plik

Damned

If You

Do,

calling

for

pleasure

calling

for

pleasure

by JL Merrow

Riptide Publishing

PO Box 6652

Hillsborough, NJ 08844

www.riptidepublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product

of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons

living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

A Calling for Pleasure (Damned If You Do, #1)

Cover Art by Imaliea, imaliea.deviantart.com/gallery

Editor: Sarah Frantz

Layout: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design.htm

or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by

any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the

publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review.

To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Riptide Publishing at the mailing

address above, at Riptidepublishing.com, or at marketing@riptidepublishing.com.

ISBN: 978-1-62649-018-5

First edition

October, 2009

Second edition

June, 2013

Also available in paperback as part of

Damned If You Do: The Complete Collection

ISBN: 978-1-62649-023-9

ABOUT THE E-BOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED:

We thank you kindly for purchasing this title. Your non-refundable purchase legally

allows you to replicate this file for

your own personal reading only, on your own personal

computer or device. Unlike paperback books, sharing ebooks is the same as stealing

them. Please do not violate the author’s copyright and harm their livelihood by sharing

or distributing this book, in part or whole, for fee or free, without the prior written

permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner. We love that you love to

share the things you love, but sharing ebooks—whether with joyous or malicious

intent—steals royalties from authors’ pockets and makes it difficult, if not impossible,

for them to be able to afford to keep writing the stories you love. Piracy has sent more

than one beloved series the way of the dodo. We appreciate your honesty and support.

If you summon this demon, he’s guaranteed to come!

With a killer succubus leaving a trail of desiccated corpses,

Detective Lars Thornsson of the Paranormal Enforcement

Agency knows he shouldn’t be falling for a suspect. But a

hot little piece of demon tail like Rael is impossible to resist.

Slender, snake-hipped, and dark skinned, he swears he’s

innocent—of murder, at least.

Rael is delighted when a summoning brings him up to Earth,

filled as it is with hot guys walking around like an all-you-can-

eat buffet. He’s not so happy about the mean old detectives

interrupting him halfway through his dinner—but he

changes his mind after getting an eyeful of Lars’s muscular,

Nordic charms.

Now Rael has a vested interest in keeping Lars safe from the

real killer, even if that means putting himself into the killer’s

path.

About

calling

for

pleasure

calling

for

pleasure

he rush of the summoning fizzed through Rael’s brain,

leaving his mood switched to high and all his senses

buzzing. He’d materialized in a small room with the drapes

drawn—a teenager’s bedroom, he guessed from the unmade

bed, Little League pennants on the walls, and the aroma

of eau de socks perfuming the air. There was a raggedy salt

circle messing up the carpet around him, and thirteen stubby,

smoky little candles he was just itching to snuff before they

made the whole room reek like rancid fat. Damn, someone’s

mom was going to be mad about this little stunt.

A pimply faced kid in sweats and a baseball cap was sitting

on the bed with his jaw hanging open. He stared straight at

Rael, who raised an eyebrow. A grimoire slipped from the

kid’s slack fingers and fell with a thud to the carpet.

Rael gave Teen Warlock his best slow smile. “You called?”

he breathed, every inch of his skin tingling as his powers

rippled right on out through the air.

“You . . . you can’t be a succubus!” the kid croaked,

pointing a trembling finger in Rael’s direction. “You’re

supposed to be a woman!”

Rael pouted. “You know, there are laws against gender

discrimination in the workplace.”

“In Hell?”

“We’re not in Hell now, are we, honey?” Rael leaned

forward, watching with satisfaction as the kid’s face flushed,

his sweats tented, and his eyes turned darker than a sinner’s

soul. “Now, why don’t we get me out of this circle, and I’ll

show you what a real demon can do for you?”

Detective Lars Thornsson of the Paranormal Enforcement

Agency (Tartarus Street Precinct) massaged his temples,

trying to stop the iron bands of an incipient migraine from

tightening around his forehead. He’d been hoping to go home

on time for once, but the chances of that happening looked so

slim they were damn near invisible. His partner Rochelle had

just thwacked a skinny case file down on the desk in front of

him. Lars groaned. “Another one already?”

They’d been on the succubus serial killer case for three

weeks now, and were getting nowhere fast. The demon they

were after had put, at last count, thirteen men in the morgue,

their souls literally sucked out through their dicks. The

thought of it made Lars simultaneously wince and think,

Damn, what a way to go.

Rochelle frowned, although that was kind of her default

expression. “Maybe; maybe not. This one’s still alive. Morton

Meers, age eighteen; youngest victim so far. Found by his

parents. He’d called a demon into his bedroom, would you

believe it? Salt circle a fucking fairy could have gotten out of,

and the candles damn near set fire to the drapes.” She snorted

her disapproval. “Amateur.”

“Successful amateur,” Lars reminded her. “Even if he did

get more than he bargained for.” He had a grudging respect

for anyone who actually managed to get magic to work for

them, seeing as his own Talent level rated slightly lower

than your average tabby cat. As the half-human son of an

Immortal—and he was well aware that was the only reason

he’d ever gotten into the PEA—possessing less intrinsic magic

than a dime store conjuring trick had been a source of acute

embarrassment all his life. “So what was the damage? To the

kid, I mean.”

Rochelle shrugged. “Usual. Dehydration, exhaustion.

Only not fatal this time.”

“So either our serial killer’s developed a conscience, or we

got us a whole different demon,” Lars mused.

“Guess so. Or it was real grossed out by the kid’s acne.”

Lars smiled despite himself. “Doesn’t sound like our girl’s

M.O. The bedroom setting, yes, but there were no signs the

other victims had recently performed a summoning. And

they were all older—single men living alone. But I guess we’ll

have to check it out. Has the kid made a statement?”

“Oh, yeah. Doesn’t remember a damn thing, he says. Can’t

explain how the salt got there, just lit the candles because he

thought they were pretty, and no, ma’am, he’d never seen

that grimoire before in his life.” She laughed. At least, if it’d

been anyone else, Lars would have called that sound a laugh.

Rochelle wasn’t exactly known for her sense of humor. Unlike

her parents, of course. Actually, come to think of it, being

christened Chelle Rochelle probably went a fair way toward

explaining why she

didn’t have a sense of humor.

“So, do we know if he had the brains to command the

demon to get its ass back to Hell after it had done its thing?”

he asked without a lot of hope.

“Actually, we pretty much know he didn’t. According to

the officers first on the scene, the kid’s window was broken

from the inside—left glass all over the front yard. Our demon

must have leapt out after it munched on the kid.”

Fantastic. So now they might have two rogue succubi

running loose in the city. Lars sighed heavily, rubbing his

forehead again. “Hell. We have to get a description out of

this kid so we can put out an APB. Just because Meers got

lucky doesn’t mean the next victim isn’t going to wind up

dehumidifying the morgue. I guess we’d better go see him.”

Rochelle pushed back her chair. “Gotcha. He’s down at

Eymeric General.” She cackled. “Probably doing one hell of a

lot of explaining to his mom and dad.”

Morton Meers, when they pitched up in his hospital room

a half hour later, looked a hell of a lot younger than eighteen.

Maybe the hospital gown covered in teddy bears was part of

the reason, but Lars reckoned the fact that he was a scrawny

little runt with a face you could play connect-the-dots on

probably had more to do with it. When Lars and Rochelle

walked in, Meers was perched on the edge of his hospital

bed with an IV in his arm, his gaze darting around the room.

Probably hoping one of the walls would sprout an extra door

so he could run far, far away and pretend all this had never

happened.

Lars dragged up an encouraging smile. “Mr. Meers? I’m

Detective Thornsson, this is Detective Rochelle. We need to

ask you a couple of questions about your, uh, ordeal.”

Meers blanched. “I told you guys already, I don’t remember

anything.”

“That was the regular cops, son. We’re from the

Paranormal Enforcement Agency. We understand you might

not want everyone to know exactly what happened that

night.” Lars grabbed a chair and sat down, hoping it’d make

him appear a little more approachable. At six foot four with

a build bequeathed him by his Valkyrie mother, he knew he

tended to intimidate people without even trying. “Maybe

you’d prefer to talk to my partner?” He looked hopefully at

Rochelle, who might at least theoretically be expected to seem

less threatening. She had the sort of frame that was generally

described as “petite,” although not in her hearing. Not by any

guy who valued his gonads, at any rate. And then there was

the whole female-equals-motherly thing . . .

Lars probably should have realized by now that Rochelle

wasn’t too big on maternal instincts. She was leaning against

the wall with her arms folded, and scowled at Lars briefly

before stepping forward and directing an insincere smile at the

victim. “You know, you’d hardly be the first young man who’s

wanted a little supernatural assistance in finding a girlfriend.”

Her tone, Lars guessed, was meant to be reassuring, but it

came out sounding more gritted than sugared.

“It wasn’t a girl!” the kid blurted out, clapping his hands

to his mouth afterward, presumably scared of what else might

slip out.

Well, that put a different slant on it. “I’m sorry, Mr. Meers,”

Lars said, getting up. “I guess there’s been a misunderstanding.

We’re on the hunt for a succubus that’s a serial killer. But if

you called up an incubus and this was all consensual—”

“No! I’m not like that!” Meers jumped down off the bed

and took a step forward as if he was trying to carry his point

across bodily.

Lars felt sorry for him. “Son, there’s no shame in being

gay. I’m that way myself—”

“I’m not!” The kid backed away a little, his hands

disappearing behind him like he was trying to hold his

hospital gown closed at the back. He yelped as his legs hit

the bed, then felt behind him and sat down again firmly. “I

wanted a girl, okay, but this, this man turned up, he said he

was a succubus even though he was a guy and he . . . oh, fuck,

he . . .”

“Blew your brains out?” Rochelle’s tone was sardonic.

Lars sighed.

“Oh, God!” The kid collapsed into a crumpled pile of

teddy bear chic and put his face in his hands. “Am I going to

turn into a fag?”

That migraine was coming along nicely now. “That’s

generally not how it happens,” Lars said, as kindly as he could.

“So, do you think it’s our serial killer?” Rochelle demanded

as they got back into their squad car.

Lars shrugged. “Hard to tell. Hell, I didn’t even know you

could get male succubi.”

Rochelle had a speculative glint in her eye. “Lemme guess,

Thornsson—your teenage years would’ve been one helluva lot

more interesting if you’d known.”

Lars colored. She wasn’t far wrong, especially if he’d

known about this particular succubus. It’d practically taken

a crowbar to prize a detailed description out of Meers, but

reading between the lines of his not-entirely-complimentary

phrasing, it sounded like this demon was hot stuff. Smooth

dark skin, slender, graceful body, mischievous brown eyes,

and a mouth that—well, Meers had gotten kind of incoherent

at that point, but Lars had a damn good imagination and he

figured he could fill in the gaps.

He was looking forward to apprehending this suspect in

more ways than one.

“We need to re-examine the files of the previous victims,”

he said, pressing on with business before he could get

distracted by any thoughts of pressing on something else.

Even if this demon did sound like he hit all of Lars’s buttons.

“See if there’s anything to suggest they were homosexual or

bisexual.”

Rochelle chewed her lip reflectively. “Or we could try a

scrying. Get me some of the glass from the kid’s window—a

dollar will get you twenty the demon left blood on one of

them when it busted outta there.”

“Good point. If it did, that could be our big break in

this case. Odin knows we’re due for one. Okay, C, you’re the

expert here. Fire up that bowl of yours when we get back to

the precinct and see what you can get.”

Licking distractedly at the scratch on his hand, Rael

wandered through the darkening city streets with a big old

happy grin on his face. Damn, it had been way too long since

he’d last been topside. What was it, a century? Two? The

population seemed to have exploded since then. Main Street

was like a frickin’ smorgasbord. A fine-looking young man in

jeans so tight he had to have made a deal with the devil just

to get them over that perfect, round ass sauntered on by, then

stopped, spinning on his heel. He tipped Rael a wink and

handed him a flyer.

“You been to Mefisto’s yet? It’s down the end of that

street, you can’t miss it.” He pointed to an encouragingly

dingy alleyway. “It’s the best place to meet hot guys.”

Rael tore his eyes away from that gorgeous bod long

enough to glance at the leaflet. “Hey, I think you got a spelling

mistake here. That’s usually a p-h in the middle.”

Cute-as-a-button grinned. “No mistake, dude. It’s kind of

a play on words, you know? Referring to a, uh, specialized

interest of some of the clientele. But that’s on a strictly

voluntary basis. Plenty of guys go there just to dance and meet

up, and Friday nights the drinks are half price if you take your

shirt off. And that shirt of yours seriously needs to come off.”

Rael pouted. “You don’t like my shirt?”

“Hell, no. That shirt has way too much fabric in it.” The

kid licked his lips.

Rael raised an eyebrow. “Well, honey, maybe we should

do something about that. You got a minute?”

Perky-and-shiny was practically drooling now. “Dude, I

got several.”

Man, Rael loved this city with its big wide streets and its

dark, narrow alleyways. Perfect for when you really couldn’t

wait for your next meal. Didn’t take but a minute before they

were both shirtless, Rael’s knees on the floor and his mouth

wrapped around that young, sweet cock.

“Dude!” the kid gasped as Rael swallowed him down,

careful not to get too carried away with feeding off him like

he had the last guy. Rael felt kind of bad about that. Poor

kid had summoned him out of Hell, given him a free ride to

the all-you-can-eat buffet topside, and Rael had damn near

sucked the life out of him. That was just rude.

Plus, he’d tasted kinda icky. Damn low-calorie foods. You

ate and ate and you were never satisfied. This guy now—man,

he had plenty of mojo. Sexual energy was coming off him in

soft, golden waves, making Rael’s taste buds sing.

“Oh, man . . .” The guy’s hips bucked as Rael’s mouth filled

with the sweetest salty snack he’d had in an eternity. Damn,

he had to find himself some more guys like this.

“Honey, they should bottle that and sell it,” Rael purred,

licking his lips and springing to his feet. “You look after

yourself now, you hear?”

The little cutie nodded, seeming kind of dazed. Rael

zipped him up and kissed him good-bye before heading on

down the alleyway to Mefisto’s. He’d had the appetizer; now

it was time for the entrée.

The place wasn’t much from the outside, just a big old

black door opening on a staircase that could have led all the

way down to Hell itself. There was a bruiser on the door in

an ill-fitting suit, his face kinda sad under all the ugly. Rael

flashed him a smile full of promise in lieu of payment and

sauntered in, the beat of the music heading straight on down

to where he lived. The club was all dark corners, loud music,

and hot, hot men. Rael figured he finally knew why the angels

kept banging on about Heaven because, baby, this was it and

it rocked. Anyone who said the Devil got all the best tunes

clearly hadn’t heard the music they were playing in this joint.

Damn, Satan needed to get his hairy ass up here and update

his playlist before the sinners started repenting en masse.

Rael sashayed through the crowd, brushing hips here,

laying on a sultry caress there, getting drunk on the rush

of male hormones, alcohol, and good old-fashioned lust

saturating the air. If he flicked his tongue out, he could taste

it, rich and spicy like the best goddamned banquet he’d ever

crashed. Rael had never known anything like it. He was

starting to wonder if anyone would mind if he just orgasmed

himself to death right there in the middle of the dance floor

when

she walked in and called out the rainclouds on Rael’s

parade.

She was tall and stacked, with hair the color of hellfire and

a figure that’d make an hourglass run crying to its momma.

She had on a low-cut, skin-tight dress in deep, deep purple,

and those heels she was wearing were not so much killer

as genocidal. She stood out in this joint like a bishop in a

bordello, only Rael didn’t figure her intentions were any too

pure. This kitten was sin on a stick and damn, did she know it.

Easy to spot the bi boys—they were drawn to her like flies to

Beelzebub himself. A whole group of them, around a dozen

or so, started dancing around her, trying to get her attention.

Although from the expressions of surprise on some of their

faces, half of those boys had figured themselves to be as queer

as a satyr’s horn not five minutes ago. Man, what Rael couldn’t

do if he had a quarter of her power. This chick was way out of

his league—must be eighth, even ninth circle. Rael was just a

small-town boy from the fringes of the second, and man, was

he feeling it.

Sonuvabitch. This was supposed to be his party. Rael’s

happy buzz went up in smoke like a pious thought in Hell.

“Hey, man, you wanna dance?” a reedy voice piped up in

Rael’s ear.

Rael turned to the guy mournfully. He was short and

cuddly, with the brightest pair of eyes Rael had ever seen

languishing in a face like a potato. “Not really in the mood.”

A coaxing smile full of crooked teeth was sent Rael’s way.

“Hey, c’mon man, lighten up a little. Someone as pretty as you

shouldn’t be looking so blue.”

“Honey, looks aren’t everything.” The puppy eyes

drooped, and Rael’s conscience gave him a tap on the butt.

“Maybe I could go for one little dance,” he said, and those eyes

lit right back up again as the guy took his arm.

They moved off into the throng, Rael making damn sure

he steered their asses well away from Hell Chick. Not that

they could have gotten near her if they’d tried, with all those

macho types jostling and fighting for position around her like

vultures on a three-day-old corpse.

Potato Face snorted, a bitchy little curl to his lip as he

wiggled his pudgy hips just out of time with the music. “What

does she think she’s doing in here with her high heels and her

implants? On a mission to convert the masses?”

“Honey, you don’t know how right you are,” Rael purred.

He was getting to like this guy.

Back at Tartarus Street, Lars did his damnedest not to

drum his fingers on his desk as Rochelle got out her scrying

bowl, filled it up from a bottle he was damn sure he’d seen

her topping up at the station’s watercooler earlier, muttered

an incantation, threw in a handful of herbs, added a shard of

glass from the crime scene—and then just sat there with her

eyes shut for a nerve-grinding fifteen minutes.

Lars tried to use the time to catch up on paperwork, but

his eyes kept straying to Rochelle and that small, off-white

bowl with fluted edges. He was ninety-nine percent certain

he’d seen an identical one in Pottery Barn the other week, but

he figured if he interrupted Rochelle at this stage to ask her,

she’d probably get all pissy and start the whole damn process

over again. He sagged in relief when she finally opened her

eyes and stared into the bowl, her dark ponytail slipping over

one shoulder and a frown wrinkling up her forehead like an

overbred lap dog. Lars wondered if she’d flatten him if he said

anything about Botox.

“What’ve you got?” he asked, peering forward into the

bowl impatiently, forgetting for the moment that all he’d be

able to see was his own reflection. And even that was pretty

damn fuzzy around the edges.

Rochelle didn’t look up. “Jesus, Thornsson, this ain’t like

frickin’ cable. Some kind of club, all right? Dark. Mostly

men—guess we hit pay dirt with the fag angle.”

Lars decided to ignore the dig at his sexuality. Hell, at least

he occasionally got laid. “C, there are a hundred and one gay

bars in this city. They don’t call this place the San Francisco of

the South for nothing. Can’t you narrow it down?”

“I’m trying, dickwad. Jeez, does it have to be so damn

dark in these places?” She squinted, her nose almost touching

the water. “Okay. On the wall, there’s this weird-ass devil

motif. Like a pair of horns, forked tail, pitchfork—you

know, Thornsson, I thought you guys were supposed to have

decorative flair? And a clenched fist, like on those old commie

flags, punching through a circle . . .”

“Got it! Mefisto’s.” Lars colored slightly.

Rochelle raised an eyebrow. “Me-

fist-o’s?”

“Uh, yeah. Mefisto’s. I don’t go there a whole lot.”

Rochelle snorted. “Sure you don’t. Now are we going to

nail this demon’s ass before it finds a guy who’s dumb enough

to take it home for the fuck of his death? Or are we just going

to sit around all day talking about what you do for recreation?”

“We’re going to nail this demon’s ass,” Lars said grimly,

grabbing his coat.

Three minutes later, they were speeding through the

darkened city streets, tires screeching as Lars hurtled the

unmarked car around the corners while Rochelle snarled at

him from the passenger seat. “Damn it, Thornsson, you got

any idea how frickin’ hard it is to see a picture in this thing?

Quit with the fucking hairpin turns. Jeezus!”

Lars spared her a glance, hoping the plastic wrap on the

scrying bowl was up to the challenge of keeping his upholstery

dry. “Is our guy still at the club?”

“How the fuck would I know? Way you’re driving, I may

as well have my head down a frickin’ curry-house toilet.”

Rael’s good mood was coming back in spades. Little Miss

I-Steal-Your-Menfolk Bitch had disappeared, leaving a crowd

of guys moping around looking depressed because they hadn’t

been the one chosen to get up close and personal with her

demonically enhanced assets. Rael thought about telling them

they could turn those frowns upside down, because no way

would a succubus in her league be satisfied with a single guy,

but he was kinda busy right now. Short-Squat-and-Homely

had a hard-on the size of Manhattan and was humping

like a horny dog against Rael’s thigh as they slow-danced

to something smooth and sultry. The feel of it was making

Rael’s belly growl like a bear just come out of a hundred-year

hibernation.

“You want to go out back for a little air?” he asked with a

seductive smile. “You’re going to love what I can do with my

tongue.”

The guy’s pretty eyes lit up. “Hey, you got a piercing, man?

I got blown by a guy with a tongue stud once, and it was un-

be-fucking-lievable.”

“Honey, you ain’t seen nothing yet,” Rael promised, and

took him by the hand to lead him outside.

Lars pulled up outside Mefisto’s, the car’s brakes

screaming in tired protest. Rochelle relaxed her white-knuckle

grip on her scrying bowl and placed it on the floor between

her feet with exaggerated care. “Okay, Thornsson, you’re the

expert here. You wanna go in the front, guns blazing?” She

smirked. “Or do we make like the locals and use the back

door?”

Lars rolled his eyes. “Real funny, C. We’ll go in the front.

Without the guns. We don’t want to start a riot.”

They bypassed the line and flashed their badges at the

guy on the door, who didn’t seem exactly happy to see them.

“Have we got a problem here?”

“You could say that,” Rochelle snapped. “You got a demon

in here who gets his kicks out of sucking the life force out of

any guy with a hard-on.”

“Shit. Are you kidding me?” The guy’s eyes widened, and

Rochelle glowered as his gaze flicked to Lars, as if being twice

her size automatically conferred seniority.

“Well, technically he doesn’t do it for kicks,” Lars said,

feeling the need for honesty. “It’s how he feeds. I guess he’s

having a little trouble controlling his appetite.”

“So you better let us through,” Rochelle put in. “Before

the whole place turns into some kind of porno feeding frenzy.”

Face pale, the guy waved them in. Lars did his best not

to trample anyone underfoot as he struggled through the

heaving, sweaty mass of dancers, all apparently oblivious to the

danger they were in. Maybe they should have cleared the club,

but chances were, the guy would slip out in the confusion and

they’d be back where they started. But damn, searching for a

guy who was hungry for love in here? This was like knocking

on the gates of Valhalla and asking if they had anyone in there

with anger issues and a mead problem.

“Hey, C?” Lars shouted over the heavy bass of the music.

“Your Spidey-senses tingling?” With all the testosterone in

the air, he was kind of feeling a tingle himself.

“No, but some asshole just groped my crotch.” Rochelle’s

face was screwed up like she wanted to spit, and behind her,

Lars could make out a guy grimacing in pain as he cradled his

hand to his chest.

Lars carefully kept his expression bland. “Don’t sweat it,

C. He must have thought you were a guy. He’s probably more

shocked than you were. Okay, there’s no sign of our demon in

here.” The usual bump-and-grind was going on all around, but

even the most enthusiastic couples didn’t look like they were

up to anything potentially fatal. “I guess we’re heading for the

back door after all.”

Walking out of the testosterone-drenched atmosphere of

the club into what passed for fresh air outside was like walking

into a block of ice. Evidence that it didn’t hit all of the club

goers that way was lined up in front of them—couples were

grinding into each other up against the wall, guys were on

their knees in front of other guys, one lightweight had passed

out cold . . . shit. Lars had seen a few unconscious people in his

time, but he couldn’t recall any of them having had their eyes

open. Or quite such an expression of ecstasy on their faces.

Heart sinking, Lars bent down to place a couple of fingers

on the guy’s neck. “C? I think we got here too late. No pulse.

And dry, real dry.”

“Goddammit,” Rochelle swore, flipping open her radio.

“Need a meat wagon here.”

She hit the off button so hard Lars was amazed it didn’t

break, and jammed the radio back in her pocket. “Time to

break up the party, folks,” she snarled out to the occupants

of the alleyway. “You’re all witnesses to a murder here, even if

you didn’t see dick.”

Actually, Lars was pretty sure

dick was the only thing these

guys had been looking at and thinking of when the crime had

taken place, but hell, there was always a chance someone had

noticed something.

He pulled out a notebook to start taking down names

and statements, and Rochelle bent to grab one of the kneeling

guys—and damn, that guy had a cute little butt—by the

collar, jerking him forcibly off his partner’s cock. This seemed

to be the coup de grâce as far as Blow Job Guy was concerned.

Rochelle swore again, unsuccessfully trying to dodge a huge

spurt of spunk.

The guy Rochelle had collared sat back on his heels,

pouting. He was slim, dark skinned, fine boned, and even

better looking from the front, but Lars just had time to

glimpse his tongue slipping back between those full, pretty

lips. His forked tongue.

“C?” Lars said, whipping out his gun and pointing it at

the demon. “I think this is our guy.”

Soft brown eyes gazed up at them both from underneath

lush, dark lashes. “Officers? Is there a problem?” His voice was

pitched low, maybe a little hoarse from putting the

suck back

into succubus. The things those velvet tones were doing to

Lars’s libido were almost certainly illegal, and if they weren’t,

they damn well ought to have been.

“Too damn right there’s a problem, and it’s all yours,

creep.” Rochelle pulled out the silver cuffs from her belt and

slapped them onto a pair of slender, elegant wrists. “You are

so busted, asshole,” she snarled, wiping her face with an angry

gesture.

The demon’s eyes went wide and innocent. “But all I was

doing was getting better acquainted with my friend. I’m sure

he’ll confirm that for you if you ask him.”

They all turned to the guy he’d been blowing, who was

slumped at the bottom of the wall right next to the dead

man. He was kind of pale, but when Lars crouched down,

he realized the guy was still breathing, but out cold, snoring

quietly with a blissed-out smile on his face. Lars shook him by

the shoulder, first gently, and then a little more firmly. Blow

Job Guy just snored louder. “We’ll be sure to ask him when he

wakes up,” Lars said, straightening to give the demon a stern

glare. “But in the meantime, you’re coming with us.”

Rael sat in the specially warded interrogation room,

his spirits so low he figured they’d made it all the way back

down to Hell on their own and were probably sitting on

his momma’s couch right now while she busted their ass for

getting caught by the law. This was so not the way things were

supposed to go.

The only bright spot in Rael’s cloudy skies had been the

arresting officer’s partner. He was tall, blond, and bulked

out in all the right places. And if Rael wasn’t very much

mistaken, he’d gotten a little bulkier in one of them when he’d

manhandled Rael into the squad car.

Rael shifted on the rowan wood chair. Man, he was getting

a hard-on just thinking about being interrogated by that stud.

Also, his tummy was getting kinda rumbly. Detective Rochelle

had interrupted things right at the crucial moment, and Rael

hadn’t gotten more than a nibble of his dinner.

“Is this your demon?” Lars asked, gesturing toward the

one-way mirror that showed their pretty little captive sitting

in the interrogation room getting his pout on.

Meers, clearly still shaky from his ordeal, nodded. “Am

I going to have to give evidence against him? I don’t want

everyone knowing I let a guy demon do me. Do I even have

to file charges?”

Lars sighed. “It may not come down to that. We’ve got

a whole bunch of other crimes we may be able to tie him to.

You know where we found him tonight? Kneeling next to a

corpse.” Nodding his thanks to a now ashen-faced Meers, who

hopefully would be a little less keen to dabble in demonology

in the future, Lars marched into the interrogation room,

Rochelle at his heels.

The demon glanced up at them with a hint of reproach,

his full, sensual mouth down-turned at the corners. “You’ll

have to excuse me not getting up,” he said in a voice that was

pure molasses, and shrugged as best he could with both arms

cuffed behind him. Lars wondered if the silver was hurting

him.

Hold that thought. He couldn’t let the demon get to

him. This guy had maybe murdered fourteen people, and he’d

certainly put one kid in the hospital, although the paramedics

had confirmed that Blow Job Guy was going to be fine. The

last thing Lars needed was to start feeling sorry for him. But

damn, he was hot stuff. Slender, dark skinned, and snake-

hipped, with devilish eyes and a mouth made for sin. Lars

could just imagine what it’d be like to have that lithe body in

between his thighs, to stroke that soft-looking black hair, to

feel those delicate hands flowing all over his skin like melted

chocolate . . .

“Damn it, C.” He tapped furiously at the amulet around

his neck that was supposed to protect him from demonic

influence. “I thought you said these things were top of the

range.”

“They are. You got a problem with being in on this

interrogation, Thornsson?” Rochelle snickered. “Experiencing

a little, uh, leakage?”

“Uh, no, I’m good,” Lars muttered.

“Oh, I’ll bet you are, honey,” the demon purred, seeming a

lot happier all of a sudden. Oh, yeah, he knew he was getting to

Lars, all right. Lars fingered his amulet nervously, wondering

if the protection was going to kick in any time soon.

“What do you go by?” he asked brusquely. No need to get

onto actual names this early in proceedings.

“Rael,” the demon answered, batting those damn eyelashes

like a southern coquette at a debutantes’ ball. “But you can

call me anything you want.”

“Rael, then. I’m Detective Thornsson, this is Detective

Rochelle. We’re investigating a series of demonic murders. I

don’t think I need to spell out just how bad it looks for you to

be found at the scene of the latest crime?”

The demon gave a little shiver that Lars found

way too

distracting. “I swear I’m as innocent as the day is long.”

“In an Arctic winter, maybe,” Rochelle sneered.

A teasing glint appeared in that dark, sultry gaze, directed

straight at Lars without even a glance for Rochelle. “Honey,

I’ll warm your long winter nights any time you like.”

Lars cleared his throat. “I appreciate the offer, but I’d

rather you answered my questions. First of all, can you confirm

you are a succubus?”

Rael lifted an eyebrow. “Sure thing. How would you like

me to confirm it? I got plenty of ways, and they’re all good.”

Lars flushed. He’d walked into that one. “Orally. I mean,

verbally!”

A lazy smile with a promise of wicked, wicked delights

spread over Rael’s beautiful features. “How about we make

certain of it, and I do both? I’m always up for a little dirty

talk.”

“Just answer the question, please.” Lars fought the urge to

adjust himself. His face wasn’t the only part of him feeling hot

right now. “Are you a succubus? Yes, or no?”

Rael heaved a breathy sigh. “Yes.”

“But you’re a guy?” Rochelle demanded.

“Last I checked.” Rael’s long, dark eyelashes fluttered in

Lars’s direction. “Of course, if you’d like to make sure . . .”

Lars cleared his throat. “And did you feed off the dead

guy?”

The demon’s angelic face fell. “So it’s true, then? Hell

Bitch took out one of those bi boys tonight?”

Rochelle rolled her eyes. “Jesus, creep, the corpse was

lying right next to you. You trying to tell me you had no damn

idea you were sucking dick next to a dead guy?”

“I take pride in my work.” Rael pouted. “When I’m on the

job, ain’t nothing gonna distract me.”

“Uh, wait a minute,” Lars butted in, before he could get

too distracted himself by thoughts of Rael single-mindedly

sucking dick. “Hell Bitch? Who the fuck’s that?”

“At a guess, I’d say she’s your girl. ’Bout as tall as you, but

not half as pretty. Red hair, kinda well-endowed, if you like

that kind of thing. Built like an Amazon, but without the

home cosmetic improvements, if you get my drift. Had all the

bi boys tripping over their tongues back at the club. I didn’t

see her leave; I was too busy being glad she was gone. Way out

of my league. A girl like that could drain a guy dry in under

a minute without even breaking stride.” He paused a minute

and looked at Lars speculatively. “You know, sugar, I’m pretty

sure I could find out her name.”

Lars kept his face expressionless. “You can do that?”

“Sure thing. But I’ll need my arms free and a couple

things. Candles, herbs, you know the drill, honey.” He gave a

winning smile.

Rochelle cackled. “Well, we got a kid named Meers I don’t

figure will be using his occult supplies again in a hurry.” Her

face straightened out again quickly. “Nice try, Hell Spawn.

Only way you’re getting out of those cuffs is at the ass-end of a

banishing spell, and the day we let you near any witching stuff

is the day your hometown starts gritting for ice. Even if you’re

not our guy, you damn near killed that kid.”

Rael’s face fell, leaving Lars fighting the unprofessional

urge to go over and comfort him.

“I’ve been beating myself up so much over that. Is the

kid okay? I swear, it’s so damn easy to forget how fragile you

mortals are.”

“Meers is fine,” Lars told him, trying to ignore Rochelle’s

look of disgust. She wasn’t generally in favor of making nice

with the suspects. “He’s more embarrassed than anything else.

Uh, on account of you not being female.”

“Damn, it’s give them what they ask for, not what they

really want, isn’t it? I always get that one the wrong way

around.” Rael smiled, lighting up his whole face, and Lars

couldn’t stop himself from smiling back.

Rochelle didn’t seem to have any problem keeping her

scowl on. “Thornsson, when you’ve finished hitting on the

suspect, we got us a killer to catch. You coming, or were you

just planning on getting a room?”

Lars took a deep breath, forcing his mind into focus. “Uh,

gimme a minute, would you, C?”

Rochelle’s eyes narrowed. “If this is something I don’t

want to know about, you’d better make damn sure I never

find out.” She fixed him with a glare for a long moment, then

stormed out of the room.

As the door slammed behind her, warm brown eyes gazed

up at Lars from beneath the rainforest of lashes. “Is this where

you offer me a deal?” That forked tongue flicked out to wet full,

tempting lips, and Lars found his own mouth unexpectedly

dry. “Because a man like you? It’d be my pleasure, and you can

bet your badge it’d be yours, too.”

Lars pulled himself together. “That’s just it, Rael. I would

be betting my badge on it. And in any case, I’m not that kind

of cop, okay? I . . . listen, Rael, are you telling us the truth

about this other demon?”

“I’d offer to swear on a Bible, but I don’t think that’d be

such a great idea.”

“Guess not. I hear they’re still scraping the last demon

who tried that off the walls over at Nider Avenue Precinct.”

Lars leaned closer and tried not to notice the demon’s subtle,

spicy scent. “Listen, they’re gonna take you down to the cells

now and lock you up so tight Lucifer himself couldn’t get you

out, but you get one call first. You got anyone to call up here?”

Rael sighed. “Honey, last time I was up here, they were

kind of more into signal fires.”

Lars nodded and fished out a business card from his breast

pocket. “Okay. You know how to use a phone?”

Rael nodded.

“Call this guy. He’s used to dealing with your kind. Tell

him Lars says hi, you got that?”

The demon blinked, looking off-balance for the first

time since they’d met. “Thank you, Lars Thornsson,” he said,

sounding oddly formal. “I’ll do that.”

Not without some difficulty, both physical and libido-

related, Lars tucked the card into the back pocket of Rael’s

trousers. A moment ago he would have sworn there wasn’t

room in there for a fairy’s wings; the leather was stretched

tight across that smooth, dusky skin, outlining every contour

of that sensual body . . . and damn, Lars really didn’t need to

be thinking about that right now.

As he turned to go fetch a uniform to take Rael to the

cells, thinking longingly of cold showers, the demon called

him back. “Detective? This girl you’re after, she’s one bad-ass

momma. Be careful, you hear?”

The uniformed cop in charge of locking Rael up sent him

a look dripping with derision. Rael was betting the guy was as

straight as the road to Hell and wouldn’t be half as much fun

to go down on.

“Okay, creep,” he sneered, taking Rael by the arm. “Let’s

get your sorry demon ass down to the cells. Sorry we can’t lay

on any hellfire—health and safety, you know how it is—but

the company’ll make you feel right at home.”

Rael kinda doubted that, but he went along without a

protest. “How about my phone call?” he asked when they

walked past the desk.

The grunt shrugged. “Go for it, Hell Boy. But these phones

are strictly mortal, so,” he snickered, “if you’ve got friends in

high places you want to get in touch with, you’re gonna have

to get down on your knees and do it the old-fashioned way.”

“Honey, I’ll get down on my knees and do it any way you

like,” Rael murmured automatically, but his heart wasn’t really

in it.

Shuddering a little at the cop’s expression of disgust, he

pulled out the card with a flourish and dialed the number.

Lars drummed his fingers while Rochelle had another go

at finding their serial killer in that bowl of hers. He drummed

them silently, on his pants leg under the desk, seeing as how

he liked them still attached to his hands. Twenty minutes in,

though, his patience snapped.

“Damn it, C, can’t you get anything more useful on that

thing?” His gut tightened at the thought of another guy

getting sucked dry by Hell Bitch while they sat on their asses

watching bowl-o-vision.

Rochelle gave him the finger without glancing up from

her scrying. Her hair had come loose from its ponytail and

was hanging in dark straggles around her face. “Fuck you,

Thornsson. You wanna come over here and give it a go? See

what you can make out of this crock of shit?”

Lars winced at the reminder of how magically challenged

he was. “I’m sorry, C. I know this ain’t easy.” He balled his fists

under the desk, hating to feel so damn useless.

Rochelle’s expression was actually contrite. “My bad,” she

muttered.

“It’s okay. You carry on. I guess this case is getting to both

of us.” He sighed. “We were so close to busting that succubus’s

ass at Mefisto’s.”

“Yeah, except for the part where we got there too damn

late to do anything but pick up the pieces after she chewed

them up and spat them out.”

And then there was Rael. Something told Lars that in

other circumstances, Rael would be just the kind of demon

Lars wouldn’t have minded getting to know a little better, but

no way in hell was that going to happen now that the guy was

all mixed up with their case.

“Damn it, Thornsson, I got nothing.” Rochelle slumped

back in her chair. “Without anything to give us a link, it’s like

looking for a needle in a frickin’ haystack. In Kansas.”

“Okay . . .” Lars thought fast. “New tactic. Our girl targets

bisexuals, right? So we check out the bi hangouts.”

“Where do we start, then? You’re the expert on this shit.”

Lars ran the clubs he knew through his head. “I know a

few places.”

“So what are we waiting for? Let’s get our asses outta here.”

Lars hesitated. “You think we should take backup? Rael

said she was pretty high-grade evil.”

Rochelle’s lip curled. “You gonna take the word of Hell’s

own rentboy? If you land us with a couple of dumb-asses like

Dee and Dumont it’ll only slow us down, and no way am I

letting her up the body count while we ring our moms. Trust

me, Thornsson, we’re going to nail this bitch’s ass to the wall.”

Rael stepped onto the sidewalk outside the precinct and

breathed in a heady lungful of freedom. It tasted a lot like

automobile fumes. He turned to the white-haired lawyer by

his side, gazing up at the guy from underneath his lashes. “Mr.

Abelard, I am so grateful to you for getting me out of that

place.”

“No problem, son. Any friend of Lars is a friend of mine.”

He stuck out a liver-spotted hand, and Rael gave it a little

extra squeeze as he shook it. He’d never had such an urge to

confess the truth: that he’d only just met the lovely Lars, and

it’d been at the wrong end of a gun. His momma would have

been horrified.

Instead, he smiled. “He’s that kind of a guy, isn’t he? Have

you known that boy long?”

“All his life, son. Lars is practically family.” The craggy face

crinkled with a rueful smile. “His mother was my first love,

you know.”

Rael blinked. Either this guy was a real late starter, or he’d

done some seriously bad shit to end up looking like he did,

which was one breath short of a century and only a whisper

away from the grave.

Mr. Abelard gave a wheezy chuckle. “Oh, I know what

you’re thinking, son. No, I wasn’t some Humbert Humbert

type, lusting after a pretty young thing. Lars is older than

he looks—he’s fifty-seven, although you wouldn’t think he

was half that, would you? His mother’s a Valkyrie. He gets

his looks from her, you know. His father was a senior partner

at the firm I started out in. She came in for advice after the

neighbors filed a complaint about her ravens, and well, I guess

it was love at first sight for all concerned. Except I wasn’t the

one who got to marry her, more’s the pity.”

“Oh, sugar, that’s just too bad.” Lars was half-immortal?

That was . . . interesting. Rael had heard a few things about

Valkyries. They were kind of known for their strength. And

stamina—man, they had that in spades.

Rael had always regretted having to stick to one-night

stands when he was topside. Most humans simply weren’t

built for anything long-term with a succubus. And while Rael

never exactly had to worry about where his next meal was

coming from, he’d always figured it’d be kinda nice to be able

to get used to home cooking instead of eating somewhere new

every night.

Especially if it was a sweet guy like Lars providing the

eats. That boy was decent, honorable—hell, if Rael hadn’t just

heard Lars was half Valkyrie, he would’ve had him pegged for

the offspring of an angel.

The mists of nostalgia cleared from the old man’s watery

blue eyes. “Now, son, is there anything else I can do for you?

Do you need a place to stay?”

Rael beamed. “Oh, honey, you are just too kind. Thanks,

but I figure I’ll be able to find a bed for the night. It’s sort of

my specialty, you know? But do you think you might be able

to lay those capable hands of yours on a scrying bowl?”

He still had the card Lars had given him, and one precious

blond hair that had fallen on his shoulder as Lars had slipped

the card into his pocket. It ought to be enough.

The first couple of clubs on Lars’s list were a bust, and not

in a good way. By all accounts, the demon they were hunting

was the sort you couldn’t help but notice, and nobody they

spoke to had seen a single red hair of her. But as they walked

in the door of the third place, a low-down dive so far on the

wrong side of town the only windows not barred were the

ones that were boarded up, Rochelle sucked in a breath. “You

see her?” she murmured out of the corner of her mouth. “Hell

Bitch at twelve o’clock, and damn, she’s one mean mother.

Xena with a bad dye-job—looks like Hell Slut was on the

level.”

Lars forced down his annoyance and tried to focus on

the suspect—which as it happened wasn’t hard; her tall,

voluptuous figure and fiery auburn hair sucked in his gaze like

a whirlpool. Damn, Lars had always figured he was exclusively

into guys, but there was something about this lady that had

him questioning all his certainties. She was sashaying toward

the rear of the club, an arm around a weedy little guy a head

shorter than her who was staring up at her like she was a candy

bar and he thought he was the one who’d be getting to do the

eating.

Lars’s eyes narrowed. “Okay. We need to move fast.”

Before Weedy Guy found out the hard way just who was on the

menu tonight. “She’s heading out the back, so I’ll cut around

outside—it’ll be quicker than trying to force a way through

this crowd. You move in from here in case she doubles back.”

“Gotcha. That soul-sucking succubus is history.” Rochelle

moved forward, and in seconds her five-foot-nothing form

was lost in the seething throng.

Wondering if his partner was really as indifferent to their

perp as she seemed, or just a hell of a lot better at controlling

her responses than he was, Lars ducked out quickly and

raced around the building to the dimly lit alley at the rear.

It only took him a minute, but there she was already in all

her seductive, evil glory, pinning the guy against the wall, lips

working at his mouth like she was trying to suck out his lungs

with her kiss.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Lars began way too politely.

Hell Bitch dropped the pickup and spun around with a

snarl. The weedy guy started to complain, then got an eyeful

of Lars and backed away into the night. Lars spared a moment

to hope he wouldn’t step into anything too unpleasant, then

forced his thoughts to return to the clear and present danger.

Her body undulating like some kind of serpent, the

succubus slunk toward him.

Lars’s mouth went dry. Hell, his whole alimentary system

went drier than the skin-covered bones she’d left behind

in that back street by Mefisto’s. This gal . . . there was just

something about her, the curve of that slender throat of hers,

the flashing of those dark eyes, and the way she wiggled those

impossibly full hips below that tiny waist. “I, uh. I’m actually

not into women,” he said, hoping he could make both of them

believe it.

Her mouth curved into a vicious smile. “And yet you can’t

look away.”

Lars swallowed convulsively as she licked those red, red

lips. And since when had forked tongues suddenly started

giving Lars the mother of all hard-ons? This was exactly like

with Rael . . .

Rael. Lars’s brain snapped back into focus. The succubus

standing in front of him was a multiple murderess, not the

sweet little demon who’d been dominating Lars’s thoughts

since the moment they’d met. He needed to get a grip. And

hot damn, speak of the devil . . . Rael appeared in Lars’s field of

vision, his pretty face all twisted with demonic fury. On him,

it was kind of cute.

“Back off, Hell Bitch,” Rael growled low in his throat.

“This one’s mine.”

She laughed. Lars was ready to punch her out for that.

“Yours, little imp?” she purred, laying on the arrogance so

thick you could slice and package it. “He professes to only like

men, and yet he came to me; he is mine to do with as I wish,

just like all the rest of his worthless, fickle kind.”

“You know, honey,” Rael reproached her, “the Church has

kinda cornered the homophobia market already.”

The demon tossed her head. “I care nothing if a man

prefers his own sex.”

“No? Because you’re doing a damn good job convincing

me otherwise.” Rael folded his arms. Damn, he was hot when

he was acting stern.

Lars coughed and tried to look intimidating. “Ma’am, I’m

going to need to ask you to accompany me to the precinct.”

Where the hell was Rochelle when he needed her? “We

have reason to believe you’re involved in a number of recent

fatalities.”

“They deserved what they got!” she hissed, turning on

Lars. “All of them liars. Cheaters.”

“They were all unfaithful to you?” Lars asked. “All

fourteen of them, in the space of a few weeks? No offence,

but I’m kind of doubting that’s possible, time-wise.”

“Their sort are all the same!”

Rael stepped forward. “Their sort, honey?”

Her lips pulled back in a snarl, and okay, that was

definitely helping Lars get over the whole unwilling attraction

thing. “The sort who claim to be one thing when they are

another, who can’t make up their minds, who pretend love

for a woman and then leave her for a man.” Her speech had

started off arrogant, but by the end, although her chin was

still up, Lars was amazed to make out a definite wobble.

“You’ve got a problem with bisexuals?” he asked with a

frown.

“Sounds to me, sugar, like you’re talking about someone

you know,” Rael put in, cocking his head to one side.

Hell Bitch didn’t answer, just seemed to deflate. Standing

there with her lips pressed together, her head now bowed, she

didn’t look much like a serial-killing succubus anymore. More

like any other girl who’d found out the hard way that guys

could be assholes.

Rael sighed. “Oh, honey. Some big bad bi guy done you

wrong?”

There was a loud sniff. Lars stared. Hell Bitch was crying

now—big, fat, yellow drops that smelled of brimstone and

hissed as they hit her cheeks.

“Honey, I know you’re hurting, but you can’t take out

every man who swings both ways, you know?” Rael reached

out to her. “These guys don’t deserve it, and that asshole who

did you wrong? It ain’t worth letting him go on ruling your

existence like this.”

“What would you know, imp?” She was struggling for

aloof, Lars could tell, but it came out plaintive.

Rael raised an eyebrow, cocking his hip and tapping his

foot. “You think I’ve never been burned? Listen, sugar, I had

this thing going with an envy demon, you know? He had the

cutest green eyes you ever saw . . .”

Lars blinked. All this sex-demon mojo had to be affecting

his brain. Because there was no way Rael could actually be

perching his butt on a trash can and beckoning to the big,

bad killer demon. And she could

not be parking her sinfully

seductive booty right next to Rael’s and letting him put his

arm around her shoulders. Lars rubbed his eyes, but he could

still see Rael cuddling up to Hell Bitch and offering her a

handkerchief. She accepted with haughty thanks and sniffled

into it piteously.

Rael was talking away to her like they were girlfriends or

something. “I fell for that guy so damn hard. I thought it was

for keeps, thought we’d be picking out drapes for our own

little corner of Hell, the works. Then one day I come home

and I find him shaking the sheets with a tree sprite!” For a

moment his mouth set in an angry line, and Lars got a sudden

urge to start a forest fire. “You’ll bounce back, sugar. You’re

way better than him, you hear me?”

Hell Bitch was nodding, her copper curls bouncing. The

color seemed less vibrant now. Along with the rest of her.

“You know what you should do, honey?” Rael patted her

shoulder. “Get yourself back home, summon up a few of the

girls, and go have yourself a damn good time, you hear me?”

The succubus stood up, dwarfing her comforter and

putting Lars back on edge. He wondered if he should go for

his gun, or maybe a Bible. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw

Rochelle creeping out of the club’s back door, rosary wrapped

around her wrist and her gun in her hand. About damn time,

too.

Hell Bitch didn’t even glance at her, just waved a hand,

and Rochelle flew through the air, landing with a thud against

the wall. She stuck there, pinned by an invisible force, cursing

and wriggling like a big, pissed-off fly caught in a spider’s web.

Lars flinched and stopped reaching for his piece.

“You are right, imp,” the demon said, tossing her hair with

a touch of her old arrogance. “This place is not worthy of

me. I shall leave.” She hesitated a moment. “You have been of

service to me. Would you like me to eviscerate this human for

you before I go?”

Lars quailed as red-rimmed—and now, he noticed with

disquiet, red-irised—eyes glared directly at him. “Uh . . .”

Rael’s voice came like pure, holy water onto diabolical

flames. “Oh, honey, that’s so damn sweet of you. But I don’t

figure he’d taste so good after that, you know?”

“As you wish.” She shrugged, and with a

fwp sound and a

foul stench of sulfur, was gone.

Lars blinked and coughed. “What the hell? How did she

do that? Nobody banished her.”

Rael gave him a pitying smile. “Honey, she’s a ninth-circle

demon. She goes where she wants to.”

Ninth circle? No wonder she’d swatted Rochelle like a

fly. “So is she gone for good, or are we going to be doing this

again next week?” Because if so, Lars figured he had some

leave coming up.

Rael considered. “I’d say you’re good for a couple decades,

at least. After that, who knows?”

As the demon’s binding belatedly failed, Rochelle slid

down the wall and landed on her ass. “Ninth circle? Ninth

frickin’ circle? You fucking with me, Hell Boy? Ninth frickin’

circle?”

Lars was relieved to note he wasn’t the only one about to

start hyperventilating here.

“Uh, yeah, C. Guess maybe we shoulda waited for backup

after all.”

That snapped her right out of it. “Fuck that, Thornsson!

We sent that demon packing all on our own, didn’t we?”

Lars considered pointing out just whose ass got nailed to

which wall, but Rochelle’s trigger finger was still looking kind

of jumpy, so he figured this would be as good a time as any to

start practicing a little tact.

Rael edged closer to him. He had to be wondering what

was going to happen to him now that they’d gotten rid of the

bad guy, and to tell the truth, Lars was kind of wondering the

same thing. He found himself hoping Rochelle wasn’t about

to hit Rael with that banishing spell she’d had all ready for

Hell Bitch. “Uh, Rael?” he said, hoping to forestall any over-

hasty action on anyone’s part. “I guess I owe you for saving my

ass there.”

“Honey, no way was I gonna let anything bad happen to

an ass like that,” Rael purred, fluttering his eyelashes in Lars’s

direction.

Lars flushed and cleared his throat. “I guess you probably

ought to stick around until we’re certain Meers isn’t going to

file charges, but I kind of think he’s going to want to drop it.

So, uh, you need a ride anywhere?” He glanced at Rochelle,

daring her to say anything.

Only for a moment, though, because Rael fixed him with

a sultry gaze that wasn’t so much come-hither as get-your-

sweet-ass-on-over-here-and-fuck-me. “Depends who’s doing

the riding, sugar.”

Damn, didn’t that conjure up a few images? Lars

swallowed.

Rochelle made gagging noises. “If I barf, just ignore me,

okay?”

“Sweetie, if he’s paying any attention to you, I’m not doing

this right.” Rael flashed her a smile, leaving Lars momentarily

bereft.

“You’re doing good,” he blurted out before he could stop

himself. Rael preened visibly.

Lars forced himself not to cringe as Rochelle’s eyes

narrowed to little slits. “Okay, Thornsson, a word?” She didn’t

take her gaze off Rael for an instant.

Heart thudding in his chest, Lars moved to stand beside

her. “You got a problem with this? Rael hasn’t been charged

with anything.”

“You know what else hasn’t happened? Him showing us

any evidence he’s on this plane legally. If we’re not going to

book him, we oughta banish him. You know that.” She didn’t

reach for her rosary again, though.

“C’mon, C,” Lars coaxed. “Cut the guy a little slack. If it

weren’t for him, I’d be a dried-up husk by now, and you’d still

be impersonating graffiti on that wall over there.”

She glared, and Lars winced, reflecting that it probably

hadn’t been the greatest idea to remind her of the ass whupping

she’d just gotten.

“Yeah, and have you forgotten this guy’s the same brand

of demon as Hell Bitch? You think he’s gonna treat you any

better than she would have?”

“I am half-immortal, you know,” Lars reminded her. “If

Meers could survive without too much damage, I figure I’ll

be fine.”

“And I promise I’ll take real good care of him,” Rael’s hot

breath on the back of Lars’s neck made him jump. Rael must

have slunk up behind them silently as a cat. And since when

had Lars found that sort of thing a turn-on? Damn, this guy

hit buttons Lars hadn’t even known he had.

Rochelle threw up her hands. “Ah, screw it, I’ll take a cab

home. You go and . . . fuck, Thornsson, I don’t want to know

what you’ll be doing. I’ll see you tomorrow. And don’t even

think about blowing me off for Hell Slut here and leaving

me all the fucking paperwork.” She stomped off, cursing

up a storm, and Lars breathed a sigh of relief mingled with

anticipation.

He turned back to Rael, who was gazing at him with such

hunger in his eyes that Lars felt like he was about to burst into

flame. He took a deep breath. “So, uh . . .” Damn, they were

actually going to do this. If Captain O’Reilly found out, being

left a dried-up husk would be the least of his problems, but

hell, it wasn’t like Rochelle would ever rat him out. Maybe

Lars wasn’t entirely sure which head was doing the thinking

for him right now, but by his current calculations, the rewards

seemed totally worth the risk. If he could actually get the

words out to proposition Rael, that was. The connection

between brain and mouth seemed to get derailed every time

he thought about that supple, willing body.

Rael took pity on him. “You know, honey, you look real

hungry,” he said, his concern shining through. “So why don’t

we find us someplace you can get yourself a meal?”

“Uh, sure,” Lars said, kind of impressed with his own

eloquence at a time like this. A thought struck him. “Can you

actually, you know . . .?”

Rael gave him a wicked grin. “I’ll eat later.”

Rael felt right at home at the steak house they’d slipped

into downtown. The decor was funky, and the lights were

down low and intimate. Candles glowed from every table,

and their waitress had pointy little ears and a tail poking out

from under her skirt.

Lars laid his napkin on his lap. “You sure this isn’t going

to be too boring for you, just sitting there watching me eat?”

Rael smiled at his big, blond hunk of detective. Hot, half-

immortal, and solicitous, too. He’d gotten himself a keeper

here, right enough. “Sugar, I love watching a man indulge his

appetites. Gets me right in the mood to indulge mine.”

Lars gave a weird-ass sort of half-laugh that made the

candle flame flicker and dance. “Are you ever not in the

mood?”

“When I’m with you? Never.” Rael flashed his wickedest

smile. “That partner of yours, on the other hand . . .”

Lars winced. It was cute as all get out. “Uh, if you keep

bringing C into this, you’re going to be going hungry tonight.”

“You’d do that to me?” Rael pouted.

“Baby, I don’t think I could tell you no even if I wanted to.”

Lars’s face broke into the sweetest damn smile Rael had

ever seen as the waitress served his appetizer. Watching Lars

thank her politely and get to work on those bacon-wrapped

scallops, Rael felt his heart melt faster than butter on a griddle.

“You know, I just love me some good old-fashioned manners.”

Lars grinned. “You get brought up by a Valkyrie, you learn

not to risk getting your ass whupped for speaking out of turn.”

He wolfed down another couple of scallops, Rael feasting his

eyes on the sight and taking a few sips of wine every now and

then just to keep his man company. “Have you got family,

Rael?”

“Oh, me and my momma have been on our own for a

while now.”

“Same here. I keep thinking maybe she’ll find herself

another guy, but it seems like after my dad died, that was it

for her.”

Lars’s expression was kind of wistful, so Rael reached

across the table to take hold of his free hand. “I guess that’s

what we all dream about—finding that one guy who’s going

to go the distance.”

“I wouldn’t have thought settling down would be in your

job description,” Lars said slowly, his gaze locked onto Rael

like he was trying to see right into the heart of him.

Rael was only too happy to answer the question in those

big, blue eyes. Damn, this guy was fast. Had they really known

each other less than a day? Lars had gotten so far under Rael’s

skin it felt like he’d taken up permanent residence—and all

that without Rael having had so much as a taste of him yet.

“Honey, I write my own damn job description. And I got a

whole new clause about hunky blond detectives coming on.”

“So you’re, uh, not in any hurry to head back home?”

Rael smiled. “Hey, I just got here. I figure I should stick

around for a little while. A century, say, or maybe two. Give

me time to see the sights.” He let his voice drop a register.

“Although there’s some sights I want to see more than others,

you know?”

There was a clatter as Lars’s fork dropped to his plate.

“Uh, we don’t have to stay here—”

“Yes, we do,” Rael chided fondly. He leaned back in his

seat and reined in his mojo to allow Lars to regain a little

perspective on things. “That nice young lady’s coming over

right now with your entrée. And believe me, you’re going to

want to keep your strength up.”

Ten minutes and around half a cow later, Lars forked up

a mouthful of baked potato and sour cream. “Damn, this is

good.”

“As good as that double-cut filet you just got outside of?”

Rael asked dreamily. He’d decided watching Lars eat was his

new favorite pastime.

Although he was kind of hoping it’d be knocked into

second place sometime real soon.

Lars’s tongue sneaked out to lick a smear of sour cream

from his lip, and Rael could have wept. Damn it, that was his

job. “Better,” Lars said with a smile that made Rael wonder

for a moment exactly which of them was the sex demon here.

He arched an eyebrow and leaned forward into the

candlelight. “Is it as good as a certain succubus you’re going to

be getting inside of when I get you out of here?”

Lars blinked, swallowed, and put down his fork. Then he

waved to the waitress. “Uh, miss, can we get the check? I’m

done here.”

“Done? Not yet, sugar. But you will be.”

Rael kept his arm wrapped around his man as far as it

would go as they stumbled into Lars’s apartment. The ride

home in Lars’s car had gotten real frustrating real fast, and he

was itching to end the torture.

“You, uh, want a coffee or something?” Lars asked huskily,

his fingers fumbling as he started to unbutton his shirt. “Do

you even drink coffee?”

“There’s only one thing I want to pass my lips, and I’m

looking right at him.” Rael moved in to help Lars undo his

belt, his gaze fixed on his lover’s face all the while. “Sugar, I’ve

been starving for a taste of you all night.”

“C’mon,” Lars said with a tender smile. “Bedroom’s

thisaway.”

“You sure we’re going to make it that far?” Rael shimmied

out of his shirt and his leather trousers right there in the

hallway, his heart humming a happy little ditty that he wiggled

his hips in time to. Then he noticed the direction of his Norse

godling’s stare, and his own personal sun ducked right behind

a big old cloud.

“Shit, is this going to be a deal breaker?” he asked, feeling

a whole-body droop coming on.

“Uh . . .” Lars cleared his throat. “No. Really, really . . .

no.” He swallowed. “How do you even fit that thing inside

trousers that tight?”

Rael smiled. “Magic, honey. And one hell of a lot of talc.”

“Can . . . can I touch it?”

There was a yearning in those baby blues a dead man

couldn’t have missed. The sun came right out from behind the

clouds and man, Rael could feel the heat of it on every inch

of his skin. Some inches more than others. “Sure thing, sugar,”

he purred. “You know, it’s been kinda jonesin’ to touch you.”

Rael stepped forward, and with Lars’s eyes on it all the

way, his tail snaked out from behind him like a sleek, black,

skinny-ass otter to caress that beautiful man’s chest, the tip

flicking at Lars’s nipples like it wanted to see if they’d come

out to play.

Lars groaned and raised a hand to pet it cautiously.

“It won’t break,” Rael coaxed with a smile, and was

rewarded with a full, firm stroke along the length of his tail.

He shivered all over at the touch of those warm fingers, their

grip just tight enough to make him squirm.

“Feels good,” Lars growled. “Like velvet. Does it feel good

to you when I touch it?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe, honey.” Rael writhed

sinuously, his tail wriggling in Lars’s hand like it was trying to

escape, but never quite managing to get away. “Anything else

you want to know, all you have to do is ask, you hear me?”

“Do you . . .” Lars took a deep breath. “Do you ever, uh,

do yourself with it?”

Rael couldn’t help loving a guy who was right on his

wavelength. “Well, we wouldn’t want it to drop off from lack

of use, would we?”

His big, blond hunk of manhood choked off a sob at that,

and the tightness of his trousers looked like it was getting

kinda critical.

“Sugar, you can

not be comfortable in those pants. We

gotta do something about that, before Lars Junior busts right

through the zipper.”

His tail whipped away from Lars’s chest and wrapped

itself around that broad back, pulling Lars in real close to

Rael, where he belonged.

“Guh,” moaned Lars.

“Honey, you are so right,” Rael breathed into Lars’s throat.

He let his tongue flicker over Lars’s pulse point, tasting the

heat rising off that perfect skin like hellfire.

Flying higher than a kite up on cloud number nine, Rael

started to unbutton Lars’s jeans, and damn if his fingers

weren’t shaking a little.

“Honey, you are one hell of a man, you know that?” he

murmured as he pushed the jeans down over thick, muscled

thighs, leaving Lars in nothing but his tighty-whities. There

was a wet spot right where they were pushed out the fullest,

and Rael figured he’d just die if he didn’t get himself a taste

of that. Since he was kinda hoping Lars would want him to

stay on this plane of existence for a good long while yet, he

slid to his knees, peeled away those briefs, and opened his

mouth wide to take in that heavenly piece of meat as far as it

would go.

The heady scent of musk had Rael’s mind whirling off to

dance with the fairies, with only the rich burst of saltiness

on his tongue anchoring him back to earth. Lars fit in Rael’s

mouth like he’d been made to measure. Damn, this boy was

going to ruin him for anyone else, and Rael didn’t mind one

little bit. The energy coming off Lars had his taste buds in a

frenzy, desperate for the main course.

Lars gave a long, low groan that rumbled right through

them both. “Jeez, Rael, you’re gonna kill me.”

Rael pulled his mouth off long enough to answer. “But

wouldn’t you die happy?”

“Nope,” Lars croaked.

Rael looked up at him reproachfully.

“Want you . . . want it all,” Lars muttered hoarsely. “Then

I can die happy.”

“Then, honey, we gotta give you it all.” Rael slithered back

up from his knees, a little slower than he might have done,

on account of his tongue insisting it taste every inch of Lars

along the way. Lars seemed to whimper at that, so Rael closed

that poor mouth with a kiss, twining his tongue around Lars’s

until he felt his big old lover’s knees begin to tremble.

“You want to take this someplace more horizontal?” he

breathed into Lars’s mouth.

Lars moaned. Rael figured that was a yes.

They stumbled into Lars’s bedroom, and Rael found he

liked it just fine. Not too small, not too tidy . . . and a really big

bed. Rael spun them around and let Lars push him down onto

the covers. His cock was so hard it was damn near torture.

“Sugar, you gotta fuck me, you know that?” he moaned.

His tail snuck right in between them to add its two cents to

the argument. One day soon, he was going to jack Lars off

with his tail, Rael decided. But right now, he had needs of his

own.

Lars gave Rael a long, hard stare, yearning coming off

him in teasing little waves, then turned aside to scrabble in a

bedside drawer, bringing out a tube of lube and a couple foil

packets.

“Sugar,” Rael chided him fondly, “now what kind of a

succubus would I be if I needed either of those?”

His beautiful man just whimpered again.

“Oh, honey, you sure need looking after, don’t you?” Rael

hitched up his legs with both hands. “Let Rael look after you.”

With some strange kind of noise like he was in pain, Lars

lowered himself over Rael, his cock—and oh, man, what a

cock—pressing hard against Rael’s opening.

“Honey, if you don’t give it to me now I will die, you know

that?” Rael breathed, and with a moan, Lars pushed inside.

Oh, that was sweet. Rael felt his whole damn body quiver.

That was more than sweet. That was the real deal, the full-fat,

high-sugar, mega-caffeine works with chocolate sprinkles on

top. “Lars, honey . . .” Rael had never had a lover who’d left

him speechless before. He let his tail curl around their bodies

and stroke Lars on that rock-hard ass.

Lars shuddered. “Rael, baby, damn . . .” He was thrusting

in and out of Rael now, every movement bringing waves of

sweet delight.

“Oh, honey, ain’t nobody like you,” Rael breathed as that

pistoning cock brought him higher and higher. Sweat was

beading on Lars’s forehead and Rael flicked out his tongue to

taste a drop. Damn, it was sweeter than wine.

Rael gave that fine ass one last caress with his tail before

snaking it around between them and letting it slip into his

mouth, in and out, his tail fucking his mouth like that huge

slab of meat was fucking his ass.

“Baby, you’re killing me . . .” Lars panted.

Rael let his tail slip out of his mouth with a pop, all wet

and slick with his spit, and it flicked back behind his lover. It

knew exactly where to go.

Lars moaned as it circled his entrance. Man, Rael loved

that sound. “You want me, sugar?” he breathed.

Lars didn’t seem capable of giving him an answer, so

Rael just figured he’d do what felt good. Arching his back, he

plunged the tip of his tail right up inside his lover.

Lars bellowed and came, pumping Rael full of hot, sweet

juice. Energy flared between them like an atomic explosion,

pouring into Rael and filling him up with ecstasy. High on his

man, Rael lost all control, shaking and shuddering and crying

as his own release pulsed out between them.

They collapsed down together, huffing and panting, Rael’s

tail slipping out of his lover to curl happily around that well-

sculpted ass. He couldn’t hardly hold a thought together, but

one thing he knew: he was spoiled for anyone else now. No

other lover had ever come close to leaving him so wonderfully,

gloriously sated—and all that without a sign of exhaustion.

He’d bet Lars would be good to go again inside an hour or two,

but damn, Rael wasn’t sure he could eat another mouthful.

“Honey, you ain’t the only one who’s gonna die happy,” he

breathed into his lover’s ear.

Lars stirred. “No. No way. You are not going to die and

leave me now that you’ve shown me just how damn good it

can be with you. Hell, do I have to handcuff you to the bed to

keep you here?”

Rael smiled like he was fixing to split his whole damn

face in two. “No way in Heaven am I running out on you,

lover.” He managed to squeeze a whisker or so closer to Lars’s

beautiful body. “But if you want to try the handcuffs, Officer,

I promise I won’t resist arrest.”

A Blast from the Past, Damned If You Do, #2

A Wish Too Far, Damned If You Do, #3

A Glutton for Punishment, Damned If You Do, #4

Slam!

Trick of Time

Pressure Head

Hard Tail

Muscling Through

Pricks & Pragmatism

Wight Mischief

Camwolf

Midnight in Berlin

Sex, Lies & Edelweiss

Snared

Tortoise Interruptus

A Ghoul Like You

Permanently Legless

Also by

jl merrow

JL Merrow is that rare beast, an English person who

refuses to drink tea. She read Natural Sciences at Cambridge,

where she learned many things, chief amongst which was that

she never wanted to see the inside of a lab ever again. Her one

regret is that she never mastered the ability of punting one-

handed whilst holding a glass of champagne.

She writes across genres, with a preference for

contemporary gay romance and the paranormal, and is

frequently accused of humor. Her novella

Muscling Through

was a 2013 EPIC Award finalist.

JL Merrow is a member of the UK GLBTQ Fiction Meet

organizing team.

Find JL Merrow online at www.jlmerrow.com, on Twitter as

@jlmerrow, and on Facebook at www.facebook.com/jl.merrow.

About

the

author

the

author

www.riptidepublishing.com/titles/

sucks-blows

Enjoy this book?

Find more otherworldly romcoms

at RiptidePublishing.com!

Earn Bonus Bucks!

Earn 1 Bonus Buck for each dollar you spend. Find out how at

RiptidePublishing.com/news/bonus-bucks.

Win Free Ebooks for a Year!

Pre-order coming soon titles directly through our site and you’ll

receive one entry into a drawing to win free books for a year! Get

the details at RiptidePublishing.com/contests.

www.riptidepublishing.com/titles/

pretty-monsters-josh-damned-1