Chapter One

 

 

The wailing and begging from humans floated through the veil to Bakzel-Lil. It was the constant soundtrack to his life, and the energy of their terror licked at his body as he sought out the most promising subject to feed him and his eight conspirators.

As a night demon, his natural strength was not enough to secure him against the higher levels of demons. Not enough to leave him with a solid form that didn’t look like it was decaying or being ravaged by disease. He could barely get the energy needed to stay solid.

The demonic hierarchy all depended upon the human world because that’s where the food was. For centuries, Bakzel had twisted and warped human pain into enough energy to stay solid—enough for him to venture into the human world where he could feed on higher energy.

Scrambling by like that wouldn’t get him anywhere, though. Begging at the feet of the stronger demons and serving them as a slave for the ride to and back from the human world was humiliating and often painful. He’d suffered enough under the cruel whims of the upper levels, and in particular by the hands of his master, Tonram. No, if he had to break free from that circle, he had to find a new way.

And he finally had.

After decades of groveling and scheming, begging and bargaining, he had finally secured enough energy for a spell to twist one human just enough to be able to feed him even when Bakzel was not in the human world.

But he wasn’t strong enough to do it alone, and he’d managed to persuade eight others to join in on his plan so they could all be fed. He needed them for several reasons, though. One, he needed the energy to cross and work the spell. And two, when rising in the demonic hierarchy, he wanted others of his own kind with him. Strength in numbers, pure and simple—nothing altruistic about it. To become stronger, he had to empower others, too.

He’d succeeded enough among his kind that he was now the only one who could take his body with him to the other side of the veil without the assistance of a higher-level demon. But it was a one-way trip. That strength made for hope and earned him allegiance and followers—not just amongst his own kind of Lil-demons but other lower ranking demons as well. Nine underlings had pledged allegiance in return for him pulling them through the veil, too.

And so, he searched for a human to feed him, his kind, and his underlings. He searched for the right level of anger and hate to cultivate the perfect subject.

A strong energy lashed at him, and he gasped at the potential he felt. He latched onto it and followed, watching to see if this was the one.

 

England, 1663

 

A man, dressed impeccably in petting coat and cravat, strode into the stables with such focus and fury in his blood. Bakzel settled in the shadows to watch from behind the veil as the handsome mid-fortyish man, almost too aristocratic to look at, stalked to the end of the row of stalls where a stable boy in his early twenties shoveled manure in blissful ignorance.

“Kendrick!” the man shouted.

The stable boy jumped and turned. “Lord Sterling?”

“You forgot to close the gate to the pen.”

“No, My Lord, I haven’t been near the stallion today.”

Bakzel watched as the unassuming young man dropped the fork and backed up at the plain fury in the Lord’s eyes. At first, the cowering body language of the human disgusted Bakzel. He then realized that he and the young man shared something. They both had their place in a hierarchy—not at the bottom but certainly not high enough to be masters of their own life. They both had to serve further up the chain. It was why Bakzel was there after all—he was there in the pursuit of enough power to keep his level out of the hands of those higher uppers by joining them as equals. Until then, even he had to cower so who was he to judge.

“I caught the stallion and got him inside, but it was your job.” The Lord was seething.

Bakzel latched onto the energy to find out why it had seemed so potent through the veil. It still was, and it continued to grow more potent, but Bakzel had yet to determine how to manipulate it to his advantage. So he observed silently and patiently. He could not afford to fail, and he would rather wait than pick the wrong human to empower with enough magic to be able to feed them.

The Lord held up his crop, and the stable boy’s face lost all color. “Why feed the mouth of someone so incompetent?” Lord Sterling asked and advanced slowly. “Why spend time or money on a serf so negligent in his duties? Do you have any idea how much that stallion is worth? Compared to you, that is.”

The young man backed up further until he hit the wall. His body jerked at the contact. “My Lord, I swear, I didn’t—”

“Oh, so you are a coward. You simply attempt to push your mistakes onto your friend, Jonah?”

“No, no, Jonah is helping with the rebuild of the east fence, he hasn’t been here in days,” Kendrick exclaimed, holding up shaky hands.

“Then there is only you left to have let the stallion out. Admit to it instead and take your punishment with dignity!” The Lord was so angry spittle flew as he shouted at the stable boy. In two long strides, the Lord was close enough to reach the young man with his crop, and he struck him five times in quick succession.

Kendrick cried out for forgiveness and cowered, holding up his arms and turning his upper body in a futile attempt to cover himself. The blows landed on his back and flank, the scream tearing from his throat so potent in all the unfairness of his pain. But it wasn’t the right energy for a Lil-demon.

The Lord stepped back, panting and looking down at the whimpering young man. More potential mixed with the wrath of the Lord, but it still wasn’t quite right. The spell would help twist it, but it could only twist and enhance something that was already there. The entitled Lord, who just needed someone to punish, certainly had the gem of what Bakzel’s kind needed to feed on if the erection straining against the fabric was anything to go on. This guy could be manipulated and maybe even serve without the spell.

“I should throw you off my land,” Lord Sterling sneered.

Kendrick looked up in shock. “No, My Lord, please, it’s all I know.” Kendrick scrambled onto his knees but still held up his arms protectively. “I was born here, please.”

“That does not make it yours! You are a simple serf, not entitled to anything.” The Lord stepped forward again and let three more hard strikes with the crop rain over the stable boy’s body.

“I’m sorry,” Kendrick cried.

“Really? You are?”

“Yes, My Lord. Please.”

“I think you are just an ungrateful brat!”

“Please. I am grateful, I promise. Please, don’t throw me off your land.”

“You’re going to remember this lesson, Kendrick,” Lord Sterling said, still panting as he grabbed Kendrick’s shirt and brutally yanked the crouching young man to the ground. The shirt tore, and the Lord kept yanking at it while Kendrick curled up in a protective ball. Skin, striped red from the crop, came into view, and Lord Sterling aimed for it, as he unleashed another handful of strikes.

The Lord finally stepped back and grimaced at the sight of the curled up and sobbing stable boy. “Get up, you useless sheep.”

Kendrick did reluctantly, scrambling to his knees and still holding up his hands.

Something flashed in Bakzel’s brain. A memory of doing something similar at the feet of his master demon, Tonram.

Lord Sterling stepped closer. His eyes had darkened, and a wet patch had formed in his pants.

Oh, sweet possibilities here.

“Show me how grateful you are, Kendrick.”

“How, My Lord?”

The Lord pulled at his baggy pants, freeing his hard cock, and Kendrick’s eyes grew wide with horror and disbelief.

“Come on,” the Lord cooed. “Show me how much you want to stay on my land and serve me. And you better not bite me.”

The young man shook his head vehemently and pulled back, his big eyes looking everywhere but at the cock the Lord stroked with his left hand while he still held and tightened the grip on the crop in his right.

“No, this is wrong, this is wrong,” Kendrick said, shaking his head.

“I will be the one who decides that, not you, serf,” the Lord sneered before going at Kendrick again with the crop. The young man howled in agony and then in surprise as the Lord stopped striking him to grab his hair and pull his head back. “Now open your dirty mouth!”

Kendrick whimpered and tried to shake his head, but Lord Sterling’s tight grip on his hair made that impossible. When the Lord lifted the crop again, Kendrick screamed and held his mouth open, shivering and sobbing as snot and tears ran down his face.

“Good boy, and do not even think of biting me.” With that last warning, Lord Sterling shoved his cock into Kendrick’s mouth and down his throat, smothering the next screams with deep thrusts and a tight grip to Kendrick’s hair. The stable boy gagged and flailed in Lord Sterling’s grip, managing to pull his head back and vomit down the front of the Lord’s pants.

“You filthy serf,” Lord Sterling roared and unleashed another hail of strikes. Kendrick once again curled up in a tight protective ball, screaming for mercy and forgiveness. The Lord let go of the crop and pulled at Kendrick’s pants, which woke the young man up enough to fight him. But the Lord was stronger in his uninjured state, and it didn’t take him much effort to pull the stable boy’s pants down. He then threw himself on top of Kendrick and shoved the stable boy’s face into the dirty hay.

“Filthy serfs sometimes need to show how grateful they are,” Lord Sterling said, grabbing at Kendrick’s hip to pull his ass into position. He spat several times before he steered his cock to enter the boy’s now spit-slick hole with angry thrusts.

Kendrick screamed into the hay and tried to crawl away. Once the Lord had found his rhythm, he kept his hand fisting Kendrick’s hair and picked up his crop again. The hard thrusts seemed to pound the fight out of the stable boy, and he stopped struggling and just cried.

“Yeah, that’s better. Filthy and worthless and you know it.” The Lord grabbed a handful of the manure and smeared it in Kendrick’s face before wiping his hand on Kendrick’s back as he rode him harder.

Yeah, there is definitely a lot of useful energy to feed on from the Lord, but what to offer him so he will take the deal?

Bakzel wondered about that while he watched the Lord rape the stable boy. Kendrick’s energy flickered between nothing worth noticing really to something so potent it made Bakzel shudder.

The Lord grunted louder and shoved in harder, coaxing pained whimpers from Kendrick. Lord Sterling finally reached his release and collapsed on the stable boy’s still body. “And if you have even half a head on you, then you will never tell anyone about this, do you understand me? Or I will throw you off these grounds and make sure you are hunted in all the land for being a perverted and incompetent fool.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Kendrick whispered, then whimpered in pain as the Lord pulled out and got up. Lord Sterling kicked Kendrick in the ribs for good measure as he stuffed his flaccid cock, now smeared in blood and cum, into his pants. He left Kendrick in the dirty hay in the stall and strode out of the stables without so much as a backward glance.

Bakzel followed, but not for long. The potency in Kendrick grew massively, and revenge was definitely what would enslave the stable boy to Bakzel. The hunger for power in the Lord was equally strong, but in the end, Bakzel went back to the boy, thinking that he’d rather empower someone who he had so much in common with rather than someone higher up the human food chain.

Kendrick seethed and spilled tears of anger as he struggled to pull himself together—the nausea of humiliation, the stench of blood and vomit and fresh piss all adding to the turmoil of feelings growing into the much-needed potency in the young man.

Yes, this is the one. And this is how we shall both win in life.