Held by Magic: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance (The Demon's Fae Book 1)

  Held by Magic

  The Demon’s Fae Series Book One

  L J Swallow

  Copyright © 2021 by LJ Swallow

  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.

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  v2

  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

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Other Books By LJ Swallow

  Books by Lisa Swallow

  A note about the series

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  I helped the Four Horsemen save the world.

  Okay, I didn't face down the crazy god who decided the universe needed a makeover, but I did help the guys find an item or two to stop him. If I had a resume, the achievement would look damn good, but I don’t. I'm self-employed. Many of my clients aren’t fans of the Four Horsemen, so mentioning my connection wouldn’t be a great idea.

  But I did help. And I tell anybody who'll listen, although most people don't believe me. Probably because I'm a half-demon thief who spins a good story after a few too many drinks.

  I'm back in the shadows of my old life: locating magical items in return for an agreed fee.

  Which includes dealing with unpleasant situations like this one.

  I duck from the demon as he launches himself at me and the stupid bastard runs straight into a wall. His ugly head bounces off, and he turns as if he hit cotton wool. I sigh and brace myself for retaliation. This was supposed to be a simple job: go to the warehouse, find box labelled 'cool magic item' and collect it for my client. Okay, the 'cool magic item' part might not be true, and by 'collect' I mean acquire legally or illegally. My client Malvorn told me the place would be empty and I expected a human security guard, at most.

  Instead, I encounter this monstrosity.

  The demon launches another attack and almost succeeds in tackling me to the floor. I hold my ground but gag as the rotting teeth bare at me in his pale green face. He smells worse than the times I return from a long assignment and discover I forgot to empty the kitchen bin before I left.

  "Dude, your breath is rank." Reaching between us, I shove the creature hard in the chest.

  He staggers back and I drag both daggers from my heavy black boots. Before he can attack again, I kick out with one leg and land my foot squarely in the creature's solid stomach. He stumbles for a moment before coming at me again.

  Great. I side-step the creature and brandish my long blades in his direction. "Hello? Sharp things?"

  Not blessed with brains, the demon launches at me, and paw-like hands grab me around the waist. His build and weight make up for the brains, and he knocks me to the floor with an oomph. The ugly bastard bears down on me, giving me another view of his poor dental hygiene.

  I curse my lack of supernatural power. For sixteen years, I believed I was the child of an average couple from Woking, until someone introduced me to my true, half-demon self. I don’t believe my parents hid this from me because they still have no clue how truly weird their errant daughter is. Not that I see them much any more.

  The shock led to excitement that I might have magic powers to take down the people who piss me off. Maybe a spell or two to help my way in life.

  Nope.

  Nada.

  I'm stronger and more skilled with weapons than most people, handy but not as useful as magic. I did discover one odd skill a few years ago: I can detect magical items. I’m drawn to them like a magpie. Or a dragon—they like shinies. Although I'm pretty sure I'm not a dragon.

  Some in the supernatural community worry that dragons found their way through portals from other realms—the ones that Crazy God opened last year. I doubt they did because I haven't seen any scaly UFOs flying around. Demonic dogs walking the world, yes. Dragons? No. The portals are closed again now which means there’s no going back. Whoever is stuck is… well, stuck.

  So, no magic means that I rely on my weapon skills and will end this fight covered in blood. Again. I stab the creature in the neck, and it sits back on its massive haunches, howling inhumanly. Thick, dark blood spills from his neck as he attempts to pull out the protruding dagger, and some splashes on my shirt. And people ask why I wear black all the time? I struggle from under the distracted creature's body and pull myself upright.

  This was supposed to be a quick in-and-out job, but the large warehouse is covered in metal shelves stacked high with various-sized boxes. I already took thirty frustrating minutes locating the right shelf, and another five more finding a stepladder. Then this arsehole walks through the door and interrupts me.

  The small box I need is jammed between two larger ones, and I balance on the ladder for the second time. As I drag the heavy top box out of the way, something grabs my leg and I look down. The demon glares back with glowing red eyes, my dagger still protruding from its neck. "Dude, you don't know when to give up, do you?"

  I haul a larger, heavy box from the shelf and drop it. The box bounces across the ladder and slams the demon on the head, knocking him to the ground.

  I eye him for a moment.

  He doesn't move.

  Huffing, I pull at the item I need. A small box easily carried in both arms and surprisingly light. The words ‘Malvorn Collections’ are marked on the side, and a shipping label with the warehouse address on it peels from the top.

  Keeping an eye on my unconscious assailant, I jump down and yank my dagger from his neck. I screw my face up when blood spurts across my boot as I tuck the weapon back inside. Pausing, I listen out in case he has buddies, but the only sound comes from buzzing fluorescent strip lights above me.

  I perch back on the stepladder and shake the box. Nothing moves. I'm always curious about packaged items. Usually, I'm employed to retrieve jewellery or weapons with significance to my clients. Curios related to spells. The occasional person. Fae items are the most common, and easier to find as their magic is strong. Boxes cause issues, as the barrier dilutes the detectable magic in the air, but demonic magic stinks and is easier to pick up on.

  I pull my dagger out and slice the top before peeking inside. White foam packaging. I rummage around, careful not to touch the item, and discover a black metal container. Is this a cash box? There's a lock on the side.

  Tentatively, I place a finger on the metal lid and tense against magic, but nothing happens. The surroundings remain quiet, and I debate whether I have time to follow my nosy nature and open the box. B
ut, I can't return an item with a broken lock or risk releasing what's in there. I pick up and shake this box too. No money rattles, but something heavy and metallic moves. Hmm.

  A crack like thunder assaults my ears and a blue ball of energy hits the opposite wall, scorching into the white paint. I stare at the hole in the plaster, and white dust billows around.

  Fuck, my heart. I place a hand on my chest.

  "Put the box down or the next bolt hits you."

  Clutching the box, I slowly turn my head in the direction of the low male voice.

  Two men stand in the room beside the prone demon, one looking at his shoes in disgust as he stands in a sticky pool of black blood. The other guy cups a crackling ball of blue magic in his hand. They're dressed in matching black suits and white shirts, shiny shoes, and slicked-back hair. Official-looking—but officially what?

  "Is he a friend of yours?" I ask and tip my head towards the floor. "Sorry, was he a friend of yours?"

  The second man speaks. "A pet."

  "Oh. Nice. I once had a demonic pet. A dog, actually. Spot. I only owned him for a day before he escaped." I size up the situation as I continue my ramble—buy myself time to figure out my next move, while the pair look at me as if I'm insane.

  Some say I am.

  "Maybe not a pet. A rescue dog. Maybe he didn't want rescuing," I continue and smooth down strands of red hair that escaped my ponytail. "I don't suppose you've seen him, he's—"

  "Enough," snarls the man with the magic hand. "Box. Now."

  "Does it belong to you?" I ask.

  The other guy crosses his arms and retorts, "Does it belong to you?"

  "No, this item belongs to my client."

  The man next to him snorts. "Client."

  "Just kill her and take the box."

  "That's rude!" I retort.

  The guy with the balled magic in his hand pulls his arm back. Shit, I'm a sitting duck up here. Tucking the box beneath my arm, I spring from the stepladder. The ground trembles beneath my feet and boxes shuffle on the shelves. As I gain my footing, I look up to see a bolt of lightning heading towards my face.

  Fuck.

  I duck behind the nearest shelves, box still in my hands, and run into the maze-like warehouse. Footsteps tap as the men follow me. Mine thump thanks to the boots, so I pause and I crouch down, watching for their feet.

  I've seen Death kill with his crackling energy, but this guy's magic is different. Bigger. Darker.

  Who or what the hell are these people?

  And why the hell didn't Malvorn tell me someone else was looking for his box? I've fought off a few rivals for items in the past, but not usually two and a pet demon. My heart pounds as the building shakes again, and a box on the shelf close to my head crashes to the floor.

  "Come out, sweetheart. Save us all some time," growls a guy.

  I stare at the box. Should I stash the item in my pocket and run? I tiptoe and check out my path to the exit. One guy blocks the way.

  Exactly how do I get out of this situation?

  A pair of black shoes appears on the other side of the shelf, and their owner stops. I tighten my hand around a dagger. If he's not the magic-ball throwing guy, he's muscle, and I'm only strong enough to take one of them down.

  "Just destroy the place, Rich," says the man who stood in the blood. "She won't get far if she can't walk."

  "Dumbass. How do we find the box if I destroy everything?" replies the magic guy.

  I don't hear the low, gruff response.

  My shoulders sink in relief as the black shoes tap away again.

  "She can't hide in here all night. Take one end of the place—I'll take the other. Stay by the door."

  My mouth dries, and I look up, around, everywhere, praying for a window. Nothing, just high shelves and strip lights in the tiled ceiling. Do I climb up anyway? Throw boxes onto their heads until they’re unconscious?

  "Ah ha." I don't get a chance, as magic man rounds the corner and smiles as he straightens his sleeves. The intent in his eyes ticks my heart rate up. This guy means business. A silver signet ring on his middle finger flashes. "I did consider letting you go once I retrieved the box, but you pissed me off now. You killed my pet."

  I shrink back as he lifts a hand again, palms upwards. More condensed energy appears in his hand, sparking like a plasma ball.

  A deadly one.

  I drop the box in alarm as the ball rushes forwards, hurtling straight for my head. Swearing, I close my eyes. I can't believe I survived an almost-apocalypse to be killed by a random heavy in a warehouse.

  Chapter Two

  There's a yell followed by a cracking sound, but no shock to my body. I snap open my eyes and watch as the blue energy crawls and spreads across an invisible barrier between the guy and me. Through the sparks, I make out three figures—a tall guy with white blond hair, another similar height and build with spiked dark hair, and my suited assailant.

  The floor beneath magic dude is now slicked blue, and frosty white spreads up his legs. The man sinks to the ground crying out as the frost engulfs his body, turning him into a gruesome ice sculpture. The frozen ground around him spreads, the ice moving to the edge of the barrier blocking me. A crashing sound and another yell is followed by the noise of boxes toppling onto the floor.

  Blond dude continues to stare at the man on the ground, as the freezing effect takes over. I'm stupefied by the sight too—and don't notice the other suited guy run towards the black box on my left. I attempt to grab it before he does, but he curls a hand around my arm. I yelp in pain at the feeling he burned me with a cigarette and loosen my grip. He seizes the box, glances around, then darts away.

  "What the fuck?" yells the man and something crashes to the floor. Him?

  I peer through the gaps between the shelves, where another guy, taller than all four I've seen tonight, looms over the man with the box, who’s now lying on the ground. As the huge guy raises his fist to strike, the space containing the suited man empties, followed by a rush of air sucked past me and towards the space.

  "Holy crap," I mutter.

  The guy turns and catches me watching and strides to the shelves. I shrink back as his face appears at the gap in the shelf between my row and the next. Dark amber eyes, irises rimmed with orange, look straight into mine, and his full mouth curves into a smile. The guy’s dark auburn hair curls into his eyes and halfway down his neck.

  My heart skips for a different reason. Again, holy crap.

  "Did you get the barrier up?" he calls in a deep voice as he moves his face away.

  "Yeah,” the spiky-haired guy replies gruffly and I hold my hand out to touch the crackling space in front of me.

  "Bad idea, Syv," says the blond.

  I touch, and a jolt smacks my palm and shoots along my arm, hurting like a bitch. "Shit!" I cradle my arm against my chest.

  "I told you, bad idea." The blond man shakes his head at me. "You can drop the barrier now, Morgan. They've gone."

  Morgan flicks his fingers in my direction, and the energy fizzles away, leaving me a clear look at the scene in front of me.

  The white-haired guy is dressed in jeans and a black shirt partially unbuttoned across his chest. A blue gem wrapped in wire hangs on a chain against the defined muscle. His skin is as pale as his hair, eyes a glacial blue to match the stone. Demon? I'm damn sure he isn't human, but he's not like anything I've ever seen.

  In contrast, Morgan's hair is light brown and fringe spiked. Looks human. He's not as tall as the other guys, but his lean figure looks bloody good in the dirty blue jeans. He pushes a hand through his hair, spiking it further, revealing thick leather bands wrapped around his wrist and the edge of a purple tattoo.

  "Uh. Hello." I give a cautious smile and bend to pick up my dagger.

  "Don't bother using that," snaps Morgan.

  "Morgan, we just saved her life, and I'm sure Syv is aware she'll lose against us.” Blond guy gestures at the man on the floor, whose lips are blue. Eyes fringed by
white lashes stare upwards, body completely stiff. Deceased.

  Yes, Syv's aware.

  Morgan continues to eye me with suspicion. "You know this chick’s reputation. We can't trust her, Cillian."

  "Unfair." The big guy steps out from behind the shelves, his voice a low rumble to match the ground from earlier.

  I stare.

  Because who wouldn't?

  He's a mass of muscle I wouldn't want to tangle with. Well, not in a fight, anyway. His biceps strain against his black t-shirt's capped sleeves and the fabric stretches across the expansive chest he folds his arms across.

  "She's okay. I told you," he continues.

  I blink in confusion. Does he know me?

  "Put the dagger away, then we'll trust you," says Cillian. "Morgan just conjured the barrier to save your life. Thank him, and he might be nicer to you."

  Morgan snorts and watches as I tuck the dagger into my boot. The ice-covered guy catches my eye again, and my mouth dries. "I don't have the box. Let me leave."

  "Once we've had a chat," says the blond.

  I look back to the three. "Who are you?"

  "Cillian." He points at his chest with slender fingers. "Morgan. Dex." Morgan scowls, and Dex nods.

  "Mind explaining how you know me?"

  Cillian smiles. "Which 'you' do you mean? The girl who was there when the Horsemen saved the world? The wild half-demon with red hair and rumoured daughter of a demon prince? The mercenary with a knack for tracking magical items but has zero magic to protect herself?"