Kiss of Fate

by Heather Long

  Johnny reached out a hand to slap me on the back. “Milo, glad you made it. We have about an hour before the show.” That was code for the fights. Everyone knew they happened, but they were never referenced as anything other than the show. Self-preservation maybe, but probably more like spoiled brats wanting to feel like they had access to something held separate from common society.

  “Great to see you,” I grinned, and made a point to make eye contact with every single guy at the table. “We’re going to kick ass tonight. I can’t wait to see the faces of their fraternity president. I hate that fucker.” The fighters weren’t always frat boys. In fact, most of the time they weren’t. It was the rare moment when it was frat against frat. Space was going to be nonexistent in the basement.

  Chuckles drifted around the table. I slid onto the fancy leather seat at the back of the table as Jules followed me. Emmett stayed standing as he tracked the sexy piece strolling up to take our orders. He tilted his head down as she stepped right into his space.

  “Drink?” Her voice was husky and hopeful.

  “Yeah, babe. Blue moon, extra orange slice.”

  She slid her gaze to Jules, seeming to note his short but messy dark brown hair and light eyes, and her tits pushed against her skintight corset. Here was a classic case where Emmett could make panties drop, but Jules was on a completely different cloud to these women. Emmett caught it and shrugged good-naturedly.

  “He’ll have a coke and amaretto.” Emmett trailed a finger over the lace barely covering her tits. Oh, he definitely noticed when she took in a deep breath at the sight of Jules.

  She sighed. “Sure. And you?”

  “Whiskey, neat.” It was all my father ever drank. My grandfather, too, before he passed. A bunch of pretentious assholes, and no matter how far I distanced myself from them in personality and goals, this was the one damning mark I inherited.

  But I wouldn’t be drinking tonight. On these nights, I never did.

  The waitress left and the table watched her leave.

  Jules nudged me. When I glanced at him, he showed me his phone.

  Who is the target tonight?

  No one was paying attention, the rising high for the fights tonight already bleeding over into my frat brothers. The dance floor was nearly electric with the same dangerous vibe.

  I took the phone from Jules, erased his message and texted back one word.

  Fuckface

  He raised his head, searching the table on the far side of the VIP section. Delta Psi Delta claimed that table. After us, they were the next largest fraternity here. Only they had none of the elite alumni we had. None of the connections. If Alpha Delta Omega was the equivalent of old money, then Delta Psi Delta was the new up and comers trying to find a spot in this world.

  Emmett, Jules, and I, we never used real names. Not in the conversations that mattered. Sure, we nicknamed nearly everyone and everything, but some were exclusive to our trio. We all took some kind of sick satisfaction from doing it to our potential targets. This one, Fuckface, was Jules’ pick. He had a run in with him at some party Jules attended on his own. I was otherwise engaged that night, and according to gossip, Fuckface had been mouthing off about the fucking Mute of Alpha Delta Omega. Jules was quiet, that was a given, but more than that, he made no sound when he wanted to blend into the background. Fuckface hadn’t even known he was there.

  Once Fuckface had his fun, Jules left the shadows and positioned himself in the center of the room, staring him down with an icy gaze. Jules hadn’t even had to do anything. Fuckface lost all color in his face, and two of our newest members herded him out of the room. When he emerged the next day, his face was swollen and his pinky was broken.

  Even though I hated everything the fraternity was, one very convenient benefit was the brothers always had our backs. Always. Ever since that night, I had wondered why none of Fuckface’s buddies tried to retaliate. Not that I particularly cared, but in our game, we had to know who was who in the zoo, and how much support they had. That was the only way to know how far we could go in our game. Because it was all a game, and we were playing to not only win, but also destroy every fucking player.

  The long table was nearly empty, so there wasn’t anyone there to keep Jules’ attention. He nodded and turned his head to stare at the dance floor. Such a steady fucker.

  Frantic screaming broke through the thumping music, drawing attention to two girls in the corner, throwing down in a major catfight. A crowd had already gathered, so there must have been some kind of buildup. Another scream sounded as the black haired beauty pulled out an entire strip of hair from her opponent.

  Emmett whistled as he leaned back on his elbows. “My money’s on the Super Model.”

  “Oh, yeah? And which one is that? Both are hot.” Jamie stood to get a better look. It wasn’t hard. The VIP section was on a platform, allowing us entitled pricks to lord over the commoners.

  “Well,” Emmett drawled, “the tall, slender girl with black hair and small tits, that’s the Super Model. The other one has that Slut Next Door vibe to her. All wholesome looks and very little scruples. That’s the one that got her weave ripped out.”

  “How can you tell she has very little scruples?” Charles swirled the amber liquid around in his glass.

  “Because I had her last year. There were no hard limits. Like I said, very little scruples.” Emmett smirked at the fight down below.

  The Super Model got in a good uppercut, right as a new girl rushed into the fight. Damn, Super Model could throw down. I might have to see about adding female fights to the docket. Freddie could thank me later with all the cash he’d make.

  The new girl wasn’t there to fight. Her lips moved, but she was too far away to make out any words. She tugged on the arm of Super Model, unsuccessfully trying to pull her away. Slut Next Door noticed her, and instead of bowing out gracefully to save face, she bitch-slapped the new girl.

  “Damn. That looked like it hurt,” Jamie mumbled.

  “Oh!” Johnny laughed as he pushed his chair back.

  “Pin-up did not like that,” Emmett mumbled, walking to the rope that separated us from them. No one even questioned his choice of nickname, because this one had curves for days and long, wavy blonde locks.

  The girl he had accurately described as Pin-up stopped pulling on her friend, calmly stepped forward to grab the other girl by the hair, and slammed her head against the table next to them. There wasn’t even a fight after that. Slut Next Door slid slowly down, as if in slow motion, until she plopped on the ground.

  Jeers and catcalls nearly burst through the roof as Super Model and Pin-up quickly left the dance floor.

  Johnny stood up and looked at Jamie expectantly. “Let’s go line up our prize for after the fight.”

  Emmett laughed and tossed back the last of his beer. “Let me guess, Super Model?” Tall, skinny ass women were their style, and the darker, the better. Tan skin, black hair, dark eyes. That was their type exactly.

  Jamie shook his head and grinned. “Not tonight. Pin-up is scrappy, and she deserves a fighter. Or two.” Johnny and Jamie straightened each other’s collars and hair before they simultaneously nodded and headed off through the crowd.

  Across from me, Derek tossed an arm over the back of his chair, the top button of his shirt strategically unbuttoned like he was fucking Don Juan. “Those two are going to get in trouble. I heard they only ever share.” His voice grated on my nerves.

  “What’s wrong with that?” Emmett snatched a glass of champagne off of a passing tray. “They’re having fun, so who cares?”

  “Like their family is ever going to allow them to marry the same girl,” Charles put in.

  I lifted my glass and pretended to take a sip. “Doesn’t matter what Daddy wants, I doubt they’ll ever get married anyway.” Damn it. Why did Johnny and Jamie have to take off already? They were first generation Alpha Delta Omega, unlike the rest of us. Without the ingrained pretention, those two were actually bearable.
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  Derek shrugged like this wasn’t a conversation worth continuing.

  I glanced at Jules next to me. The spot where the girls had fought had already filled up with new patrons, but it held his complete attention. I nudged his knee with mine, and he jumped. His gaze locked with mine, and he shrugged. Emmett noticed our exchange, quirking an eyebrow before turning away.

  In ten minutes, we would head down to the fights. We would watch. We would pretend. Then, when everyone shuffled out, drunk on adrenaline and wasted out of their heads, we would act.

  Want more? Grab Pin-up Girl!

  Succubus Chained

  Warning, this book contains aggressively snarky characters, a bit of twisted humor and a lot of passion.

  Heather Long

  Chapter One

  “Of all the things you choose in life, you don’t get to choose what your nightmares are. You don’t pick them; they pick you” - John Irving

  I didn’t want to be a damn vampire. The screams echoed off the stone. The sound distant, yet anguished. It must be that time. In the two weeks since I’d been dumped into this place, I’d tracked the routine by when those screams began.

  It marked the death and birth of a new day. The chill in the room barely touched me. I wouldn’t have minded better accommodations. Despite my expensive tastes, the damp, stone cell with its single hard bed, a sink that allowed water for washing, and a toilet in the corner they’d actually let me clean before I touched it—look, a girl has to have some standards—was empty.

  I was also the only one in this wing, so the wrought iron door, reinforced with its magical protections and salted to boot, didn’t even provide me a view of the emptiness beyond. It was all shadows. The sconces in the corners lit up in the “morning” and extinguished at “night.”

  I’d destroyed them twice.

  The little bastards always popped back up.

  Still, it was something to do when the mental retail therapy grew stale. Currently, I debated between a pair of Louboutins that were last season and the Stuart Weitzman that were just perfectly classic and provocative. Both had stellar heels and would definitely work for my ass. The red-bottomed Louboutins had gotten a little too common. Everyone wanted to be seen in them.

  The screams climbed in volume. It would be nice if he could arrive without the serenade. The noise was hardly conducive to mood.

  Still, if I went for the Weitzman, what would I pair them with? I was still mentally scrolling through the dress racks when I considered ditching the heels for thigh high boots and a mini-skirt. I had fabulously long legs, and I knew how to work them. Thigh highs screamed ‘come and get me.’

  Heat and hunger vied for my attention as I shifted on the bed. The problem was that my fabulously toned legs were looking a little too slender. The thigh highs would hide the loss of tone.

  Thigh highs it was.

  The door grated open, and I didn’t bother rising as he suddenly filled the space. The shadows deepened, darkening the already pitch space. Seeing in the dark had never been my talent, yet I could make him out as easily as if the sconces were lit. Tall, rangy, and gorgeous, despite the mean streak in him.

  “Fiona,” he greeted me as he closed the door and made his way across the cell. Not like he had far to travel.

  “Dorran,” I mocked his deep, husky tone as I crossed one leg over the other. I wore the equivalent of a polyester jump suit in the most horrid shade of gray. The color was so drab, it blended with the walls around me.

  Chuckling, he held out a hand as he stood in front of me. “You haven’t been eating.”

  I rolled my eyes and ignored his hand. “I don’t survive on blood.”

  “You used to not need it,” he reminded me, as if I could forget. Even the mention of it had my teeth sharpening. The canines weren’t quite as pronounced as most vampires. I hadn’t been born one or even turned like they sometimes chose with the human cattle they kept close to them. I certainly shouldn’t be one now.

  Stupid. Fucking. Dimitri.

  When I got out of here—and I would—I planned to gut Dimitri and hang him by his entrails. When he healed, I’d do it again.

  A few centuries of that, and I might be willing to let bygones be bygones, or simply rip his head totally off.

  That would be nice.

  The lust for blood sent another wave of heat and hunger to balloon through me. It didn’t help to have him looming over me, flushed with a lust of his own, and it wasn’t just lust for me, though that was definitely present. Dorran had been feeding, and it practically coiled around him, a dark energy that licked at my skin, even if he wasn’t touching me.

  Demons, after all, understood other demons.

  With a growl, he clasped my hand and yanked me to my feet. The moment his mouth crashed down on mine, I gave in to the need to feed. Blood may be among my cravings now, but it wasn’t what I needed to survive.

  With hot heavy hands, he shoved up my top, even as I pulled at his vestments. His tongue tangled with mine, and he tasted of coffee, cake, and passion. Someone had been dining well this evening. When he pulled back to yank my shirt up and over, I got his jacket off.

  The clothes hit the floor with a thump. Other prisoners might try to purloin something from his pockets or steal from him. I wanted what was under the clothes. The power eddying over his skin stroked mine, and the shadows began to sink into me before he looped an arm around my bare waist and dragged me back.

  Mouth on mine, he began to feast. The despair and aggravation in my blood churned as he sought to suck it out of me. Fisting his hair, I hiked my thighs to his hips. He had one hand on my ass, lifting me, and I began to writhe against the hard length of cock pressed right against my pussy.

  Fuck, his lust magnified. Even as he dragged the despair out of me, I began to feast on the hunger in him. It was a magnificent loop.

  After four days of denying him, I was starved for it. He drove me back against the wall, and I fisted him into position. The rough stone scraped at my back. Without waiting or warning, he slammed into me. Eyes rolling back, I tipped my head away. The pistoning of his hips jolted me right between pleasure and pain, a seesawing effect that only heightened his wanton desire.

  When he bit against my throat, I bucked back at him. Fucker loved to mark me, even if he didn’t require blood. The thrust of darkness teased against my anus. It was his turn to fist my hair, and he dragged my gaze to him.

  A scream broke free as he began to prod the tight rosette, his lust magnified, and a choked laugh broke out of me.

  “It’s that or you feed on blood,” he ordered me, and his whole body vibrated against mine. Not once did he stop drilling into me. My breasts scrapped against the sweaty heat of his chest, the hairs there prickling my nipples. His power thickened as he began to breach the puckered opening, and another shudder raced through me.

  He wanted me so bad, and it flooded my starved senses.

  “Fiona,” he snarled my name, and I clenched my teeth in a grimace as his thrusts grew more ferocious. Every glorious slam he ground against my clit. The hot slide of his cock through me only ratcheted the temperature in my body higher. My blood thundered as his lust filled me.

  “You want me,” I snarled at him, digging my nails into his bare shoulders. “Then take it.”

  The flare of surprise followed by a swelling in both in his cock and his need threatened to tip me over. The shadows went hazy as he pummeled me, and my parched soul soaked up every drop. The first thrust of shadows filling my anus sent pain splintering through the pleasure, and he lapped it up even as he stilled his thrusting. Impaled on both his body and his power, I met his gaze. Heat roiled around me, in me, and him.

  A testing probe, he eased the shadow thrust back and slammed his cock into me.

  Fuck.

  I forgot how to speak as he began to drive all thoughts from my head.

  “That’s it.” He ground out the words somehow as he ramped his pace up. Every thrust of him stretched me. What pain his
abrupt penetration caused faded as his lust spilled over onto everything. He could have carved me up right now, and I’d have orgasmed from the knife.

  The scent of copper flickered across my drunken mind, and then he had my face pressed against his throat, and the first sticky drops hit my tongue. Instinct had me sinking my teeth in.

  The hot flow of blood hit my mouth, rich in spice and power. The first gulp was like ice-cold water in the boiling desert. It made me desperate for more. As soon as I latched on, he began to rock his hips again. Thrust, counterthrust, he kept my body full as I gluttoned on his lust and blood.

  When he began to nail that sweet spot with every hammer home, I screamed against his throat but I kept drinking. I needed it so bad. I needed everything he had, and he let out a roar as he came. We leaned there, him buried in me and panting as he emptied himself, and I kept lapping at his throat, wanting more of the power rich blood.

  Gradually, the tension of his hand lighting my scalp up as he tugged on my hair pulled me free from feeding, and I met his gleaming gaze a split second before his smirking mouth closed over mine.

  Too drunk to care, I cradled him and let him hold me against the wall until his cock finally slipped free. He didn’t knot, but it took him time after release to soften enough to leave me.

  Then he turned me from the wall and dropped me on the bed. Naked. Spent. And floating on a haze of it.

  “Do not wait so long next time,” he told me as he drew a finger down my cheek to my breast. “You are not dying on my watch, Fiona.”

  The possession in his voice should worry me, but fuck, it would hardly be the first time a lover—even one as casual as he was—decided I was something to be collected. Part of the reason I was stuck here in the first place.

  “Fuck you, Dorran,” I managed to slur. Why did he have to taste so good? I hated the need for blood, and it was that loathing that he began to soak up as he knelt down and latched his mouth over a nipple. Instead of pushing him away, I gripped his head and kept him there, until his shadows thrust into my pussy this time and tumbled me over the precipice into a deep, drunken stupor.