Daimon by Pelaam Page A

occupants would feel his presence, too little and he would read nothing. He registered three sleeping occupants and one awake. The three sleepers were comparatively close together. He sensed which room the feeling had originated from, and Daimon flitted to the balcony of that slumberer. He frowned at the sight of the thick metal bars that prevented ingress or egress. Clearly new, they fastened securely outside the window. Daimon looked at them and shrugged. Such physical barriers held no worries to a demon with his particular powers.
    He simply materialised inside the room.
    Except it was the wrong room.
    He knew immediately it was another room, even as he glanced back to see the lack of bars. The slumberer made a noise and turned to face him, but something prompted Daimon to wait to see his face.
    It was the silver-haired male. His sleep was clearly disturbed in some way. He was restless, knocking away the sheet to reveal a solid torso and a generous smattering of chest fur. Instantly erect, Daimon licked his lips. The pull he felt towards the other male was almost irresistible, but he pushed it away.
    And just as quickly, he dismissed the thought that seared into his brain.
    Mate.
    He was a demon of desire, of carnality, he had no thoughts of taking a single lover, but the thought persisted.
    He forced himself to dematerialise, certain his trail would evaporate before the Lycan could scent him. This time a sumptuous room greeted his eyes. The large fireplace was laid but unlit as it was summer and warm. The huge, wooden four-poster bed dominated the room. Gauzy curtains prevented Daimon's view of the bed's single occupant. He stepped forward and drew one aside.
    Only rarely did he find himself stunned by physical appearance, but this… this exquisiteness he hadn't seen in a long time. He stared, mesmerised by the sleeping beauty before him.
    Fine, silver-blond hair reached to slender shoulders and provided a suitable frame for a face of angelic loveliness. Daimon had bedded angels in his time, but such beauty rarely existed outside of divine circles. He had no doubts that behind the closed, long-lashed lids, the sleeper's eyes would be blue. Perfect pink lips in a Cupid's bow had parted slightly as the sleeper drew shallow breaths.
    This sleeper's rest was also disturbed, and the blond kicked at the single sheet that covered him. Daimon waited, unable to resist his natural, carnal instincts. Feeling voyeuristic, he stared at the expanse of pale skin adorned with the slightest of platinum down and small pink nipples, haloed by rose-coloured areolae. Daimon took a deep breath and prevented himself from bending forward to sample them and see if they tasted as perfect as they looked.
    His gaze moved lower, devouring the sight of platinum curls framing a slender, smooth rod that lay quiescent on the sleeper's silken thigh. For a moment, Daimon imagined the organ erect and dripping; he licked his lips.
    Cocking his head thoughtfully as he completed his visual feast, he drew the sheet back over the sleeper. Already he had taken more than enough of a liberty to look while the young man was unaware of his presence. He frowned, detecting a faint medicinal odour, and knew the blond's deep sleep was drug-induced. Opening a drawer in the wooden locker at the side of the bed he uncovered a supply of disposable needles and a syringe as well as a small bottle.
    Daimon studied the contents. They would not do much to subdue a transformed Lycan, but would keep the beautiful young man, while in human form, sleeping.
    He gave a growl, subvocal, but no less menacing for the quietness. He leant down and licked the vulnerable throat. The taste confirmed his assumption. A sour chemical flavour marred the blond's natural sweetness and established the deep sleep was drug-induced. Daimon's growl became a snarl. He had no idea why the beauty would be treated in such a manner, but he had every intention of finding out.
    Daimon generally avoided being an