by Mina Carter
Shared by her Demons
Moonlight & Magic 1
Mina Carter
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author
Copyright © 2015 by Mina Carter
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Previously titled ‘Moonlight & Magic’.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Also by Mina Carter
About the Author
1
Boredom was a fucker. He needed to get laid. That, or try to kick himself to death with rubber boots on.
Daelas sighed and tried to concentrate on the paperwork in front of him. He wasn't doing so well. The club accounts had never been particularly riveting, but he normally had less trouble keeping his attention on them.
The numbers swam past his eyes as he chewed on the pencil in his hand. The wood cracked under his teeth, snapping him back to the present. He grimaced at the ruined end of the pencil and dropped it back into the pot, picking a metal barreled pen, instead.
He really needed to get laid. He was an incubus, so the need for sex went without saying, but he hadn't seen any action between the sheets for months. Too many other things to take care of, or his partner’s latest madcap scheme to clear up. Anyone would think he was years older than Jaren, rather than just fifteen minutes. Sighing in resignation, he shook his head to get rid of the buzz trying to settle behind his eyes.
He flopped back in his chair and turned it to face the club below, the one-way glass allowing him to see, but not be seen. Like most weekends, it was busy. Packed to the rafters. The throng of humanity below all seeking something—be it amusement, companionship, or darker needs, conducted deep in the shadows.
Pen tapping against his thigh, he looked down over the club, a brooding expression on his face as he tried to isolate the cause of the buzzing. No one brooded as well as a demon, and no demon brooded as well as Daelas. Apart from his blood brother, Jaren. Apparently, the staff had a running argument going, as to which demon brooded better.
The cacophony of human thought rising from the packed club below battered at his mind. Used to the sensation he ignored it, like a horse would a fly. If he felt the necessity, he could filter through the noise and latch onto one set of thoughts, reading the emotions and desires of the human they belonged to. It was the way the incubi hunted, drawing their victims into their web to play on their thoughts and needs, then seducing them to feed off of their sexual energy.
Some, like Daelas, were so adept at it, so skilled at weaving their web around their victims, that all they had to do was crook a finger, and their prey would fall at their knees. Which was wonderful for stroking his male ego, but it got lonely after a while.
Just once he'd like a woman to see him for himself, rather than have her eyes glaze over when he got within a foot of her.
Longing hit him.
To be able have a conversation with a woman without knowing he could click his fingers and have her under his spell, would be wonderful.
Daelas shook his head, his frustration a hiss between his teeth as he watched a young blonde gyrate on stage for the amusement of the men on the dance floor below her. The sight didn’t affect him. Even from here he could tell she was human. Easy pickings, and therefore no challenge.
Daelas needed a woman with some sort of paranormal blood, or even a female demon. He shuddered, the thought exciting him even as the reality repulsed him. Daelas didn't want a female of his kind anywhere near him. Even if the chances of Daelas meeting his soul-mate out here in the mortal world were slim, it was still preferable to getting saddled with a female sex demon for the rest of eternity. Beautiful and deadly, but with the morals of an alley cat, a succubus would only destroy everything he and Jaren had built, and laugh while she did it.
Absently, his gaze wandered over the already full dance floor, and then swept over the rest of the club. With an ease born of practice he picked out the trouble spots, noting they were all clear. Everything was running like clockwork down there. He sighed, a combination of relief and regret.
He was bored; he wanted something—anything—to happen.
Just as he turned away from the window, he felt it. Amongst the throng of humanity choking up the “airwaves,” there was something else. The buzzing intensified, settling behind his eyes like a bad headache.
“Well heeellooo…what have we here?” he murmured, sitting forward with interest as he tried to isolate the feeling. It wasn't human, that was for sure. Whatever species, it was alluring, lingering on the periphery of his senses, like trying to catch sight of something out of the corner of his eye.
A haunting feeling—similar to the sense of loss after harp strings have been stroked and the music has died away—filled him.
“Where are you?” he whispered into the silent office, his sharp eyes riveted on the club below. “What are you?”
“Sheeerrri. I thought you said there were sex demons in here?” Sage giggled as she tried to open the cubicle door. She was tipsy, way past tipsy. In fact, she’d sprinted past tipsy like an Olympic athlete, and was heading into full-on “drunk as a skunk” territory.
Sage squinted at the door; alcohol and lack of her glasses, left off for reasons of vanity, not helping her any. Finally, with great concentration, she flicked the lock open and did a little victory jig right there in the cubicle. No lock would stop her.
Sherri looked over her shoulder and shrugged as Sage joined her, her friend’s earrings sparkling as they caught the light.
"S’what the flyers said…about the waiters. I dunno. They're cute, whatever they are. Come on, slowpoke, I wanna dance!” Sherri urged as she washed her hands.
“Dance? You can barely stand up! Hold your horses, missy,” Sage ordered, grinning as Sherri swayed on impossibly high heels. She had no idea how Sherri could walk, let alone dance in those things.
Sage checked her appearance in the mirror, an automatic reaction. A petite, rather curvaceous woman looked back at her. Always the critic, she pursed her lips and checked her eyeliner, then tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Her hair had a mind of its own, always managing to escape, no matter what she did with it.
Quickly she checked her top, pulling the neckline up a little to cover her cleavage—oft repeated warnings about not showing herself off like a tart flashing through her mind. Shaking her head and ignoring the little voice—her ex’s—in the back of her mind, she smoothed the top over her stomach and assessed herself. Not too shabby, she decided, and grabbed her bag to head toward the door. “Now, let’s go dance.”
They walked back into the club, giggling as they wove through the packed main room, heading for the stage. The newest hotspot in town, Moonlight & Magic, was a cut above the other clubs in town, with tasteful interior design, comfortable seating, and a large dance floor. It traded heavily on its paranormal associations, which wasn’t to some of the clubbers’ tastes, but Sage had to admit it made good business sense.
Anything paranormal was big, with a capital B. Since the paranormals had come out of the closet two years ago, fascination with anything paranormal had steadily increased to near fever pitch. Now, stick a pair of fangs or wings on something, and it was guaranteed to sell.
A lesson Moonlight & Magic seemed to have taken to heart, if the large number of people in the place were any indication. Still before midnight it was already packed, and Sage hadn't been sure they'd get in. She'd never been before, had avoid
ed the place since it’d opened, but now she realised how much she'd been missing out. Not that Marcus had let her go out much, convinced all a guy had to do was look her way and she’d be off to his place or some back alley, panties around her ankles. She snorted to herself. Showed what he knew. She was well rid of the jerk.
Heavy music pounded through the speakers dotted around the walls, filling the room with a wild, sensual rhythm that had her feet tapping, as something inside her ached to join the writhing throng already on the dance floor. She didn’t though, didn’t have the chance to, as Sherri grabbed her hand and dragged her toward the stage.
She almost ran into Sherri’s back as the other girl stopped dead, standing aside to let one of the waiters by, a grin on her face as her friend ogled the guy’s ass. Sage couldn’t blame her. The rotating overhead lights showcased a honed body displayed to perfection, wearing sheer black t-shirt and pants. Must be the staff uniform; she’d noticed all the waiters were dressed the same. Sherri sighed in rapture as the waiter noticed their attention and smiled, white teeth flashing in the semidarkness of the crowded club.
"Now, you can't tell me he’s human!” Sherri hissed, leaning close so Sage could hear her over the loud music, her friend’s stare following the waiter until he was out of sight. Or more specifically, followed his ass, until it was out of sight. Her friend sighed again and looked back at Sage, who shook her head in amusement.
"Well, he does have a bit of an exotic look…” Sage admitted, her tone noncommittal. Her gaze flitted around the club, checking out the rest of the staff. They did look exotic, with an indefinable cast to their features that spoke of bloodlines not completely Homo sapiens.
It was fake. Totally fake.
But there was no way she could tell Sherri that. If she did, she’d have to tell Sherri how she knew they were fakes. Friends since fourth grade, Sherri knew everything about Sage. From the first boy she'd ever kissed, right through to the complete disaster when she'd lost her virginity. She’d even told her about all the crap Marcus had put her through, albeit on pain of death, after Sherri had managed to get her out of the apartment for a while. It’d been such a relief to tell someone, to assure herself that she wasn’t going nuts.
There was one thing Sherri didn’t know about Sage, however. Something no one knew about her. A secret her father had drilled into her relentlessly to keep to herself.
Sage was part fae.
Quite what flavour she didn't know. Her mother had died when Sage was three, and her father refused to talk about it. So in the grand scheme of things, Sage was a little out of touch with her fae side. Hell, for all she knew, she could’ve been descended from the Queen of the Fairies and she wouldn't have had a clue.
Her lips quirked. The chances of her being a fairy princess were similar to that of finding a snowball in hell. She'd seen Queen Mab on the news, and even though she'd like to think it, she couldn’t claim descent from a woman who looked the way Mab did. Sage was far too short and plain.
Faery princess or common imp, Sage's instincts were strong enough to see through the glamour being used on the club’s staff. A glamour that rendered them something extraordinary, something darker and sexier than the plain old humans they were.
"Sorry, but was that exotic…or erotic?” Sherri's chuckle drew Sage back to the present, her friend’s dirty laugh making a few heads turn in their direction. Sage flushed, shushing her.
"Behave you,” she giggled, feeling the unaccustomed effects of the alcohol surging through her system. The music changed, the heavy beat of a familiar song reverberating around the room. “Ooh! I love this one. Come on, there’s a space on the stage!”
The haunting aura was driving Daelas insane. He'd tried to ignore it by concentrating on the club accounts, but it was getting to him now. He sighed, closing the laptop. It was no good. He had to go see what it was.
Leaving the office, he headed down the short flight of stairs leading into the club. As soon as he pushed open the door, the heat and noise of the club wrapped around him like a warm, wet blanket. He grimaced as his shirt stuck to his back. He should’ve taken his jacket off. His office had air conditioning, but even with the doors open and the AC units on, the club felt like a sauna. Just too many people in here, with the heat of their bodies and a myriad of scents—perfume, aftershave, shampoo, body lotion—all combining into a heady, cloying atmosphere.
Daelas took a deep breath, filling his lungs and feeling at ease. This was his world—the perfect hunting ground for an incubus.
Knuckles, the heavyset bouncer stationed at the door, turned in surprise when he saw Daelas, but his face returned to its normal stoic expression straightaway. Daelas didn't blame the man for the surprise. It was rare for him to venture into the club proper; this was more Jaren's domain. But if there was nothing else for it, he had to find the source of that buzzing.
Stepping into the crowd, he moved through it with ease. A touch of an elbow here, a quick thought there, and a path opened up before him, the human cattle moving as he commanded. A few, all female, turned, their eyes speculative, but Daelas ignored them, his mind focused. None were the woman he was looking for; he'd know her when he saw her.
But he knew that it was a she. It had to be. There was something intrinsically feminine about the impression which called to him, spoke to his soul and drew him in. But where was she?
Stopping in the middle of the dance floor, he scanned the room. Tall for any man, human or paranormal, Daelas had a good view of the club, turning as his gaze swept over the crowded floor.
He froze, his attention riveted on the stage.
There, dancing in the center, was the source of his problem. She was small…no, she was tiny…with a figure which would tempt a saint.
Daelas was no saint.
His mouth dried as he watched her, standing in the middle of the dance floor like he'd been poleaxed.
She was pure temptation, all smooth-skinned limbs and curves, a mass of dark hair pinned up to reveal the delicate line of her neck. A line he ached to run his hand along, curving it into the nape of her neck and tilting her head up so her lips—a perfect cupid's bow—were his for the taking.
“Shit,” he growled, his body reacting to the erotic images burning themselves one after another into his brain. He needed to get laid, seriously needed to get laid, and as soon as he'd set his eyes on her, no other woman would do.
He had to have her.
Stalking toward the stage, he watched her every step of the way. She danced sensually to the heavy music, the sultry look on her face pure temptation. Daelas' mouth watered, his cock harder than he could ever recall, a growl sounding low in his chest.
His. She was his. She just didn't know it yet.
She must’ve felt his interest, turning to look at him as he approached, her hips swaying in a siren's call. Her lips curved, it was a smile of feminine mystery and mischief.
Daelas stopped in front of the stage, looking up at her, still watching. She was a mere foot away, her intense stare flirting with him. Meeting his gaze for a second, she turned, presenting him with the graceful arch of her back as she danced. Daelas bit back a groan, lust hitting him like a truck travelling at Mach 1. Her subtle aura wound around him, drawing him in, just as much as the quick, flirtatious glances and the undulation of her hips.
She turned back and he beckoned, his face tightening with the control he exerted under the darting lights of the dance floor, calling her to him. She lifted her head, little chin going up as if in challenge, her eyes assessing as she looked him over. His lips quirked a little as she pretended to consider his unspoken order. She would obey, he just knew it. Come on sweetheart, you know you want to. He waited for her to come to him.
Like a butterfly she flitted closer, a quick shimmy of her hips, until she stood in front of him. Daelas' smile widened. Even on the stage she hadn’t been much taller than him. She didn’t stop moving, her body still swaying slightly to the music as she tilted her head, watching him.
Waiting for his next move.
He held out his hand, offering her the choice. To a certain point, Daelas was a gentleman. But it was just a mask that hid the primal creature. Strip away the civilized veneer, and there was pure demon beneath. He suppressed a shiver. No woman had ever brought out that side of him before. He'd always been in control.
Until now.
2
Sage shimmied, in front of tall, blond and gorgeous. She'd noticed him watching her, just standing unmoving in the middle of the dance floor like he owned the place, his light-eyed gaze fastened on her. His expression intent and dangerous.
Under normal circumstances that would’ve made her nervous. She'd have looked away, tried not to draw attention to herself. Marcus’ fists had taught her that lesson. But, fortified by alcohol and the mood of the evening, she didn't. Instead, she danced to draw him in, every sway of her hips and arch of her back designed to entrance, to lure.
Then he stood in front of her, the demand in his eyes obvious. Sherri, dancing next to her and flirting with another dancer, grinned and winked at her, the silent message unmistakable: you go, girl!
So she did, hardly believing her own bravery as she put her hand in his with a small smile. A jolt of awareness shot through her at the first brush of her skin against his. Her eyes widened as she looked at him, seeing the same surprise echoed in his features.
He pulled her toward him, letting go of her hand long enough to help her down off the stage. He picked her up as though she weighed nothing, sliding her down his body in a movement so sensual Sage's heart stuttered right there in her chest as he held her against him for a moment, his larger frame wrapped around hers protectively. Or possessively.