by Elise Marion
With a nod, he gestured her closer. Grasping a fistful of her platinum hair, he lowered her to her knees in front of him and thrust toward her mouth. A gasp burned in his chest as she enveloped him, sucking with all the finesse and skill of a porn star.
Closing his eyes, Micah let his head fall back and his mind go blank. With the buzz of alcohol and the thrill of sex coursing through him, he lost himself and forgot the demons that had been chasing him for most of his life.
From across the taproom, Addison Monroe narrowed her eyes and fixated them on the curtain that Micah had disappeared behind. Anger heated her face as she pondered what might be going on inside the little enclosure. She knew Tiffany ‘Rockin’ Rack’ Mack very well. That girl must be one of the biggest sluts this side of the Mississippi, not above taking a few extra bucks to spread her legs.
Leave it to Micah to pull a stunt like this. His propensity for going rogue on missions and doing as he pleased was hardly a novel concept. When it came to being an asshole, he proved as reliable as the mail.
Why, then, did the knowledge that he probably went in there to get the most expensive blow job in New Orleans heat her blood to boiling?
Because he’s supposed to be looking out for me; that’s why.
She hardly needed protection, but the angel Reniel had insisted. As the bearer of the ring known as the Seal of Solomon, she had become a prime target for demons. Since she’d insisted on resuming her job as a dancer to continue paying for her college classes, their liaison between Heaven and Earth had demanded she go each night with an escort.
Useless!
That’s what her supposed bodyguard had proven himself to be.
Outwardly, she kept her face schooled into its seductive mask while she performed her choreographed moves to ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me.’ With a swing of her fiery red locks, she dropped to her knees and worked the pair of men in business attire sitting near the stage. They’d have deep pockets and lowered inhibitions—judging by the bottle of bourbon rapidly becoming empty between them.
She tried to concentrate on squeezing her customers for every dollar they were worth—something she usually did without even thinking—but realized that her gaze kept straying to the red curtain every few seconds. Distracted, she found herself instead counting the seconds and minutes until the song would be over, gaze flitting to the corner of the room with an infuriating lack of focus.
When the track ended, she retrieved her clothes and bills, not bothering to count them while retreating from the stage.
“Hey, girl!” her friend and fellow dancer, Maria, called out as she breezed past.
Addison ignored the girl, stomping toward her corner of the dressing room and shoving the wad of bills into her bag along with the stash from her first dance. Sliding out of her platforms, she made quick work of pulling a tank top and shorts on over her G-string. Shoving her feet into a pair of sneakers, she then yanked her hair into the fastest ponytail anyone had ever accomplished. Hands balled into fists at her sides, she left the dressing room, hell-bent on giving Micah a piece of her mind.
Drunk men and waitresses with trays balanced on their shoulders cut a wide berth around her, one look at her stormy expression warning them she shouldn’t be trifled with tonight.
When she pulled the velvet curtain aside, she should not have been shocked by what she found behind it. Yet, somehow, the evidence staring her right in the face was enough to make her sick.
Micah sat sprawled in a purple vinyl chair with his pants down to his knees, head thrown back as Tiffany rode him like she’d mounted a stallion. The sound of her thighs slapping against his resounded in the small space, further infuriating Addison.
Deciding to have a word with him when he’d finished, she backed away and reached for the curtain to close it. A flash of silver caught her eye and she paused, narrowing her gaze onto the couple stifling their moans, oblivious to the open curtain and the voyeur standing behind them.
She’d been so focused on what she knew her eyes should see, she’d almost missed the one thing they shouldn’t have.
The glint of silver turned out to be a knife, floating high over Tiffany’s head and pointing straight down at Micah. No—not floating. Slithering from the stripper’s tailbone, a snakelike thing moved in a hypnotic, serpentine motion. Wrapped around the knife, the tail undulated, moving as if it were a living thing. Yet, she had to be the master. Not a woman, but something else—a demon.
The pointed end of the tail reminded Addison of one of those cartoons of the devil, and she half expected the girl to grow horns and start cackling as fire rose up to envelope both her and her oblivious prey.
“Not today, bitch,” she muttered, striding forward and gripping a handful of Tiffany’s hair.
The girl screamed, not from fear, but rage—an unearthly sound that grated her eardrums like fingernails on a chalkboard.
Roaring with anger, Micah leapt to his feet, fumbling with his clothes. “What the hell, Addison!”
Wrapping one arm around the demon’s neck, she struggled to keep it from escaping. It hissed, a forked tongue appearing from between pointed teeth. Micah’s stunned expression broke through as the sight seemed to knock him stone-cold sober.
“Put your dick back in your pants,” she growled, glaring at him over the demon’s shoulder. “And help me kill this thing.”
Grumbling in a slur of Cajun French, he obeyed. Jerking his belt closed, he gave his lover a disgusted sneer.
“Why do the pretty ones always turn out to be crazier than a dadgum raccoon with rabies?”
Reaching unceremoniously beneath his shirt, he retrieved one of his knives. Giving it a twirl, he flashed the golden handle at the demon, showing her the markings identifying it as the weapon of a Guardian. At the sight, she hissed and growled, snapping her jagged teeth at him.
Addison grunted, struggling to keep the thing from escaping. She possessed the strength of ten men, but the creature proved just as tough.
“Care to move things along?” she huffed.
Pressing the blade between her breasts, Micah advanced on the demon, effectively silencing her. She remained pinned between them, unable to move or escape.
A demented smile crossed his face, eyes flashing with the excitement of a lion stalking a frightened antelope.
“You know what this is?”
The creature nodded, refusing to speak.
His nostrils flared as he trailed the knife farther down, pausing just above her navel. “Then you know what’ll happen if I run you through with it. Now, I reckon you like it here, a strip joint bein’ the perfect playground for your kind and all.”
Addison frowned. “Her kind?”
He flicked a distracted glance her way.
“Succubi,” he answered as if talking to a dim-witted child. “Female demons of sexual sin. Screwin’ human men feeds their power.”
“Now I know why she targeted you,” she scoffed, annoyed with him for talking to her like she was an idiot.
He knew as well as she did that she had just discovered this world of demons, angels, and everything in between.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he drawled, turning his attention back to the succubus. “Tell me where she is, and I’ll let you go.”
Feeling like an idiot yet again, Addison interjected. “She who?”
With a frustrated sigh, he cut his gaze toward her again. “You’re makin’ it real hard for me to be a badass right now, cher.”
With a huff, she leveled a glare right back at him. “Not my problem.”
“Can we do this later?” he hissed. “I’m kinda busy at the moment!”
Rolling her eyes, she nodded, giving him permission to continue.
“Where’s your cum-suckin’ whore of a mother?” he murmured, allowing the edge of his blade to nick the skin of the demon’s bare stomach.
The thing trembled, genuine fear radiating from her in waves. The demonic part of Addison enjoyed watching her squirm, seeming to draw strength
from her misery. Shaking her head, she swallowed bile and reminded herself she wasn’t one of them.
“If I tell you, she’ll kill me,” the demon replied. Tiffany’s voice was still present, tinged with the gravelly, grating tones of a monster.
“You think I believe that?” he scoffed. “You oughta be more scared of what I’m gonna do to you. Talk.”
“She’s got the penthouse at the Ritz-Carlton on Canal Street,” she replied grudgingly.
Micah nodded. “Does she have the three numbskulls with her?”
“You should know Lilith never goes anywhere without them.”
He slid his blade further in, creating a larger slit in her stomach. She gasped, stiffening against Addison.
“Now, now,” he crooned. “Be nice or I’ll gut you like a fish. How many of you did she bring?”
The demon smiled, showcasing her jagged, blackened teeth. “Scores.”
“She sent you to kill me. Why?”
She turned her head, and Addison could feel the demon’s dark eyes on her.
“Why do you think?”
“Is she working alone, or with more of the ten?”
“Nine now, thanks to you.”
Addison’s arm tightened around the succubus’ throat, anger tearing through her at the reminder of Mammon, the demon she had killed. One of the ten, fallen at her hand … but too late. Far too late to save Jack.
“You think that’s something?” she hissed, aware of the fact that she applied near-enough pressure to snap the demon’s head clean off its shoulders. “Wait till you see what I do to the other nine.”
“Enough, cher.”
Addison ignored him, allowing the blackness and rage in her to swell and grow. Her vision grew hazy, and she knew her eyes had changed, turning the irises and whites black.
“Tell him what he wants to know,” she growled. “Or I’ll rip your head off.”
Tiffany struggled in her hold. “I smell demon on you,” she muttered. “Yet, you bear the mark of a Guardian. Why do you limit yourself by aligning with these fools? Do you not know of the kind of power you could possess? You are one of us.”
“I will never be one of you,” she replied before snatching Micah’s blade from his grasp and turning it inward, impaling the demon.
With a high-pitched cry, the succubus fell to her knees, clutching her middle. A white beam of light shone from the crevice left behind by the knife. As she howled and trembled, the glow grew, tearing her apart from the inside. Then, with an ear-splitting shriek, she disappeared, torn apart by a white flash, exploding in a shower of black demon blood and body parts.
Neither of them so much as flinched when the nasty goop splattered them. Twirling the knife, she extended it to Micah, lifting one eyebrow at him.
He scowled. “Whatcha do that for?”
“You were getting nowhere with her,” she replied, shrugging. “I think we learned enough. One of the ten is gunning for us, probably with the help of one or two others.”
His jaw clenched and his upper lip curled back, revealing his clenched teeth. “You’re startin’ to burn my grits, cher.”
Turning away from him, she laughed. “Do I look like I care?”
She paused when she realized the taproom had fallen silent and several pairs of eyes bored into her. Expressions ranged from shocked and dismayed to frightened and disgusted.
“Great,” he muttered from behind her. “Now I gotta call Ren and tell him to come erase some memories.”
“No need,” she mumbled, stepping forward. “I’ve got it covered.”
Calling on the new ability she’d recently discovered, she looked them all in the eye one by one, pulling them under her compulsion. Their faces went blank, the eyes becoming dead.
“You didn’t see anything,” she commanded them. “Go back to stripping, or waiting tables, or ogling ass, or whatever you were doing. Mind your damn business.” Turning back to Micah, she inclined her head and gave him a smug smile. “Can we go now?”
“Might as well,” he muttered, falling into step behind her.
No one stopped him from following her into the dressing room. He laughed when the half-naked girls dressing in the back gasped and covered themselves, glaring at him in outrage.
“I’ve seen way more of half the girls in this room. Relax.”
He waited patiently while she gathered her things. She didn’t even bother to scrub off her caked-on stage makeup—too disgusted with him and this place to remain any longer than she needed to.
She stomped out into the night, neglecting to hold the door open for him. He grunted when it slammed into him, but he barreled through, throwing it against the outer brick wall and nearly tearing it off his its hinges.
“You mind tellin’ me what’s put a bee in your drawers?”
She shook her head, scoffing in disgust as she tried to outpace him. No such luck. Micah’s legs stretched nearly twice as long as hers. One of his steps easily matched two of hers. He loped alongside her, swaying precariously from the effects of vodka and beer.
“Seriously?”
He shrugged. “I thought we were havin’ a nice time. I was gettin’ shit-faced, and you were doin’ your thing and makin’ some cash. Nice moves on that Beyoncé song, by the way. Didn’t know you could make your ass move like that.”
Her teeth clenched and she seethed, fighting to remain calm. He was being a jerk on purpose to upset her. It had been his MO ever since Jack’s death.
“Yeah, I wasn’t the only one doing their ‘thing’.”
He laughed. “Jealous?”
“Of the hundreds of tramps you’ve screwed in the past month? Not likely.”
“Then shut up about it,” he growled, all humor leaving his voice. “What I do is none of your business.”
They paused just in front of the building she’d moved into with him and Jack—the tiny two-bedroom apartment situated over Mama Jo’s Cajun Diner. Micah was supposed to be working shifts as a cook there, but hadn’t been in for weeks. Because Mama Jo was an Oracle who had a soft spot for him, she still allowed them to live there for next to nothing. The rent got paid every month somehow, so Addison couldn’t complain.
“None of my business?” she screeched, hands clenching into fists at her sides. “How is that when we’re supposed to be working together? We’re supposed to be—”
“Don’t stick your toe in that creek, cher,” he murmured, pushing past her to open the door. “We ain’t partners. Never have been. Never will be.”
“Then what the hell am I doing here, Micah?” she asked, tramping up the stairs behind him.
“Wastin’ your time. Ain’t you figured it out yet?”
He paused on the landing just in front of the apartment door.
“Ain’t you learned anything yet?” he asked, upper lip curling at her in disdain. “This thing we got roped into … this war … it’s a never-ending clusterfuck. There is no end. The sooner you figure that out, the better off you’ll be. Maybe you’ll be luckier than Jack, who didn’t have the sense the Good Lord gave him to figure it out. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go back to not givin’ a flyin’ fuck about you, that dadgum ring, or God and his mysterious plan.”
Her jaw dropped so hard and fast, Addison was surprised it didn’t scrape the floor. She stood watching him for a full minute without speaking, in shock. Her gaze followed him as he tramped into the messy living room strewn with papers, trash, takeout boxes, and his empty mason jars. He plopped onto his favorite armchair and found one still half-full of moonshine. Reaching for the old, worn cowboy hat he’d left resting in its place beside the chair, he jammed it on his head. Taking up his guitar, he laid it across his legs and strummed lazily with one hand while swigging the clear liquor with the other.
Snapping out of the shock that had rendered her silent, she slammed the door behind her and strode into the room. Pausing just before him with one hand on her hip, she glared down at him.
“You disgust me,” she his
sed. “You’re a pitiful excuse for a man and a Guardian. You’re not even half the man Jack was, and I cannot believe I’m stuck here with you, of all people.”
He didn’t even bother to raise his head when he answered her, but his voice grew tense, quivering with unrestrained fury.
“Don’t you talk to me about my neg. You don’t know shit about him, or me. You barely knew him. Damn right I’m not half the man he was. He was the best of us all—better than you and me both. Now he’s gone and I get stuck babysittin’ you until you find a way to get rid of the demons riding our asses, or they kill us both. Ain’t that some shit?”
“So, you don’t even care?” she asked, incredulity creasing her brow. “That succubus thing was after you tonight, not me.”
He shrugged, taking another long drink from his mason jar. “I’m a demon hunter, cher. Killin’ ’em is what I do. If one comes for me, it won’t live to see the apocalypse.”
She raised her eyebrows. “But only after you screw them, right?”
Micah stood abruptly, tossing his guitar carelessly aside. Still clutching his jar, he took a step toward her, bending down until they stood almost nose to nose.
“Yeah, I fucked a demon tonight. Wouldn’t be the first time a Guardian did that, would it? Guess that’s one thing me, Jack, and your mama have in common, ain’t it?”
Outrage bristled up her spine, causing the darkness in her to drown out the light. She tried to fight it, like Jack had taught her, but without him, she had no reason to. Grief and anger had overcome her light, and rage filled her in that moment. Before she could stop it, it turned her eyes black and her vision hazy, caused inhuman strength to fill her. With one swift right hook, she sent him flying across the room.
He crashed into a bookshelf containing Jack’s books. It splintered like a pile of twigs under his bulk, sending the volumes crashing to the floor and his hat tumbling away.
Dirty blond hair fell into his eyes, which glittered with green fire as he growled and sprung at her like a cat.
For such a large man, he moved with such speed and accuracy that she had no hope of avoiding him when he came crashing into her like a freight train.