Enough.
I leave the bathroom and rummage through the clothes in the dresser. Comfortable cotton underwear, the most favoring no-ring bra I’ve ever worn in my life, socks, jeans, t-shirts, button shirts, and sweaters; all the fabric is impossibly soft, the garments simple but beautifully constructed, and I’m certain these are designer clothes. I dress quickly as the luring smell of bacon reaches my nose, along with strains of music from an old Edwyn Collins song I love, playing on a stereo. The massive double doors lead to a wide corridor, white walls and marble floors cover the entire place, apparently.
I find myself slightly moving to the beat as I follow the heavenly smell to the kitchen. I barely register the granite counters and glowing appliances. My eyes widen as I see the chef. She is clad in military-style boots and ripped black jeans; her hips moving to the beat while cooking scrambled eggs. Long raven hair falls in a loose braid to her waist, lithe arms are visible thanks to the black tank top. She is almost my height but curvier, her skin the color of maple syrup. My lower belly clenches with a faintly known sensation.
Look at that, I do have a libido after all.
I gulp, adding yet another thing to the ever-increasing list of things-I’ve-denied-to-myself as she turns to me. Chocolate eyes lock with mine.
Holy hell.
I can’t stop my eyes from giving her a full once over and my heart takes speed.
Her full lips curve in an apologetic smile.“Oops, didn’t see you there,” her voice is slightly raspy but exquisitely feminine, unlike mine.
“Hi!” I say, waving like a total idiot. I have to agree with Edwyn Collins. I’ve never met a girl like her before.
Her eyes widen as she lets out a small laugh. “Hello there, Dinah. My name is Isir.”
“I’m Dinah.”
The hell is wrong with me?
She points to the stools by the island and I take a seat, not taking my eyes off her as she turns off the stereo with a remote and hurries to serve a plate full of scrambled eggs, bacon, and a cup of black coffee. I take a long sip and my head clears a little.
“Sorry about, um, surprising you, eat something, you’ll feel better,” Isir says, pointing to the food. I take a mouthful of eggs.
I blush. “Er, you have no reason to apologize.”
She purses her lips in an obvious attempt not to smile. “I’m a succubus, and for a moment there I lost control of my luring as I danced.”
I blink. The giddiness ebbing.
“A succubus?” I ask.
Grotesque images of a demon with bat wings and fangs flashes in my mind’s eye.
She nods towards the food again and I busy myself eating, more hungry than I thought.
“Yep, immortal life-sucker,” she says with a wink.
Sure, why not?
The knot in my belly loosens, the initial raw attraction ebbs, but there’s enough lingering attraction to leave my mind reeling.
Girls like girls like boys do…
“So, how does, uh, being a succubus work?” I ask between mouthfuls, trying to distract myself.
Isir smiles, there’s mischief in those chocolate eyes. “I have to feed on the energy of other living beings, usually through sexual contact, though I can absorb some amount without actually touching someone.”
I swallow and drink some coffee while pondering it.
“Is it, er, voluntary?” I dare ask, fearing to anger her.
Isir chuckles. “Does it look like I’d have to force anyone?” she points at her gloriously gorgeous self and I shake my head. There’s something like regret in her eyes, and I have the feeling she’s not telling me the whole truth.
But why would she? We’re strangers.
I’m done with the food in a matter of minutes.
“Want more?” Isir asks.
“No, thanks, I’d like some answers.”
She nods.
A blink of purple light draws my attention to the balcony. We have to be in the penthouse. The massive windows allow a stunning view of tall buildings. And a serious-looking demon prince.
CHAPTER 6
DINAH
He walks inside and holds a hand up as he sees me open my mouth.
“Before you shoot another set of questions I shall tell you what I know, for I do not know everything about you and your past, agreed?”
I take a deep breath and nod. He is standing between the kitchen and the living room, I can’t help but notice just how ridiculously handsome he is regardless of that almost angry set of his dark eyebrows.
Is it illegal for demons and succubus to not be hot?
Isir lays a hand on my shoulder and leads me towards the living room. I shiver, even huddled up in a puffy sweater. A flash of purple flicks on the fireplace for a couple of seconds, then orange flames lick the wood. I detail the rich brown shelves containing the stereo, a 60-inch TV, and a blu-ray player. The furniture looks expensive and smells like leather and beeswax.
The prince sits on one of the individual chairs—crossing his legs with enviable elegance—facing Isir and me as we sit on the big couch. He rubs his nose bridge, looking tired despite his flawless pale skin.
“Go on, spit it. Am I the key to humanity’s salvation? Do I have to stop the apocalypse? Because if that’s the case, we are all royally fucked,” I say.
Isir laughs, relaxing on the couch. The prince blinks, amethyst eyes locking with mine.
“Fortunately, that’s not the case,” he says. I think I see a hint of amusement in his eyes, but it’s gone too fast.
I bite my lip, my legs moving on their own accord.
He sighs. “You are a Nephilim.”
I flinch back, a knot forming in my throat. Part of me wants to laugh and deny the possibility, me, a total weakling? But I have seen enough crazy things in the past few days. His eyes are set on me, measuring my reaction.
I have no words, again.
“Born of a human mother and an Asteri father,” he states.
“Asteri?” I ask.
“You know them as angels,” Isir explains.
The prince continues. “Nephilim are rare, in the sense that your creation is considered immoral by most of the Asteri and by the maker itself.”
The sheer disgust in his voice when he mentions the maker is not lost on me.
“Why?” I ask.
Isir scoffs. “Many reasons, the main one being that the maker does not enjoy having competition.”
“Can half-humans really pose any threat to, well, someone above even their Angel sires?” I ask.
A part of my mind is still reeling at having such an odd conversation, but curiosity wins over.
“Not in terms of power or strength, naturally,” the prince answers. “But the Nephilim are the best of both worlds, immortal yet connected to the human race, and if there’s one thing humans like to worship more than gods, is themselves.”
“And the narcissist in chief doesn’t like to share,” Isir sneers. Even anger looks beautiful on her.
I flinch again, swallowing hard. I’ve never been a particularly religious person, but cold fear cuts through my chest at her words.
What if a bolt is sent to her, and I get fried by proxy?
Isir laughs, brown eyes gleaming.
“Uh, tell me you can’t read my mind,” I plead, wrinkling my nose.
She cocks her head, examining me. “I can sense your emotions, and yes, I could if I wanted to.”
Wonderful.
They allow me to have a moment to let the information settle; I fight not to cringe at the attention. As soon as my leg starts to move again, the prince continues.
“As I’ve said, a device was placed on your femur, it locked away your power all these years, making your regeneration slower, draining your physical strength and energy core,” there’s indignation in his eyes as he says this. “We are surprised you were able to even access part of your power, or live a normal life.”
I shiver, swallowing hard. “I was always in pain, my leg, it
was constant, but I learned to ignore it unless it got too bad.”
I feel sick. The prince’s amethyst eyes examine me with too much intent to keep looking at him.
Isir bumps her shoulder with mine. “It is impressive you fought off Kazzian for a bit,” she says, shaking her head. “That crazy bastard, I’ll kick his arse if I ever see him again.”
“No, you won’t,” says the prince in an authoritative tone. “He is out of your league, Isir, and I will not have you die in that way.”
Isir’s eyes narrow. “Out of my league, my arse, I can handle him, I owe him a good beating.”
“Don’t we all?” the prince scoffs. “If you lay eyes on him, run and let me know, period.”
They engage in an epic glare contest, the prince wins.
Isir rolls her eyes and slumps back, crossing her lithe arms in front of her chest. “Fine.”
“Who put that device inside me? And why?” I fight to keep my voice steady.
Someone had placed something inside me without my knowledge and crippled me in more ways than one. The more I think about it, the more I feel like bathing in bleach.
The Prince’s jaw clenches. “I don’t know the answers to those questions, unfortunately. I can tell you it was of Nephilim origin, so it rules out one of the nox, my kin, which makes it even stranger.”
“How so?” I ask.
“Well, turns out the Nephilim love to recruit other Nephilim to become supernatural assassins, not incapacitate them,” Isir says with disdain.
“What?” It is getting weirder by the second.
“Some Nephilim believe demons, vampires, lycans, succubi, and most supernatural creatures are a blight on the Earth and they are the purifiers,” fiery anger flashes in the prince’s eyes even though he keeps his face blank, almost bored.
Aren’t things just getting better and better?
“I think that’s enough information for you to think about for a while, huh?” Isir asks with a wink.
Enough to make a normal person bang their heads against a wall, most likely.
I nod.
“Good,” says the prince, standing. “Unless you need to do anything, we should get going.”
“We?” I ask.
“Yes, we. I am not leaving you alone until Kazzian is dealt with. You have no idea how to use your powers, nor you have any combat training. If he gets to you again while I am not there…”
Kazzian’s hungry, black stare flashes in my mind.
She is mine.
I shiver.
As much as I hate to admit it, I know I am no match for him.
Isir places a comforting hand on my shoulder. “We won’t let him hurt you.”
I swallow and force a half-smile.
My balance is slightly off, standing straight takes effort. I feel as if I am living in a parallel reality. The nagging sensation that something is amiss makes me anxious.
The prince signals for me to follow him to the exit, I oblige.
“See you around,” Isir winks.
Right outside the door, there is a massive corridor with marble floors. The prince presses the button of the elevator. The seconds lengthen with his silence until finally, the elevator arrives. He is stiff as a statue as the metal box descends, creating a hollow sensation in the pit of my stomach. I hate elevators with passion, only using them because taking the stairs is painful.
I am leaning most of my weight on my right leg like an old reflex. Relaxing my posture, I allow the weight to be equally distributed. No pain. Not even a hint of it.
That was the thing I felt was missing.
I bite my cheek hard, feeling the tingling in my eyes; the Prince’s gaze itches on my face, but I refuse to turn to him. He leaves the elevator in a hurry as soon as it stops. The lobby has a vaulted ceiling and golden decorations. Greek-style arches and marble floors, paintings decorating the cream walls, soft music, and the smell of leather, tobacco, and lavender.
“So this is how the other 1% lives, huh?” I muse aloud.
“This is nothing really,” the prince says, his hand lightly falling on my shoulder ushering me out.
The middle-aged doorman half-bows to us. “Sir, miss.” His dark brown eyes examine me with surprise.
“Luke,” the prince says.
The chilly air wraps tight around my neck, the streets are a buzz of activity, it can’t be another way in the city that never sleeps. A black limousine awaits parked in front of the building. The prince opens the door for me, his handsome face is devoid of emotion. I slide inside, wary of touching the leather seats. Who knows how many women the prince has paraded in there?
“So you are Dinah,” says a sensual voice. A male face peers from the driver’s seat, azure eyes framed by artistically unkempt blonde hair, full lips lift in a seductive smile.
Something inside me warns me the supermodel is not human.
The prince sits beside me and closes the door.
“And you are?” I ask.
“Bryce,” he says, azure eyes examining my face. “You look absolutely stunning this afternoon, Dinah.”
My eyes widen. Is he serious? It seems so. “Er, likewise, Bryce.”
“Enough with the flirting, Bryce,” the prince says, amethyst eyes narrowing.
Bryce winks and turns away, starting the engine.
I turn to gaze at the demon prince. He is looking out his window, brow furrowed.
“So, where are you taking me?”
“Back to your old apartment near the university,” he replies, mild annoyance in his voice.
“Old apartment?”
He doesn’t deign to look at me. “You will be moving to the penthouse.”
“The hell I will,” I growl. Not at all happy with being manhandled, or more accurately, demon-handled.
He turns to me. “I said I will not let you out of our sight while Kazzian is still a problem.”
I frown. “That doesn’t mean I feel like becoming the prisoner of a—”
“A what?” he growls, amethyst eyes narrowing. “A demon? Is your Nephilim blood already boiling by being in proximity to us, evil ones?” His upper lip curls slightly, exposing pearly white perfect teeth, his canines seem a bit sharper than normal.
My fists clench, something hot stirring inside my core. “A stranger! I was going to say a stranger! I barely know you, for all I know you could be a serial killer or have a shelf full of furry animal heads!”
A chuckle comes from the driver’s seat.
The prince scoffs. Nevertheless, the ire vanishes from his face. “I pose no danger to you or furry animals.”
“And how can I trust that?” I ask, more to myself than him.
He sighs, turning to look out the window again. “Magdalena and I had a deal, I am to protect you. And a demon never breaks a deal.”
The mention of my grandma sends a sharp pain cutting through my heart. “You had a deal with my grandma? Little detail you forgot to mention.”
He ignores me.
“You could just give me your cell number, you can poof yourself anywhere, can’t you?” I grumble.
“Certainly, but that leaves a time frame where you could be abducted or worse. Not to mention you live with a mortal male, what do you think Kazzian will do to him?”
A shiver runs down my spine.
Spencer, I could not allow anything bad to happen to him.
I sulk in silence, knowing he is infuriatingly right.
* * *
Using the key hidden under the number tag in the door, I enter the flat, demon prince following close behind.
“Spence?” I ask.
“There’s no one here,” the prince says.
His presence sets me on edge, especially if he’s near enough for me to feel the heat of his body. He trails after me as I go to my room, my gut clenches thinking about leaving Spence behind. I know it’s for his own sake, but I can’t help but feel like I am losing everyone I love.
I glare at him. “So, you are going to stan
d there and watch me pack my undies? Have you nothing better to do?”
He doesn’t bother looking at me.
I fight the urge to stick my tongue out and hurry, packing my laptops and electronics with all the care I can muster. My hands shake, I detest being watched. The prince is leaning on the door frame, one leg crossed in front of the other as he types fast in a fancy smartphone, but I can feel his attention on me. In my only remaining bag, I stuff all the underwear and clothes I can manage. As cowardly as it is, I want to finish before Spence arrives. I much prefer inventing some lie over the phone than having to see the disappointment in my friend’s face.
“So, what’s your name?” I ask.
He turns to look at me. “What?” The same brusqueness of that first night has filtered back into his voice.
“Your name, you must have one.”
“You already know it,” he says, amethyst eyes narrowing suspiciously.
I frown. “If you’re talking about that night, I must remind you I was drunk as hell and have no idea what I said in that language.”
His gaze sharpens with disbelief, and I have to break away from that stare. It’s like being naked.
“So, name?” I ask, trying to hide the discomfort, having to swallow hard. He remains stubbornly quiet. “Unless you want me to call you your Highness?”
I risk a glance. His face is devoid of emotion.
“Your majesty? Prince of Darkness?” still nothing. “Royal Pain?”
A perfect brow rises. “Prince of Darkness is taken, I’m afraid. And Royal Pain suits you better.”
I snort. “It takes one to know one.”
He turns his face away. “Spencer is about to arrive.”
All my humor vanishes. “And what am I going to tell him?”
Demon Warden: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy (The Cursed and the Fallen 1) Page 6