pain.
