by SF Benson
“Yeah. And ya not gonna like it, dawlin’.”
I drop my head back and look at the sky. “What is it?”
“Werewolf.”
“So, you’re saying a were did this and not the Mazrels?”
“Unsure. If a were is responsible, he’s no longer in the area. His imprint was cold.”
“Then it’s a rogue?” Maybe I should speak with Brady Romero, Alpha for the Romero werewolves and Council rep for the Falls Creek weres. He might have an idea.
“Good chance.” Edwina pauses for a beat. “Just talk to the boys. Have ‘em lie low. If Council suspects ‘em, ya will have some trouble. I’ll check in with Brady for ya, too.”
Perfect. She saves me a conversation I’d rather not have. Brady and I have never had a confrontation. Don’t want to start now. “Thanks for the heads up, Edie.”
Before I disconnect, the being in red passes by me. She’s walking from the club in a hurry.
“Edie, could a shapeshifter be behind this instead of a werewolf?”
“I guess that’s possible.” Her voice brightens. “Ya got something?”
“Naw. Just curious ‘bout something.” My gaze follows the fast-moving creature. No way will I catch her on foot. “Thanks again. See you tomorrow.”
“I’m counting on it, cher.”
I end the call and send a text to Rocco.
Cash Martin: Meet you in Falls Creek. Something’s come up.
Rocco Surnan: Sure, it has. Handle your business, bro.
Cash Martin: Night.
I pocket the device. The thought of cornering the female in a dark alley makes my pulse quicken. Something foreign and somewhat comforting tugs at me. Whatever it is calls a part of me, and I can’t fight it. I run for my bike.
This is nonsense. I’m just curious.
I cast aside the sensation and crank up my bike. It’s time to find out what the mystery female is up to.
It is my misfortune to attract unwarranted attention, especially from an incubus. Why could he not leave me alone instead of chasing me through the streets on an infernal machine? The creature is a raving lunatic.
I shouldn’t have gone to the club, but I needed to ditch the Si’lat—the henchman for my family. It could have worked if I hadn’t sensed the being—the monster from my childhood—who would recognize me. He’s the only one whose presence could flip my world upside down. Avoiding him became just as important as running from the Si’lat.
As soon as I moved, unfortunately, Father’s allies locked onto me like a pack of hellhounds. Their sulfuric stench trails behind me along with the demon on wheels. If I am captured, it’s back to my homeland and Shedad—my intended.
Most females would joyfully trade places with me. In seven days, I turn twenty-one and will marry a prince. At least that’s what happens for brides who do not run away.
Fear, though, did not force me to flee. My unwillingness to live trapped in a loveless marriage made me run. I’m not adverse to matrimony to the right being, royal or not. I want someone who appreciates me for me and respects my wishes. He should care about my desires and never ask me to cast magic for frivolous things or personal gain. The perfect mate will possess my heart and soul. Our auras will unite on levels no human could ever understand, becoming one being. Together.
Marrying Shedad will not give me any of the things I long for. No. If I go through with this farce, my parents should ready the shackles. Throw me in a bottle for what it’s worth. I shall not be happy with him.
Mother and Father refused to listen to my concerns. They ignored the truth. Shedad prefers djinnis and not djinniyahs. I do not have a hang-up over his predilection. He can be whatever he chooses. I just don’t care to walk down the aisle with him or anyone else. Not yet.
I glance over my shoulder and see the headlight from the motorcycle. This incubus is like a ravenous dog with a bone. He has to stop following me. My hideaway is up ahead, but how do I enter with him watching? If I am found, I will blame the man-whore.
His bike rumbles to a halt. Vanishing is the best way to escape my pursuer, but the remaining trail will make it easier for the Si’lat to find me. Allah watch over me. I must take the chance. My clicking heels no longer beat the pavement. Time and space meld together as I disappear into a red, fragrant mist.
I re-emerge in front of a watering hole, a place called Balls Up! No brimstone funkiness permeates the air. No cycle reverberating into the night. Perhaps I can discover a moment of peace within this establishment. I push open the door and stroll inside.
A sexy werewolf—slick, dark hair, full beard, and muscular frame—is behind the counter. Too bad I don’t have a fondness for brutes. His eyes shift to me and flash golden before returning to an amber color. “What can I do you for, beautiful?”
“Rum and Coke, please.” I sit on a wooden stool, located farthest from the entrance where the lights are dimmer. The shadows are perfect for hiding.
He slides a tumbler over to me. “You don’t look old enough for this. But if you’re here at this hour, I’m not questioning it.”
“Thank you.” I nod and pick up the drink.
“New in town?” His penetrating gaze probes my face.
What is it with the males in this town? Have they never met a member of the djinn?
I clench the glass between my hands and tap my foot against the seat. “If I pay you now for the drink, can you…uh…go away?”
The werewolf takes a step back. “Forget I asked.” He continues wiping down the polished surface.
Now, to consider my next move. Do I keep running, or do I venture home?
The shapeshifter moves at lightning speed. Even on the Ducati, I’m having a hard time keeping up with her. Something’s not right about this lovely creature, and it’s not just her freakish pace. Only thing I know for certain is she isn’t a shifter. The aura’s wrong.
I pride myself on recognizing other supernaturals. Some can be easily discerned by smell, like weres. Others can be determined by sight alone, spirits and other apparitions. Then there are supernaturals recognized by an aura. For instance, Lilin have silver auras tipped with red. Vampires have a bright blue aura. Shapeshifters, including weres, have brown ones. This creature might be some sort of hybrid.
I follow the mysterious female to the edge of town. She stops in front of an abandoned Victorian-style house, the last dwelling on the street.
I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do when I get to her. I don’t think she’s up for a little chit-chat. Despite the opinion coming from another part of my anatomy, I’m not about to force myself upon her. Guess I’ll let the situation unfold and see where it takes us.
“Gotcha,” I say to myself. There’s nowhere else for her to go.
She looks over her shoulder. Our eyes lock. I let a languid smile spread across my face.
When I think I’ve got her cornered, she disappears. Seriously. She simply vanished into thin air. A red mist and an exotic, captivating scent like jasmine are the only evidence she existed.
I pull my bike to the curb and kill the motor. She might be inside, and I missed her go in. After all, she was moving fast. I drop the kickstand, pocket my keys, and head toward the house.
The rotten and warped wooden stairs creak underneath my boots. Graphic, obscene graffiti covers the plywood over the windows. I try the front door. Locked. If the creature entered the house, she didn’t come this way. I walk across the sloped porch. A gaping hole prevents me from going too far. I scratch my head.
Call it quits, Cash. Girl’s gone.
Returning to an empty house is not on my agenda tonight. Where some people don’t mind periods of solitude, I despise it. I’ve never been a fan of being alone. It’s one reason why I hang out with the fellas. Despite their propensity for trouble, they help fill up my nights. Another reason to keep the fellas close by is the fact there are other demons who’d like to put a hurting on my ass. When you sleep with th
e wrong females, sometimes you piss off their boyfriends. Not entirely my fault—the females never tell me they’re taken.
The conversation I had earlier with Edwina swirls in my mind. She believes if I had someone in my life permanently, loneliness wouldn’t be an issue. She can’t see the obvious—incubi don’t fall in love.
It’s still early for an incubus. I guess it’s back to the motel to wait for the fellas and maybe invade a dream or two before they arrive.
The raven-haired goddess is exactly what my body is craving—large breasts with hard nipples straining against the sheer fabric of her nightgown. Her plump lips beg to be kissed. Even in sleep, I sense her deepest desires—to be fucked until she’s screaming her partner’s name. I run a hand over her naked thigh. Her back arches off the bed.
She gives me a soft moan as her eyes flutter.
“Shh,” I say against her eager mouth. “It’s all a dream.”
Her hands slide around my back and pull me close. I caress her curves and let my hand drift to the spot where she aches. She bites back a whimper.
My fingers stroke her, sending shivers of ecstasy through the woman.
“Please,” she begs.
The silky heat between her thighs captures me. I’m fighting to hold on just a minute longer. Enjoying every second within this woman is my…
Moaning and sweat-slick skin slapping pull me from my dream. My much-needed hot-and-heavy session dissipates like fog. The luscious human will have to wait for another time.
I roll over and find myself behind the scenes of an adult film. Rocco is on a chair with his jeans down to his ankles. A naked female with wild pink hair covering her shoulders and a wide ass gives him a blow job. His narrowed eyes watch the other guys.
Center stage is occupied by the Mazrel twins. They’re in the next bed with a heavy-breasted human—the redhead from the club. The three of them are oblivious to the activity surrounding them.
In a darkened corner is a handsome blond male pushed up against a wall. His lips are locked with a shirtless Colt. The way the human pants I’m sure I’ll be kicked out of this bed soon.
Such a scene would either disgust lesser beings or make them jealous. I’m pissed the damn bastards brought no one for me to party with. I swing my legs off the bed and shove my feet into my boots. Rocco taps the female on the shoulder, and she slips her mouth off his dick. He points over to me. She turns around and licks her lips. Yuck. Even an incubus has standards. I’m not good with sloppy seconds.
“Naw, man.” I hold my palm up and rise to my feet. “She’s all yours. I’m good.”
“You sure?” Rocco asks as the girl returns to her work.
“Yeah.” I grab my helmet and keys from the dresser. “I’m going home.”
It’s after four a.m. when I pull into Falls Creek. The only place open is Balls Up!—a sports bar and grill down on Main Street. Strays, mostly supernaturals, still haunt the place when I open the door. It’s my kind of crowd—stragglers who aren’t ready to kiss the moon good night. In the background, Ed Sheeran’s Shape of You plays.
Brady Romero, the owner of the joint, waves from behind the counter. I’ve known the Council leader for a few years. We used to get into trouble together before he became head of his pack. As I come near, he strokes his beard. “What’s your poison tonight, Cash?”
“Just a beer. Whatever’s on tap.” I sit on the stool and glance around the room. I’m considering stepping out for a smoke when I notice the creature I followed earlier. She’s sitting in a corner nursing a drink.
How the hell did she arrive before me?
Brady sets down a tall mug along with a bowl of peanuts.
I jerk my head toward her. “Hey Brady, any idea what that is?”
“No idea. Been tryin’ ta figure her out myself.” He shifts his gaze toward the mystery female. “Came in here about thirty minutes ago. She’s been keeping ta herself. You know her?”
“Naw. I ran into her at the Wild Stallion.” I toss a few peanuts in my mouth. “I was following her, and then she disappeared.”
He places his forearms on the bar top and leans forward. “No shit.”
“She’s not one of yours?” I ask and finish chewing on the too-salty snack.
“Nope. She ain’t any type of shifter I know either. Can’t place her aura.”
She looks in our direction and says, “Anyone ever tell you how it’s impolite to stare?”
That alluring accent—rolling her r and a different emphasis on words—does something to me. There’s a calming, lyrical quality to her voice. Damn sexy.
Brady swings his head side to side and wipes a towel over the counter. “You’re welcome to her. Too much attitude for me this late at night.”
He walks off in the opposite direction. I pick up my drink, taking my chances, and go over to her. “Mind if I sit?”
Her large eyes drift over me. “Whatever pleases you.”
I take note of how she drops the w and h when speaking. Definitely not a turn-off. I accept her invitation and sit down. “You’re not from around here.”
“How could you tell?” Sarcasm drips off her words like water down a leaky pipe. She takes a sip from the tumbler.
I’m not known for being easily discouraged. Her disinterest only makes me more eager to get to know her better. “Name’s Cash. And you are?”
“Not interested.” She taps her glass, and Brady comes over to refill it. He adds a good measure of cola and tops it off with a little rum.
“How do you know you’re not interested?” I press. “We’ve never met.”
She faces me. A pained look mars her beautiful features. “Listen, I prefer not to engage with your type. Can you leave me alone?”
I raise an eyebrow. “My type? I seriously doubt if you know anything about—”
“Incubi,” she interjects. Her nose wrinkles like she’s smelling something foul. “Man-whores.”
“That’s kind of harsh from a shifter,” I respond, hoping she’ll correct me if I’m wrong.
“I am not a shifter.” She lifts her chin, defiance rolling off her in waves. “I’m a djinniyah.”
Okay, that’s a new one on me. “What the hell is a djinniyah?”
“Female djinni,” she asserts.
Djinn in Falls Creek? Since when? I’ve only heard of two types—those who grant wishes and those who wreak havoc. Given her attitude she could be one of the latter. Last thing this town needs is an influx of evil djinn. I wonder if Council knows about her arrival. Maybe I should alert Brady?
“So, what brings you to town…” My words trail off as I realize the female has yet to introduce herself. “I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name?”
“You didn’t catch it because I didn’t give it.” The female djinni reaches into her jacket pocket, removes a few bills, and places them on the bar. Her melodious voice is low-keyed. “You assume I wish to converse with you. I assure you I do not.”
I rub my brow. Brady was wrong. Nobody needs this much attitude any time. It’s a good reason to avoid love—too many hoops to jump through. Half the time it’s hard to know if it’s worth the aggravation. It’s easier to just take care of my needs and move on. Less confusion. No heartache.
I lift my glass to my lips and gulp down a good portion of the amber liquid. “Brady, put these on my tab.”
“Not necessary,” she says.
“Call it payment for the hassle.” I drag the back of my hand over my mouth. “I may be a man-whore, but I try to practice good manners.”
I pick up my gear. An empty house suddenly sounds better than hanging around a djinni with a stick up her shapely ass.
I toss my keys on the kitchen counter along with my helmet. The sun’s first golden rays break through the clouds and light up the hall behind me. I’ll open the shop in a few hours after a nap. But I must have food first. Sex wouldn’t hurt either. Well, if performed with a certain female...I smile to myself a
nd head for the fridge.
As I begin my desperate search for leftovers, the doorbell rings. Hell. Who’s visiting me at this hour? I go to the door and find Edwina, dressed in black leather pants and matching jacket.
“What are you doing here?” I bark and glance behind her. If anyone sees us together, it could be disastrous since Edwina and I are breaking Council’s rules.
“We need to talk,” she says and pushes her way past me.
I close the door. The she-vamp is breaking one of our rules—she doesn’t come to my house, and I stay away from her apartment. “This had better be important, Edie.”
“Trust me, it is.” She sits on the sofa.
“Better plan.” I gesture to the kitchen, and she follows me. “Can you whip me up some food while we talk?”
The corners of her mouth lift. “I swear ya is a lazy incubus. When I’m not around, who takes care of ya?”
“I’m a lover, not a cook. Besides, that’s what takeout is for.” I lean against the refrigerator. “You should thank me. Cooking for me gives you a chance to keep your skills sharp.”
She narrows her eyes. “I’m not cooking, but I will get something for ya. What shall it be, dawlin’?”
“Surprise me,” I tell her and sit down. If this creature knows me as well as I know her, she’ll conjure up the image filtering through my mind.
“I must say ya awful free with ya trust.” Edwina slinks over and places her palms on the table. “Ya know I could poison ya.”
“Edie.” I spread my arms and cock an eyebrow. “Our history is too deep for such nonsense. Just bring me something I’ll enjoy.”
“Fine.” Edwina waves her hand, and a steaming hot plate appears before me. The dish, a Brennan’s specialty, is N’awlins version of Eggs Benedict. Eggs Hussarde—two English muffins, coffee-cured Canadian bacon, hollandaise, and Marchand de vin sauce—happens to be my favorite breakfast. A mug of fragrant French-pressed chicory and dark-roast coffee materializes to the right. A smile tugs at my lips. She does know me. My favorite meal from my favorite restaurant in my favorite city. Perfection.