by S Lawrence
Chosen Soul
Demon Bayou Series Book Two
S Lawrence
Copyright © 2019 by S. Lawrence.
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Book and Cover design by Sanja’s Covers
ISBN: 978-1-7323570-8-2
First Edition: 2019
Created with Vellum
Contents
Princes of Hell Creed
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Coming Soon
About the Author
Also by S Lawrence
Acknowledgments
Princes of Hell Creed
We protect those that fear us,
save them from those who fell like the night.
Flames will engulf feathers,
Night will drown the sun,
Our war will be won.
Prologue
I look out at my city, the neon shining bright. The constant noise barely heard by even my ears this high up. I ignore the others in the suite. I’m happy for them but tired of being surrounded by their happiness. We are Princes of Hell, but actual Hell wasn’t as grating as the grab ass that is happening fifty feet from me. I’m ready to throw myself from the balcony, to free fall six hundred feet to the ground, but even that wouldn’t kill me.
Every night for months, I’ve walked or driven the streets of this city searching for the Fallen, but like always, those bitches are hiding. Well, not hiding exactly, because they are out every damn night killing people. Not a slaughter like in New Orleans before they disappeared, but every morning, bodies are found.
No shortage of sinners in Las Vegas.
Lillian returned from her trip to Hell a few weeks ago and she has a secret. I can smell it on her.
It clings to her like stripper glitter.
I should head out but instead, I lower myself onto a lounge chair by our private pool. A perk of being a silent partner in the hotel is this suite. Top floor of the tallest hotel on the strip. Before it was the Palazzo, it was the Sands. I moved here in 1952, when the casino was first opened. Closing my eyes, I let the memories of the Rat Pack singing wash over me. I used to stand backstage and listen since I wasn’t welcome in the actual club back then. My skin was too dark. And now I own most of it. I designed the Rosina Club, approved even the tiniest detail.
Sighing, I open my eyes as I hear quiet footsteps drawing near.
“Dagen?” Turning my head, I roll my eyes up to look at her.
“Lillian.” I say no more; instead I wait. She has been dancing around whatever she wants to tell me for days.
She looks back in through the French doors. “He’s just getting in the shower,” I tell her, and she relaxes.
Moving to the chair on my left, she sits, and I turn my head to look over at her.
“Just spit it out, Lillian. It can’t be that bad.” She flicks her eyes to the left, and suddenly I’m not so sure. What in the world could Luc have gotten her into?
She leans closer to me, and I have to strain to hear her low words. “Luc …”
The man appears and she shuts her mouth. He looks at her and shakes his head.
I was wrong; it is really fucking bad.
Chapter 1
CHARLIE
I stand in pitch black darkness, wrapped in silence. Alone but surrounded, my blood pounds in my ears.
Suddenly, I’m blinded by light, and the silence is destroyed by cheers as my name is announced.
“And now one of our favorites… Sin Otra.” The voice fades as my music starts.
I let the beat wash through me as I draw a breath and move my mouth close to the microphone. My fingers play over the pendant hidden beneath my shirt, and then I slip into character.
“I don’t want to hear you’ve got a boyfriend…” I sing the first line of the Panic! At the Disco, and there are more cheers.
It’s a favorite of the patrons of the club. I continue singing until the song finishes. Bowing as I step back from the microphone, I’m just about to step off when the MC steps out and grabs my hand, keeping me on stage.
“How about another song from Sin?”
The club is filled with people shouting out songs, but one voice is louder, and I squint to make out who it is. I don’t recognize her, but she is so pretty.
I smile at her as the first notes of Sinatra’s My Way begins. I usually sing this song at least once a night when I perform. Drag queens love Sinatra and they really love My Way. I’m halfway through when I hear it, the tone that signals danger. I stumble over a few words as I glance around the room. Not that looking has ever helped me. I have no idea who I’m looking for. All I know is they always find me. I finish the song and make my way backstage as fast as possible.
I know my only advantage is that they don’t know who they are looking for either. It gives me extra moments to run from the club. Grabbing my bag, I race out the back door, stumbling as I crash into Cheyenne. She catches me and looks at me in concern.
“Sorry. I need to get out of here.” She nods, releasing my arms, and turns back blocking the doorway.
“Go, Charlie.” Her voice is too deep for her face, and I am once more amazed at her make-up.
I’m just reaching the corner when I hear that deep voice again telling someone they can’t come that way. As I turn out onto the strip, a grunt of pain reaches my ears, and I freeze. Please no, not Cheyenne.
I risk peeking back around the corner and slap my hand over my mouth as I see her dark wig laying near some water. I want to turn away but I force myself to look toward the door, and there, standing over her, is a beautiful woman smiling down as her head falls to the side. Dead eyes look unseeing at me, and I see the man she was in her face. Bill Elmerson. My friend.
The beauty wipes her weird knife off on Bill’s dress and starts to straighten. I force myself to turn away. Breaking into a run, I try to get lost in the crowd. I run for blocks and blocks until the clear tone dies away. Only then do I slow, my lungs burning as I walk quickly into the hotel I’ve stopped in front of, making my way to the nearest bathroom. Once inside, I slip into a stall and sit on the toilet, letting the tears fall.
Soon, my sobs are echoing off the mar
ble walls.
I don’t know how long I cry as people come and go. No one asks how I am, choosing to ignore the muffled noises. Finally, I dry my face and stand, sliding the lock open to walk out. Looking in the mirror, I see most of my stage makeup is gone so I go to the sink and pull some of my wipes from my bag out to clean the rest away.
I’m back to Charlie in minutes. It doesn’t take me long to put on new eyeliner and mascara then I coat my lips with my favorite red gloss. Slipping out of Sin’s jacket and vest, I fold them and tuck them inside my oversized bag. Unlike most drag kings, I don’t need to bind my breasts. They are barely big enough for an A cup, so I just unbutton my gray shirt that matches my eyes and fluff my hair.
A woman stares back at me from where a man had been moments before. I like both my forms. I’m lucky in that - no self hatred. I am fluid. Moving back into the stall, I slip my feet from my shoes, careful to stand on them because gross, bathroom floor. I mean it’s clean but still. Yuck.
Quickly, I step out of my pants, rolling them up and shoving them in the bag and pull out the black pencil skirt that I always carry. I shimmy into it and then slip my feet back in the black glitter loafers before once again stepping out.
Moving over to the end of the bathroom, I stand before the full length mirror and inspect myself. Totally different from the club, so if they happened to get a look at me, I should be safe. I just wish I knew how they are finding me.
For an instant, Cheyenne’s face replaces mine, and I feel the tears threatening to fall once more. I blink them away and rush from the bathroom. Glancing at my watch, I realize I’ve been in there hours. It’s a wonder no one called security, but this is Vegas. Lots of people cry in the bathrooms.
I’m frozen in the large corridor, unsure of what to do. I want to go home and hide but I don’t want to lead them there. Glancing around, I see a bar and decide to get a drink while I figure out what to do. I like the look of this place.
The sign says Rosina and the interior is straight out of a movie, all Art Deco. I feel like I’ve stepped back in time to the nineteen thirties. I climb up onto a stool at the bar. The bartender comes straight over. It’s so late, I’m one of only a handful of patrons. Most are couples snuggled into the velvet banquettes, the soft glow of the chandeliers highlighting the love or lust shining on their faces.
“What can I get you?” I glance at the menu laying on the bar in front of me.
A small smile curves my lips. “I’ll take one of the signature Mint Juleps.” He nods and moves away to make it.
I like his uniform. Especially the bow tie. He even has on two-tone Oxford shoes. The attention to detail in this place is amazing. I watch him as he makes the drink. His sleeves are rolled up and tattoos cover his forearms, rippling as the muscles move under them.
The drink is in front of me in under a minute. I push my credit card across the bar.
“You want a tab opened?” I shake my head.
“I’ll just pay as I go.” I don’t plan on drinking more than a couple.
Picking up the glass, I bring it to my lips and take the first cold sip, letting the taste pull me away from tonight's horror. I haven’t had one of these in ages, not since I lived in Charleston. I loved that city. The people and the beauty. Old trees and architecture, the past mixed with the present.
Of course, just like every place I’ve ever gone, sooner or later, death follows me. I drink faster, hoping to lose myself in the alcohol. The bartender looks over at me, and I hold up my finger, watching as he starts mixing me another.
The actions are repeated again and again, and after the third, I open a tab. The best part about Vegas is you never have to go home. I drink and chat with Chad the bartender until his shift is over.
Blinking, I try to clear my blurry vision as someone else walks in front of me.
“I think maybe you’ve had enough.” Whoa, that voice hits me like a gut punch.
“Maybe I haven’t had enough.” I smile up at the blurry figure.
“Come on, let’s go, sweetheart.” I think I must have blinked for a long time because he’s at my side now. “Let me get you home.”
“You smell good.” I didn’t mean to say that out loud. Shit.
He does though, like brownies that are almost burnt. Hot out of the oven. I shiver when his arm comes around my shoulders and again as the other lifts me from behind the knees.
“But your skin is cold?” The vibration of his low chuckle tickles through me. I run my hands over the skin at his neck, then down over the crisp cotton of his shirt. Muscles roll under my fingers as he somehow bends and picks up my bag with me in his arms. “Strong too.”
I barely make out his head shaking at my words and I brush my lips over the edge of a beautiful wing tattoo.
“Where do you live, angel?” That’s the last thing I hear as the alcohol finally drags me to blackness.
My last thought is that he is sinfully delicious, decadent, and tastes like fire and snow.
That’s just fucking weird.
Chapter 2
DAGEN
She is unusual in looks and behavior. I didn’t miss her lips on my neck.
The tattoo feels like it’s on fire from the heat of her lips. My skin tingles with warmth everywhere that her body presses against mine.
I want to both release her and pull her closer. A conundrum.
I don’t like it.
I walk out to the valet and nod at my personal driver. Placing her in the back, I rummage through her bag looking for ID. Finally, I find her phone and call the most called number.
“Hey Doll, where you at?” An obnoxiously high pitched voice answers, and I fight a cringe as I can hear gum smacking through the phone.
Looking down, I frown at the men’s clothes in the bag. What in the hell?
“I got a girl here. Your number is in her phone. She’s passed out. I need her address to give to the driver.”
“Charlie is passed out?” The woman practically screams, and I feel like my sensitive eardrums are shattering.
“Fuck, woman, lower your tone,” I growl.
“Short girl, dark hair with blue in it?” I look down at the sleeping woman and notice the blue shimmering under the neon lights. I hadn’t seen it inside in the dim light of the club.
“Yeah, that’s her.” She rattles off an address that I repeat to the driver before hanging up as she rapid fires a hundred more questions I don’t know the answer to. “Take her home and make sure she gets inside, Joe.”
He nods as I strap her in and run my fingers over her smooth and very young looking face. I ignore his speculative look as I shut the door.
I stand there like a fool until they disappear into the traffic on the strip.
The sun is starting to rise, and already it is warm. I like the heat of the desert; it almost warms my skin.
“You okay, Mr. Winter?” The kid at the valet desk asks. For the two hundred millionth time, I want to shake my head at the name Evander and Torryn had come up with when they made my new identity.
Winter. Assholes.
“Yeah, kid, I’m fine. Keep up the good work,” I murmur as I spin on my heel and head back inside.
I don’t slow, giving no one a chance to try to talk to me. I draw stares but then I’m used to that. Dark man with white hair and icy eyes tends to stick out anywhere anytime. Add in the ink and men are scared, or at least apprehensive, and women are intrigued.
Normally I don’t mind the interest, but ever since Lucifer tapped me on the forehead and just about fried my brain with his power and my memories of Heaven, one night stands have lost some of their appeal.
Not all of it but some.
The elevator dings, although I don’t remember even pushing the button. Stepping inside, I glare at the humans waiting and they all step back as the door slides closed. I push the penthouse button after inserting the keycard. I’m in no mood for company in the tiny space. It’s bad enough that I know for a fact Lillian and Torryn are in the s
uite.
I’m not sure how much more of their fucking I can listen to.
“Do you want me to send them away?” Luc appears and I jump.
“God damn you.” He raises a brow at my choice of words, and for an instant, I feel like a total shithead. “Don’t fucking do that. Lillian is right; you need a fucking bell.”
“I’ll ignore that first part.” His voice is low and fucking eerie. I feel my skin crawl and fight the urge to rub my palms over my arms. “Do you want them gone?”
“No. Stay out of my head.”
“Don’t complain so loudly if you don’t want me to hear.” He shrugs. “Any progress?”
I had been hoping we could avoid that question. I knew we wouldn’t but I still had hoped.
“I don’t hear the music, boss. Other than carrying Lillian around like a GPS, I’m not sure how to find the source. We don’t know if it’s a girl or a place or maybe even an object.” I punch the wall of the box I’m riding in, not hard enough to do real damage, but the metal is dented when I pull my hand back.
Luc rolls his eyes, and before I can fix it, his hand slides over the outline of my fist and it smooths.
“I know you are frustrated. We all are.” I let my head fall back against the metal...hard. “I know you are more because it is almost a given she is yours.”