The Demon Accords Compendium Volume 1

  The Demon Accords Compendium:

  Volume One

  Stories from the Demon Accords Universe

  By John Conroe

  This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2018 John Conroe

  Smashwords edition.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  The Demon Accords:

  God Touched

  Demon Driven

  Brutal Asset

  Black Frost

  Duel Nature

  Fallen Stars

  Executable

  Forced Ascent

  College Arcane

  God Hammer

  Rogues

  Snake Eyes

  Winterfall

  Summer Reign

  The Accords Compendium, Volume 1

  Cover art by Gareth Otton.

  Author’s Foreword

  After many requests for follow-on stories regarding many favorite side characters, I started the Demon Accords Compendium. Partway through the writing process, I decided to break it into two volumes. This is primarily to get the stories out faster at novella length rather then wait until the collection reached critical mass for novel length. If you’re happy with this development, thank my wife. She pointed out that the stories could be released in groups as I completed them, rather than make fans wait a full six months, like most of my books seem to take. Volume 2 will follow very quickly, and then the next full book in the series, Demon Divine.

  The first story in this collection is a look at the beginning from Lydia’s point of view. As you might imagine, she has her own take on things. Story two steps back further in time and is told from a spot just over Alex Gordon’s (Gramps) shoulder. The last two are more contemporary and follow the events of Summer Reign. Volume 2 will have more contemporary stories to set the stage for the next in the series. I hope you enjoy reading these as much as I enjoyed writing them. Also, at the end, please take a moment to sample a new series I’ve started, Zone War, the first book of which is due out late summer 2018.

  Thank you so much for caring about my characters as much as I do. Oh, by the way, this will be my last year balancing both a financial career and a writing career. As of January, 2019, I’ll be a full-time writer, with my leg chained to my desk. About time, right?

  John Conroe

  Spring 2018

  First Impressions

  It all started for Chris with a trip to a NYC club. But what was that like for the others? Let’s take a look through Lydia’s eyes and find out…

  “Five minutes,” Stevens said from the driver’s seat of the limo.

  “Thanks darling,” I said with a smirk. Stevens was an unabashed player, a skirt chaser… or a philanderer, as my mother might have said. But only with humans, and never with staff. For some reason, he got ultra-embarrassed when it was brought up in front of Tanya. I could literally feel the heat rise in his face from my spot in the backseat.

  Tanya’s face stayed blank… until Stevens’ attention reverted to the road ahead. Then she gave me a little smile. Nothing wrong with her sense of humor.

  Her smile changed and she turned it fully on me. I sighed. “Of course we will dance,” I said. Her smile broadened. I couldn’t read her mind like Nika could, but I had been reading my girl her whole life. She could convey entire volumes with very, very small shifts of expression or body language, at least if you knew her well enough.

  She smoothed her short white dress against her thighs, a sign of happy anticipation. She does love to dance. Not as much as fighting or winning at business, but a close third. I glanced across her to the stunning blonde in the red dress on her other side. Nika, the third of our fearsome three. Red, white, and… black. My dress was the black one.

  Nika’s eyes were unfocused and I suspected she was checking things out at Plasma before we got there. She frowned, still unseeing.

  “Everything copacetic?” I asked.

  “Vadim seems concerned,” she said, still concentrating.

  I sat up a little while Tanya chose to slump back in her seat. Prior history had shown that a concerned head of security often meant a cancellation of the night’s dancing.

  “And?” I asked, slightly annoyed that I had to drag it out of her.

  She frowned again, then her eyes cleared and she turned to look at me. “Some NYPD, off duty. One’s a regular, the other two are new, likely rookies. One of those has piqued his interest,” she said.

  “Cops? Is he sure?”

  “Yeah, the senior guy is a Plasma regular; you’d know him if you saw him. Vadim always lets him through the line. Looks like he’s leading a celebration of sorts.”

  “So what’s the deal with the one rookie?”

  “Well… he’s got violet eyes,” she said, frowning again.

  “That’s it?” I asked, making no attempt to hold back a snort. “What’s the matter with violet? Is Vadim smitten or something?”

  Galina, who sat across from the three of us, put her hand over her cell phone and turned her sharp eyes on me. Oops. Might have gotten a little loud there. But for good reason. Tanya had perked up as soon as I had spoken. I’d take heat from the Ice Queen anytime if it resulted in my girl being even remotely happy.

  Point made, Mama Fang went back to her business call. I looked at Nika and raised both eyebrows. Well? I thought as loud as I could.

  “Well, the eyes caught Vadim’s attention, and on top of it, he thinks the guy is a fighter,” Nika said, giving me a slightly apologetic smile.

  “He’s a cop. They’re supposed to be fighters—it comes with the job,” I said.

  “Yes, but he’s different. Got a different feel to him,” she said.

  “And?” I pushed. It honestly wasn’t usually this hard with Nika, but mind reading isn’t an exact art and she’s the best there is, so I had to be patient. Or at least as patient as I could be. While I waited, my hands grabbed a laptop and I signed into the security system at the club.

  “Not sure. I can’t explain it. But he’s not like any human I’ve ever scanned. Nothing overt or seemingly dangerous, but, well… curious,” she said.

  The camera by the front door was very high quality, but the detail of the three men in front of Vadim wasn’t good enough to deflect my sudden concerns. One of the men, the shortest, stood in a confident stance. Not enough information either way.

  Tanya was looking at her hands on her legs, but now her eyes cut my way. I sighed again. “Dancing is still on, but I think it’ll be you and Nika. I’m gonna have to at least put some eyes on this cop,” I said.

  She held my gaze and when I didn’t blink, she gave me a little nod. She’d be happier if all three of us were dancing but she understood how seriously I took her safety.

  The limo braked smoothly, Stevens handling the big car as well as most Darkkin could. We were at the back of the club and a small army of Darkkin streamed out of the darkness to surround the car and cover our exit from it.

  “Clear,” was the soft word from the young Darkkin security guard who was leading this effort. Trenton was his name, I seemed to recall. The three of us moved—clearing the car and into the building in a literal blink of an eye. Galina chose to follow at normal speed, still talking on her ever-present phone. She was young to hold the responsibility that she did, but much of that was due to her daughter. Still, she was at least three times my age and for all that, she’d taken to modern technology like a wino takes to booze.

  Inside, I could feel the beat of the band, even as far from the dance floor as we were. Nika and Tanya headed toward the staff rooms while I veered off and found the club manager.

  “Three cops, newly arrived—I’ll take their table,” I said. She raised both eyebrows. “At least for the first round,” I said. Brows still raised, she just nodded. “Second floor, east alcove bar,” she said as I pulled on a Plasma t-shirt over my LBD. The shirt was a small but it was still loose enough to cover the top of the dress and make it look like I was regular staff. Grabbing a tray, I headed out into the club.

  The joint was packed, pretty much as it had been ever since we’d opened it. The place was in the black, profit wise, in less than six months after the ribbon cutting. The whole idea of the club came from Tanya, silently conveyed to her mother on paper.

  Humans are weird. I know I used to be one, but it’s been long enough that I find it harder and harder to relate to them. Some were dressed in black Victorian clothing, fashions that I actually remembered. Others wore regular club clothes, but more and more, the clientele was shifting to the goth look. I spotted my cops right away, sitting at a small table near the railing. Nika was right—the senior cop was a regular, and enough of a skirt hound in his own right to give even Stevens a run for his money. He looked slightly annoyed, most likely because none of the staff had approached their table yet. He spotted me beelining for them and relaxed ever so slightly.

  I swished up to them, slipping into the role. “Ah, hi. I’m—” the player started but I interrupted before he could finish. “You’re Officer Henderson. Welcome to Plasma. I am Lydia,” I said, putting on my vampire voice, whatever the hell that was. Honestly, I’d been s
keptical about the whole vampire club thing but Tanya had been adamant it would both be a huge hit and that the world would not take it seriously. She’d been so right.

  Henderson was tall and good-looking in that confident alpha way a lot of cops had. The guys with him were young, early twenties, both staring at me, eyes slightly widened. The one to his left was boy-next-door bland, excited to be out but trying to act cool. Tall and thin. The other one… had honest-to-God purple eyes.

  Other humans likely wouldn’t really notice them in the low light of the club, but to my eyes they popped. A fantastic violet color that I had never seen on any person in my life. He was shorter than the others, maybe five-ten or five-eleven, but much better built. Wide shoulders, and his thin sweater clung to a nice chest, while the pushed-up sleeves revealed muscular forearms attached to large, strong-looking hands. Even features, good cheekbones; he was cute, but different. His smile was quick, too brief, and his purple eyes had something about them—a sadness maybe.

  Henderson ordered a Moscow Mule, while tall and skinny asked for a Bacardi and Coke. Purple eyes quietly requested a Corona—with lime.

  I turned and headed to the closest bar, which was just across the room. It was a single bartender station and not meant for waitress orders, but I wanted to keep eyes on the eyes, so to speak. The vampire behind the bar turned to warn me off his station, then realized who I was. His mouth shut, thank God, and he moved out of my way while I prepared the drinks.

  Watching without being obvious is literally an inborn Darkkin talent, so I had no trouble observing my cops even as the two youngest basically stared my way. Tanya had written out the underlying psychology of her business plan, and she had hit the thing right on the head. On some level, humans sensed the presence of predators when we were among them, but their modern ignorance of things supernatural blunted their instincts. The result they felt at Plasma was what Nika described as a delicious spike of adrenaline with no obvious source. Nothing bad ever happened to humans in Plasma—we were ultra careful about that—so the instinctive thrill of our presence kept them titillated but comfortably unaware.

  I had read reviews that compared Plasma to a haunted theme house mixed with an exclusive nightclub venue. Humans found it fascinating to observe us but rationalized to themselves that we were just actors following a script. We were just being ourselves, which was hugely appealing to Darkkin normally forced to conceal our nature, hence the plentiful employees willing to work as servers and wait staff, jobs usually beneath our pride.

  The two young cops were staring at me, their instincts likely screaming at them to keep eyes on the predator. Henderson was already making conversation with a nearby table of gothed-up office workers, leaving the two newbie cops to talk about the club. I shamelessly listened in from across the room.

  “Dude, this place is off the chain!” the tall, skinny one said.

  “It’s actually pretty cool,” purple eyes said. He had the tiniest of accents.

  “They must spend a fortune in contact lenses, don’t you think, Chris? Did you see our waitress’s eyes?”

  “Yeah, they all have really cool makeup, but look how the staff moves. I think they hire dancers or acrobats or something,” Chris Purple Eyes replied.

  I brought them their drinks, freely putting my Darkkin grace on display. It was kind of liberating to move as we normally did. Henderson took his drink with a nod, attention focused on the blonde he was chatting up at the table behind them. Lanky was trying for cool but his eyes widened a bit and I heard his heart speed up. Purple eyes narrowed his peepers at me, just slightly, and his heart rate stayed surprisingly even. “Thank you,” he said, his partner just staring. I withdrew to the shadows and watched.

  They were both kids but young Officer Eyes was different. Calm, focused, polite, and… sad. Oh, this one would be major bait for the real goth girls in the club. In fact, he was drawing a few stares of his own, but for all his alertness, he didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he studied everything else around him, dismissing his fellow humans but focusing his attention on the bartender, frowning slightly. His partner gulped down his rum and Coke, a not uncommon side-effect of the subconscious fear humans felt at Plasma—our bar sales were through the roof. Officer Eyes sipped his beer like it was the last one he’d ever drink.

  When I noticed Officer Henderson tipping his copper mug to drain the last dregs and that the Bacardi cop had already finished his, I brought a second round to the table.

  “Compliments of management. Thank you for your community service, Officers,” I said, showing off just a little as I smoothly snatched up the empties and laid out the fresh drinks. Eyes was still holding his first beer, and it was only a third gone. His eyes locked on mine as I served them. I made sure to lean close when I put his new beer in front of him, taking a slow, deliberate sniff. “You boys must be fresh from the Academy to smell so healthy and in shape,” I said, letting my eyes linger on their throats here and there.

  “Six months out of it, ma’am,” the rum drinker said, his new beverage already half gone. “We just came off probation,” he said, holding out his glass for his interesting young partner to clink with his bottle.

  I had thought to check out these cops, clear my concerns, and get back to my real work. But this kid was so oddly different that I couldn’t, in good conscience, stop observing just yet. Too self-possessed, too calm and controlled, too intriguing looking and too damned delicious smelling.

  No Darkkin ever imbibed from a human visitor to Plasma. That was rule one and only older, strongly self-disciplined vampires were allowed at the club. This was the first time I regretted that rule.

  With my odd cops under immediate control, I cycled back to check on T. She was holding court in the staff lounge. Not that she was doing anything as deliberate or calculated as holding court but, nonetheless, that was the de facto result.

  Darkkin are drawn to Tanya like moths to light. I’ve seen it time and again. They don’t even have to see her; they can literally feel her presence, I think. What I found in the lounge was Tanya sipping blood from a mug, listening as vampires spoke to her. She nodded, shrugged or shook her head when needed, which wasn’t all that often. The fact that she didn’t speak, hadn’t spoken in fifteen years, didn’t seem to dampen her admirers’ enthusiasm. She listened to them all with patience beyond her years. There was only one kind of admirer who would be turned away—the ones who couldn’t contain their physical attraction for her. Male or female, she would quickly and succinctly decline their advances. She wasn’t interested. If they pushed, she’d push back. I was certain she wasn’t asexual; no one who dances like she does could be, but she hadn’t found anyone who piqued her interest in that way.