Ice-crusted snow and frozen dirt beneath began to fly into the air. Before the debris could land, it was captured then collected and compacted. From her position, Fi couldn't see how deep Owen's magic dug. But the compacted earth began to pile up along the sides of the hole. It was different from Breqlynn's magic, more sophisticated, less heavy-handed.

All the while, Owen's deep tone chanted. The archaic song sounded like a prayer, a caress to the land he was rearranging. The magical melody sent pleasant goosebumps along the flesh on Fi's arms beneath her woolen coat.

Closing her eyes, Fi let Owen's voice wash over her. Soon, she became entranced. After an indeterminate amount of time, the chant wound down, then stopped.

Eyes popping open, Fi was met by Owen's warm, root beer gaze. "It's finished," he told her unnecessarily.

With a half-smile, Fi said, "Lead the way." Owen hadn't precisely invited her in for a tour, but she was going to take advantage of his statement. Curiosity was eating her up inside.

Twin, raven brows rose over those sun-sparked red-brown eyes. Without a word about Fi's audacity, Owen faced his foundry and led the way to its door.

The entrance looked like a root cellar one would find during Fi's earlier years. There was a mound of dirt with a door at its front. Owen had repurposed the brittle vinyl fence, recrafted it and made it stronger for his use.

Opening the bright white door, Owen told Fi, "Follow me, but watch your step."

As soon as his head cleared the top of the doorframe, Owen muttered a word. "Nu," he breathed. Unlike the magical song he'd sung, Fi recognized the word. It was the old tongue, and it meant "fire." No sooner had it crossed his lips than torches made of dead, enchanted prairie grass lit. They lined the entrance and the gold sandstone steps leading down into the belly of the foundry.

The flickering light wasn't as jarring on Fi's eyes as that of the harsh, late morning sun. Taking off her sunglasses, she placed them in her coat pocket. The soft torchlight didn't hurt her eyes, and she could see perfectly well inside.

Smooth sandstone steps met the heels of Fi's snow boots with each step. A soft, rhythmic thump met her ears. The earthen walls dampened the sound, but her hearing was hypersensitive.

Standing aside at the bottom of the stairs, Owen watched Ophelia as she got her first look of his foundry. For some reason, as he read the wonder in her obsidian eyes he was filled with pride. This sacred laboratory was hastily constructed and nothing like the one at home. It had many rooms and corridors where this only had the one.

"Wow." Ophelia's whisper was filled with awe. "All this took what? An hour at most?"

A smile creased the corners of Owen's eyes. It didn't quite reach his lips. "About that long," he answered and peered into the torchlit chamber. He tried to recall the first foundry he'd ever seen. It'd been his grandfather's. The old shaman had created it once their tribe was settled in Oklahoma. Owen had been four at the time but still remembered feeling the wonderment Fi was displaying.

Before them was a long, single chamber that'd been carved out of the local dirt and rock. Roots from plants stuck out of the compact earthen walls and ceiling. They lent strength to the structure.

Lining the walls and running lengthwise were waist-high benches. Owen used dead trees when he could to construct the workspaces. The wooden planes were smooth as if they'd been sanded with a fine-grit sandpaper.

Running a finger across the workbench's even surface, Ophelia looked over her shoulder. A suggestive glint entered those midnight orbs, and Owen forced himself not to react. Then, last night's dream welled up in his mind. It changed and morphed into a current fantasy – one where the blonde temptress before him was perched atop the bench. She was nude with her heels balanced on its edge. Leaning back on her elbows, she waited for him to enter her soft, wet core.

Clearing his throat, Owen straightened from his nonchalant lean against the cool, earthen wall. Ophelia's gaze sharpened as she faced him. Her tongue flicked out as she gazed longingly at him.

With great resolve, Owen managed not to walk toward Ophelia and fulfill the promise written in those shiny, black orbs. Instead, he broke their eye contact and turned toward the stairs.

She is some form of demon spawn, an inner voice warned Owen. The reminder did nothing to make his cock behave. It wanted the vampiress anyway.

Ophelia must've been using her dark magic to ensnare him. Later, Owen would perform a cleansing to rid himself of her influence. Maybe then he could focus on his mission to find his mentor and not on the many ways he wanted to fuck Fi.

"Where are you going?"

"To my car. I need to get my supplies." A slight shuffling sound floated up behind Owen as he made his way outside. Ophelia was following.

"I'll help," the temptress offered.

Opening his mouth to refuse, Owen then shut it. Despite knowing Ophelia was demonic, he didn't want her to leave. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he realized she had her hooks embedded deep inside of him already. Even after he cleansed himself, he feared he'd still want her near.  

"Daemon Fire" has gone through a couple of edits

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"Daemon Fire" has gone through a couple of edits. I'll go through it again before I publish it, but if you find mistakes, please let me know. I may miss them on future passes.

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