Angel Of Solace

ANGEL OF SOLACE

Selene Edwards

Copyright © 2011 Selene Edwards

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or used fictitiously.

All rights reserved.

Prologue

Damien Vendare didn’t gasp as he entered the woman beneath him. He didn’t close his eyes or moan softly in pleasure. He wasn’t even erect, as ludicrous as that seemed. But he could feel the pulsing warmth of her skin as she swelled steadily towards a climax, and he did his best to repress a tired sigh.

She was his fourth client of the day, and as a repeat customer she was far more receptive to his efforts than the first-timers. It was a nice change of pace, all things considered. The more fresh clients he got in a day, the greater the chance he would slip up and hurt them, or even permanently damage their memories. Those days were few and far between, fortunately, but he was so distracted today could have easily been one of them.

“Oh my god…” she breathed, her eyes fastened wide in ecstasy. “How can you be…a Demon?”

Damien smiled thinly. “How can you be an Angel?”

She laughed and clamped herself around him even more tightly, gasping softly at each of his movements, both real and otherwise. He slowed his pace and let her enjoy the sensations as he studied her scrunched face.

Her name was Tarla—or was it Tayla?—and she was a passably attractive, thirty something businesswoman with chunky thighs and a rape fetish. She was standard fare for an Incubus like himself, a woman both liberated and repressed by her society seeking safe harbor to act out her darkest intimacies. With him, she could experience any fantasy she wished, and he would convince her it was as hot and sweaty as the real thing. She wouldn’t get hurt or end up pregnant, and in the end all it cost her was a week’s salary.

Unless she got caught, of course. Associating with a Demon like himself in any way other than to drag him off to the nearest police station or Covenant temple was illegal, but the Agency did their best to protect both their Demons and their clients. It was a million-voca-a-month business, after all, and the Agency was one of the most influential cartels in all of Louvette.

“Oh…” Tarla cried out in release, scratching his back so hard he was probably bleeding. For a repeat client, it was an expected response. The illusions he wove into their minds were far more powerful than physical contact. Actual sex had all the inconvenient annoyances of reality attached to it, and not just anxiety or impotence. The mind was the most powerful sexual organ in any body, capable of conjuring fantasies beyond the limitations of the flesh.

And Damien was its master. The woman beneath him was naked, but all he had removed was his shirt. From there, all it took was the touch of his skin to hers to enter her mind and alter her perceptions. He controlled every pinch, every lick, and every thrust as if he was truly sharing it with her, but it was all an illusion for her benefit—mostly.

“You’re not getting away that easily,” he breathed into her ear, grabbing her arms and pinning them forcefully behind her. She smiled up at him, offering some token resistance to squirm out from under him even as he pushed harder and took her again. This time when she became delirious in the throes of passion, however, he reached past her surface thoughts and into her memories themselves.

It was the Agency’s dirty little secret—dirtier even than the illegal Demons they harbored. As profitable as the illicit sex was, it was nothing compared to the value of the information an Incubus could extract. Once a client was enraptured by his illusions, it was a trivial task to slip deeper inside and sift around her thoughts and memories. Typically he was searching for business secrets—account numbers, credit information, passwords, trade secrets, or any of dozens of other immensely profitable things. The Agency used them all to blackmail executives and politicians to get almost anything they wanted.

But right now, Damien wasn’t looking for any of that. He was searching for the name he had found in her mind two weeks ago and the freedom it represented.

Kronn
, her mind whispered as a stream of memories flashed before him.
His name is Samuel Kronn. He can help you escape. He can help any Demon get out of here and flee to Solace…

Damien blinked. Beneath him, Tarla gasped and looked up at him quizzically. He quickly went back to nurturing her fantasy, picking up her small body and flipping it over to take her from behind. In only a few seconds she was once again immersed in his illusion, wailing more loudly than ever.

He took a deep breath and tried to sort through the memories he had just seen. She had never met this Kronn in person, unfortunately, but she knew a great deal about him and his operations in Louvette. Kronn called his rebels the Asurans, and they were something of an Underground Railroad that helped Demons flee Covenant oppression to the only place in the world that would accept them for what they were.

Solace.

It was almost a legend, the only nation that had not sworn fealty to the Covenant. It hadn’t been touched by the colony-wide devastation of the Reckoning a century earlier, and its people firmly insisted on the values of religious and personal freedoms. It might have been his only chance at having any kind of a real life, or at least not one as an indentured whore.

Tarla cooed again, face planted deeply enough in the pillow it seemed she could barely breathe. He continued to hold her down, keeping the fantasy intact until her climax passed. He glanced to the clock on the nightstand and noticed he still had thirty minutes scheduled with her. That was fine; it would give him another chance to scour her memories and make sure he hadn’t missed anything.

The question was what exactly he was going to do with this knowledge. If the Agency caught him attempting to escape, they would probably use one of the other Incubi to alter his memories and try to get him back on the job. He was too valuable to waste with torture or anything so boorish.

The Covenant, on the other hand…no, that punishment he didn’t want to imagine. Right now the Agency was his shield against them, the only thing keeping him from being dragged into a temple and tortured or burned or God knew what. Once he escaped and left the Agency’s protection, the Covenant would be after him. Their priests and proselytizers, their Chosen soldiers, even their Angels…

“God, I have never…” Tarla breathed, nudging him gently to let her flip around. He let her spin and once again wrap herself around him, kissing him passionately. The heat from her body was like a raging fire beneath him, and the worst part was that she was helpless against it. Ultimately his ministrations were more than an idle flight of fancy; they were an addiction. And the more he pleasured her, the worse it would become.

“I know,” he told her softly.

“They say you can lose yourself…that you’ll possess me if I let you touch me too long.”

 “I already possess you,” he said with a coy grin, and thrust into her once more.

He had no idea what it was like for other men, being so limited by their own bodies. To many of them, he figured, his life must have seemed like a fantasy. He spent his days pleasing one woman after another, some of whom were even attractive. But he could never leave this place. It was a brothel and a prison, and there was only one way out—and one place to go.

Solace. He had to reach it. He had to find a way to get a hold of this Kronn and escape Louvette. Ever since he had first touched the memories in Tarla’s mind, it had been all that mattered.

Damien leaned down to kiss her again and lost himself in thoughts of the future. 

Chapter One

The woman at the table was the embodiment of desire: long crossed legs with ten centimeter heels, a sparkling green silken dress, and a mane of auburn hair that spilled across her shoulders like so much running water. She knew exactly what to say and how to move, and with little more than a coy glance or soft smile she could have any of the men here eating out of the palm of her hands.

But she wasn’t here looking for men. By now she would have already finished with her evening client, and Damien could tell by the stiffness in her posture and tightness in her jaw line that she was nervous. The Agency would expect both of them back soon; they didn’t give their Succubi any more freedom than their Incubi despite the fact the women brought in twice as much voca as the men. It had always surprised him they didn’t send armed escorts to protect their assets, but of course the Agency’s Tower was only a few blocks away.

And perhaps more importantly, she wasn’t nearly as helpless as she looked.

“Sorry I’m late,” Damien said just loudly enough to be heard over the throbbing bass from the nearby dance floor.

Vala hadn’t seen him coming, but she reacted with the cool, measured grace he had come to expect. “It’s past midnight,” she replied, her voice, like his, a carefully cultivated velvet purr. “You didn’t leave us much time.”

He pulled out a chair and sat down at her table. “I don’t think this will take long.”

“So where did they tell you to go?”

“Haberian. It’s the smallest port in the city and a favorite among independent shippers.”

“And probably pirates and smugglers and God knows what else,” she added, casually sweeping her gaze across the room. She shifted in her seat and extended her hands across the table.

Damien reached out and placed his hands in hers—and the moment their skin touched it was like an electric current surged through them. It warmed both their bodies as if they were completing a circuit—and in a way, they were doing just that. All Demons felt this rush when they touched each other, a flowing wave of shared emotions and sometimes even thoughts. His instructors at the Agency had always called it an empathic spark, and it gave them a way to recognize their own kind. It also provided them an intimacy no normal humans could ever truly appreciate or experience.

Right now her fear and sorrow were colliding with his resolve and affection. After a few seconds, he seemed to win the struggle and felt her relax, at least a little.

“You really think they’ll just let you board a ship and sail away?” she asked.

“They’ll get me an ID tomorrow, along with everything else I need. A dozen ships leave Haberian every hour, including several cruise vessels. There’s no way they’ll be able to track me down in time.”

Vala sighed softly. “That really doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“I know,” he replied softly. “I’m not sure anything will.”

Through the spark he could feel her doubts and sorrow swell up again. She didn’t want him to leave; she had never tried to hide that fact. Most of it was perfectly legitimate fear. Both of them had grown up indoctrinated by the Agency to believe that life outside their tower was death. Demons couldn’t survive on the streets, not without being tracked down by the Covenant and “exorcised.”

But her fears ran deeper. They had grown up together as refugees in the Agency, sold into indentured servitude by their parents before they were even ten. They possessed a bond few of the others shared. In their world of fantasies and illusions, they had a real friendship that had kept both of them alive. Damien was willing to risk that on a chance to escape. She was not.

“I have to try,” he told her. “If it works, I’ll be able to start a new life. Once things are stable, I can convince them to help you too.”

She pulled her hands away and did her best to compose herself. “I think the worst part is I believe you.”

He smiled. “You should. I mean it.”

“And I’m worried you’ll get yourself killed before it happens. Or worse.” She sighed again and shook her head. “It’s all happening so fast…”

“It’s been months, Vala,” he reminded her. “It’s taken a lot of time and preparation, but it’s finally going to happen.”

She pursed her lips. “You’re certain no one else knows?”

“Only you. Their directions have been very explicit, and they’ve given me everything I’ve needed so far.”

“I just pray it isn’t a Covenant setup.”

“It’s not,” he assured her. “I just wish you could have come with me. I could still ask them, you know. I’m supposed to make contact once more tonight to confirm everything.”

Vala smiled tightly. It was an earnest offer and she knew it, but they both understood it wasn’t going to happen. She wasn’t willing to let go just yet, and he had already made his decision. They had been over it before, many times, and nothing was going to change tonight. 

 “I hope it’s everything you want it to be,” she said.

“It won’t be—I’m sure of that,” he admitted, “but it will be better than this. It has to be.”

She nodded and lowered her head. “You’ll have to let me know.”

“I’ll find a way,” he promised, and meant it. It didn’t matter how far the ship sailed or how many continents ended up between them. Eventually he would bring all of them to a home where the Covenant had no power and Demons could live their lives like anyone else.

Vala wanted to believe that, he knew, but he also understood why it was so difficult for her to accept it. They spent their lives inside the minds of powerful people and felt all the pettiness, jealousy, and deception that defined their lives. Civilization was built on lies and secrets, and that world could never really accept people like them. Even without the Covenant’s fear-mongering, few people were willing to accept Demons and the transparency their powers represented. And Solace, for all its legend, was still a colony filled with these same flawed people. Could it really be any different?

“I’m going to miss you,” she breathed.

“I’ll see you again,” he told her. “I promise.”

“The promise of a Demon,” she replied wryly, her lips curling into a smile. “I’m not sure how much faith I would put in that.”

Damien smiled back, a thousand unspoken words on the tip of his tongue. But then, he didn’t really need to say anything, not with her. As they stood to leave and head back to the Agency’s tower, he leaned forward and kissed her, and the empathic spark told her everything words could not.

***

Common wisdom proclaimed that Haberian was small and cozy compared to Atalo or any of the other major ports spread across Louvette. It was, Damien decided, a gross exaggeration. As his taxi pulled into the drop-off lanes, his mouth fell open just trying to take it all in. Louvette was one of the largest and wealthiest cities on all of Argoa, and he was used to giant buildings and thick crowds. But the sheer bustle of the thousands of collective travelers here was awe-inspiring—or perhaps just intimidating. For a man who had spent most of his life in a tower or intimate play-houses or restaurants, it was overwhelming.

Damien tipped the driver a few voca and hopped out of the car, forcing himself to relax and concentrate on the task at hand. Months of planning and careful preparation had gotten him this far—he was off the Agency’s grid and out into the open city. But they could still track him down before he got on his ship, or his false IDs could trip some red flags and the local authorities could arrest him. He was, for all intents and purposes, a ghost in the system, a young boy who had vanished sixteen years earlier. Neither his face nor his voice was on any government file. He just had to rely on what the Asurans had given him and on his own ability to blend in.

He tossed his only bag over his arm and walked inside. Over the course of the next hour, he spent more time standing in line than actually moving. Haberian had a small airport in addition to the docks for cruise ships, passenger liners, and independent smaller craft, and all of them had to funnel through the same registration and security area. It was difficult to believe some of these people did this almost every day, but he had seen the memories inside the minds of his clients. It was no wonder they came to a man like him for release.

“Crazy bastards,” the man in front of him muttered under his breath. “They just slow down the lines.”

Damien followed his gaze to a group of Covenant proselytizers, men shrouded in ceremonial hooded robes standing off to the side of the winding security lines. The three priests were parading back and forth across the entire port, apparently, spouting gospel from the Sacra’thar. As one spoke a verse from the book, the other two would point to people standing in line, as if accusing them of one sin or another. Here it seemed to be the travelers’ decision to travel to Solace.

“Those who willingly walk through the gates of Hell shall find no peace in this life or the next,” the priest in the middle chanted.

“And those who allow Demons into their hearts shall burn in the Lord’s cleansing fire,” the second added.

Damien turned away and tried to ignore it like everyone else. He had seen similar demonstrations before, but never this close. Despite the Covenant’s power in Argoan politics, the heart of most urban centers managed to remain somewhat isolated. The wealthy and powerful, he had been told, rarely held faith as close to their hearts as those living in the still devastated regions of the planet. Few would openly admit to being agnostic, but Damien knew from experience how common such sentiment was. Then again, a fair number of his clients were firm believers in the Reckoning and the subsequent Descent, and they still spent their voca hiring a Demon to pleasure them.

Damien kept his head down and did his best to tune everything else out. The IDs worked just as the Asurans promised they would, and it wasn’t long before he was in the boarding line for the
Chevalier
, one of a dwindling number of private passenger liners surviving against the major transportation conglomerates. It rested off to his left through the enormous viewport, a two-hundred fifty meter long hull of sleek white metal sporting a dozen decks and a crew of over a hundred. The attendants were out doing final checks on the passengers and getting ready for the leisurely two-day cruise across the ocean to Solace, and Damien couldn’t quite keep himself from smiling.

He was actually going to make it. No Agency thugs had crept up behind him to drag him back to the tower. No Haberian security guards had tossed him into a cell. No Covenant priests had revealed him a Demon and tried to harm him.

For the first time since he was a child, he was going to be free. It was so overwhelming he found himself clutching a nearby railing for support, his knees suddenly going weak. 

“Are you all right, sir?” an attendant asked.

Damien smiled up at him and took a deep breath. “I’m fine, yes. Just a bit nervous—I haven’t traveled in a while.”

The other man smiled knowingly. “We’ll do everything we can to make your trip pleasant, don’t worry. If you would, please step forward and let this young woman guide you to your cabin.”

“Thank you,” he said, chiding himself for the slip. Yes, he was going to get away, but not if he fell apart before the ship even took off. The fewer people that were paying attention to him now, the better.

Five minutes later, he was though the docking hatch and walking somewhere on the ship’s third deck. The
Chevalier
was large, but it wasn’t a luxury ship. Most of the decks were little more than cabins spaced one after the other. Everything was painted white with just a touch of gold trim, and it appeared decently well kept given how much traffic it probably received. Ships like this had become a staple of the frugal traveler in the past several decades with the erratic weather conditions in this hemisphere and the rising cost of shuttles tickets. 

“In here, sir,” the attendant said, gesturing into a cabin. “I’m told your cabin mate recently cancelled. It’s likely the spot will fill before we leave, so please leave your door open until then.”

“Of course,” Damien replied, stepping inside. The room, he noted, was considerably more decorative than the corridors. It was only about five meters across, but the walls were a soothing blue occasionally spotted with a few inoffensive, bland paintings. A small bunk nuzzled against the bulkhead on either side with a desk and computer terminal in between. Above the bed, he noticed, was a tablet with an inscription on it: “Let your Angels deliver us from the dark and the wicked.” It was a verse from the Sacra’thar he had heard many times, but it had never given him chills until that moment.

He took a minute to study the rest of the room, half-expecting something to jump out from under the beds the moment he was alone. When nothing happened, he released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and flopped down next to his bag on the bunk.