“Payback’s a bitch,” I reminded her.
“That was payback, my dear uncle.”
“Touché.” My niece was a wonderfully heinous young woman. That was a dreadful thing to do. I wondered how she was going to enjoy the rabid, horny honey badgers I was going to have delivered to her… or was it porcupines? No matter. Either would suffice.
“So… are we just going to leave them frozen?” Astrid asked as she too started reading the book jackets. “Sweet mother humper on a bender,” she gasped. “I’ve been waiting for this book! You’re gonna have to lift the spell—at least off of Darynda Jones. I want to get it signed and she’s kind of rigid at the moment.”
“Does she make more money than me?” I asked, looking at the sweet face of this Darynda woman Astrid seemed so enamored with.
“Dude, no one makes more money than you,” Tiara reminded me. “You make more than Joanie Elompostitch.”
“I’m going to stab you in the head if you fuck her name up one more time,” Astrid threatened her sister and then jerked to a halt in front of a table. “Oh my Hell, you’ve paralyzed Charlaine Harris and Molly Harper—I love their books. This is just not right.”
“Well, what do you want me to do?” I demanded, stomping my foot and throwing my hands in the air. “I stand a fine chance of being castrated if I lift the enchantment. Do you care more about getting a book signed than my testicles?”
“You will be punished for putting an image of your privates in my head. Do you understand me, Uncle Fucker? That was uncalled for and I don’t even have the luxury of puking.”
“I can puke on a full moon,” Tiara announced and then sprinted away as Astrid screamed and lunged for her.
As they beat the living Hell out of each other, I continued my observations of this bizarre human ritual. Was this fun? How could attacking and dismembering authors be fun? I mean… I enjoyed attacking and dismembering Trolls, Dark Fairies and rogue Vamps, but authors? All they did was spout bullshit onto paper for the pleasure of the masses. I’d quite enjoyed spouting bullshit and lies and turning it into a book. My brother had certainly done it to great success. It was my turn.
“Stop trying to kill each other,” I reprimanded my nieces. “Your demise is not on the schedule for today.”
Walking over with torn clothes and a few gashes, my nieces were grinning from ear to ear.
“You have insane moves,” Astrid congratulated Tiara with a pat on her back.
“You’re a deranged fighting machine,” Tiara replied, hugging her sister. “I want some lessons.”
“Do you promise never to eat or puke in front of me? I just don’t think I could handle it. You feel me?” Astrid bargained.
“Promise,” Tiara answered as she gently wiped the blood from Astrid’s face and reset the broken arm she’d caused.
“Are you done?” I inquired with a raised brow.
They looked at each other and giggled.
“We are,” Astrid confirmed, quickly pulling a dagger out of Tiara’s thigh that she’d recently placed there and put it back in her purse. “Did you find anything interesting?”
“No,” I told them as I picked up a hardback copy of my tome from a large table filled with my books. My agent and Hemingway had certainly worked fast. “Who chose the title?”
“No clue,” Astrid said, glancing at the book. “But it’s fitting.”
“You think Fashionably Flawed is fitting?” I questioned. “I was thinking more along the lines of The Bible Part Two—the Real Story or Hotter Than Hell in August or possibly So Many Women, So Little Time.”
“Then it’s a good thing you didn’t name it,” Astrid commented dryly. “Those titles suck ass.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
“Welcome,” she shot back with a grin.
“Umm… guys? Is there a reason that there are a bunch of half naked Eunuchs frozen in compromising poses with the ladies over here?” Tiara called out sounding perplexed.
“Bingo,” I muttered, dropping the book and making my way through the motionless crowd to the newest wrinkle.
Tiara was correct, but she hadn’t done the description justice. The Eunuchs were clad in what could only be labeled gold lame boxer briefs. It was terrifyingly metrosexual, but from their bored, stock-still expressions, they seemed to be handling the unfortunate fashion choice quite well.
Women were obscenely draped all over the well-oiled men. However, the most interesting part of the lewd display was the large banner next to the table filled with brochures and bowls of candy in the shape of tiny cameras. In fancy lavender script, the words Adrielle Rinoa—Photographer to the Stars of Romance—was displayed. The banner was filled with book covers of sexy men and on each cover was one of the Eunuchs—on a motorcycle, pirating a ship, holding a puppy, sporting fake fangs, in military garb, clad in a fireman’s uniform… and it went on and on. The only similarity of the woefully ridiculous covers was that the men were all showing copious amounts of skin and looked like they’d just come off a sexual bender. Of course that was impossible, since the bastards had no balls, but my little Elle was good at creating the illusion of sex.
She should be—she was a Siren.
The only thing missing now was the Siren herself. But if her men were here, she had to be close by. She’d probably donned another disguise, but I’d find her. I had to.
“Are these the same Eunuchs?” Astrid asked.
“Yes, they are,” Dino said as he, Dagwood and Darby appeared in an impressive blast of black smoke and glitter.
The three Demons were dressed head to toe in black combat gear with questionably fashionable berets on their heads. I almost commented on their headwear, but decided to let it slide, along with the embarrassing names they’d chosen. Hell on Earth, it was difficult letting my people express themselves creatively. It gave me hives. Whatever.
“Where have you been?” I demanded. “I was almost neutered by unbalanced women.”
“Umm… sorry boss,” Dagwood said, taking in the frozen landscape with a bewildered expression. “Do you want us to kill them?”
“No,” I snapped. “I don’t want you to kill them. They can’t help themselves. I’m Satan—everyone wants me. I could have just used a bit of extra protection to keep me from blowing up a building of innocent, horny women.”
“Got it,” Darby said. “Don’t kill the hookers.”
“They’re not hookers,” I told him and then paused. “Wait. Are they?” I asked Astrid.
“No, not hookers,” she replied with a snort. “They’re romance readers. They like hot guys, strong heroines and happily ever afters—but mostly hot guys and well written sex without the use of the word bosom.”
Clearly I was never going to live down my usage of the term bosom.
Dino bobbed his head enthusiastically and his beret fell jauntily to the left making him look farcical—nothing like the trained killer he was. “I’m partial to the stories where the heroine gets knocked up and the hero doesn’t know and he leaves town for a job or some bullshit like that. Then there are all these fabulous misunderstandings when he sees his little doppelgänger—so thrilling and sexy,” Dino, my deadly Demon from Hell announced with a shudder of delight.
What in the name of all that was evil was happening here?
“Lots of hot make up sex in those,” Dagwood agreed with a serious nod. “Although I really get my rocks off reading the ones where the hired help with triple D tits accidently drops a tray of steaming hot food on the billionaire’s crotch which leads to a round of dry humping which then degenerates into sex with nipple clamps and butt plugs.”
“I love those,” Darby added with a squeal that did not belong in the repertoire of a Demon. “However, I’m quite fond of paranormal romance. Love me some over-sexed werewolves who have to kill other werewolves and then have sex with the entire pack.”
“Male and female?” Tiara asked, confused.
“Werewolves tend to be tri-sexual,” Darby explain
ed. “So yes. Male, female and other.”
“What the Hell is other?” I asked, feeling the beginnings of a headache crawling into my overloaded brain. “WAIT. Do not answer that. Ever. Did you idiots happen to leave your man cards in Hell?” I snapped in disbelief at the way the conversation was going. “Because if you have them, you need to hand them over. Now.”
“Umm…” Astrid gaped at the three romance novel loving Demons in disbelief. “Not sure what you guys have been reading, but if you’d like I could make some suggestions of actual books—ones that make sense.”
“With nipple clamps?” Dino inquired.
“Millionaires?” Dagwood added.
“And secret babies?” Darby finished off.
“Enough,” I shouted. “Your reading choices are appalling. I would have thought Steven King would be on your bedside table. Not millionaires, babies, and mammilla clamps.”
“Uncle Fucker?” Tiara said, with her hand raised politely.
“Yes?” I hissed, ready to behead them all.
“Mammilla belongs in the same trash heap as bosom. Never use that one again—unless you need to cock block.”
“She’s right, my liege,” Darby concurred, bowing his head to me in respect.
Closing my eyes and letting my head fall back for a moment, I gathered myself. It would be wrong to incinerate my men and my favorite nieces in a blazing inferno. I was better than that—kind of. Maybe if I just zapped the Hell out of them I’d feel better.
“I’m trying very hard here not to reduce all of you to ash. I feel that I’m doing well with that goal at the moment. However, if anyone says anything that annoys, confuses or insults me I shall be forced to cremate you. Am I clear?”
In unison they nodded.
“Very well then, I’m going to lift the spell from the Eunuchs. I want all of you to be ready to kill if they don’t cooperate. Eunuchs are murder machines. I haven’t had the pleasure of fighting one in ages. I thought they’d gone the way of the Sirens. However, I was wrong about the Sirens. I fucking hate being wrong,” I growled.
“Are you going to reanimate all twelve?” Dino asked, pulling a mean looking sword from his scabbard and moving the immobile Eunuchs into a group.
“Don’t hurt the readers,” Astrid instructed as she pried a few off of the Eunuchs and gently put them on the nearby tables. “They’re innocent. And let’s move this away from Charlaine Harris. I’d be royally pissed if anything happened to her. Everything I know about Vamps I learned from True Blood.”
“Dude,” Tiara commented with a grunt of laughter. “That’s fucked up.”
“I know that now,” Astrid said with a lopsided grin as she lifted the Harris woman and cradled her in her arms. “But Eric was dang hot.”
“Word,” Dino said as he moved the frozen Molly Harper and Darynda Jones to safety as well.
“Wait,” Tiara called out in a panic. “Is Janie Erompokitch here? We should probably move her too. Astrid loves her and she is the second highest paid romance author in the world. It would be terrible if she lost her head in the shitshow that’s about to go down.”
Astrid’s agonized groan bounced off the walls of the ballroom. “It’s Janet fucking Evanovich. I know I said I was going to stab you in the head if you desecrate her name again. However, I’m going to give you a pass since we’ll probably need you to fight the Eunuchs, but it’s very difficult for me.”
“I appreciate that,” Tiara said. “But is the author whose name I keep screwing up here?”
“No,” Dagwood assured everyone. “I perused the list of signing authors and she wasn’t on it. We’re all clear. However, Robyn Peterman is here.”
“Move her too. Love her stuff,” Astrid said.
“On it,” Dagwood replied.
“Are we ready?” I inquired through gritted teeth.
“Yep,” Tiara said with a thumbs up.
Just as I was about to lift the enchantment a warm sensual breeze blew through the ballroom, giving me pause and a painful erection. Books scattered and tables upended. A smile pulled at my lips. The game was on and definitely about to become more fun.
The air around us changed dramatically from sensually warm to orgasmically hot and I quickly conjured the protective sunglasses for my men and Tiara. The temperature rose even higher as sparkling amethyst crystals rained down from the ceiling and covered everything in sight. Absolutely delightful. Everyone pulled their weapons except me. I didn’t have to. I was a weapon—the deadliest fucking weapon in the Universe—pun very much intended.
Maybe I wouldn’t have to kill the Eunuchs for information about the whereabouts of Elle Rinoa. I do believe the lady—a loose use of the word—was now in the room.
“Well, if it’s not Douche Von Idiotbag,” she purred as she took in the scene, standing a relatively safe distance away from me. Her hair blew wildly around her face and her sheer purple robe barely covered her otherworldly beauty.
Little did she know there was no safe distance from me.
The air around the Siren literally shimmered. Her power was enormous and wielded with expertise. Astrid and Tiara hissed and moved in to flank me on either side, but my Demons groaned in male appreciation and fell to their knees.
Adrielle Rinoa was a sensually evil masterpiece.
“That’s not a very nice name to call someone you barely know,” I said and gave her my wonderfully perfected pout.
“I’m not nice,” she snapped. “At all.”
“I’d have to agree with that,” I replied casually. “Only a horrid piece of work would insist her men wear gold lame booty shorts.”
“Yet your men are wearing berets,” she pointed out with a raised brow. “That’s a bit cheesy.”
“And the point goes to Elle,” I said with a careless shrug, not bothering to explain I had nothing to do with the chagrin worthy headwear. “However, it’s far more tasteful than the sparkling banana sacks you’ve chosen for your men.”
“I’d wear those metrosexual ball squeezers for you, Elle Rinoa,” Dino volunteered in a dreamy voice, clearly falling deeper under the spell of the Siren.
Her laugh was pure magic and my pants grew uncomfortably tight. Amazing. She was a walking, talking sex bomb.
With a flick of my wrist, I sent my Demons back to Hell. I told myself it was for their protection, but I knew better. I wanted to be the only man with a functioning dick in the room. I wanted no competition for my prize. Ever.
Wait. Adrielle Rinoa was no prize and she wasn’t mine. She was a Siren who was selling souls. The woman needed to be eliminated. That was the rule.
But weren’t rules made to be broken?
“Unfreeze my men and I’ll let you live, Blade Inferno,” she said with an amused sneer as she crossed her arms over her ample chest and raised her chin defiantly.
My laughter rang out and her amethyst eyes narrowed dangerously making my custom Armani pants feel like they were choking my dick. “That’s a goal that can’t be reached,” I explained. “However, I’m willing to make a deal.”
“I don’t make deals.”
“Dude, what are you doing?” Tiara whispered. “Just blow her up and let’s get the Hell out.”
“Can’t do that,” Astrid hissed under her breath. “She hasn’t done anything wrong—yet. We just need the soul she’s selling before all of us explode into a gob of green goopy orgasm.”
“Wrong is such a relative word,” I muttered to my nieces while keeping my eyes glued to my quest. “Just don’t let her get away.”
“Make sure you’re thinking with your big head—not your little one,” Tiara insisted.
“They’re both big,” I replied with no humility whatsoever and then focused all my attention back on the Siren.
Glancing down at her diamond encrusted watch and tapping her Manalo Blahnik shod foot impatiently, Elle blew out an annoyed breath causing a delicious cinnamon scented wind to waft around the vast room. “I’m a busy woman. Lift the spell from my men or prepar
e to die… whatever you are.”
“My dear woman,” I said, approaching her as she eyed me with distrust and curiosity. “I’m simply a man in the business of pleasure and I’d like to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”
She considered me for so long it was positively rude. I hadn’t been turned on like this in centuries.
“Does that line actually work for you?” she asked with a raised and wildly disrespectful brow that made my pants even tighter and more uncomfortable.
“It has,” I answered vaguely. Honestly, I had no recollection of having used that one. It was somewhat lame, but at least I hadn’t said bosom or mammilla. I was Satan. I could do or say anything I wanted and get away with it—or at the very least get laid for it.
“Not interested, Blade Inferno.”
With her full lips pursed and a contemptuous nod of her head, she dismissed me almost bringing me to my knees my dick was so hard. Her ass was a fucking symphony as she turned and walked over to her frozen men.
“Oh and just a little advice, Big Guy. Your lines suck. I’d suggest getting some new ones.”
“My lines do not suck,” I snapped. “I’ve been very successful over the years for your information.”
She paused and glared. Holy Hell on fire, it was hot.
“Where did you buy your ego? Or was it given free and you overdosed?” Elle inquired as she stopped and looked me up and down. Her heat was addictive.
Astrid barked out a laugh and I shot her a look of death. My niece quickly glanced down, but she and her sister continued to giggle—at my expense. Unacceptable.
Elle smiled and continued on to her men. This was not going my way. I hated when things didn’t go my way.
“Is she serious?” I demanded aloud.
“Looks that way,” Astrid said with a smirk so wide I felt my headache coming back.
“You just got dissed,” Tiara whispered.
“She’s bluffing,” I said. “She wants me.”
“Good luck with that,” Astrid said, biting back her laugh with effort. “Kinda looks to me like she could eat your balls for breakfast.”
Why was I letting a woman throw me off my game? Women fell at my feet, for the love of everything evil. What the Hell was this one’s problem? She was a Siren. I was Satan. We were two wrongs that would make an outstanding right.
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