“How do I ...?” Michael began, but the demon was gone.
Crap. He was definitely going to have to summon Ethelred again, barter more of his soul to get rid of these things. Goddamn it, he was fucked. He was fucked like the two dead hookers in the trunk of his Lexus. He was fucked facedown. And it didn’t look like anyone was looking to flip him over.
CHAPTER SIX
Ain’t Life a Bitch?
Grace came around slowly but wished she was still in oblivion. There was something under her nose that smelled like death.
Another hot puff of the putrid stench was blown up her nose. Before she thought better, she opened her mouth to protest. She was immediately and heartily sorry, as a blast shot right into her mouth, like something out of an Internet shock vid. That was when she realized it was just Petru’s breath.
She opened her eyes and gagged as he moved closer into her breathing space, peering at her intently. “I’m going to pass out again if you don’t get out of my face, Petru,” she warned.
“He had borscht and lamb for breakfast,” Sasha said by way of apology.
Grace struggled to turn her head. “I’m going to spew my breakfast.”
“You hit your head,” Petru said. “You fell.”
He was suddenly yanked out of her immediate vicinity, and for that she was grateful.
“Yes, Petru. Thank you.” Grace realized that she was starting to feel sorry for him again; he was really just a big, dumb animal that needed a guiding hand. It had been a while since she’d seen him, and she’d forgotten what he was like. “Sasha, why don’t you try to tell me once more? Please use small words, because I find it hard to believe that my son—my Nikoli—isn’t real.”
“I know he’s real to you, Grace. Which is why Michael believes that you’ll make the ultimate sacrifice for him.”
“But I remember you taking him from my arms. I remember being pregnant. I remember Michael getting me anchovies and ice cream.” Grace’s voice cracked with emotion.
“Grace,” Sasha admonished. “How many women do you know who’ve ever actually craved anchovy ice cream? It’s a stereotype. Look at your belly, Grace. With your genes, there’s no way you would have made it through a pregnancy without stretch marks. I saw you when your robe slid open. Your stomach is as smooth and flat as it was when you were a teenager.”
“How do you know what my belly looked like when I was a teenager?”
The mobster sighed. “It’s an expression.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Look, Michael has plans for you.”
“Why me?” Grace wrapped her arms around her body, suddenly frightened. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? The whole world she’d created for herself seemed to be crumbling like the bone dust still littering her bedroom.
“Nadja, his mother. She chose you.”
“Michael said she was dead.”
“Nadja can only pray for death now.” Sasha looked sad.
Grace took his hand in hers. “And I ask you again, why are you telling me this, Sasha? Michael will kill you.” She knew this could very well be a ploy, because for as long as she’d known Michael, Sasha had been loyal to him.
“Because I love Nadja. I always have. Since Ivan introduced me to her on their first date. I have to find a way to set her free.”
Nadja? Really? Things were getting more complicated by the moment.
“How is helping me going to help her?”
“Gaining the Baba Yaga powers through deceit will surely damn her. I just pieced together the details of her plans from Michael’s own.”
Grace sighed tiredly. “There is no Baba Yaga, Sasha.”
“There is, Grace Stregaria. And her blood runs through your veins.”
“No one knows whose blood I carry. I never even knew my father’s name.”
“Your father’s blood doesn’t matter. It’s Seraphim’s blood and magick that runs through you, that’s made you as powerful as you are, and has marked you for Nadja’s vengeance.”
“If I were to believe any of this, why does Nadja hate my grandmother so much?” Grace was sure it was all a fetid crock of crap, but if Sasha believed it, maybe Michael did, too. It could be something that she and Caspian could use against him.
“There was a prophecy about the Baba Yaga power. I don’t know the specifics, only that it had been narrowed down to two witches. Nadja and Seraphim. And rather than fight the Nazis with her power, she aligned with them and had Seraphim arrested. She believed that if Seraphim died in a camp, it would take the stain of her death off Nadja’s hands and she would ascend. But it didn’t work out that way.”
“She never spoke about that time with me. But it makes no sense. Nadja isn’t old enough to—”
“You’re from a family of magick users. There are ways to prolong youth and life.”
“I’m sorry, Sasha. This sounds so surreal.”
“And summoning a demon sounds more reasonable than an immortal witch? Look, you have to believe me. You’re in serious danger from more than just Michael Grigorovich. Nadja’s shadow is everywhere.”
“Nadja is dead, just like my grandmother.”
“No.” The big man shook his head. “She’s waiting for me and I’m going to save her. Even if it’s from herself. I’ve done some terrible things, but it’s been to survive. Even without a father, you’ve never had that burden. It changes you at your core.”
“And Michael? What has he had to do to survive? No, this is pure selfish greed on his part inspired by his mother. We make our own choices, no matter what we go through.”
“You’re so rigid, Grace. How can you see the world in black and white when nothing is ever so simple?”
“You need the shades of gray, because you loved a woman who was evil to the tips of her pedicured toes. If everything you said was true, then Nadja tried to kill my grandmother and wants her son to kill me. She conspired with her bastard son to give me pain and suffering like no parent should ever endure and you’re talking to me about saving her? Why should I care what happens to the witch?”
“I don’t suppose you should, malenkaya.” He patted her hand and withdrew from her grasp.
Grace shrugged her shoulders. “This all too much. It’s unreal. Unbelievable.”
“Ask your demon for the answer. He’ll give it to you,” Petru interjected.
“Oh, yeah. I’ll just ask a demon for the truth and he’ll give it to me?” Grace stared at him. “Wait, how does anyone know I summoned a demon?”
“Bone dust. I can see it on the floor in your bedroom. That only proves what Michael suspects. Now, I’ve helped you, Grace. Are you going to help me?” Sasha asked.
“This is too much, Sasha. More to the point, I wouldn’t even know where to begin to help you.”
“Just ask your demon what he knows. Decide whether to trust us. We’ll be back.”
Sasha grabbed Petru and shoved him out the door.
Was he trying to drive her crazy? He must be really pissed that she’d summoned a demon to thwart him. It made sense, especially considering that she’d refused to summon a demon for him. There was no way that her son, the child of her body, was not real. It had been four years since she’d seen him, but the memories were as fresh as ever. She’d sung to him as he grew beneath her heart, as they’d shared dreams, made promises.
Yet, the look in Sasha’s dark eyes had been so sincere.
Grace really just wanted to take another bath and go to bed. That would be ideal. It probably wasn’t the best idea, though, considering that she’d just knocked brain juice out of her ears when she’d hit her head on that damn coffee table. Was it possible that her grandmother was still alive? Was the Baba Yaga myth a reality?
All of these questions were making her head hurt even worse. She couldn’t be expected to process everything at once; she needed some downtime where she didn’t have to think about anything. Not her grandmother, not Michael, not what Sasha had told her, certainly. Not even
Caspian. Definitely not Caspian.
She would go shopping, she decided. Credit therapy, she liked to call it. She was going to buy some new underwear for dating nice mortal men and a few nice lacy little things to sleep in, maybe a new outfit or two. And shoes, definitely shoes. There was also a new chocolatier that had opened in the River Market district, and she wanted some gourmet chocolate-covered graham crackers. Best of all, this wasn’t even going to be on her credit. Grace had applied for a card in Michael’s name and, surprisingly enough, had gotten it. It was one of those lovely no-limit numbers. She’d only have a short time before they canceled it for lack of payment. If she’d had more time, she’d have flown to Paris and Italy during Fashion Week and given that card a real workout.
She supposed in some circles this would be called identity theft. Grace called it monies owed for services rendered. She would be careful not to pay any bills related to her apartment with the thing. In the eyes of the law, it could be considered his domicile if she did. That was the last thing she needed, especially as she’d spent the last four years ridding her life of anything reminding her of him.
Damn it! She wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Michael. The whole point of shopping with his credit card was to enjoy sticking it to him. But could she shop, spend his money, and not think about him? She’d give it a try.
It worked. The next day, she found herself naked in a dressing room at Avenue, one of the only shops that carried lingerie that looked good on her lush figure, debating the balconette or the push-up bra and feeling much better. Even though she’d always loved the push-up, she wondered if it was time for something new. Grace couldn’t deny that she liked her lines better in the push-up. She didn’t need it so much for making her look like she had more—this little witch was generously endowed—but she liked the support.
She caught a glance of herself in the mirror and smiled, pleased that there wasn’t one stretch mark in sight, not even on the rounded curve of her hip or the slightly rounded part of her abdomen where her baby would have first started growing. That thought brought a sigh. Tracing her fingers down the same path, she couldn’t help but think of Nikoli. She’d been determined not to, but he was her son. What would she do if none of it had ever happened, if she’d never given birth to her amazing child? It would be like a death. No, not like a death. It would be murder—the death of an ideal, a dream. It would indeed be the death of her son, because he would still be real to her.
“Waiting for me, Gracie?”
Grace screamed and jumped back against the wall, jamming the hook into her back that had been thoughtfully installed on the dressing room wall for hanging clothes, which in turn propelled her forward into Caspian’s waiting arms. Actually, it was more like it propelled her rack into his waiting hands. He was holding her up by her breasts, and it was none too pleasant a sensation.
“If you required my attention, all you had to do was ask.” Caspian squeezed once, twice, and then he rubbed his thumbs over the nipples before looking back up at her scowling face. The sensation got a hell of a lot better.
“Don’t call me Gracie,” she hissed.
“Why not? I like it. It’s sweet and tastes good on my tongue, just like you.” He still had hold of her breasts.
He made the mistake of winking at her. That small action seemed to stop time, or at least slow it down. Grace had had enough. Her hand reared back behind her head, her fingers curling into a fist before it shot forward. For both of them, it was like they were moving through water. Caspian’s eyes seemed to grow ever wider. Her fist plowed through time and space to finally connect with his face.
The crash of her flesh against his was electric, and the force of her blow was enough to turn his head. He still didn’t loosen his grip on her breasts.
“Are you going to let go or what?”
Caspian looked tempted to rub his jaw. Instead, he said, “It was worth it.”
She started whacking at his hands. “Let. Go. Of. Me.” An ineffectual little slap punctuated each of her words.
“Hot pokers couldn’t make me let go.”
He smirked again, and double damn if Grace didn’t find that to be sexy as hell. Damn him! She pulled her fist back, but this time Caspian was ready. He let go of one breast to catch her arm midair. So, Grace did what was logical. She used the other. Granted, she wouldn’t be able to hit as hard, but it would get her point across.
Caspian wasn’t about to be clobbered again, so he let go of the other breast to catch her other arm. Now Grace found herself in a much more precarious situation. She was pressed against the flimsy wall of the Avenue dressing room, naked but for her brand-new, cheeky-lace panties and a push-up bra, with a demon that looked like he could win the Ultimate Fighting Championship tournament rubbing up against her in all the right places. Her body tightened with anticipation at the same time that it cried out for her stop. If her pussy had a voice, it would have said, “Hell no! What the fuck is wrong with you? He might be hot, girl, but that dick is just too big. We are closed for business.”
Grace was in trouble. She wasn’t listening to her pussy. Caspian’s voice was like silk, smooth and seductive, and she burned for more of his touch.
“I thought you said you weren’t going to let go,” she growled, trying to fight her attraction. “Some B.S. about hot pokers. You can’t tell me that my fist is anything like a hot poker.”
He brushed his lips against her cheek and throat; his breath was warm on her ear. He seemed to like to do that, and she liked it, too—it made her shiver every time. Which of course he knew. He’d been seducing women for thousands of years, and Grace doubted that her erogenous zones were that unique.
“It is to my heart, Gracie. You wound me through and through.” His mouth settled on the pulse in her throat.
“You don’t have a heart,” she whispered.
He maneuvered her weak and aching body to suit his pleasure. He was holding her hands above his head with one hand, but the other was now free to roam. It found her breast again. His skin was rough, something that still surprised her. He was a Crown Prince, so were there no moisturizers in Hell? Were his fingers rough from honest labor before he’d been damned? Who was Caspian, aside from the man—no, demon—that was making her so very wet?
“Caspian, please,” she begged.
“Please, what?” he asked as a thumb and forefinger taunted her nipple. “Please make you scream? Please fuck you hard? Please what, Grace?”
“I can’t,” she cried out, though her hips angled forward and she arched into his touch.
“Oh, I think you can,” the demon said.
“I’m still sore,” she pleaded, but she was caught up in a spell. She was ensnared in a web of desire, and Caspian was the spider.
A spider. It wasn’t a romantic image. In fact, it terrified her. But not only was this a matter of not being able to resist, she didn’t want to try. The danger only made her hotter. That’s how she’d gotten tangled up with Michael at first, and a demon was certainly more dangerous than a Russian mobster. He’d also proven better in bed, which was hard to do. Although Michael was a shit in all other aspects of his life, he was a generous and talented lover when he chose.
Caspian claimed her mouth, his lips brutal against hers. “A little pain can be fun,” he said, his voice a physical force. It was a caress, as if it were a corporeal being sliding over her. Inside her.
“Caspian, I mean it.” But Grace didn’t sound like she meant it to even her own ears.
“How about a gift?” he asked as his hand drifted lower, past the filmy lace of her new “dating” knickers. He pushed one finger against her clit, inciting a divine pleasure-pain that was almost too much to bear. Grace didn’t know what she would do when he moved that finger; she might not be able to stop herself from screaming, which would bring who knew how many people into the dressing room.
Caspian whispered something that sounded like Latin. “Everto Iucunditas. I give you the gift of demonic pleasure, regen
eration, healing.”
Grace panicked, wondering what he would demand in return. “I don’t want to pay for it!” She was already worried about her soul.
“Oh, you’ll pay, my Gracie. But not in the way you fear.”
Grace felt something solid beneath her, but it wasn’t Caspian. Something ethereal raised her up; her new knickers vanished to dust and manacles closed about her wrists and ankles, spreading her wide to his ministrations. Suddenly, she was afraid again. She was bound in the Avenue dressing room, awaiting the pleasure of a demon who’d just gifted her with the power of regeneration. What was he going to do with her? Hell, what was he going to do to her? What had she gotten herself into?
To make things stranger, there were quiet sounds of pleasure coming from the other dressing rooms: women masturbating to fantasies that they couldn’t explain. They’d been overwhelmed by a sudden need that emanated from Caspian’s presence, from the sex-magick he’d given her. But instead of turning her on, as it might have in other circumstances, this only made Grace feel more alone.
“Are you afraid, Gracie?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Are you aroused?”
She didn’t have to answer; with her womanhood displayed before him he could see the evidence of her desire and could smell it on her. But she didn’t know if this was some kind of test, if he was going to hurt her. Had she made a mistake by summoning him? He was far too powerful. A lower-level demon she might have put in his place, might have banished back to Hell, but Caspian was too strong, and he had command of her flesh.
“Tell me to stop,” Caspian said as he dipped his head to taste her. His tongue laved her clit.
It felt good enough to set her on fire . . . No, she was already burning. Grace ached to be filled by Caspian, to be possessed by him. Maybe not possessed in the traditional demon-human relationship, though. She hoped he hadn’t heard that.
“Stop,” she whispered, even though it felt so good.
How to Lose a Demon in 10 Days Page 5