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Excerpt from WIP: Cacodemon

Elaine White


“Elaine White grew up in a small town on the east coast of Scotland. She is an author of paranormal romance, crime and MM romance.

Fighting cancer in her early teens taught her that life is short and dreams should be pursued. She lives vicariously through her independent, and often hellion characters, while living comfortably at home with a pack of wolves cleverly disguised as one standard poodle.

A self-professed geek, Elaine has fallen in love with the research linked with her novels. The more obscure the better. She has recently delved into reading and writing MM romance/erotica and is now a happy addict of the genre.”



Cacodemon 5



Rocker Peregrine is shocked when stunningly attractive fan, Cade, reveals he is actually a Cacodemon, a warrior for Lucifer. More frighteningly enough Cade is his maker. Designed to his preference, Perry is his idea of human perfection. But when Lucifer asks too much of Perry, he and Cade must choose between happy ignorance or the most impossible reality.

When you discover you were genetically created to be a companion to a warrior demon, how much darkness can you stomach before it gets too much?




(Photo Credit: MathiaArkoniel on DeviantArt)



“Perry was dripping with sweat already and it was only the fifth song. His fingers ached from the high speed tracks they’d started with and he was pretty sure that he was going to start bleeding soon. He’d told them not to pack too many fact-paced songs into the first half of the concert, but no-one ever listened to him.

“We rage, we run, we die and live like there’s no tomorrow…”

Linc was up front, screaming into the mic as he always did. He wanted to do some screaming of his own; first to tell him to shut the fuck up and start singing like a real front man, then to tell the audience to piss off so he could go ice his fingers.

Maverick was banging the drums behind him and singing like a toned down version of Linc, giving him a headache, while their fans roared and screamed in the audience.

“There’s blood on the walls…no-one knows we’re here…let’s have ourselves some fun…” They sang along to the chorus.

Perry hated the song so much that he mimed it instead of actually adding his voice to the already ear-drum bursting noise level. I need to get the fuck out of here, he thought to himself as he tried to keep up with the ridiculously frantic beat. In two minutes he’d have to do a punishing guitar solo and he wasn’t sure his head or his hands were up to it.

He was the only original member of the band left, but the manager was adamant. Perry wanted to do Classic Rock tunes and songs with meaning that would get them into the charts where they could make the big money. The manager, Tristram, wanted them to do these Rock God indie tracks, with Linc shouting and screaming so hard that they could only ever do a one hour concert before he started losing his voice.

Perry wanted real rock and roll music; he wanted to step out of the background and get on with his music career. He wanted to take it seriously and no-one was letting him do that. Sure, Cacodemon, their band, was doing well and this was their third concert in as many weeks. But he seemed to be the only one who knew and accepted the truth of the matter; they couldn’t go on this way much longer.

Linc was on his way to an OD from all the prescription drugs he was using, to keep his throat free from the pain his singing caused, and the uppers he used to rival the energizer bunny. Either that or all of Maverick’s sleeping around would get the wrong girl pregnant. They’d already had some politician’s daughter claiming he got her drunk and seduced her after their last gig. They were still dealing with the lawyers on that one, arguing that the pissy bitch had shown up drunk in front of eight witnesses and begged him to sleep with her. Which, of course, he did. But it was hard to shake shit like that from their reputation once it was out there. Perry was the only one who saw the train wreck coming and he wasn’t going to stick around to be part of it.

The name of the band had been Linc’s idea. Calling themselves Cacodemon, which basically meant malevolent spirit or Demon, was supposed to make them sound hard ass. All it really did was get them the wrong kind of attention from the wrong kind of people. They had fruit-loop Demon hunters showing up, convinced they were trying to conjure Satan, and Goth chicks getting horny on them anywhere and everywhere thinking they were vampires or supernaturals that would let them live for centuries.

Perry was sick of it. He was sick of the insinuations that three guys with names like Peregrine, Linc and Maverick had to be some kind of ancient species just because they were good looking and had talent. He was fed up of the sick-ass letters he got from fans; the vials of blood, the graphic letters that claimed he should be sacrificed to Satan. And worse than the weirdos were the super religious, who thought they were sinners and needed to be punished. As if they were sacrificing goats and deflowering virgins every day of the week.

He was damned sure that wasn’t how he spent his free time, though he had to admit that he didn’t have a clue about the other two.

Linc was too high or too drunk to know what he was up to most of the time and Maverick was too busy crawling in and out of beds to have time for anything else.


Perry kept playing, but looked up as he heard that whisper. It sounded like it was right by his ear, but that was impossible. No-one was allowed on stage and he would have noticed if one of the fans had managed it; the security guards would be on them like hungry wolves on a carcass.

Peregrine…I’m here for you. You are not alone.

The voice continued to whisper, but, even when he risked a glance over his shoulder to look, there was no-one there. Besides, no-one but his grandmother called him by his full name. Sometimes the boys joked around about it, but he wasn’t bothered; he’d spent his whole life being made fun of for his name. Peregrine Proctor sounded like a joke to some people, but one magazine journalist said it was sexy and he chose to go with that instead. Especially since that guy had been hellishly sexy too.

Something flashed out the corner of his eye and he heard that whisper again;

Don’t think of other men, Peregrine. It isn’t nice to torment me. The voice said, before laughing a deep masculine laugh that sent shivers right through him.

Perry focused his attention on the crowd, convinced that he was just dehydrated and suffering the effect of their shit music and the lyrics to it. Some hardcore fans had claimed there were subliminal messages in their latest CD and he was beginning to wonder if they were right. But when he looked into the crowd, trying to find a friendly face to focus on, the most unusual sight stood before him, standing out from the crowd.

There was a man, who must have been six, if not, seven feet tall, with long silver hair down to his shoulders. Normally he wasn’t a guy who liked long hair, but this guy was really something to look at. He stood there, this solid block of muscle with almost silver-sheened skin and dark blue patterns on his arms and torso; it looked almost like they’d been painted on. All he wore were a pair of tight black jeans that showed off an impressive package and the rock hard abs that were freely exposed to the world.

Parry licked his lips just to make sure he wasn’t drooling and almost moaned aloud as he felt the vibrations of his guitar thrumming through his now interested cock. He closed his eyes to get his mind back on track, and found the image of that man burned into the back of his eyelids.

“I want to rock you all night, taste your blood and swallow you down. I want to rip open your ribs and expose your heart,” Linc sang, drawing him back to the present moment. When he opened his eyes again, he almost stopped playing.

Every person in the crowd was that one man. Where there had been a thousand or so hard core rock fans, in black from head to toe, with purple hair and Mohawks, there was now just one man. Only, he was everywhere. He was everyone.

Perry looked over to Linc, who was smiling and winking at someone in the crowd. An unfamiliar swell of jealousy raged inside of him and he turned back, to tell the man – his man – not to flirt with someone else. But when he did, the crowd was back and the silver haired man was gone. The feelings coursing through him were irrational and came out of nowhere, but they were strong too. He wanted nothing more than to drop his guitar, ditch the concert and go find that silver haired God who made him so hard it hurt.

“Perry! What the fuck are you doing?” A voice in his ear stunned him into reality again.

He blinked and realised that he wasn’t even playing his guitar anymore.

Linc was still singing, Maverick was still on the drums, but his lead singer was glaring at him and the fans were cheering so hard that he wasn’t even sure they’d noticed he wasn’t playing anymore.

Immediately, he began a slower paced version of what he’d been playing, hoping he could take some time to think and maybe pass it off to the press as a new version of the song. He’d think of something to tell the bigwigs when the show was over. Right now, he tried to get that damned beautiful man out of his head and get back to the concert.

He was in such serious shit it wasn’t even funny. But as he played, he couldn’t help but wonder if the whispers he’d heard were some crazy loon up in the control room trying to play tricks on him. He’d forgotten all about the earwig that told him what song was coming up next and relayed any of Linc’s ‘sudden’ changes to the rehearsed script for the night.

Was that voice real?

More importantly, was that man real?”



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