Mating Fever

by Susan Hayes

  “You never threaten to spank my ass in public again, and you never, ever call me your old lady when we’re not undercover.”

  His laughter rolled through her as he gathered her close. “You’ve got yourself a deal. Do you want to give notice tonight or wait until tomorrow?”

  Trina planted a kiss on her lover’s smiling lips. “I’ll call tomorrow. I’m not done with you yet, not by a long shot.

  He kissed her back before murmuring, “Sweet cheeks, It’s my greatest fucking hope you and I are never going to be done.”

  Damn. She liked the sound of that.

  Thank you for reading!

  Next up - Carnage

  Carnage

  An assignment from the Devil, a half-angel on the run, and a bounty hunting hell hound who is about to meet his match…

  1

  Carnage

  The clubhouse was full tonight, a rare event these days. Carnage had to think hard to remember the last time the entire crew was together. A month at least, probably closer to three or four. Being more or less immortal, the passage of time no longer affected Car and his brothers the way it had back when they were mortal men. These days it was all one unending blur of bloodshed, booze, long stretches of boredom, then battle again. The only thing that made it bearable was the company of his fellow Hell Hounds, and even that comfort was wearing thin these days.

  He sat in a quiet corner, watching his comrades brag, roughhouse, and attempt to cheat each other at a game of poker that had been going on for more than six hours. The jukebox was playing “Highway to Hell” for what seemed like the hundredth time today, and Car made a mental note to delete the fucking song from the playlist before he left tonight.

  The dingy walls rang with the sounds of laughter, and the aging hardwood floor was decorated with a new layer of boot scuffs and scratches. The furniture was threadbare in places, worn out in others, and the entire clubhouse was as banged-up and motley as the crew who called it home.

  “Hey Car, we’re going to head out for drinks at Haven, you coming?”

  Ripper’s query pulled Car out of his musings and back to the moment. He briefly considered heading to the local bar with the others, to distract himself with a cold beer and company, but he wasn’t in the mood. He hadn’t been in the mood to do much of anything for weeks, now. He had a decision to make, and his choices were weighing heavy on his mind. “Not tonight.”

  Ripper opened his mouth to protest, but Havoc came up behind him and cuffed the youngest member of the crew across the back of his head. “Leave him be, Pup.”

  Rip wandered off, rubbing his head and muttering half-heard threats under his breath.

  Once they were alone, Havoc raised one dark brow at Car. “You’ve been too fucking quiet lately. Now, you’re not even going to come to the bar with us to share a drink and watch the new succubus show? The boys are starting to wonder what’s up.”

  If anyone other than his lieutenant had dared to broach the subject, he would have kicked their ass—no doubt, that was why they had nominated Havoc for the job. “I’ll tell you what’s up. My boot up the ass of the next one to ask me that question. For fuck’s sake, when did you become our den mother?”

  “When the leader of our merry band of lunatics decided to sulk his way through the better part of a month. Did your balls drop off or have you been sitting on them so long they’ve gone numb? Maybe that’s why you’re acting like a whiny little girl?”

  Car lunged out of his chair and slammed Havoc into the nearest wall; his forearm locked across the bigger man’s throat. “You got a death wish?”

  Havoc roared with laughter despite his narrowed airway. “Nice to see you’ve still got your ’nads firmly attached. I was starting to worry.”

  “Asshole,” Car snarled. He withdrew his arm from Havoc’s neck and scowled at his oldest friend. “Are we done talking about my feelings now?”

  Havoc grinned at him. “Feelings? We were never talking about your fucking feelings. I was talking about your balls. Now I know you still have ’em, I’ve got one thing to say. Whatever’s going on with you, get a handle on it. I don’t want to have to spend eternity watching you mope. It’s pathetic.”

  Car ran a hand through his dark blond hair, flipping it back over his shoulders. “I’d hate to ruin your afterlife with my mood, you sensitive pansy. Now get out of my face before I decide to rearrange your features into something slightly less grotesque.”

  “I love you, too, man. Want to hug it out?” Havoc opened his arms, and Car slugged him hard in the shoulder.

  “Fuck off already.”

  “I’m gone. Enjoy your solitary brooding time.” Havoc flipped him the finger and teleported out, leaving Car in peace…for all of five seconds.

  A flash of light and the stench of brimstone heralded the arrival of the one being in existence that Carnage couldn’t ignore. The King of Hell was paying him a visit, awesome. This day just keeps getting better.

  Car spun on his heel to face his liege and master. “How many times have I asked you to knock off the brimstone and hellfire crap when you drop by, Luc? The place reeks for days after one of your visits, and the last time you were here, you scorched the floor.”

  “I’ll quit the dramatic entrances when you mangy lot start treating me with the respect due my exalted station. I’m your fucking king, not the pizza delivery boy.” Lucifer raked his gaze over the battered collection of furnishings that filled the Hell Hound’s clubhouse, pausing to survey some of the more interesting stains that covered the floor and walls. “I should do you all a favor and burn this place to the ground. I swear Pestilence himself wouldn’t want to touch anything in here.”

  “We’re supposed to be a motorcycle club, not a gentleman’s club. It’s all part of the illusion. Or would you rather we just put up a sign that reads ‘Satan’s bounty hunters,’ or maybe, ‘please don’t feed the hellhounds’?”

  “Havoc’s right, you’re crankier than usual, which is saying something considering you’re a surly son of a bitch at the best of times. I’ve got just the job to take your mind off whatever it is that has your tail in a twist.” He reached into the breast pocket of his elegantly tailored suit and pulled out a photo. “Fetch, Fido.”

  Carnage curbed the urge to growl as he took the picture from the devil’s perfectly manicured fingers. Luc tolerated a lot, but it was never a good idea to push him too far. He had long since learned not to cross the line from arrogant to insubordinate. Satan’s punishments were as legendary as his temper. Both were to be avoided whenever possible.

  He glanced down at the photo. “Who is she, what is she, and what did she do?”

  “Her name is Leta Fury, and she’s an abomination.”

  Car studied the photograph. Black hair, high cheekbones, and eyes as blue as a summer sky. She didn’t look like an abomination. Then again, looks were deceiving. When he wasn’t sporting the whole “horns and cloven hooves” look, the King of Hell appeared to be a young man in his early twenties with jet-black hair, a charming smile and expensive taste in clothes. Only the narrow band of shimmering orange flames that rimmed his cobalt blue eyes gave away his infernal nature.

  “What did she do?”

  The flames in his eyes grew brighter as Luc pointed to the picture. “Her crime is having been born. What’s the first rule for living in Hell?”

  “Don’t piss off the man with the pitchfork,” Car deadpanned.

  Luc grinned, but there was nothing warm or fuzzy about his expression. “True. All right then, what’s the second rule?”

  Car knew the answer to this one. In a realm with almost no rules, the few they had were absolute. “Don’t fuck anything with wings.”

  “And that is why I want her brought to me. By Heaven’s decree, creatures like her are not allowed to exist. Her father was one of mine, and her mother was one of the heavenly host.”

  “Who is protecting her?” Car asked as he committed the photo to memory.

  “No one. She’
s on her own. I only recently learned she existed, and I want her brought to me before Heaven’s enforcers kill her. She might be useful to me.”

  “How the fuck has she been evading them all this time? No one escapes their notice for long. They must have been hunting her for years.”

  “Do I look like a fucking oracle to you? Is the word Google emblazoned across my forehead? No? Then stop asking me questions and bring me the girl!” Luc bellowed, the flames in his eyes glowing brightly.

  “I’ll call the others back. We’ll start hunting—”

  Satan cut him off with a slashing gesture. “No others. Just you. If I send the whole pack after her, I might as well send up a flare telling the God squad where she is. This one is all yours.”

  Car found himself looking forward to a solo hunt. No one would be on his ass about his attitude, and with any luck, his target would put up enough of a fight to make it fun. “Where is she?”

  “She left the charred remains of a vampire nest outside Portland, Oregon, so I suggest you start there. She’s a self-appointed vigilante, and a good one. Spends her time hunting things that go bump in the night. Her little hobby has made her a lot of enemies, so watch your back. Oh, and you’ll need this to track her.” Luc reached into his pocket again and pulled out a scrap of red leather.

  He dropped it into Carnage’s hand, and for a brief second, Car almost swore the Devil was grinning. It was an expression that never boded well for anyone.

  Her scent rose from the leather and wrapped around him like a living thing, filling his lungs and sending his senses reeling. Car’s heart started pounding, and his cock hardened in seconds, straining against the zipper of his pants. Lust coursed through his veins and the primitive beast that dwelled in the shadows of his soul reared its head and howled, demanding to be set free.

  What the fuck?

  “Something the matter, Car? You look…disturbed,” Luc asked, his voice as smooth as his expensive silk shirt.

  He stuffed the leather scrap into his pocket. “Her scent’s unique, that’s all. I’ve never been exposed to one like it before.”

  “And never will again,” Luc agreed with another ghost of a smile. That was all the confirmation Car needed. The son of a bitch was fucking with him. Not that it mattered. Whatever Lucifer was up to, Car would have to deal with it and get the job done anyway. That was the deal he had made centuries ago when he slapped his bloody handprint on a document that bound him to Lucifer’s service for five hundred years. What he got in exchange was a chance to start again when it was all over. Reborn with a clean slate and no memory of who he had been, or what he had done in the name of duty.

  In less than two weeks, those five hundred years would be up.

  There was no pretending he had been a good man when he was alive. The younger son of a younger son, his blood had been blue enough to buy him a place in the ranks of the king’s army, but that was all. He had fought, pillaged and burned his way across his homeland, a place that didn’t even exist anymore. He’d killed, and died, in the name of God and his king, only to find himself denied entry into Heaven for his sins.

  When Lucifer came to him with his offer, he agreed to it readily enough. He had sacrificed one life to the other side and gained nothing. Why not work for the devil the second time around? He was the first to be recruited to the Hell Hounds, and none of the others knew how long he had served before they’d joined the ranks. They didn’t know that he brooded because he was trying to decide what he would do when his contract expired. He had two choices: stay a Hound, or give up everything he had ever been and be reborn into a new life with a clean slate. It was a decision he had been struggling with for over a year.

  “When I have her, where do you want her delivered?” Car asked, forcing his thoughts back to the job at hand.

  “Bring her to the palace. I want a face-to-face before I make any decisions. If I can’t use her, I’m not going to let her wander off to be recruited by someone else. She’s not the kind of weapon you leave lying around for your enemies to find.” He fixed his gaze on Car. “Don’t fuck this up. There’s more at stake here than your simple mind could possibly comprehend.”

  With that, he vanished, leaving behind a larger than usual cloud of smoke and a blackened floor.

  Asshole.

  Car sent a quick text to Havoc to let him know he was going on a mission and wouldn’t be back until it was done. Hav would take over running things until he got back. He always did. If Car chose rebirth, Havoc would become the leader of the Hell Hounds. Car snickered to himself. Hav would never fucking forgive him for sticking him with that role, but he was the best man for the job.

  He was still chuckling as he teleported into the sealed vault beneath the floor of the clubhouse. He needed to stock up on weapons and gear before heading out, and the vault was every mercenary and murderer’s idea of Christmas morning. Thanks to some magical manipulation of space/time by their exalted and egomaniacal liege, the vault was far larger than the clubhouse that sat above it. It was the ultimate arsenal, acres of real estate containing every weapon known to man, and a fair number that weren’t. In his line of work, they had to be prepared to face things humans didn’t even know existed.

  There were times he envied them their ignorance. He slept better before he had learned the truth about the world. Of course, now he was one of the things other creatures feared. The leader of Hell’s personal hit squad. There was a time he thought it was a decent trade-off. These days, he wasn’t so sure.

  Once he was armed and geared for battle, he pulled the scrap of leather out of his pocket and held it to his nose, drawing his target’s scent into his lungs. If anything, it affected him even more strongly this time around.

  Lust surged through him, and it was all he could do not to groan aloud as his still half-hard dick turned to fucking stone again. He shifted his cock in his riding leathers and shook his head to try and clear away some of the fog that filled his head. He needed to focus, to use his hound-like senses to track his prey through the ether. It was one of the powers the Devil had given them when he made them into what they were… the Hounds of Hell, Lucifer’s personal bounty hunters. Once on the scent, there was no place on Earth, Hell, or even Heaven that a being could hide from him.

  Eyes closed, body still, he reached out with his other senses, looking for the woman whose scent had him hard and aching in a way he hadn’t experienced since he was a mortal man. Time slowed as he hunted for her through the ether, traveling across the country to her last known location then working outward until he found her and locked onto his prey. Now he had her, she couldn’t escape. Leta Fury didn’t know it yet, but she was already caught.

  He dematerialized and began the etheric journey to his prey. It wouldn’t take long to reach her. With any luck, she would give up quickly. He wanted this job done fast. Not because Luc wanted it done that way, but because he didn’t like the way her scent affected him. He didn’t need distractions. The sooner he got this hunt over with, the sooner he could find a willing woman and fuck his way back to sanity.

  2

  Leta

  Leta was having a good night, which usually meant things were about to go to hell in a rocket-powered handcart. That was the way her life went. Anytime things seemed calm, or she found a reason to be happy, something happened, and it all went sideways. Not even the threat of pending chaos was going to stop her from enjoying the moment, and the double chocolate fudge brownie sundae she had just ordered.

  One of the perks of her parentage was that she could eat whatever she wanted without gaining weight. It was one of the few things she enjoyed about her unique birth. The rest of the package ranged from being merely irritating to downright dangerous. Perpetually looking nineteen years old and being asked for ID every time she needed a drink was irritating. Having an uncontrollable ability to set fires with nothing more than a thought was highly hazardous to everything and everyone. Everyone but her, since she was apparently fireproof.

&nb
sp; Like most of her abilities, her fireproof nature was something she learned about by accident. A teenage temper tantrum had turned her bedroom into a fiery conflagration that nearly took the whole house with it. She walked away unscathed, completely untouched by the flames. That little mistake had gotten her kicked out of yet another foster home. It also resulted in her case file including words like pyromaniac and potential arsonist.

  She hadn’t bothered trying to explain herself. How could she? No one would have believed her. No one ever did. Being a firebug was bad, but being a crazy girl who believed she could set fires with her mind would land her in a psych ward for the rest of her life. One thing her mother had made clear to her before she died was that staying in one place too long wasn’t an option if she wanted to stay alive. She had to stay ahead of the ones hunting for her, and she couldn’t do that if she were locked up.

  The home she nearly burned down had been her last foster placement. Her last attempt to fit in, to try to be normal. By the time she was seventeen, she was on her own. It was safer for everyone that way.

  “How’s the sundae, honey?” her waitress asked from behind the clean but aged counter of the little all-night diner Leta had picked at random.

  She flashed the woman a rare smile. “Perfection, thanks.”

  “You let me know if you need anything,” the waitress said with a tired nod and went back to mating ketchup bottles.

  Leta was the only customer in the place, which was hardly surprising given that it was the middle of the night. She didn’t need much sleep, and what little she required she usually got during the day when it was safer. Not everything she hunted was nocturnal, but enough of them were that it was easier to sleep when they did. It cut down on the number of things hunting her while she was vulnerable.