by Jacey Ward
“God, yes!” she screamed, green eyes shooting sparks as the tremors continued to tear through her. But Dante did not slow, his movements growing almost violent beneath her.
A growl was ripped from his chest as he grasped her hips firmly with both hands, directing her movements to compliment his, forcing her down hard as he thrust upward one final time. She felt the tremors that were coursing through her body intensify as he, too, lost control and shot into her with hot, relentless streams.
Slowly, his arched back relaxed onto the bed and she fell forward as the sensations finally subsided slowly. Arya rested her head on his chest, his heart pounding beneath hers.
She willed herself to stop trembling as they lay entangled in one another for a long moment, a crumpled mess of arms, legs and heavy breathing.
Arya didn’t want to move, knowing inherently that she had succumbed far too easily to the demon, but she could not regret it, not when her body still quivered with the euphoria flowing through her.
If she had to do it again, she would, without hesitation, no matter what her supernatural awareness had tried to forewarn. Never had she experienced such a connection with another being, mortal or immortal.
“You’re incredible,” Dante told her, gently rolling her off his body to lay her at his side. His eyes reflected the sincerity in his words and she found herself wanting to doubt her foreboding sixth sense as his fingertips traced the skin of her collarbone.
She gazed at him almost suspiciously. Who felt a connection like this, this fast? It just didn’t seem possible.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she replied, brushing a thick strand of red hair from her eyes. It fell against the base of her neck in an unruly wave, just above the Algiz rune tattoo.
“Who are you?” Dante asked and suddenly Arya felt uncharacteristically shy at the question.
“In the existential sense?” she hedged, shifting her eyes away. She felt as if he could read her darkest thoughts, and not because he was more powerful but because she was vulnerable.
What would he say if he knew who I was really?
It was a difficult question. He wasn’t a mortal, after all. He did not operate by the same moral code as them. He might even embrace her criminal enterprise, but Arya felt that was more a second date discussion.
If there ever was be a second date.
Dante caught her face between his finger and thumb. A shiver of excitement coursed through her as she caught a whiff of her scent but she stared at him, biting on her lower lip.
“I don’t know what it is about you,” he murmured, his tone flooding her with gooseflesh again. “I’ve never been so drawn to a stranger in a bar. Let alone a sorceress.”
“Have you had bad experiences with sorceresses?” she joked. “Some of us give the others such a bad reputation.”
Arya wanted to dismiss his words as post-sex flattery but she couldn’t deny the honesty she felt in them, nor the intense attraction between them. Even as she lay at his side, recovering, she felt another burst of heat slide through her and she blushed, knowing that she wanted to feel him inside her again. And again.
“You don’t trust me,” Dante announced and Arya’s eyes widened, a laugh escaping her lips.
“Should I?”
“Of course not,” he replied, his own smile growing. “But I can tell you this, Arya Ambrose…”
He trailed off and she waited, her breath catching in her throat, knowing that his next words would be prophetic.
“Now that I’ve found you, I will never let you go.”
A wave of relief flooded through her body and she sank back against the lumpy mattress, closing her eyes as Dante’s mouth found her throat. There was no reason for him to say that. He owed her nothing, no more than she owed him. She had already given herself to him, he needed nothing else from her. The only reason that he would bother telling her such a thing was because he felt it, the same way she did.
Arya knew it defied reason or reality but she would not resist it, not when everything aligned so perfectly. As his mouth travelled along the soft skin of her chest toward her navel, Arya’s fingers curled into his dark curls. She guided his head along the path of her body toward her still-sopping middle and sighed when his tongue lapped at her throbbing nub.
Her vision was wrong. It had to be.
He wasn’t going anywhere.
They came together four times that night, each occasion bringing Arya to new heights, her body experiencing a high she never knew it could achieve. She fell asleep in his arms, exhausted, spent and throbbing, listening to the sound of his hot blood firing through his veins. When the pale light of morning peeked through the cracked blinds of her dilapidated apartment, Arya blinked slowly, a smile still on her face.
Dante had plagued her dreams, his eyes boring into hers, just as they had in her wakeful hours.
“I have to go,” he told her. “But I’ll be back soon.”
“You better,” she murmured.
And when she opened her eyes fully, she realized that it had not been a dream, and that she lay alone in her bed.
Dante was gone.
She tried to remember anything he may have said but it was still hazy, her mind still caught in the fog of eroticism from the night before.
He’ll be back, Arya told herself, rising to greet the day with coffee. She was surprisingly worse for wear, considering how little she had drunk, but a smile touched her lips as she remembered the vigorous sexual exercises Dante had put her through.
But as the coffee pot emptied again, and the sun rose on the filthy streets of South Park, a dark, ominous cloud rolled through her mind, blotting the sun’s rays from casting the weakest flicker of hope that Dante was coming back.
By nightfall, the actual storm had rolled in, dumping rain onto the soggy dumpsters below and Arya was concerned, her natural cynicism returning. The truth was a bitter pill to swallow, but she was a big girl, even if, apparently, she had been caught up in the charms of an immortal player.
He was a demon, after all, devious and untrustworthy. Whatever connection she had felt had only been one sided, she guessed.
She felt like a fool, but Arya Ambrose was not one to lay down and cry about her losses. She would move on with her life, pretending that the chance encounter never existed, even though she secretly wondered about Dante and what he had done after he left her place.
Maybe something terrible happened to him. Maybe he tried to call her, but he didn’t know her number. Her mind spun through possibilities, all the while, never facing the most likely possibility of all.
He could find you. He knows where you live for Hades sake. And he’s richer than Hades too, so even if he couldn’t come to you, he could have sent someone.
Her mind finally accepted the sad fact, but her body still mourned the loss of him, the twinges of soreness she felt throughout that day and the next constantly reminding her of how she had been played for a fool – by a master.
Finally, after a week, the anger came. She was rip-roaring mad that he had the nerve to treat her that way. And to plaster on all those promises and endearments too! He hadn’t needed to do that, so the fact that he had, just made her realize that he was probably laughing his hot demon ass off at her expense. What a colossal asshat, she thought. I’ve got a good mind to tell him that too. And I’ll be the one to laugh in his face, to show him that I don’t care, I never really did.
And with that thought in mind, she got dressed in her classiest white silk sundress that made her mane of soft red waves positively pop, put four-inch stilettos on her dainty feet, and ubered her way over to his office tower.
Good thing I did this while I’m still angrier than hell, she thought to herself as she peered way up at the imposing expanse of the mirrored high rise.
She entered the building regally, gliding right over to the receptionist, who peered at her with a bit of hesitation. Arya’s determined pose had obviously given the girl a heads-up about what she wanted.
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br /> “I’d like to see Dantalion, please,” she demanded.
The secretary looked at her closely, trying to weigh the possible options in her head.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked, obviously trying out the easiest option to get rid of her first.
“No, but he will want to see me,” she lied.
Slowly, the receptionist picked up the phone and dialed a single number. She brought the phone to her ear, and hesitantly asked if Dante would want to see Arya. Then she thanked the person on the other end of the line and replaced the receiver into it’s cradle.
She did all this without making eye contact with Arya. Possibly because she just knew she was about to have an argument on her hands. Finally, she looked at Arya and sat up a little straighter, seeming to decide that she best get this over with.
Arya didn’t exactly like intimidating people, but if she could use that to her advantage, then in this case, she would. She’d just say an extra prayer to her gods later to make up for it, she decided.
“He, um, isn’t seeing anyone today,” she mumbled, struggling to maintain eye contact. “Maybe you can come back next week?”
Arya gritted her teeth, trying to remember that it was not this poor girl’s fault that Dante was a complete ass.
“Try him again, please,” she ordered. “Now.”
The girl’s eyes widened at the command. “But… I can’t! They said no, and I can’t – “
“He’s too busy to see anyone, or just me?” Arya demanded, suddenly needing to know the answer to that specific question.
The poor receptionist’s face fell even further, but then suddenly, her eyes perked up as if she had just thought of a way out of this. If Arya hadn’t been so angry, maybe her senses would have alerted her to that little tell.
“Um, sorry to say this, Miss… but, he um, doesn’t want to see you.”
The humiliation hit her first, and then a wave of anger so strong, her body almost vibrated with it.
“Fine. Tell him he can go pound sand for all I care.”
And she whirled around, stalking from the building with her head held high.
Never again. Never again will I speak to him, or of him, she vowed.
Work consumed her days, her friends distracted her at night.
No one besides Circe ever knew about the demon who had inspired an unbridled passion inside her, and then an unparalleled fury, and slowly Arya felt less…just, less. Life went on as it was supposed to, Dante mostly forgotten; or at least Arya had convinced herself of such.
Until the day he kind of reappeared – in another form.
As her body changed, Arya knew then that she would never be free of him, no matter how much the thought enraged her.
Chapter 1 - Present
Dante rubbed his temples at the hairline, feeling the threat of his horns beneath the surface.
Don’t let them come out. You’re at the office. No one needs to see your horns.
“Boss, you need to – “
“Shax, you need to stop talking,” he ordered, cringing at the mere sound of his right-hand’s voice. It was shrill and oddly deceiving for such an intimidating man yet after thousands of years, Dante had never learned to tune it out, despite his best efforts.
If he wasn’t an efficient whirlwind, Dante would have burned him up with one powerful glare, he thought ruefully, half-hoping that Shax would disobey the rule and read his innermost thoughts.
“Yes, boss,” Shax replied meekly and Dante sensed that maybe he had heard his silent words.
As usual, all hell was breaking out, both literally and figuratively and Dante was left to sort through a pile of bullshit both on his desk and in his lair.
“Where is Cheryl?” he asked after a moment. “Call her in.”
Shax nodded his head and disappeared from the inner office, leaving Dante alone to think about the convoluted mess his life had become.
With great power comes great responsibility, he mused but he couldn’t remember which philosophical asshole he was quoting. There were just so many from which to choose, so many mortals with quips but no solutions.
No, it’s usually up to the immortals to find solutions.
Shax returned a moment later, Cheryl in tow.
“Yes, Mr. Carmichael?”
“Our stock just plunged on the DOW because of that whistleblower report,” he informed her. He noted she maintained the same stone-faced look she always wore, as if he was not telling her anything she didn’t already know.
“I heard,” she conceded, and Dante grimaced, wondering if she had known even before shit hit the fan. It wouldn’t be the first time his staff had kept information from him, fearing his sometimes “shoot the messenger” approach to bad tidings.
“Well maybe you could schedule a meeting with PR and legal,” he growled sarcastically. “If that’s not taking away from your solitaire game.”
Her blue eyes flashed and Dante felt better, knowing he had invoked some reaction from her. He knew that she worked hard, or else she wouldn’t be employed at Carmichael Industries. That did not mean, however, that she had license to provoke him.
“Of course, Mr. Carmichael. Anything else?” Cheryl asked crisply.
Anything else? He wanted to growl. Everything is going to shit because my former assistant can’t handle rejection. My company’s reputation is on the line and fucking hell is overflowing with applicants. Yes, there is much else.
“No, that’s all for now.”
Dante knew that it was not Cheryl’s fault he was on a rampage that day. Not that she wasn’t fair game if he chose her to be, though.
She nodded curtly and exited the office, leaving the men alone to stare at one another over the steel and glass desk.
“Tell me about Uvall,” Dante sighed, not really wanting to hear anything else. It was only eight-thirty and already he wanted to annihilate something. Or somebody.
Not that it would do any good, but the sight of blood might improve his mood somewhat.
“It’s nothing more than a rumor right now,” Shax explained. “I can’t even guarantee he’s in America, let alone Seattle.”
“Well rumors start from somewhere,” Dante sighed. “Find out what you can about him. Put ears out on the Sapphire Strip and South Park. In fact, anywhere there’s an immortal presence, get ears.”
“Of course, boss,” Shax replied, seeming grateful that he had gotten off so lightly.
If he could experience such an emotion, a flash of guilt slid through him as he watched the wiry giant slink out to obey his orders.
Maybe I’m too hard on all of them, he thought, but he dismissed the idea immediately.
He had not become a Lord of the Deviants here on Earth by relenting or allowing pity to dictate his actions. It had taken hundreds of years to build the life he had for himself in Seattle, one which had become the envy of all his counterparts, mortal or otherwise.
The twenty-six thousand square foot mansion on Lake Washington, the sixteen luxurious cars, the four yachts and three summer homes; they had been won with hard work and determination.
And sometimes a corpse or two.
It didn’t much matter to Dante that he was regarded as a tyrant by his mortal counterparts. They did not know the truth about him, the humans oblivious to the creatures, or Deviants, with whom they wandered the earth.
Not that the immortals did much to hide their existences. The humans were simply too narcissistic to see that their CEOs, their lawyers and mobsters, their most spectacularly beautiful citizens, the most powerful people, were all the beings they warned their children about in fairy tales and folklore.
The phone on his desk was ringing again, shattering his pensive thoughts into his own history. Dante scowled, his dark eyebrows furrowing. He had left explicit instructions with his secretary not to be disturbed.
“What?” he demanded.
“Mr. Carmichael, this is Lisa Medina of the Seattle Post. Do you have any comment about – “
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He disconnected the phone, longing for the days of slamming down the telephone for effect. Simply hanging up did not get the point across with nearly enough panache.
The vultures smelled blood in the water.
Great. Now I’m fucking mixing metaphors.
The phone rang again but Dante ignored it, rising from his leather chair to stare out the window.
The view from the forty-second floor of the Percheron Building was spectacular and all his to enjoy. There was a reason he had opted for such a place, in spite of the world being at his fingertips. It was the closest to heaven anyone in his position would ever get, after all.
Carmichael Industries owned the structure and Dante himself took the top two floors exclusively for his private offices. He had turned one floor into a penthouse-style apartment for nights when he was too tired to make his way back to his estate in Madison Park, or for simply entertaining one of his meaningless booty calls.
He didn’t want anyone to know too much about his real home, after all, a guarded fortress with an even more stunning view than the one from his offices.
And there wasn’t anyone he had met in a long while who was worthy of seeing that view.
Am I still holding out for her? Is that why I don’t bother to try even a little bit with any of them?
It was another overcast day but the feeling of comfort the rain usually brought with it did not touch him that morning. His nerves were taut, a sensation he was not in the habit of feeling and he did not like it one bit. If the matter within the company was not bad enough, there was trouble brewing with the immortals.
Uvall, his greatest nemesis had apparently returned from the bowels of whatever God forsaken country he had lived in for the past three centuries and was threatening a takeover.
Dante would be a fool not to realize that amongst demons, there was little honor and if the price was right, Uvall just might be successful. In which case, a civil war would erupt in the Deviant world – and it would not be pretty.
The demons were at the top of the underworld food chain, after all. If they went head to head, unease would settle among the vampires, the Lycans, the sorceresses and the wizards. Valkyries and sprites would be caught in the crossfire, lives would be lost.