The Demon Mistress


What’s a girl to do when she discovers her husband, who happens to be the Master Vampire for the New England Region, has been lying to her for, oh, say a hundred and eighty years?

Well, it all depends. If she’s accidentally released forty demons from some creepy old book, unintentionally announced the existence of vampires on The Internet, kidnapped a werewolf, enraged a lovesick vampire by stealing his approved mate, and attracted the attention of The High Commander for The Vampire Federation, not to mention gotten stoned and mastered the forbidden art of demon calling, she might be willing to call it even.

Or, she might plead her case at an Inquisition and hope like all hell, she isn’t staked before sunrise. Eh, a slightly busier night than usual, but nothing Eva Prim can’t handle.

More from this Series


The front door bangs open and something crashes into the foyer. Stefan leans past me, grimaces and shakes his head. After some scuffling and growling, two strangers appear, a very tall and beautiful, however awkward blonde woman and an incredibly short Mexican-looking guy. Their movements are so jerky, I can’t help but stare.

They look like rickety robots trying to maneuver. With each step their bodies lurch forward. The sight of their wobbling heads makes my neck hurt. Think of bobblehead dolls in need of a good lube job.

“Who the hell are you?” Titus asks.

Cheng glides into the room behind them. “This is Cynthia and Jackson,” he says with a slight bow.

A grin plasters itself across my face, and my fangs disappear. I’ve missed him. Cheng’s always been so kind to me, teaching me to spar, throw and catch daggers, shoot pistols and he’s even tried to teach me to move with the stealth of a master vampire.

His hair is pulled back into a long braid hanging down his back, just the way he always wears it when he hides a knife in it. His dark eyes glitter. He’s dressed in navy trousers and a loose fitting maroon shirt. I’m sure he’s hiding an arsenal of weapons on him.

“Chryssie, Cynthia and Jackson are your surprise,” Cheng says.

I turn toward the robots. “You’re giving me dysfunctional humans?” I’m confused. What do I do with them? I’m fairly certain I can’t fix their jerkiness. “You don’t expect me to change them, do you?”

A lesser vampire must ask her master’s permission before changing anyone. And though I’ve asked, repeatedly, I’ve been denied. Something about too much work to manage one in the first year and my lack of patience causing a difficult situation and it not being a good way to begin a relationship and ultimately the safety of the region being of concern.

“No. You can’t change these guys,” Cheng says, resting a hand on Jackson’s shoulder and wrapping his arm around Cynthia’s waist. At five feet eight inches tall he appears to be about a foot shorter than her. The Mexican’s almost a full head shorter than him.

“What do I do with them? I thought you said I couldn’t eat them.” Not that they appear particularly appetizing. Something in their faces almost looks dead. At first glance I didn’t notice it, but the more I study them the more I see the flatness in their eyes. I tend to like my meals less dead looking…more…alive.

Stefan chuckles. “No, you can’t eat them.” He walks over to Cheng. “It’s good to see you.”

“Same here, sire.” Cheng offers his wrist to Stefan, who simply nods at the gesture.

It’s not often he takes Cheng or Martin up on the formality of strengthening their bonds when returning home from an extended journey.

“I take it Martin is still pursuing the others?” Stefan studies the tall blonde. His gaze locks with hers, and her eyes nearly cross.

There’s a funky smell in the air and it’s not just Titus. I lean toward the robot-humans and sniff a couple times. It’s a charred sort of smell, like burning hair or burning flesh or something.

“Why do they stink?” I rub my nose.

“Chryssie, Cheng has brought you two demons.” Stefan makes the announcement as if he’d just said Cheng brought back Florida oranges. Not a care in the world.

“Demons?” I swallow. “These are two from…the, um…you know, The Book.” I point at them and frown.

“Yep,” Cheng says, squeezing them both like he’s testing fruit.