Jezebel.
We held each other as our sweat dried—that false human sweat that couldn’t mask the deeper aroma of our sexual satisfaction. Her head rested on my shoulder, and I stroked her hair, teased its damp strands away from her brow.
“You know,” she said, “no matter how many times we screw, it always reminds me of the first time.”
I kissed the top of her head. “You were a wild thing then.”
She laughed softly, the sound muffled by my chest. “And you were a tease.”
“All you wanted to do was fuck.”
“And all you wanted was foreplay.”
I smiled, remembering. “No, I wanted to fuck.”
“But you were all about the foreplay.”
“Hey, I’m an incubus.”
She looked up at me, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief and delight, and something else that I couldn’t—wouldn’t—name. “You’re my incubus.”
Oh, Jezebel.
We kissed again, softly, as if we were afraid of bruising our swollen lips.
After, Jezebel let out a sigh—full, content. “I really did miss you, you know.”
“Babes,” I said, hugging her tight, “I missed you, too.”
Jezebel
“You know,” I said, enjoying the warmth of his arms, “that was a welcome back I could really get behind.”
One of his hands slid to my ass. “You mean this?”
Heh. “That, too.”
We stayed like that for a little bit, me smiling in his embrace, him stroking my back. And backside. Yum.
Finally, reality sank in. As lovely as this was, I had a job to do. With a mournful sigh, I gently untangled myself from Daun’s arms.
“Where’re you going?”
“Back inside. My client’s waiting.”
“Aw, he’ll keep.”
“He’s kept long enough already. I have to get back to him.”
Mischief sparkled in his false hazel eyes. Matt Damon never looked half as wicked. Daun said, “I thought after all this time, I know how to satisfy my little succubus.”
Cupping my enormous boobs, I said, “Little? Sweetie, these are big enough to nurse all of Texas.”
Daun reached down and grabbed his erection—still huge, even after we fucked. Ah, the joys of being an incubus. He said, “And this is big enough to satisfy all the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders. At the same time.”
“If you do say so yourself.” Looking at his cock, my smile turned wistful. “We’ll always fit perfectly, won’t we?”
When Daun replied, his voice was a small thing, sounding almost human: “Always.”
A pause, then, filled with things unsaid. Even our psychic connection was quiet, as if waiting to see what we could do. Silence hummed between us, but not an uncomfortable one: it was laden with nostalgia and whimsy, brimming with memories of times past and anticipation of things yet to come. Daun and I gazed upon each other, him stroking his cock, me standing naked and ready, and we smiled.
“Well then,” I said. “Let me get inside and do what I have to do. After it’s all said and done, we can…”
My voice trailed off. We could what? I’d have to take my client’s soul down to Hell and wait in the insufferably long lines for admittance and for processing. And in that time, Daun would move on to another client. It’s how it worked: incubi took their clients slowly over the course of a month or two, and succubi took them quickly, in one meeting. By the time I was done filing all the paperwork on my current client, Daun would be involved with another human. And I’d have to start my next assignment.
Who knew when we’d next have time alone?
Steeling myself, I smiled broadly. “We can have a quick good-bye. Maybe you can even accompany me Below.”
“Sure,” he said gamely, but his voice rang hollow.
There was nothing to be done about it. You didn’t complain to the management in Hell; that tended to go poorly. And you certainly couldn’t buck Hell’s will; that was unheard of. This was how it was with us, and how it would always be. We were what we were: creatures of Lust, bound to seduce and slaughter evil mortals. Any time that we had for ourselves was a small mercy.
Hell isn’t big on mercy.
Before I said something I’d regret, I spun on my heel and headed toward the back door.
“Not donning your full costume?” he called after me.
“Why bother? It’s all coming off again.”
I blew out a frustrated breath as I opened the door at the back of the showroom. I had a job to do. And my client was waiting. I marched down the small hallway to the manager’s office. There was a chance that I might go a little rougher than Big Boy would like. But he’d have to deal with it. If he wanted, he could complain about it as I fucked him.
“Well, sweetie,” I announced as I opened the door to the office, “I’m back. And I’m ready for you…”
Oh…crap.
He was on the floor, massive as a beached whale, his face pale and sweaty. I couldn’t tell if he’d smacked his head on the way down, or if he’d been dead before he’d hit the floor. Looked like that heart attack I’d been afraid of had made its appearance after all. Possibly when my own heart was pounding from the way Daun was feeling me up. Or maybe it had started when the customers had surged into the store, desperate for last-minute proof of their love.
The when didn’t matter. Big Boy was dead as a doornail.
I stood there in a daze, gaping at my client, my mind whirling. He’d died before I could kill him, so his soul had been released on its own. It was brimming with evil, but it was unclaimed by a demon…so that meant it was now one of the countless empty spirits floating in the wastelands of Limbo. I could go to Purgatory, try to sniff him out from the thousands upon thousands of lost souls hovering there, unclaimed and shapeless. I had his scent, and I knew his name, so it could be enough. But that would take…well, the longer side of forever. Unless I got lucky; then it might only take a couple of centuries.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Lying about what happened to my superiors was out of the question. Sure, demons lie all the time, but not to our bosses. That sort of thing was highly frowned upon. In the drawn-and-quartered, pitched-into-the-Lake-of-Fire way. No matter how unpalatable the option was, I’d have to admit that I was too busy screwing an incubus to do my job properly.
Gah.
Shuddering, I sank to my knees. Oh, this was not going to go well for me. I was very, very fucked. (And not in the way that a succubus preferred.)
“Problem, babes?”
I didn’t have the energy to turn around to face Daun. “You could say that.”
“Hmm. Unless you gave ‘quickie’ a new record, it looks like your client went and died without you.”
I bristled. “You’re very talented at pointing out the obvious.”
“And you’re in trouble.”
“You think?” Anger surged through me, and I looked over my shoulder to glare up at him. “I was so busy getting reacquainted with you that I let him get away.”
Daunuan smiled down at me, and I wanted to claw that condescending smirk off his handsome human face. “There are other fish in the sea.”
“But I’m about to get my license revoked.” I turned away from him, stared at the cooling form of my client. “Clients come first. And I ignored that. Now I’m going to pay for it.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
That made me laugh, the sound bitter and so very heavy on my tongue. “No? Then what would you say, Daunuan?”
“I’d say it was time for you to open your Valentine’s Day gift.”
I blinked, then turned to face him again. He was still smiling, but the condescension had been swept away. That was anticipation tugging at his lips; I’d bet my hooves on it. “But I thought you already did.”
“What, fucking you? Babes, I might be the Devil’s gift to women, but my Jezebel deserves more than that.” He held out his hands, and in a puff of magic, a hatbo
x appeared, wrapped in a black bow. “This is for you.”
I bit my lip before I reached up for the box. “Isn’t there a saying about being wary of an incubus bearing gifts?”
“That’s Trojans.”
“Ah.” Letting out a sigh, I tore away the ribbon. Well, maybe whatever was inside would take away the sting of my upcoming torture. Ooh, maybe it was a pair of shoes…
He laughed in my mind. I swear to Pit and Paradise, sometimes you’re such a girl.
Hey, it’s how I’m built.
I pried off the cover, and then I stared at the chocolate bloody mess inside. And I smiled, delighted.
“A chocolate-covered heart!”
He squatted next to me. “With a soul-filled center.”
My jaw dropped. “What?”
“Your client there was just about on his way out when I poked my head inside the office. So I snagged his soul. Popped it into his heart for safekeeping. It’s for you.” He shrugged modestly, even managed to look bashful. “Thought you’d like the chocolate coating.”
“Oh, you wicked incubus! You got me the perfect present! Thank you!” I closed my eyes and let out a relieved breath. No torture for me.
And with my client’s soul tucked away for the moment, I had a little free time. Again, I said, “Thank you.”
Daun’s hand covered mine, so very large. So very warm. “Happy Valentine’s Day, babes.”
I opened my eyes and smiled at him. Over the millennia, we’d changed our forms thousands of times. We’ve plied our trade, seducing evil people and taking their souls to Hell. We’ve fucked countless partners, clients and otherwise, and we’d do so until the Almighty declared endgame and the end of the world was upon us. There were too many times when we’d gone years between seeing each other, and there would be such times to come.
Those times burned, and always would. Even creatures of Hell aren’t oblivious to that sort of fire.
But no matter how long those times in between, no matter who else we were with—no matter what else we did—Daun and I would always find each other. Somehow, we’d always find each other.
Oh, the irony of a demon finding the silver lining.
Actually, I thought, it wasn’t that difficult. Daunuan, after all, had a silver tongue. Squeezing his hand tight, I said, “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetie.”
Demons don’t love, not the way that humans do. As much as part of me might have wished it were otherwise, that’s just how it was, how it is, how it always will be: demons don’t love.
But if we did, I know I’d love Daun.
Preferably, multiple times a day.
Jackie Kessler
JACKIE KESSLER is the author of the Hell on Earth series, which stars Jezebel—a succubus who runs away from Hell, hides on Earth as an exotic dancer, and learns the hard way about true love. (Sex, strippers, and demons—what’s not to like?) For more about Jackie and Hell on Earth, please visit her website: www.jackiekessler.com.
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Part 4
By Valentine’s Day
by
Jess Michaels
Dedication:
For Michael, my forever Valentine.
Chapter 1
February 1814
It was the worst winter in as long as anyone could recall. Certainly Charlotte Kendrick could remember nothing worse than the bitterly cold weeks that had tormented the entire countryside from Northumberland all the way to Sussex. Even the Thames had frozen solid just before she left London. And now, as she stood at her window, the first fluttering of snow had begun to sweep across the frosty glass.
Charlotte shivered as she turned back to the warm and welcoming glow of the main parlor of her family’s country estate. The weather could not bother her here. Besides, when she departed London along the slick roads a few days before, she had claimed she wanted solitude, time to think, peaceful quiet…and she would certainly have her wish. This isolation was a godsend really. A real chance to ponder her future without the distractions of the city.
Distractions like her friends, who all had their own opinions of what she should do. Of her brother, who talked incessantly. And even of Lawrence Darnell, the man who had put her in this tailspin over her future when he asked her to become his wife a few short days ago.
She had to give him an answer. She had promised it by Saint Valentine’s Day. But that was only a week away, and she was no closer to knowing what to do than she had been when he proposed. Only more confused than ever.
“Here I will decide,” she murmured to herself. “I must decide.”
“I beg your pardon, my lady.”
Her cheeks hot with embarrassment, Charlotte turned to face the servant who had surely overheard her speaking to herself. Thank heavens that there was only a limited staff on hand while she made this visit home. Only the butler who now stood before her and a few key servants, so the talk of her muttering to herself would be kept to a minimum.
“What is it, Horace?” she asked with a blank smile.
“My lady, you have a guest.”
She wrinkled her brow in utter confusion. Her family home, Rosewood Terrace, was at least five miles away from its nearest neighbor. Even if anyone dared to venture out in this terrible weather, no one knew she was in residence, for she had not made her arrival public knowledge.
“A guest?” she repeated, stepping toward the servant. “Is it someone of my acquaintance?”
He nodded gravely. “Indeed, my lady. It is Earl of Atleigh.”
Charlotte staggered back, grasping the back of the nearest chair as the room spun around her unexpectedly.
“C-Colin is here?” she whispered when she could finally catch her breath enough to speak. “Now?”
“Yes, my lady,” Horace said. “His mount was a bit worse for wear from the harsh weather, but if you would like to me to tell him that you are not in residence—”
“Gracious, no!” Charlotte said, moving forward again. “If Colin has come all this way through a storm, there must be a very good reason. Please send him in directly and have hot tea and biscuits brought in as soon as Mrs. Horace can prepare them.”
“Of course, my lady.”
As soon as the butler bowed from the room to collect Colin, Charlotte spun away from the door and clenched a fist to her chest. Her heart was pounding wildly against her fingers and her blood roared in her ears. How she cursed the powerful physical response she had always felt when near the man. The one she had never been quite able to control, to her great detriment.
“Lord Atleigh, my lady.”
She turned as her butler stepped aside and Colin Winchester, Earl of Atleigh, moved into her parlor. Charlotte sucked in a breath as she watched him slick long fingers through curling brown locks. Loose snowflakes fluttered to the floor at his feet, and he gave her that crooked, mischievous grin that had made her heart thud painfully for over seventeen years. His dark blue eyes twinkled with wit and playful sensuality as he gave her an audacious wink.
He was an impossibly handsome man, and she had never been able to tame her reactions to him. No matter how hard she tried.
“Colin,” she managed to squeak out as she crossed the large room toward him with trembling hands outstretched. “Great God, what are you doing here? Is my brother ill?”
His brow wrinkled as he took her hands in his. He had obviously been wearing gloves during his ride, for his fingers were warm and rough against her inappropriately bare palms. She stifled an involuntary sigh at the touch and fought to keep her expression placid.
“No, of course not. I came here to meet with Damien, in fact.” Colin tilted his head. “I didn’t expect you to be here, Charlotte, not that I am not pleased to see you.”
He leaned back and his gaze flitted up and down her frame with a sweeping possessiveness that weakened her knees. But she knew better than to take it personally. Colin perused every woman he met in such a way.
And Charlotte had never been to his liking.
“You do look wonderful,” he said with another playful wink.
Charlotte blushed as she withdrew her hands from his and paced away. The added distance allowed her to remember herself and she turned back with a friendly smile.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said softly. “But you must have misunderstood whatever missive you received from my brother. Damien is in London. I am the only one in residence here at Rosemont Terrace. My brother has no intentions to join me, or at least none that he voiced to me before I left just a few days ago.”
Colin frowned. Even serious, he didn’t look dark or foreboding like so many of his class and rank tried to affect. No, Colin always looked a little like the young man she had met all those years ago when he came home for a holiday with her brother. Far too smart for his own good, a boy with too many pranks and not enough time to execute them all, a boy with a light in his eyes, despite a painful childhood.
When he had laughed back then, it had forced Charlotte to laugh, too.
“How foolish of me,” Colin muttered, seemingly more to himself than to Charlotte. “I must have misunderstood his directive, as you say.” He shuffled uncomfortably as he looked to her. “If you do not mind, I ask if I may take a respite here and allow my horse to recover from the cold?”
“Of course,” Charlotte said, even though inside her stomach was twisting wildly. She had only been totally alone with Colin once. Probably he didn’t recall that, but she did. In vivid and humiliating detail. “I could not turn you out into…”
She turned to wave toward the window and her sentence trailed off. In the few moments since she had looked outside, the few stray flakes of snow had transformed into a miserable blizzard. Although it was afternoon, it was dusky dark outside and she could no longer see more than a finger’s length past the window frame.
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