by Larissa Ione
Riptide Publishing
PO Box 6652
Hillsborough, NJ 08844
www.riptidepublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All person(s) depicted on the cover are model(s) used for illustrative purposes only.
Base Instincts
Copyright © 2015 by Larissa Ione
Cover art: Jay Aheer, jayscoversbydesign.com
Editor: Sarah Frantz Lyons
Layout: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design.htm
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Riptide Publishing at the mailing address above, at Riptidepublishing.com, or at [email protected].
ISBN: 978-1-62649-308-7
First edition
September, 2015
Also available in paperback:
ISBN: 978-1-62649-309-4
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As a Seminus demon, Raze’s life literally depends on having sex with females. The problem is that he doesn’t desire females, and it’s physically impossible for him to be with males. Thankfully, he and his best friend, Fayle, have an arrangement that keeps him alive . . . if lonely. He finds some solace in his work as a medic at Thirst, a vampire club known for its rough clientele. But his carefully structured world turns upside down when he meets a mysterious male who makes him want what he can never have.
Slake is an assassin used to getting what he wants, and what he wants is Raze. But he also wants to earn back the soul he sold when he was a much different demon. All he has to do is capture a runaway succubus named Fayle and hand her over to her family. What he doesn’t count on is being caught himself by a web of lies—and his attraction to Raze.
Raze and Slake must navigate a dangerous world to be together. But as Fayle’s jealousy of their relationship turns deadly, they find themselves embroiled in a battle not only for their love, but their lives and souls.
tableofcontents
Title Page
Copyright
About Base Instincts
Dedication
Glossary
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Dear Reader
Acknowledgments
Also by Larissa Ione
About the Author
Enjoy More
For the rule-breakers. Life, like imagination, has no limits, so find the loopholes and write your story the way you want it to go.
The Aegis—Society of human warriors dedicated to protecting the world from evil. Recent dissension among its ranks reduced its numbers and sent the Aegis in a new direction.
Fallen Angel—Believed to be evil by most humans, fallen angels can be grouped into two categories: True Fallen and Unfallen. Unfallen angels have been cast from Heaven and are earthbound, living a life in which they are neither truly good nor truly evil. In this state, they can, rarely, earn their way back into Heaven. Or they can choose to enter Sheoul, the demon realm, in order to complete their fall and become True Fallens, taking their places as demons at Satan’s side.
Harrowgate—Vertical portals, invisible to humans, that demons use to travel between locations on Earth and Sheoul. A very few beings can summon their own personal Harrowgates.
S’genesis—Final maturation cycle for a Seminus demon. Occurs at one hundred years of age. A post s’genesis male is capable of procreation and possesses the ability to shapeshift into the male of nearly any similar-sized demon species.
Sheoul—Demon realm. Located on its own plane deep in the bowels of the Earth, accessible to most only by Harrowgates and hellmouths.
Sheoulic—Universal demon language spoken by all, although many species also speak their own language.
Ter’taceo—Demons who can pass as human, either because their species is naturally human in appearance, or because they can shapeshift into human form.
Ufelskala—A scoring system for demons, based on their degree of evil. All supernatural creatures and evil humans can be categorized into the five Tiers, with the Fifth Tier comprising of the worst of the wicked.
Classification of Demons, as listed by Baradoc, Umber demon, using the demon breed Seminus as an example:
Kingdom: Animalia
Class: Demon
Family: Sexual Demon
Genus: Terrestrial
Species: Incubus
Breed: Seminus
According to the news, the weather system bearing down on Damon Slake was a proven killer.
But then, Slake was also a killer, and he could guaran-damn-tee that he was far more lethal than any thunderstorm.
Rain and hail pelted him as he stood outside one of several secret entrances to Thirst, a vampire nightclub that operated in the shadows of a human goth hangout called The Velvet Chain. Like most upscale vamp clubs, this one catered to all otherworldly beings, as well as humans who were willing to give themselves up as a snack for those who fed on blood. And, as one of the busiest high-end establishments, this place even had a medical clinic. Reputation was everything, and no club owner wanted to deal with a bunch of human deaths from overfeeding, or demon deaths from a drunken bar fight.
Which was smart, especially now that the recent near-apocalypse had revealed the demon world to humans, causing tension, fear, and chaos. They were in all-out extermination mode, while demons were dealing with some sort of political shakeup in Sheoul, the realm many people called Hell. Slake had no idea what was going on in Sheoul, and frankly, he didn’t care. He had a job to do, and he always completed his missions.
His latest prey had been cunning, maybe his most clever adversary yet, but he’d finally tracked her here. The wily succubus had covered her tracks well, but Slake had a knack for ferreting out secrets, and as good as Fayle was at hiding, Slake was better at finding.
Lightning flashed like some sort of horror-movie foreshadowing as he entered the dimly lit club through a doorway only supernatural creatures could see. Instantly, the blare of rock music, the stench of sweating, dancing people, and the electric, sensual energy of sin assailed him. If he hadn’t been on th
e job, he’d revel in the club scene and be scoping out potential partners to take home for the night.
Partners like that sexy-as-hell medic propped against the wall near the first aid station, his gaze sweeping the crowd with the hard-core intensity of a battle-wise soldier in enemy territory. Even from across the room, Slake could see the readiness for anything in the subtle tautness of his body.
And what a body it was. His black uniform was stretched tight across his shoulders and abs, the rolled sleeves revealing thickly muscled arms made to pin his partner to a mattress.
Slake had no idea if the dude was into males, females, or both, but the guy practically oozed confidence and sex. The medic folded his arms over his broad chest, giving Slake a prime view of a sleeve of tattoos winding from his fingers to his biceps, where they disappeared beneath his uniform and then reappeared at the top of his collar. The pattern ended just below his jaw, and Slake decided he’d need to get a closer look, because damn, he loved tats.
And maybe getting in closer would help him figure out what species—or breed—of demon the guy was. He was definitely a demon; Slake’s ability to distinguish a blue human aura from an orangey-red demon one made that clear. Not that Slake was picky when it came to bed mates, but he drew the line at fucking any species of demon that rated a five on the Ufelskala scale of evil. Fours were bad enough, but with a five, you never knew whether or not your partner was going to kill you after you came.
Or before you came, for that matter.
A scuffle erupted out near the bathrooms, drawing his attention away from the medic, but bouncers broke it up before too much blood spilled. No doubt the fight would be just one of many tonight, but that wasn’t Slake’s concern. He strode through the club, his eyes peeled for his target. There were approximately a million and a half females milling about, but none resembled the petite, black-haired Asian in the picture he’d been given two months ago by his boss at Dire & Dyre, the law firm that employed him as an Acquirer. Yup, if a client wanted something or someone, Slake was the one sent to acquire it.
Except this job was different. This job would determine the course of the rest of Slake’s life.
And the rest of his afterlife.
But hey, as his boss pointed out, it was only his soul on the line.
The jackass.
He spied an empty booth near an exit to the sewers and made a beeline to it, growling at a burly green-skinned demon who tried to slip into the seat ahead of him. The demon cursed, but one look at Slake’s arsenal of weapons peeking out from beneath his leather jacket gave the guy second thoughts. Probably third thoughts too.
A waiter brought Slake a double whiskey, neat, and he settled in, hoping his prey would show her pretty face. In the meantime, though, he didn’t see any harm in checking out the medic at the rear of the club a little more.
That male was something special. Even his coloring was perfect. Not too tan, but not pale. And given the guy’s reddish hair, shorter in the back than in the front, Slake would bet that close up, he’d have some freckles waiting for the caress of a tongue.
Slake’s mouth watered at the thought, and he had to shift to make a little more room in his leathers. But he didn’t let his lust distract him from his mission. Not when success meant freedom . . . and failure meant kissing his soul good-bye forever.
He downed half his drink and reached for his cell phone just as the thing vibrated in his coat pocket. The name that flashed on the text screen with a curt, You there? was exactly who he’d been wanting to hear from for days. Hoping for good news from his favorite underworld spy, he tapped out a message.
Hey, Atrox, it’s about time. Tell me you have an update on our prize.
He waited an unbearably long time for the reply. Atrox’s fat fingers and long claws weren’t exactly compatible with touchscreen keyboards. The reptilian demon had to use his knuckles to type, which Slake had found funny . . . until lizard boy had used those knuckles to knock Slake on his ass.
Finally, the phone beeped with Atrox’s incoming text. Got a lead. One of the dudes I grilled last night is a regular at Thirst. Said he’s seen the succubus several times in the company of a male with red hair and a sleeve of tats on his right arm.
Red hair and a sleeve of tats. Slake looked up at the hot medic and grinned.
This assignment had just gotten interesting.
The blood was flowing freely tonight.
Sure, the same could be said of any night at Thirst, but between the vampires feeding from the humans and the fights breaking out between all species as the moon hovered on the verge of becoming full, Raze had been one busy, exhausted medic. He’d been on duty for nine hours with only one slow period, and as he watched a heated argument break out at the bar, he knew it was time to gear up for another patch job.
Too bad, too, because that dark-haired male sitting alone in the far corner intrigued him. Intrigued him enough that for the first time in years, Raze was tempted to give in to a desire he rarely indulged in.
The argument escalated into physical violence, swelling from the original three instigators to eight, no, ten guys. One of the bartenders, a lion shifter named Lexi, shouted for the bouncers, who were already on the way. They started pulling people apart, but it took the club owner, Nate, and the manager, Marsden, both vampires, wading into the fray and tossing the fighters aside like rag dolls to break it up.
As Raze gloved up in preparation for treating injuries, most of the participants slunk away like beaten dogs to lick their wounds, but one hairy, horned dude got the boot out the side door. Another, his hand pressed against a gushing wound in this thigh, was dragged, cursing and growling, into the clinic and plopped onto the exam table.
Marsden and Lexi both gave Raze a look of sympathy and got the hell out of there before Raze could recruit them to help.
“Thanks, guys,” Raze shouted after them. “Next time you cut yourself while you’re slicing up limes, don’t come crying to me.”
Lexi cast him a saucy grin from over her shoulder while flipping him the bird with a freshly bandaged middle finger. Mars did the same, minus the saucy grin and bandage.
Laughing, he turned to his patient, who, if his sneer was any indication, didn’t have the same sense of humor as Mars and Lexi.
Damn it, Raze shouldn’t have answered the phone when Thirst’s number popped up on his caller ID this morning. This was supposed to have been his day off from both the club and Underworld General, not that he’d had any exciting plans. There weren’t even any good new movies out.
The patient bared his teeth at Raze, his slightly elongated fangs indicating that the dude wasn’t human. From the musky stench of him, Raze was going to guess he was some sort of animal shifter or were-creature, but given the approach of the full moon and its effects on weres, Raze was going to go with the latter.
“What’s your name?” Raze asked as he pulled the tray of first aid equipment toward him.
“Bite me.”
Oh yeah, this was going to be a good time. “Okay, Bite Me, what species are you?”
Bite Me narrowed his eyes. “Why the fuck does it matter? You gonna treat me different if I’m something you don’t like?”
Apparently, Bite Me was not only a mean drunk, he was one of those fun people who made everything about themselves and their personal views. “It’s important because every species and breed is unique, and each one has different medical needs and reactions to treatment.” Bite Me didn’t seem to be convinced, so Raze elaborated. “Dogs can take aspirin, but it’s toxic to cats. Oni demons will burst into flame if exposed to hydrogen peroxide, but it affects Sora demons the way alcohol affects humans.” He gestured to a suture kit on the equipment tray. “Some species can’t tolerate my healing power and need more traditional methods to close wounds. So stop being a prick and tell me what you are.”
Hatred rolled off Bite Me’s body as he locked gazes with Raze in a bold challenge. “Guess.”
“Well,” Raze drawled, “gi
ven your overdeveloped canines, foul stench, and sparkling personality, I’d say you’re a werewolf.”
“It’s warg, you Seminus scum,” the guy growled.
Raze’s hand jerked in surprise, not at the word—“warg” was what werewolves preferred to be called—but at the fact that the guy knew what a Seminus demon was. He kept his expression neutral, unwilling to let this unibrowed meathead know he’d struck a nerve.
“Congratulations,” he said flatly. “You have correctly identified an extremely rare breed of sex demon.”
The guy’s upper lip curled. “That’s because I’ve killed two of you bastards.”
Raze inhaled deeply, willing himself to stay calm. People killing Seminus demons happened too often, and unfortunately, much of it was deserved. Raze didn’t even want to think about how, if he didn’t bond with a female by the time he turned a hundred, he’d go through the second of two maturation processes: gaining fertility, a facial marking, and an unholy, uncontrollable need for sex. In fifty short years, he’d become a beast whose primary instinct was to reproduce, and any female within dick’s reach would be a target . . . willing or not.
Males of all species killed mature Sems on sight, which Raze figured was pretty understandable. Especially given that all offspring from a Seminus mating were born male Seminus demons—no matter what species the mother was. Raze’s own mother had been some sort of cave-dweller demon, but DNA tests performed at Underworld General hadn’t been able to identify the exact species, let alone the breed.
“Well, good for you,” Raze said, as he not-so-gently slapped his hand over the werewolf’s wound and activated his healing power. Stinging energy flowed through the markings on his arm, lighting them up like molten iron. In his mind, he saw the torn vessels, veins, and tissue in the wound begin to knit together. “Not everyone can go up against a Sem and survive. So . . . you gonna tell me your name? Or would you rather I keep calling you Bite Me? Because I’m fine with that.”