Bless me, being a mortal really was fucking up my priorities.
"I don't get how milk can be so nasty, but pizza could taste so good," I said, working on my second slice. We were sprawled on the carpet, our banquet of pizza and soda set out in front of the bed. Between the steam from the shower, the heat from the food, and the way my body temperature hit the stratosphere whenever Paul smiled, all of the bones in my body had melted into gush.
"You wouldn't say milk was nasty once you've had it with Oreos."
"What're Oreos?"
"Bad enough you've never had pizza before," Paul said around a mouthful of melted cheese. "But you mean to tell me you've never even heard of Oreos?"
"I was sort of deprived growing up." Well, more like depraved. But what's one vowel?
"Let me guess. Minister's daughter, raised in the heartland of America. A romance went sour, and now you've run away to the big, bad city to experience a life of sin."
His words startled me so much that I started choking on mozzarella. Tears welling in my eyes, I swallowed the bite of pizza and reached for the bottle of Coke. Bless me, he'd even pegged the Heartlands. Was he some sort of psychic, able to pick up on the truth of my identity through my aura? Or was it really just a coincidence?
Gulping the sweet beverage, I decided I didn't care. Let Meg be the one to babble about Fate; I refused to waste my mortal life by searching for hidden meaning.
Either in agreement or indifference, my body let out a massive hiccough.
BLECH!!!
Mental note: Cola-flavored backwash is gross.
"Was the face for my guess about your background?"
With my left hand, I clasped the peridot hanging between my breasts. Nope; still cool. So the evil grin on Paul's face was from a wicked sense of humor, and nothing more. It was nice to know that the man I wanted to have sweaty animal sex with wasn't out to eat me alive (and not the ran, cunnilingus way).
"Don't give up the day job, mister. You're close, but still way off base."
"Yeah?" He grinned, and I noticed that it was deliciously lopsided, as if he had this fabulous secret that he could barely keep contained. Oh, how I wanted to kiss those lips until his mouth opened and his secrets came spilling out, thrilling me and filling me…
For Hells sake, get a grip. He's just a mortal man.
Yeah, but he could be my Cabin Boy…
The infernal voice in my mind made retching sounds.
"So tell me," Paul said, "what part did I get wrong?"
"Well, the whole minister thing was way off." In more ways than he'd ever know. "And the romance was just a kiss. But you got the Heartlands right. And the life of sin, that I'm working on."
"So you left home because you kissed the wrong guy?"
For a heartbeat that stretched into an impossibly long time, I said nothing as I remembered the feeling of King Lucifer's lips on mine, how my mouth had tingled even after He'd pulled away from me. And then He'd made the Announcement…
No. Stop that now.
I felt the weight of Paul's gaze on me, but I couldn't look at him as I spoke. My voice soft, I said, "I left home because I learned something that upset me. I guess you could say I didn't handle it well."
I paused, wanting to tell him more, feeling this burning need to spew the truth and bask in a momentary catharsis before my life would be forfeit. Then I pushed that need down deep inside and locked it away. It squirmed, but down it stayed.
"At first I tried. The rest of my"—I took a deep breath, wondering how to explain my brethren—"my family took it in stride. Some of my sisters embraced it, like it was this excuse to forget everything they'd ever known. But I couldn't do that. I couldn't just pretend that the past never happened, that everything I'd ever done was meaningless, useless."
"Who told you that?"
Paul's voice was whisper-quiet, and that's when I realized I was crying. Ah, shit. I scrubbed at my tears, hating the salty drops that trickled down my cheeks.
"It doesn't matter," I said. My breath hitched, and a fullblown sob escaped my lips. I swallowed it down, choked back my rage and my sorrow. I couldn't be this upset. I was a creature of the Pit, I was Evil, I was stronger than this!
No, that blessed voice said in my mind. You're only human.
I closed my eyes and fought the bitter sadness that threatened to crush my heart. Strong arms circled me, and I leaned against a broad shoulder and cried—loud, terrible wails that shook my body and stole my breath. The suffocating feeling in my chest loosened with every gut-wrenching sob, and my overwhelming grief eventually diminished, settling into a bone-deep ache. My gasping breaths soon turned to quiet sniffles. Paul hugged me tighter, one hand stroking my back as he murmured into my hair, "It's okay, it's okay."
Settled in his embrace, tears still streaming from my eyes, I realized just how weak I'd become. Not just soft—fragile. Delicate. Like the strands of molten lava that floated in the updraft from the Lake of Fire, I'd transformed into a brittle shell, nothing more than trapped heat, frozen flame.
If this heartache was part of the package, then I hated being human.
"Don't hate it," Paul said, his breath warm on my hair.
Oh, bless me, I'd actually spoken aloud.
Still stroking my back, Paul said, "It's better to be a real, feeling person than some cold, unfeeling thing. Even when that means feeling sad, or disappointed."
Stiffening, I pulled away from him. "There's nothing better about… about this!" I motioned to my tear-stained face. "This is just weakness, just useless emotion that does nothing but show how soft I've become."
"You're not soft."
"I am! He said so! I didn't believe Him, but He was right!" Remembering that horrible judgment, the way His voice had sunk into my form and echoed in my mind, I balled my hands into fists. Snarling, I said, "I used to be so strong, and now I'm as fragile as a porcelain doll!"
Paul's hand touched my fist, and my fingers relaxed in his grip. "Jesse, you're not a doll. And you're stronger than you give yourself credit for."
Staring at him with my swollen eyes, I said, "How do you figure that?"
He smiled, and the tenderness I saw in his eyes nearly started my tears anew. "Look at you. You've come a long way to start over."
"I ran away, Paul. How's that being strong?"
"If you ran away from people telling you that everything about you was soft and useless, then running away was the best thing you could've done."
"No," I said, "you don't understand—"
"Don't make excuses for it." His face hardened, turning his sea-green eyes into raging storms. "You're not useless, Jesse. Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise."
I tilted my head back and took a deep, shuddering breath. "It's not that simple."
His hands pressed down on my shoulders until I looked into his face. "Yes it is."
"I'm supposed to be a creature of Lust," I whispered. "Not some frail, emotional girl."
"Jesse," he said, his voice thick, "you are the most damned gorgeous, desirable woman I've seen in a long, long time."
"You're saying that because you saw me naked at the club."
"I'm saying that because it's true. It's not just your body. Don't get me wrong, your body is nice. Really nice."
Great. Now I ranked up there with bunnies and rainbows.
Paul said, "But it's more than that. It's the way your eyes sparkle like diamonds, like you're always laughing inside. It's the way you moved on stage, so damned confident in yourself. It's your smile. It's you, Jesse."
My heart thumped so loud in my chest, I barely heard my own words. "You don't even know me."
"I'd like to."
That's when I pulled his face to mine and kissed him with all of the soul I wished I had.
Paul started to melt into the kiss—I felt his body respond to me, heard his surprised grunt turn into a melodious Uhm. But just as I parted my lips to strengthen the soft kiss into a deep, passionate tonsil-hockey suck, he gentl
y pulled me away.
"Jesse, don't."
My brows knitted as I searched his face for meaning. Finding none, I asked, "Why?"
"This isn't how it should be. You're upset right now."
"Damn straight I'm upset," I said, my voice rising. "And I'm getting more upset. Why don't you want me to kiss you?"
"I do." He put his hands out in a supplicating gesture. "But not like this. After you've had a chance to calm down, then you bet. But I won't take advantage of you."
"Do it, please, I'm begging you. Take advantage." I yanked my shirt over my head and threw it to the floor.
"Jesse—"
"Show me that I'm not useless." My hands fumbled behind my back at my bra clasp. The blessed thing wouldn't unfasten. Fucking underwire monstrosity.
"Jesse." Paul reached around me to put his hands over mine. "Please stop."
Pressed close, I smelled his aftershave and his sweat and a deeper, more primal scent that was purely male. I inhaled, drowning my senses with his intoxicating scent, and then I planted a kiss on his mouth. He released my hands, and I pushed him to the floor and straddled his body, my pelvis over his.
His eyes locked onto mine, and I saw his desire at war with his conscience. Deciding to help his desire along, I moved my body, rubbing my sex against his, feeling his penis take note of my intention. Even though we both wore jeans, there was no mistaking the effect of my affection; beneath me, his shaft hardened.
"Touch me," I said, my voice husky.
"Jesse…"
"Touch me!" I grabbed his hands and put them onto my breasts. Arching my back, I leaned into the touch, letting him caress my swells, feel how hard my nipples were beneath his fingers. Yes, this was what I wanted, what I needed. What did it matter that I'd given up everything I'd ever been, that I was on the run from all I'd ever known? All Paul had to do was love me, fuck me, and everything would be all right. Fuck me, I thought, fuck me long and fuck me hard.
Prove that I'm not useless.
He pulled out of my grip and seized my shoulders. Rolling, he knocked me off of him and onto my back. Leaning over me, he started at my face, looking like he wanted to either kiss me or slap me.
"I'm begging you," I said, my voice that of a little girl. "Please touch me."
"Oh, Jesse." His words were as gentle as rose petals. "I'm sorry."
The pity in his voice nearly killed me. "Get out."
"Jesse…"
"Get out! Leave me alone!"
Fuck, I was crying again. Being human really, really sucked.
With a sigh, he let me go. I stayed on my back, on the floor, but I turned my face away from him.
"Jesse, I didn't mean to hurt you."
Hurt, nothing. He made the demons of Pride look like amateurs.
"I'm sorry."
"Go away, Paul," I said, closing my eyes. "Just go away." I felt like someone had plucked my heart out of my chest, chewed it up, spat it out, and planted it back inside me. I hated this feeling, this utter sense of helplessness and despair. How did mortals deal with this?
"I'll see you later."
"Don't do me any favors."
I heard him gather his jacket and walk out, but I didn't open my eyes until the door slammed shut.
And the thing that really stank to high Heaven was that when I opened my eyes, I hoped he'd still be there, waiting. But of course, there was only me, my misery, and a half-eaten pizza pie. Staring at the cooling food and thinking of the pity in Paul's eyes, my stomach lurched. I barely made it to the toilet before I vomited.
It only went to prove that anything with milk in it led to disaster.
Chapter 15
New York City/Belles
By the time I cleaned up after my stomach cleaned itself out, I had twenty-five minutes to get to Belles. I grabbed my outfits for the night and my broken-in four-inch heels, and I stuffed it all into a Victoria's Secret shopping bag. And if I used a little more force than necessary to jam silk and leather into the bag, sue me.
Fucking Paul I-Know-Everything Hamilton. Him and his sorries. Who did he think he was? How dare he hold me and soothe me and have me bare a soul I didn't own, and then shove it right back in my face?
I should kill him. I should chase him down, rip off my Shield Against Evil and fuck him to death.
No, I should make him want to fuck me and then refuse to sleep with him, and make him so depressed that he would throw himself in front of a bus during rush hour. And the bus should back up over him five times.
No, I should go down on him and bite his cock off at the root, then shove it down his throat and lap up his blood before I took his soul and spat it into the Lake of Fire the way he spat away my advances.
Why didn't he want me?
I bit back a sob, crumpling a satin teddy in a shaking fist. No fucking way was I crying again. I didn't have that much hydration in my entire body. And I'd be blessed if I had to wash off my makeup and put it all back on again.
No wonder mortals invented waterproof mascara.
He'd like to know me, he said. Well, there's one way to know a succubus, and that's intimately.
I paused in my unholy anger. I wasn't a succubus any longer. My fingers danced on the peridot stone, feeling its cold, slick surface. All it would take was one pull, and the chain would give. And then I could use my power, and Paul would rue the day his father sired him.
My little voice whispered, Settle down, Jezebel. You Ye spouting words like rue.
Screw that. I'm four thousand years old. I'm allowed to throw in the occasional archaic word into my narrative.
But that voice was right. I had to calm down. I wasn't going to jeopardize my human life because of Paul Fucking Hamilton. And I wasn't going to be late meeting Roman because I was so busy plotting Paul's demise that I lost track of time.
Jamming my feet into loafers, I grabbed my purse and the shopping bag, remembering at the last second to make sure I had my wallet and key card. Then I was out the door and on my way—still fuming, still wishing all sorts of painful deaths on Paul, but at least I was also mobile.
As I marched down the city streets, the wind gusted around me, kicking up litter and pollen as well as tangling my dark curls. I didn't care; the haggard look fit my mood. I'd doll myself up once I got to Belles.
A fragile, porcelain doll.
My blood simmered in my veins and slowly cooked my heart. Oh, how I hated Paul Hamilton.
"Spare some change?"
I glanced over at the pile of rags that was a human slumming in the dark, narrow alley between buildings. Stronger than the lingering odor of garbage, his—her?—unwashed body radiated disease. Open sores covered his face, with a particularly impressive pus bubble by the corner of his mouth. His hand shook as he held it out.
Look at that, Jezebel. Some folks have it worse than you.
And in my mind, His voice whispered, And what kind of God allows His children to suffer so?
I squeezed my hand into a tight fist. Stop. Do not go there. Period.
"Miss? Got some change?"
The creature was nothing more than bones loosely held together by festering skin. My chest felt odd, almost as if my heart had melted into a warm puddle. Sighing, I decided that if I was going to wallow in my own humanity, I might as well do the Grinch thing and let my heart grow three sizes. "Sure, sweetie. Hang on."
"Sweetie? That nice. No one call me nice names."
What, did I have NICE HUMAN tattooed on my forehead? "I'm not nice," I said, digging through my purse. "You call me nice, I won't give you anything."
"You want I should call you a bitch?"
"If you don't mind."
"Give me a five, I call you anything you want."
I cleared my throat to cover my giggle. Maybe he was a walking cesspool of infection and destined to die a lonely, painful death. Maybe his body odor was rank enough to overpower garbage dumps. But he belonged to Lust. I dropped a twenty into his filthy palm.
The beggar grinned, dis
playing blackened teeth and gums the color of a boiled eggplant. "Rich girl. You got a nice necklace." His licked his chapped lips, leaving a thin line of spittle dangling from the corner of his mouth. "Maybe you so rich, you don't need one more necklace."
For a dizzying moment, I was tempted to give him my amulet. It would be so easy. Just yank it off, drop it in his hand and be on my way. Shed this mortal flesh and wreak vengeance on the man who'd wronged me. Maybe tear up the town a bit. Show the customers at Belles what they wished they could have, with no G-strings to mask what they so dearly wanted to touch, to suck, to fuck. And for the right price, give it all to them. Give it to them until they screamed…
Then my survival instinct overrode my death wish. "I don't think so."
"Thanks for the money, rich girl." The wretched creature leered in a way that would've given the Marquis de Sade nightmares. "Maybe I give you a kiss, show you my 'preciation."
I grinned, and even though it was tight on my face, it felt good. "Sweetie, you want to show me your appreciation, go get yourself something to eat. But stay away from milk."
"Yeah, stuff spoils too quick."
Wasn't that the ever-loving truth.
My jaunt into the Land of the Good Samaritan reminded me that I needed money. Sure, working the tables at Belles would keep me flush with beer-soaked tens, but that wouldn't be enough for me to land an apartment. So I had to make a pit stop into Caitlin's bank and make a teensy withdrawal.
As a demon, I'd picked up a lot about humans and their fabulous inventions. Being draped over some slob's arm had its advantages; I studied ATM interactions, I watched personal checks get filled out, I absorbed credit card transactions. So I knew that without Caitlin's PIN, the bank card in her wallet was useless. But I didn't quite know how to dip into her account without that PIN. So I needed to play the Helpless Female role and score some cash.
Not too much, of course; I was a former Seducer, not a one-time Coveter. I needed just enough to set me up without wiping Caitlin out. She didn't deserve that. What's more, the Hecate would probably overlook a dash of theft, but not full-scale larceny.
Hell on Earth 1 - Hell's Belles Page 13