by Larissa Ione
“I’m Heath, you demon parasite.”
“Parasite? That’s a little harsh. And unoriginal.” Raze sent another wave of power into Heath’s leg—but not to heal. This one was made of pain. Heath yelped, and Raze smiled. “Don’t fuck with the guy who is patching you up, asshole. I can just as easily kill you as heal you, and my boss is good at disposing of bodies. Keep that in mind.”
Heath leaned forward, teeth bared, canines elongating. “I’d rather die than let a filthy demon heal me.”
“Fine with m—”
In a sudden burst of fury, the bastard snared Raze by the throat and hauled him off his feet. Dude was strong, but then, werewolves were known for their strength. And their bad breath.
The werewolf stood, lifting Raze with him, his fingers squeezing Raze’s windpipe in a bruising hold. “One of you fucks stole my woman.”
There was nothing more cliché than a thick-skulled werewolf vowing revenge against an entire species because he’d been humiliated.
Raze would have said as much, but merely breathing took effort—talking was out of the question. He glanced over Heath’s shoulder and saw Marsden moving in to help, his broad, tall form shoving through the crowd like a bulldozer. Raze met his gaze, gave him the Back off, I’ve got this blink, and in a quick surge, he powered up his healing gift and jammed his fingers against Heath’s temple. Instantly, the power Raze normally used to heal ripped skin and flesh apart at a cellular level.
The werewolf shouted in agony and dropped Raze to the ground. Spinning, Raze clamped his hand around the back of Heath’s neck and frog-marched the idiot through the rear of the club toward the back door. Marsden trailed behind like a shadow, content to let Raze handle his own messes, but when Mars slipped into the security office, Raze knew he’d be watching everything through the state-of-the-art surveillance system.
Raze shoved open the door and gave the camera overhead a smirk as he shoved Heath outside. The meathead took an awkward swing the moment they stepped out into the pouring rain, and yup, Raze’s patience meter had pegged out. With a hard shove, he sent the guy stumbling through the puddles in the alley.
“You’re banished, asshole,” Raze growled.
“Fuck you.” Clutching his head in one hand, Heath wheeled around and slammed his fist into Raze’s jaw.
Raze hit the closed door in a crunch of spine, and damn that hurt. Pain radiated across his back and through his rib cage with such force that even taking a breath stung. Lightning flashed as the werewolf came at him again, but Raze ducked and spun, barely avoiding a blow that would have broken a lot of bones in his face.
Son of a bitch. This fucker needed to be put down like the rabid dog he was. Raze had never liked werewolves, but this one was a special kind of stupid, stubborn jackass.
With a roar, Raze charged the guy, nailing him in the gut with his shoulder. Heath oofed and stumbled backward, but he managed to bring down his fist like a hammer on the back of Raze’s neck. Raze hit the wet pavement in a crack of kneecaps, his ears ringing and his eyes blurring. He thought he heard a high-pitched whine followed by another hefty oof, and when his vision cleared, he caught an eyeful of Heath the Dick, his mouth smashed in a bloody mess, spitting blood, teeth, and . . . a marble?
Before the guy could recover from the injury that had shattered his grill, Raze readied his power and leaped to his feet. Thunder ripped through the air as he threw a right hook that laid the werewolf out hard, putting him facedown and unmoving on the pavement.
He shook out his fist, knowing he’d feel that punch in his knuckles later. Then, out of the corner of his eye . . . movement. Slowly, he shifted his body around, and there in the shadows, casually leaning against the brick wall of the building across the alley, was the leather-clad male who’d been eyeing him inside.
And in his hand, bouncing in his palm, was a small, glowing ball the size of a marble . . . just like the one the werewolf had spit out. Whatever it was, it was one hell of a weapon. But as Raze took in the stranger, whose dark eyes were gleaming with an eerie silver light, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he realized that as dangerous as the little glowing projectile was, its owner was far, far more lethal.
If Slake hadn’t been turned on before, watching the medic take down the werewolf had given him a raging hard-on. Whatever species the medic was, he had a killer power in that right arm, and even now, his tats were glowing, pulsing with residual energy.
Slake rolled the smooth, ice-cold sinisphere between his fingers before pocketing it and pushing away from the side of the building. “Nice, man. You laid that dude out.”
The medic gestured at the unconscious werewolf. “Wasn’t me who had him spitting teeth.”
Slake shrugged. “I have fun toys.”
The medic muttered something that sounded like, “I’ll bet you do.”
Slake grinned. He really did have some great playthings, and some of them weren’t even for killing or maiming. “I’m Slake.”
“Raze.” Raze bent over the werewolf, allowing for a tantalizing view of his ass wrapped like a gift in those perfect-fitting black BDU-style pants. Slake watched as he grabbed the unconscious idiot by the ankles and dragged him toward the Harrowgate Slake had used to get here. The gate, invisible to human eyes, had been set into the brick wall, its archway shimmering in invitation. Raze disappeared inside with the werewolf and then leaped back out as the gate closed.
“Where’d you send him?”
“Underworld General. Let them deal with the asshole.”
Slake snorted. “You’re nicer than I am. I’d have left him here for the vultures.”
“New York doesn’t have a big vulture population.” Raze dug something out of his pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth. “But it does have a big werewolf problem.”
As far as Slake was concerned, the world had a big werewolf problem. Dumb mutts. They didn’t even get along with members of their own species. “I hear you. We got something in common.”
There was a subtle stiffening in the set of Raze’s shoulders that lasted only a second before he started moving toward the door of the club. “Didn’t know we were looking for shit to bond over.”
So the game was hard-to-get. Slake could play that way. For a time, at least. The medic had given him enough looks for Slake to sense the guy’s taste for males, but if Raze was, indeed, the guy Atrox said had been hanging out with Fayle, things might get a little complicated.
Or maybe they could be real damned simple. Fuck the guy, take the girl, save a soul.
His soul.
“I didn’t say anything about bonding.” Slake moved toward Raze. Slowly. Purposefully. “But I wouldn’t mind getting to know you. Got a girlfriend?”
Raze came to a halt a couple of feet from the entrance. “No.”
“Boyfriend?”
Raze swung around, his green eyes darkening. “You have no idea what I am, do you?”
“Should I?” Slake advanced on him, enjoying how Raze’s body tensed and his breaths became more rapid. “Are you . . . dangerous? Aside from that crazy shit you do with your tats.”
One corner of Raze’s mouth tipped up in a half smile. “I’m only dangerous if you piss me off.”
“What if I get you off?”
Raze barked out a laugh. “Man, what do you want from me?”
Slake got close, invading the other male’s personal space. The guy would either stand his ground or back off, and either one would speak volumes about him.
Tension filled the narrow gap between them, pulsing like a heartbeat. Raze was taller than Slake’s six three by maybe half an inch, but Slake outweighed him by a good twenty-five pounds, and as they stood there taking each other’s measure, he had to admire that Raze didn’t back down. Most dudes who went toe-to-toe with him did so out of macho arrogance, but the calculation and intelligence flashing in Raze’s eyes said he was holding his ground for a different reason.
Raze was attracted to him.
&
nbsp; But he was suspicious. Which was smart.
“What do I want from you?” Slake reached out, brushed a finger over Raze’s jugular, once again watching. Gauging. And hoping. “I want to buy you a drink. Is that too much to ask?”
“I don’t drink.”
“Why not?” Alcohol was poison to some species, while in others, there was no effect at all, no matter how much they ingested. Anyone else who didn’t drink was just weird in Slake’s opinion.
Raze’s hand snapped up to grab Slake’s wrist in a hold that walked the line between pain and . . . well, not pain. But it felt good to be touched. Too good.
“Alcohol can’t make me drunk, but it does make me want what I can’t have.”
“And what,” he said softly, “is that?”
Releasing him with an angry shove, Raze pivoted smoothly toward the club. Oh hell no. Slake wasn’t done with the medic. Raze was probably associated with the female Slake was looking for, and even if he wasn’t . . . well, there was just something about the guy that intrigued him. Besides, Slake had never been one to give up easily. He’d have been dead a long time ago.
With a low growl, Slake snagged Raze’s shoulder and spun him back around. Surprise and anger flashed in the medic’s expression, and in that moment of startled disbelief, Slake took advantage like the predator he was, pressing his body against Raze’s as he brought their mouths together.
Instant, sizzling lust shot through Slake, sparking nerve endings to life and shocking his heart into an erratic rhythm. But low on his back, the scar from an ancient stab wound began to throb, a reminder to never surrender entirely, not even to a sultry kiss that could potentially lead to more. He needed to keep his mind focused, clear, and aware of everything going on around him. Like the cool breeze that rattled the trash on the ground and smelled like rain. Or the drip of water from the downspout a few yards away. And the sound of honking horns and squealing tires from the street traffic.
No one and nothing would ever sneak up on him again.
Hungrily, he fisted Raze’s hair and increased the pressure on his mouth. Raze’s lips were firm, unyielding, and tasted of the sweet caramel candy he’d eaten a moment ago. Decadence, Slake thought, as he swept his tongue along the seam of Raze’s mouth, urging him to open. Raze stubbornly clenched his teeth and snarled softly, but Slake persisted with lingering, sensual licks. Just when he thought he’d lost the battle, Raze’s tongue clashed with his in a hot, wet struggle for dominance.
One strong hand cupped the back of Slake’s head and another slid around his waist to draw him even tighter against Raze. The press of Raze’s erection into his made Slake groan as a fresh wave of lust rolled over him, dulling the edges of the situational awareness he prided himself on maintaining.
Shit. It was time to put the brakes on—
“Asshole.” Raze jerked away and stepped back. He was breathing heavy, his lips swollen and glistening, and Slake wondered if he looked as punch-drunk as Raze did. “There are at least a dozen guys inside who would let you blow them on top of the freaking bar with an audience if you wanted. So why me?”
Because you might be the key to locating the female I’m after. The thought flew through Slake’s brain, but on its heels was something unexpected. Startling.
“Because something about you makes me want to throw caution to the wind, and I never do that.”
“Why not?”
Slake shrugged. “Letting down your guard gets you dead.”
One ginger eyebrow cocked, but the wariness in Raze’s eyes never lessened. “You must live a dangerous life.”
Slake shrugged again. “You know what they say. You feel the most alive when death is on your doorstep.”
“Death, huh?” Raze laughed, a deep, throaty sound that went straight to Slake’s groin. “You have no idea.”
“Yeah? Then why don’t you educate me?”
“No need.” Raze threw open the door to the club. “You’re a dick, so I have no doubt that death will come for you soon enough.”
With that, Raze disappeared, likely not even realizing how right he probably was.
Raze practically ran through the club, hitting the medic office in record time. Vladlena, the owner’s shifter mate and a coworker at Underworld General, had arrived for her shift, so he gave her a quick status update and darted out the back of the club and into a narrow alley separating Thirst from the apartments across the way. Quickly, he yanked open the dented metal door and took the stairs to the third floor.
The stairs were old, wooden, and he swore they wobbled under every step. It wasn’t until he slammed into his place and sagged against the door that he realized the stairs were fine. He was shaking.
What. The. Fuck.
His mind kept replaying the alley scene in vivid detail, and with every passing second, his body heated more, his breathing grew more rapid, and his cock throbbed harder. He knew very well what arousal was, but this . . . this was different than anything he’d ever experienced. This wasn’t need. It was want, and on a level he couldn’t have comprehended before now.
As he sucked in panting breaths, he heard soft footfalls. Fayle. Shit. Schooling his expression, he pushed away from the door, but the look on the succubus’s ageless face told him she already knew what was going on.
“You aren’t due for a release for another four hours,” she said. “Which means some male got you all worked up.”
Gods, she was so freaking possessive. And the really fucked-up thing about it was that she didn’t even want Raze. At least, not for a relationship. They’d been together for nearly thirty years in a symbiotic partnership that operated on mutual respect and friendship, but there was no intimacy, no touching, no kissing, not since the day they’d met. There were no romantic feelings between them at all. That was fine with Raze, and it was exactly what he wanted from her, but sometimes the way she controlled and coveted the things she considered to be hers got frustrating.
“I thought you were out for the day,” he said, hoping the residual lust in his voice wasn’t as obvious to her as it was to him, but that was wishful thinking, and deep down, he knew it.
Fayle stood on the bright-yellow rug in the living room, her arms crossed under breasts that every straight man ogled no matter what she was wearing. “I went out to buy another suitcase. Now I’m packing.”
Raze held back a groan. Not this again. “Fayle, we’re not moving.”
One dark eyebrow cocked and her mouth tightened into a stubborn line as she stared at him. He met her silence with a refusal to engage further, moving to the fridge for a soda instead. As he popped the top off a bottle of root beer, he heard her curse softly. A moment later, she was in front of him in the kitchen, her fingers reaching for the fly of his pants.
“Let me take care of you.”
He stepped back. “I’m fine.”
She huffed. “You aren’t fine. You’re pale and sweating.”
“I haven’t hit the point of no return.” He skirted around her to head toward the living room. “This will pass.”
Fayle followed. “How far did you get with him?”
Not far at all, which was why this sucked so much. Raze was way more turned on than he should be. “Far enough, apparently.”
Knowing he couldn’t escape her, he halted at the threshold to the living room, which Fayle had decorated in glaringly bright colors. She hated subdued, natural tones, which meant that everything around her looked like a box of crayons had exploded.
She came around in front of him and shoved her straight black bangs away from her eyes. “Why didn’t you bring him up here?”
“I already told you. I thought you were gone.” As a Seminus demon, he needed sex or he would die, but he couldn’t get off with males, which meant that if he wanted to have sex with one, he needed a female to be present. Fayle had accommodated Raze’s desire for males on occasion, but she made life hell for him for months afterward and for the most part, he’d resigned himself to the fact that he couldn�
�t have what he wanted. That he could never have a relationship with a male, even for casual sex.
“Well, now I’m back.” She gestured to her bedroom. “Maybe you can help me pack my things, and then we can box up yours.”
Sighing, Raze sank down on the couch and threw his feet up on the coffee table. “I’m tired of moving, Fayle. I finally have a job I like. Friends. A life. I’m happy.”
Well, mostly. There was a hole inside he couldn’t fill with work. Or friends. Or sex. And every time he felt a glimmer of attraction for a male, the hole got bigger. Even now, after those few minutes with Slake, it was as if the hole had become a bottomless pit, magnifying and echoing his loneliness.
Fayle made a sound of long-suffering impatience. “You know my species is nomadic. I’m going crazy. We’ve already been here for a year longer than I wanted to be. We need to go. I was thinking . . . Tokyo. Or Manila. We’ve never lived in Manila. I hear there’s a pretty good sex scene happening there.”
As a succubus who fed on the sexual energy of those engaging nearby, Fayle liked densely populated areas. Naturally, Raze preferred the exact opposite.
“I said no.”
A blast of anger hit him in a psychic wave that made his brain hurt. Fayle never had learned to control her emotional outbursts. “Maybe I’ll go without you.”
She’d made that threat before—several times, in fact. Eventually, his gratitude for the fact that she’d saved his life by helping him through his sexual transition won out and he’d always given in, even though he was pretty sure she wasn’t serious. This time, though, the anger accompanying her words was different. More intense. Maybe she wasn’t bluffing.
And maybe he wasn’t, either.
He snared the remote and turned on TV. Ooh, maybe Dr. Phil could help. Ten seconds later, he realized Dr. Phil could only help if Raze’s problem was a controlling mother-in-law and a drug-addicted kid.