Salvation

By Josephine and Josephine wrightson

Rumours and legend, folklore and tall tales. Swallowed whole by those greedy for what they deemed as excitement. Yet, was there truth hidden within the words? There were only a few who knew the facts. The few who it affected.

Demon filth, always trying to gain corporal form, to be able to feel the physical, emotions which made everything worthwhile. A single taste which stuck, then they would lie cajole and promise anything so they could be free. At what cost? None to them! Yet, all to the humans they invaded, which was massive. Lives wrecked. Cruel-sickening allegiances were made with those too arrogant to know what they did. Jealousy and vicious loathing filled the idiotic woman who thought to control a demon. Summoning, the worst of the worst, unaware of the price she had to pay. Blood.

Life was created, only to drain another of all that could give it breath. In death, the Goddess of moon and light shone bright and took pity on what she saw. Sapped of everything that gave the babe life, she decided. This little courageous bundle needed a second chance.

A second chance for death.

Being always more than she seemed… 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Josephine wrightson
• Release date: Oct 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215612323

Book preview

Salvation

Table of Contents

Title Page

Salvation

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Josephine Wrightson

SALVATION

Author: Josephine Wrightson

Cover & formatting by: Sharon Brownlie, www.aspirebookcovers.com

© 2022 Josephine Wrightson. All rights reserved.

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All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of Josephine Wrightson.

Salvation

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Prologue.

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Demons...  real or imagined! Who knows? Between heaven and hell, what is there?

Rumours and legend have always been rife, swallowed whole by those greedy for what they deemed as excitement. The rest going blindly on, unaware of all that happens for the sake of safety and life. The peaceful years had overcast the truth, masking it. There had never been certainty, (not in life or death), but soon that was going to end.

He had waited too long already and itched to be free. His daughter and plaything, now grown and about to help him achieve his ultimate end. It was near. He could feel it, almost taste it. The reality of life was close, and his fingers ached to grasp it. Decades of waiting and he was finally going to be able to break free. Permanently.

Demons will always try to gain corporal form, to feel the physical emotions, which made everything worthwhile. A single taste which stuck, and would try anything to gain such sensations, exceedingly high prices and much sought after - some even achieved it. However, at what cost? None to them! Yet, all to the humans they invaded, which was destructive.

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Chapter One

T

he sun shone bright, reaching far and wide, a welcoming sight. Grass grew lusciously long and green, and the rain had brought forth life. All could have been and should have been good. Yet, 100 years of torture and torment had long since taken their toll. All was far from well.

How one thing, which was never man, could rain so much horror, was beyond those that understood. Yet, still, those that were left to rule, tried to live to the best of their abilities. Most were gone into the depths of time and death, leaving a desperate few trying to preserve life and keep the people safe. Who fought for the best of reasons: life, law, and honour. Not only among themselves, but against the evil which entwined itself among them. Being there for too long, ruining those that took its fancy. Addicted to the taste of the rich life’s blood running through those he coveted, it would not stop. Yet, all was not simple. Those of the blood were fast becoming depleted. It always sought them out, no matter where they tried to hide. Fear swept through all that knew of the curse, but not the ordinary folk. They were missing the rich, red trait he needed—or most did. Occasionally there was a birth, an offspring from the blood he hungered for. However, they hid and remained safe (for now) because they lacked the richest of blood. Not so much those that ruled, but still they tried. Because that was what it had all been about, or so it led them to believe, keeping the people safe. However, soon others would learn when he finished with the cursed blood. Who else would he turn to? Would he go seek those that were offspring, and weaker versions of the richness? Who would he take? Making further cruel, sickening allegiances with another unsuspecting, if not idiotic woman. He liked the women most of all. They were so easy to play. Nothing ever comes good from jealousy and hatred. And no one could ever contain demons. It had been arrogant idiocy to believe so.

The curse could mutate to all. He had a taste now, for the fine women. Sex and blood were his addiction. Yet, there was another story here, one which could overtake all others. A secret so far ingrained, even those it involved were unaware. A birth, a confession and a love which would bring it all out, giving away all the hidden secrets. Secrets even he, the instigator, did not know. No one shared a single word.

Which gave way to the perpetrator’s arrogance. He had been feeling like a sovereign for too long. Having forgotten his opposite and equal measure. Light. The light which would far out way the dark...

His evil whispered words dripped slowly into the ear of the greedy. It had not been that difficult to achieve his aim. Yet, no one had known it—only him. Would it come to fruition? He had tried every spell and incantation he could find to achieve the ultimate for eons. And was more than determined not to stay behind the mantle for eternity. It was the long game he played, knowing he had the time. It was them, the stupid frail women that he would make dig their own graves, which made him burn with glee. Stupid whores. He had created and claimed many secrets over the years. His thoughts bayed, soon.

However, to his dark, there was always a light, because it was called balance, which was equal in its secret plotting.

Now all was down to the strength of those involved.

Finally, with the secret out, they could stop the horror. Lanced, and eradicated, but not with a story of great armies fighting, friendships forged, and blood being shed. Merely with a single simple love, between those that were true and unhindered. A love to give in to fully and to last a lifetime. One which nobody could deny.

The fate of the many, held in the hands of one. One given life by the light and with a heart strong enough to do all required. A deliberate and determined act, which was only given to her. With a heart that was selfless enough to give her very breath to stop all from turning to dust, that would be her ultimate end...Or what destiny decided.

Her dreams were of a better life, not one shadowed by fear. Never knowing when, or how? He had been before, had a taste for human beauty and flesh. Liking the best of women, ruining them, taking all they were in lust, leaving nothing but the rotten taste of rape behind. He knew how long it had been since he had been called, even if they had forgotten. Called in bond to take revenge on one, but the silly, false-hearted woman had not wanted to pay his price. Regardless, he took it anyway, knowing he would still fulfil her malediction.

He whispered to her many times, knowing what it was her heart contained... him. And all the darkness she could emulate. He teased and tormented her until it was all she saw. Her own needs and wants. She became his perfect tool. Greed and jealousy overtook all she had promised to be. Once they created the pact, she was entirely at his mercy, to be used as he pleased. She called him, intending to own his darkness. Or so she believed. He had played a brilliant game, now for the long one. His intention always — life.

This was what he was always there for. And nobody said he could not enjoy it. Because he found he did, enjoyed every second. The fear and power he held was intoxicating. Once paid, that was it, sealed in blood. Hers. The others who followed would also have to pay because of her, the original who had called him from the depths. There was nothing anyone could do about it, not now. Sealed in fresh red blood, completed which was not to be denied, no matter how much time passed — in which he revelled. Soon he could walk through the mantle and stay, ruling and deliciously powerful.

Over the years, the curse had entertained him, but none like her. This one he had found. He came to her time and time again, leaving her with nothing to give. He liked her fight. Despite all he did, she did not stop. Her stamina was more than he had expected. She looked so ordinary, weak, in fact. No matter what — she belonged to him. Even her blood tasted good. It was the best so far, and fast became his addiction.

She had not been the only one over the years to endure him, but knowing this gave Ianthe little peace. For then, it was only her that had to endure. She prayed for it to stop. However, once started, the circlet shone, and he would walk through repeatedly. No one dared or knew how to destroy the wretched thing. Many had tried as the years moved on, but they also paid a price. Human life meant nothing to the demon. Worthless to the immortal—especially him. He was always vicious in his cruelty. None knew how to destroy the circlet. Being demon made, it felt as if it was impervious to everything.

Until he had found a permanent way, it was his entry from the demon hell to their green and fruitful land. Where he found so much pleasure from tormenting. They had constructed it with spells and dark magic, filling every inch. In the human realm, who or what had started the creation of the circlet had been long forgotten. They learned to live with it, those not chosen, mostly. Because it was them willingly sacrificing their own, with little guilt that fed the hate in the circlet. Those who lived a different life from all others, sacrificed to him. Beaten, beleaguered, and disgusted in living, some did not. Suicide became the norm, especially in those he enjoyed. Mostly the dignitaries. It was those whom he wanted to punish. Those cursed, because their blood rated so sweet. How to break the curse? Did anyone know? Over the years, his aim had still not been achieved, but he enjoyed the exertion.

Deep in the mountains, hidden in the dirty mist, was a hut where an old woman lived, now bent and gnarled with age. Deliberately hidden away from the world. Dyani was her name. One long since unused, which she hardly uttered, even from her own lips. At first not wanting to be recognised, but now it seemed to no longer matter, believing she would be gone soon. However, it mattered. She had known all along that there was still a part for her to play. And worried because if it did not happen soon, it would not happen at all. And her time here on earth would be done. Then nothing would be changed, and she would die condemned. The curse and he would be left to rein endlessly. Unable to impart her knowledge, which was the only way to end it. The one and only.

Dyani, and her cousin Ina... so different, but loved. Each a daughter of the realm. They had always been close, or so Dyani had thought. Until one fateful day...

Dyani’s mind and body still carried the scars, the ones he had left on her—having not faded with age. And she remembered, or so she thought. However, as increased time went by, she hung on, waiting for the tale to run its course. Only then could the curse be dispelled. However, over time, her mind became antiquated, worse with each passing year. She considered her memories. Was all she remembered, correct? Sometimes it was difficult to even know her name. The only source of information and stimulation was the young goatherd who visited her on his way to tend the animals, bringing food and anything else she needed. He knew her name, even if she very often forgot his.

On other days, she knew everything that had happened, and all she was to foretell. Life, there would be a life left behind, forgotten, and pushed aside. One which would generate much love, filling them all with her genuine courage. Able to destroy the demon. They simply had to wait for that child to be born—the blood of his blood. To send him back to where he belonged. Understanding he always had an aim in all this, the abomination of life he caused, for he had deliberately caused it. He did nothing without forethought and planning.

Dyani knew now that she had watched Ina change over the months before that fateful day, which ended in death and blood. She had always been greedy and jealous, but to stoop so low was unthinkable. He had enticed her greatly. Ina had been the one to bring him here. To what he believed to be his private playground, by one who should have known better, but lived to regret it—considerably. Time had not healed her wounds, because he did not give life a chance. Ina had been the first, the one to bring him forth in bond to her. What she had not bargained on was the price, blood. And it was to be her own. Not only a drop. Ina had been the first to feel his selfish lusts. He had known how fragile they were, humans and what she wanted had the highest cost. He had used and abused her badly, so much so that she did not even last the night. His evil had every intention of making sure she paid the right price, in full, enabling him to have his own free rein.

The price paid meant he was free to move between the two worlds. Then he had set upon the object of her jealousy ... that was a story Dyani preferred not to remember. There would come a time when she would have to repeat it, but for now. She used her senility as an excuse not to remember. The memory shoved back into a tight box within her mind. However, of late, it had leapt from its bindings. Distressed, Dyani attempted to cloud Ina’s face as much as she could. The spite she had seen being so apparent made her nauseous. They had all been blind then. They should have been stopped sooner.

The circlet was hers, Ina’s. A mirror she coveted with much longing, or that was as it seemed at the time, no one understanding why? That came later. Ornate gold, heavy, and awfully expensive. Hers to keep. It had taken pride of place in her chambers. Where she spent much time before it, primping and preening, being vain. Because she was conceited, and wickedly arrogant. Or so it was assumed, wrongly. She had spoken words long forgotten and should have stayed so. No one knew what she was about until it was too late to stop. With his help, her jealousy exploded. Was Ina to be pitied? Dyani still struggled with that question.

No one guessed. Not even the closest to her, Dyani, Brayden, and Rylan. By the time the night was over, there was only one left to speak of the dreadful thing Ina had done. And she was Dyani. Who hobbled away, rather having been dead, but was not. She had to escape, unable to stay within the walls, living with the memory of what had happened. The visions, smells, and sounds of the evening rang in her thoughts from every room and corridor. Which could only ever be evil memories. There was so much chaos, blood, and horror that night. It had been easy to assume that there was no chance she had survived. Merely crawled off to die, having attempted to drag herself away from the viciousness of the night. Everyone forgot about Dyani, even him. There was much more then to keep him occupied. Whence he came, and the beginning of it all meant nothing to him. He did not count on that with every beginning. There had to be an end. The end, which was stored within Dyani’s subconscious, until the day something would trigger it.

So, he walked, and the curse was born. He tortured and killed wherever and whoever he pleased. The cursed blood called to him, dark magic willing him on. All he was feeling fulfilled with them, always trying to create his aim. Yet, that was still unfulfilled. It had to be their blood that ran in his creation’s veins. No one else would do unless there were none left.

The women he did with as he pleased, their men, he killed if they stood in his way. All soon learned that he could not be stopped. Not being a flesh and blood man who could be killed. Even the best of them could not stop him from laughing in their death. No memory of what to do remained. He became appeased by them and took their sacrifices with glee. And more of his own choosing, never giving them the upper hand. It was all his playground.

Yet this last time had been different. Somehow, he had implanted his demon seed within Ianthe, finally; he had achieved his aim. She screamed, cried, shouted, and cursed, but being the good heart she was, could not destroy what was within her. There were ways, old dangerous ways. Still, ways to be rid of the seed. Evil needed to be destroyed, but she could not. Ianthe found that something strong tugged at her heart. Doing the unthinkable made her sick. Her baby should not pay the price for the sins of the father. No matter who the father was. Regardless, this was no father, this was a demon. Her child, what would it be? Being frightened of what she could birth, did not alter how Ianthe felt, she could not bring herself to destroy it. In case it was more human. It was her child, and she was a good woman. Eventually she confined herself to her rooms, and fate, believing she had no choice. Her days spent talking and praying for the child to be more her than him. Vigorously praying, almost obsessed. Desperate to fill herself with nothing but light and goodness. Prayer became part of her, filling her soul, but the story unfurling was already written.

He found a taste for another, for now anyway. The demon no longer went to find her, having found another to torment. Ianthe was getting older. She had survived, but she became distasteful. Even her blood seemed wrong. His assumptions were her age, and his tastes were more for the young and nubile. Especially when he would never age.

Ianthe had been relieved he had left. Her mind solely focused on her own plight. The days and nights of prayer soon turned into months. And her confinement was upon them. Surrounding herself with only the best of women that she could trust. Because this birth should not be for many eyes. No one knew for sure what would come out of this. The doors were locked and no one else could enter. The pains came suddenly sharp and did not subside taking every ounce of strength. Ianthe had to keep from ripping her stomach open, ridding herself of what caused it. Birth never was easy. Still, she hoped at the end the child would be good.

Yet too late, they realised it was two babies. Ianthe could not bear the thought of losing one, never mind two. Her sheer stubborn will could not contemplate that they would be marked. As all prayed and hoped, the marks were not upon them. She needed something to hold on to. Her family had never felt complete until now. She had spent many hours speaking, singing, and hugging her oversized stomach, chatting to her angels. They had to be angels. She wanted children. And love them unconditionally. She held her heavy stomach, speaking carefully to her babies. Be well, be honest, be loving — please God, by all that is holy, make them good. She prayed and prayed hard.

Then delivery came. And so did he, as the second child entered. The first, clean skinned, no marks. Yet, had no breath either, it had not breathed — not once. Sapped of life by the other, which was already his. Ianthe cried and wept, but in the throes of more contractions, she had no time to grieve - not then. The young midwife had whisked the silent babe away. Death should not be around life. The second forcing its way into the world of men. Marked. It was so very noticeable, even whilst still within her. A mark on the top of its head, large and ragged, unevenly spread across its scalp. And already screaming. Glancing over, the younger midwife cursed, as if the head of the household had not been through enough. Before rushing quickly through the door with the stillborn tot. Fear filled her every pore. That was it. Gasping loudly, she held her own treasured bundle closer. Demon... Not you. It was easy for her to believe that life had been drained from her charge on purpose.

Then he was there, standing at the bottom of the bed, appearing like a shadow from nowhere. Waiting and watching with curiosity. He had produced no child before—this was all new to him. Curious, would it look like a child or an animal? Only time would tell. Still more than pleased that finally, it had worked, but unsure of how it had come about. He had tried so many times before, but uncaring now. Because finally, he had prodigy. Would it be demon born? Suddenly he felt hope, the hope of humans. The longing that he could create real life. Special enough to wield even more power. Then he saw it, the mark. The midwife held its tiny wriggling form up to the light. And it screamed raucously, a good healthy set of lungs. His laughter filled the rooms, a vicious raucous noise. My child.

Ianthe was barely audible, weakened after the hours of birth. No, my baby. Not his, but hers.

However, he did not care. He knew who she belonged to. And without forethought, he took the wriggling, wailing bloody mess from the midwife, who gave the baby over without complaint. She could see it, the origin of this newborn. It was a demon! If he wanted it, as far as she was concerned, he could have her. The child would only have petulance and heartache follow her.

He felt pride having created a child. How special would she be? In that second, his mind became more determined. This could work. His plotting had a course now, one which could lead him to walking always, immortality among the humans—without the deal of curse. One that was born of the human realm. His ultimate end.

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Chapter Two

A

nd his decision was made. I take this child and will leave you be from now on, in payment. There will be others. But you have satisfied me. This child is mine. We will see what havoc will reign in its wake. He was pleased. And in a momentary lapse of cruelty, he freed Ianthe. Then, with a wisp of smoke, he had gone, taking the child with him.

Ianthe wailed. My baby... And she was alone.

The older