Out of the Lamp

Chapter 16: Tricked

World class battle cry?

More like silent-disco-in-my-head.

It wasn't quite as effective as I'd hoped. So it was unsurprising that Daemon just stood there, stoic and Greek god statue still. While I threw myself at him and -

Bounced right off.

Like an annoying insect being flicked away.

Boing!

I land on the floor at his feet with a soft thud, and wince at the impact on my tailbone. Daemon sniggers down at me. 'Is that it?' He raises a brow and a cocky smile glides onto his face, deliciously slow. Damn it looked good. Ergh! 'Pretty weak considering you're half immortal, little genie.' He fakes an exaggerated yawn.

He was right about one thing though. Pulling myself together, my eyes close as I call upon an age old art. Summoning from within the deepest recesses of my bloodline. A gift as tainted as it was blessed. I snap my eyes open as the heat searing my left palm becomes intolerant. I launch the mediocre palm blast straight for him. The bloodmagic generated itself into the form of molten heat. As if having emerged from an erupting volcano itself. The thick oozing black tar and glowing embers of lava-like sludge, having taken in my dystopian aura and feeding off of that to create something just as similar and destructive. Dark, and dangerous magic. The kind I wouldn't normally produce. Damn that devil, Daemon! It was his doing, just by having him here in the same room was suffocating.

His body seems to absorb the dark magic and with it, my strength, diminishes a little. His body rippled as it absorbs the last of it. Seeming to morph in front of me until his usual frame came back to rest. Gleefully he grins at me. Enjoying this. He makes himself comfy on the hospital bed and beckons me. 'That's it, good girl.'

Good girl? GOOD FRIKKIN GIRL?

Something switches in my brain and I burn and boil over. An energy surrounds my body and it scorches me inside out. Making my flesh transparent and my eyes roll over to just the whites. The anger that cloaks me, frightens me. As soon as I realise that, it disappears. It's over as soon as it started, and Daemon looks so friggin smug.

Why the hell are you pleased with yourself?

He shrugs. Those huge shoulders heaving up and down in the motion. 'It's just funny the way you let me get to you.'

I do not.

An eyebrow quirks up in disagreement. 'You make it too easy, Alia.'

My name on his lips sends shudders down my spine. It's a psychological thing. Saying a persons name, especially repeatedly, is supposed to make them trust you and feel a connection to you; as you address them both personally and directly. With Daemon, it just exploits the Seventh Sin that controls me right now; and makes me want to rip his cloak off and do the dirty on the hospital bed, right here, right now.

I roll my head with a drunken laziness and force myself to snap out of it.

He watched, eyes glazed over and transfixed, on me. Following my every movement. Maybe he wasn't as unaffected by the Sin as he'd thought? If it did anything, it made me as sultry as a succubus demon.

The thought triggers a conniving part of my brain. Urging me to exploit it. Do it. It says. You know you can. You know you want to.

Yeah, I do.

I will.

The anger ceases. A new sense of calm descends over me. As serene as the ocean on a silent night. Waves of controlled and calculating thought lapping at the shores of my mind. Opening me up to an ocean of possibilities. He notices. Immediately.