by Rory Miles
A woman sits on a threadbare couch which looks just as worn as she does. The purple bruises stand out prominently against her pale skin and the bags below her eyes are big and puffy. She stares at me as if she doesn’t really see me. Approaching her, I snap my fingers in front of her face a few times, but she just blinks. That’s when I see the needles tossed carelessly on the floor.
She’s high as a kite and doesn’t even realize what’s going on. Trusting she won’t be an immediate problem, I turn my back on her and survey the rest of the room. A disgusting and probably disease-ridden bed sits on the concrete floor without a frame. Bolted into the wall are a few chains; handcuffs, something that looks like a muzzle, and another contraption that looks like it’s meant to cause pain.
I walk over to the tripod camera aimed at the bed and press the on button. After a short rewind, I press play and watch the last recording. What I see is no surprise, especially given the room I’m in, but it still makes my stomach turn. I know, I’m a succubus and my power makes people randy, but that is entirely different from what Rosie’s little operation is doing. They aren’t bringing these women and men pleasure; they’re only giving pain and building on it with every violation.
Slamming the camera into the concrete, I take a small bit of pleasure when the plastic case shatters and the lens cracks. The hairs on the nape of my neck stand at attention, and I shoot a look over my shoulder, expecting to see Jasper. Instead, Rosie glares at me like a fly she’d like to kill.
“Shera, what are you doing here?” There’s no mistaking the biting edge of annoyance in her question.
Turning to face her, I cross my arms before saying, “I thought you wanted to talk.”
She frowns. “This is hardly the place.”
I nod. “Oh, I agree. What exactly is this place anyways?”
Rosie blinks a few times before narrowing her eyes. “I’m sure you can guess.”
“True, I have a general idea of what it is you do here, but what I really want to know is why.”
With a shrug, she says, “Why not? They’re worthless humans and low born.”
See, there it is again. The same niggling thought that I’m lacking in some demon way. Why do I care what Rosie does with humans or low born?
Pop-pop-pop.
Jasper.
She spins and runs toward the noise with me following hot on her heels. Rosie pushes through the room on the left side of the warehouse, which is filthy and filled with women and men of all ages. All are chained and anchored to the wall in some way. Jasper roundhouse kicks a man, who flies into a wall before falling to the floor in an unconscious heap.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Rosie growls at my vampire before heading toward him, French manicured fingers morphing into razor-sharp claws. She’s forgotten all about little old me.
How perfect.
I run up behind her and lock my arm around her neck, dropping my allure and squeezing the air from her lungs all at the same time. Three lower demons rush into the room, but stumble to a stop when my power brushes over them. Prisoners start to try and move toward me but I ignore their groping hands and back against an empty wall. Rosie’s fingers dig into my flesh, the only part of her still fighting my hold. The rest of her body is writhing against mine.
Ignoring the biting pain of her claws, I whisper in her ear, “You’ve been a bad little demon, haven’t you?” My eyes fall on a group of segregated pregnant females, women and teenagers. “Who are they?”
“Breeders,” Rosie pants like she’s been running a few miles. She’s fighting my power hard, but can’t quite manage it.
Good.
One woman has a muddled essence, human mixed with a low born demon.
“Demon breeders?” I ask, trying to figure out what she aims to do with these babies.
She whines and gives a last-ditch effort, pulling at my arm before collapsing back into me and running her hands over her body. “Human too.”
Ignoring her sigh of pleasure when her hands run over her breasts, I look over the women again. Demon and human? All of the prisoners are malnourished, and I can’t help but wonder why they let the breeders suffer as well. Wouldn’t they be treated with more delicacy? Then again, Rosie doesn’t care about losing a low born demon or human for her cause.
I shove her away from me when she tries to grope me. “Why?”
Jasper hisses at me when I step too close to him and one of the low born demons he’s taken a fancy to, and I shoot him an annoyed look. Being more powerful than him in these situations is annoying. Not only do I have to do crowd control on the bad guys, I have to make sure I keep the vampire’s bloodlust in check.
Rosie saunters toward me, lusty gaze traveling over my body. “I asked you to join me, Shera. You could have.”
I swat her grasping hands away. “I won’t join your efforts to overthrow Lucifer.”
At that, she lets out a throaty laugh. “Lucifer’s been giving the orders.”
Everything freezes for a moment and my control on the room wavers. The high lord commanded this?
“He asked you to recruit me as a breeder?”
She nods before grabbing one of the demons. The two start kissing and I take the moment to collect my thoughts. This whole time I had thought Rosie was working against Lucifer, but she has been working for him. Meaning, every time she asked me to be a breeder, he had ordered her to.
Is that why he wanted to claim me? To hold some sway over me via the bond and use me to make babies?
“Jasper,” I say as I pull up my glamour and reel the allure back in. “Free the prisoners.”
Without another question, he jolts to attention, snapping the necks of the three lower demons with his vampire speed and breaking the chains holding the captives. Rosie whips her head toward me, eyes igniting with outrage.
“How dare you thrall me.”
I don’t bother with a response, instead I walk to her and clutch her throat. She swipes her claws down my cheek and I growl, crushing her windpipe with my demon strength as I drain her essence in my lesser form. The fight in her dies with the more essence I take. Her Taint is not as tar-like as Lucifer’s, but it’s still repulsive. Taking the final dredges of her being into myself, I let her body fall to the ground and toss my head back, reveling in the buzz of power and energy. To truly end her, I must destroy her heart.
Gripping her shirt, I yank it down over her chest and stab her, twisting and moving the blade around until I’m sure I’ve destroyed her most vital organ.
This is my first royal kill, and the sensations riding my body are near that of ecstasy. I’m struggling to ignore the voice inside my head urging me to take more.
Jasper’s palm smacks my face, snapping my head to the side. It does the trick.
“Thanks.” I rub my cheek and smile at the vampire.
He glances at Rosie, then back to me. “You did it.” He doesn’t exactly sound excited. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Are there any more in the building?”
“No, I grabbed the human in the other room already.”
Grabbing a gas can in the main room, I drip the fuel across the floor, glancing at Jasper who stares at me like I’ve grown another head. Still, he tosses me a matchbook. I rip one off and strike it against the back of the box. Flicking the match at a line of gas, I smirk as the whoosh of fire grows, sweeping across the room and catching the stacks of paper and random furniture as well.
“Burn in Hell, Rosie.”
Chapter Ten
Verrina is leaning against Jasper’s Honda, watching the smoke rising in the air. She stops tapping her foot when we approach.
“Raise a little hell, did we?” the princess of impatience asks, wiggling her eyebrows at me.
“Step away from my car.” Jasper flits to her and leans in her space.
It’s a bold move, a high born demon giving direct orders to a royal, but she just gives him an unimpressed once-over before moving aside.
S
he glances between the two of us. “Fighting crime?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.” Feigning ignorance, I head to the passenger seat.
“The high lord will be pissed to learn of Rosie’s death.”
Half in the SUV, I lean out and scrunch my eyebrows at her. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about. Jasper and I were on a walk.”
Verrina sniffs. “Do your walks often involve arson?”
Jasper slams his door and starts the car.
“Verrina dear, are you feeling all right? I’ve told you, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
The vampire throws the Honda in reverse.
“Lucifer won’t like this,” she calls as she jumps out of the way.
I close my door as Jasper speeds away from the building.
“I called the Cohort already; the prisoners are waiting in the abandoned house.”
Nodding my head, I look out the window as the city rushes by. Verrina’s voice echoes in my head.
Lucifer won’t like this.
Good. I’m counting on that.
Jasper takes us back to his place and leaves me to take a shower in the guest bathroom while he cleans up in the master. He gave me an irritated look before we parted ways. I know he’s frustrated, but we discussed my plan. Maybe after we clean off the grime I should talk to him, make sure he’s still onboard the crazy train.
I’m mid-shampoo when I hear his doorbell ring. The buzzer dings two more times before I hear Jasper open the door and yell what at whoever is brave enough to be so impatient.
The voices are hard to recognize with the shower running but the moment they enter his house, I know who it is. Anakin and Micah. I’m rubbing conditioner through the ends of my hair when their demon presence fills my senses. Flooding my mind with memories I work so hard to keep locked away.
Sweet caresses at midnight. Ridiculously cheesy candlelit dinners with both of them. The day we had a talk about making a child together. Our home in Avernus filled with our things. Anakin’s summer rain and dragon’s blood scent. Micah’s pine.
I slap my palm against the light brown tiled wall, overcome with emotions. Longing is the most prominent, but anger and hurt quickly replace the weakest part of me. The three of us had something good but they left me without giving a reason. Now they arrive unannounced at Jasper’s house.
Who the fuck do they think they are?
There is plenty of hot water and I take my time, washing away most of my hurt and tears by the time it turns cold. Once I dry off with one of the large, fluffy green towels, I pull out the hair dryer Jasper keeps in the drawer for me and begin blowing out my hair.
You might think I’m delaying the inevitable, and to be honest, you’re right. I can’t wait to lay my eyes upon my men, my family from long ago, but I also dread looking upon them for fear of seeing them unaffected by our separation. It took me years to pull myself out of depression after they left.
I’ve made my peace with that, or so I thought. Now that they’re here, I’m not so sure I’ve made peace with anything. The more savage part of me wants to kiss them to their final death. Knowing I’d never see them again if I did is the only thing keeping me from doing so.
I hear Jasper laughing with them and I slam the brush against the granite countertop, wincing when the plastic case cracks. He shouldn’t be laughing with them.
No, Jasper can do whatever he wants. Though, I wish he would kick their asses just because they hurt me.
I run a hand over my long dark hair, checking to make sure I look good—which I do in my yoga pants, sunburst sports bra and bright pink workout tank. Casual, extremely so, but it works for me.
Stop stalling, I mentally chastise myself.
The conversation in the kitchen dies as soon as I open the door, telling me how keenly aware both of them are of my movements. Gooseflesh dances over my body the closer I get. My heart races and my hands shake. I clench them, hoping I don’t appear as disturbed as I feel when I enter the kitchen, glancing first at Jasper. He holds my gaze and gives me an apologetic smile.
What was he to do?
I return the gesture, letting him know my irritation is not with him before turning a cold look on the demons who broke my heart. My breath catches in my throat. Micah’s pale gray eyes are warm and the half-smirk he wears makes me want to slap him.
None of this is funny.
As if sensing the violent storm of emotions within me, the smile fades and he has the good sense to look miserable. His black hair is cut short on the sides with the top half combed over in an effortlessly sexy sort of way. The charcoal button-up shirt he wears is rolled up at the sleeves, flashing strong, tantalizing forearms. Black shoes and pants finish up the rest of his business casual look and it takes me a moment to tear my eyes from him and meet the intensity burning in Anakin’s amber gaze.
I’ve never met two men so opposite of one another. Where Micah is clean-cut, Anakin is all rough edges. His jawline is covered in a short, manicured beard, but that is where the neatness of his look ends. Long, honey blond hair hangs to his shoulders and I know from experience it’s softer than cashmere. Anakin is dressed more lazy-grunge with a black and white flannel shirt—also rolled up to his forearms (UGH)—unbuttoned over a Nirvana T-shirt, dark-washed jeans and black combat-style boots.
He runs a hand over his beard and gives me the same assessing look, taking in every tiny detail. Micah’s gaze burns me where it lands and I know he’s also taking stock of how I look. The silence is deafening and tension crackles in the air as none of us speak.
Jasper clears his throat. “I’ve got somewhere to be. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
With his words, the spell is broken and I want nothing more than for him to stay. He’s my safety net, the only barrier between Anakin and Micah and me. When my pleading eyes meet his, he shrugs and mouths sorry before grabbing his keys and heading out the door, shutting it with a soft thud.
We all stare at the space Japer vacated like it’ll reveal how we should proceed. I won’t be the first to break the silence. They owe me an explanation and I refuse to beg for one.
“Shera.”
My name on Anakin’s lips sounds divine and wilts the cold walls I’ve placed around my heart. I despise how one word can hold so much meaning. My eyes flutter closed and I stifle any empathy for the demons in front of me.
Deciding it’s never too early for a drink, I head to the cabinet where I know Jasper keeps his fae wine. I almost shout for joy when I see a new bottle. They both watch me grab three glasses, and when I pour without shaking hands, I thank the devil below for giving me figurative balls of steel. Finally looking up and really seeing the both of them, I slide their glasses across the counter.
Anakin takes his but doesn’t drink, watching me with a small frown when I take a large swallow. Micah follows suit, joining me in this downward spiral. Again, so opposite, my men.
“Are you going to speak?”
I take another drink and cant my head at Anakin. “I haven’t decided, but this technically counts so I guess the answer is yes.”
Micah smirks when Anakin lets out a frustrated breath. I fight the urge to smirk along with him; resisting the pull of our history is hard.
“This isn’t how I hoped we would meet again.”
With a scoff, I pour more fae wine in my glass, and say, “I’m not sure why we ever had to part, so, forgive me if this reunion isn’t going as you expected.”
Micah scoots his empty glass to me. While I fill it, he says, “The circumstances surrounding our departure had nothing to do with you.”
Anakin scowls at him. “They had everything to do with her.”
Micah makes a frustrated noise.
I interrupt their bickering. “So, which is it? You leaving me and our home had nothing to do with me or everything to do with me?” There’s no stopping the anger from painting my words with venom.
“Both,” they say together.
Quirking a brow
, I shoot my gaze to the window and take a drink. The fae wine is working its way through my system and I rejoice in knowing soon I’ll be too blitzed to feel anything. When I set my glass down, Anakin pulls it away.
“You can’t run from this discussion.”
That’s where he’s wrong.
“Watch me.” I reach the knob to the front entrance in four seconds but Anakin is there in five, slamming the door closed with his palm and pressing me against the wood. His arms cage me in and my cheek is pressed against the dark oak.
I hear Micah curse and get off the stool. With Anakin’s body pressed firmly into mine, it’s hard to move, but I manage to turn around and glare into his turbulent eyes.
“Don’t.”
His hand stills inches from my face with my request, fingers aching to touch me.
“Please don’t run,” Micah says as he comes to stand next to us. He glances between Anakin and me. “Can’t you feel it, Shera?”
Anakin inhales and further presses his body into mine, going from his hands to forearms. Our faces come even closer with the change in position. My heart beats against my chest like a caged animal, crashing and snarling at the bars I’ve put around it, howling to be let loose. Pine and summer rain mingle and tickle my senses.
Their Taint—dark, yet unique and delicious—brushes against me and the connection between us flares to life. It’s as if a tether links us together and the closer they get, the tighter the rope binds me to them. I feel a clenching deep within my core that I’ve not felt in some time. Fearing a total loss of control, I drop my glamour and let my raw power push against them.
Micah sighs, and threads his arm around my waist. “That fear. The undeniable bond you seek to ignore is not so easily broken.” He removes his arm, picking up both of my hands and laying one over his heart and the other over Anakin’s. I’m not the only one with a caged beast, and I press my palms into their shirts, feeling somewhat grounded in knowing they’re just as lost as I am.
A feather-light touch brushes my jaw and I turn my head, avoiding Anakin’s kiss. The groan that leaves my lips is embarrassing, but Anakin’s teeth scraping over the sensitive skin of my throat is nearly my undoing. I’m more than turned on and most of that has nothing to do with my power. Realizing I’m doing nothing but encouraging them with my allure, I dial it back and pull up the glamour.