Ayden. Deamhan Minion: Deamhan Chronicles, #2.5

By Isaiyan Morrison

For over a hundred years Ayden, a Metusba Deamhan has waited for the chance to avenge his sire who met a bloody end at the hands of Anastasia, a Ramanga Deamhan.

 

Being an obedient servant to Kyra, the oldest of their kind, he finally gets his chance to have his revenge. However, there's one small problem. He's heavily indebted to Anastasia's offspring, Maris and Kyra wants him to kill her.

 

He must decide. Be the obedient Deamhan minion to Kyra, who used the darkness inside him to fuel his rage or protect Maris, who saved him from that same darkness for a second chance to feel again.

 

The choice isn't going to be easy. Then again, when has anything in his long tortured life been easy?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Isaiyan Morrison
• Release date: Mar 6, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224667918

Isaiyan Morrison

Isaiyan Morrison was born and raised in Minneapolis, but her heart is in the impressive magical worlds she dreams up. She hopes to share her love for world-building with her readers and help guide them through the extraordinary settings she creates. Her other passions include reading, and researching historical events. She also enjoys gardening, gaming, and spending quality time with her cats and her Presa Canario.

Book preview

ALSO BY ISAIYAN MORRISON

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Deamhan chronicles

Deamhan

Kei. Family Matters

Dark Curse

Maris. The Brotherhood Files

Ayden. Deamhan Minion

Deception

Hallie. A Tit for a Tat

Divination

Remy. The Brotherhood Files

Veronica

other works

Behesians

The Not-So Dead

The So-So Dead

Old Farmer’s Road

AYDEN. DEAMHAN MINION

Copyright © 2012-2024 by Isaiyan Morrison

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

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ISBN: 9798990239951

Contents

Odious Intentions

Sentiments

Like A Ragdoll

A Dying Gift

Confrontation

A Bond Broken

Desperation

A Bond Mended

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Chapter One

Odious Intentions

The bartender smiled at me, showing worn teeth, stained from years of smoking. Thick indentations covered her cheeks and a streak of gray highlighted her uneven bangs. I didn’t want to look at her, but I couldn’t help myself. My keen sense of smell picked up an odor of oldness seeping from her leathery looking skin.

She placed the bottle of beer on the counter and I felt her eyes examining me. I didn’t know what to think at first. Perhaps she was into me and found my appearance suitable for her taste. After all, I was always told by those around me that I’m interesting to look at, especially my eyes. They are quite large, demanding attention, and they overshadowed my odious intentions. Well, that’s what Kyra always told me.

Whatever it was, I grew extremely uncomfortable and cautious. I wanted to get away—not for my own sake, but there was a high probability that I would do more harm than good. I was a Deamhan after all.

I didn’t know why I agreed to meet Nicias here at this nightclub, full of humans, in the middle of downtown Chicago. It was an odd meeting place, even for someone of his stature. I hadn’t been back to the city since Kyra demanded that I take Nathan back to Minneapolis. I did what I was told and vowed never to return. I never considered that city my home anyway.

I cupped the bottle of beer, feeling the glass against my cold palm. I decided to block out the music’s roaring blare from the speakers. I tuned in on the bartender’s thoughts.

He’s cute.

I grabbed a ten-dollar bill from my pocket and placed it on the counter. Keep the change. I hoped that would satisfy whatever curiosity she had of me.

She grabbed and stuffed it into her cleavage. Thanks sweetie.

I wanted nothing more than to be far away from the humans gyrating on the dance floor, but I struggled, my body remaining glued to the bar. The smell of sweat permeated the air around me. Clubs and loud music were never my thing and neither was drinking beer, but pretending to like the nasty foamy substance was what I needed to do to fit right in.

As a Deamhan, the last place I wanted to be in was a crowded area with humans just begging to be picked off one by one. Many of us couldn’t handle it and would go into a frenzy within seconds.  I learned how to control my hunger, waiting for the right opportunity to strike, and now wasn’t the time.

What bothered me was why Nicias wanted to meet here instead of Minneapolis. I questioned what he wanted with me after all these years that Kyra couldn’t tell me herself? Maybe it was because of what I heard just recently floating around the Deamhan community that sent my nerves on edge. Kyra was on the run and a Pure One, Amenirdis, wanted her dead.

Being chased by a Pure One would make any of us run for the hills, Ancient Deamhan included, so I couldn’t blame her if that was the case. I just wished she would’ve told me instead of disappearing and leaving me in the dark.

Personally, I never ran from any Deamhan, but Amenirdis wasn’t just a run of the mill Deamhan. She was one of the very first of our kind to ever exist on this Earth.  She was old, strong, and insanely powerful. She spent majority of her existence, like the other Pure Ones, in Limbo—a place that none of our kind wanted to go or be trapped in. From what I gathered it was a magical space, void of time, where Deamhan, no matter how old or strong, couldn’t escape.

The Kashshapu condemned the first eight Deamhan to that hellhole, and for a good reason. When loose they were near impossible to kill and control. Personally, I didn’t fear what Amenirdis could do to me, or what she had planned for our kind. I grew tired of it all.

I stepped cautiously toward the dance floor to get a better look for a private place to sit. It took only seconds to pick up the multitude of human thoughts. I walked by a young teenage male, his face scarred with acne, who’s eyes told me that he found me slightly attractive in a bisexual sort of way. Two females to my right discussed how far they could go when it came to their virginity, and a male to my left, glaring at the dance floor, thought about what he could say to get those two females to lose theirs.

I walked along the dance floor, still scouring for my ideal spot. I saw the two emergency exits, the DJ booth, and another bar at the opposite end of the club. I squeezed my body through a group of females, bonding over pitchers of beer.

One of them elbowed her human friend and whispered in her ear. How about that one? He’s hot.

I pretended to ignore her until her friend replied. Yeah, I could rock that all night long.

It’d been awhile since anyone, human and Deamhan, spoke about me like a package of meat waiting to be devoured. This was also the first time that I took any comment about my sexuality seriously, but these females caught my interest. I turned around and faced them and to their surprise, I approached the one with short brown hair. The strong smell of her cheap perfume floated from her skin and neck. Her breath smelled like peppermint gum.

I turned on my human emotion like a light switch. Hey there. I smiled and placed my beer on the table. What’s your name? I could’ve picked up her name