Prey (The Hunt Book 2)

by Liz Meldon

  Overall, she gave the bar a solid B+: nothing special, but clean and efficient enough that she’d feel comfortable getting semi-drunk here.

  “So, tell me,” Madeline purred, placing a hand over Moira’s to recapture her attention. “How did a cute little thing like you end up with a dull wretch like Severus?”

  Flustered, Moira retracted her hand somewhat forcefully. Madeline would expect a reaction, and Moira had proven that she couldn’t be drugged by a sex demon’s touch. However, it seemed stupid to let her know that, so she batted her eyelashes dreamily and took another sip of her martini, hoping the act was convincing.

  “Well, we, uh, met…” Damn it. She and Severus hadn’t worked out a cover story yet. With the demon’s unflinching stare boring down on her, she straightened on the barstool, kept any exposed bits of skin—the few visible with Severus’s giant leather jacket over her shoulders, the fabric soaked in his delicious cologne—to herself, and decided to tell a half truth. “I’m a client, actually. We just had to make a pit stop tonight.”

  “A client who…knows his true nature?” Madeline asked, an eyebrow lifted. In an instant, Moira’s hands went clammy. Did Severus’s clients not know he was an incubus? Probably not. Shit. Shit. Shit.

  “Well, I guess you can say we run in similar circles,” she managed, then took a much, much too large gulp of her drink. She coughed before she’d even swallowed it, gin coming out her nose. Madeline merely stared, unfazed, and made no effort to help.

  “You do give an odd vibration. Hardly one at all, in fact… What are you, exactly?”

  “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that’s a rude question, Madeline?” Severus countered, appearing out of nowhere by Moira’s side as she grabbed a napkin and wiped at her nose. Her watery gaze shot up to him, and Moira offered a weak smile as he patted her back.

  “Hi,” she croaked, pleased to see the purple-haired demon vanish from the corner of her eye after Severus shot her a withering look. “You weren’t gone long.”

  “He’s running late tonight,” Severus told her, holding his sketchbook loosely at his side, dashing as ever in the black cotton tee and fitted denim. He just had the perfect ass for jeans.

  “So, what does that mean for us?” Her cheeks warmed when he caressed the side of her neck, his arm circling somewhat possessively around her shoulders.

  “We,” he said with a sigh, “now have an hour to kill. Would you like to go somewhere else? Rose’s Corner might have a booth open.”

  Moira scoffed and shook her head. “That place is way too expensive for the food they serve.”

  “Now, darling, be nice,” Severus warned with a tight smile. “Verrier sets the prices and I’m sure they’re more than fair.”

  She glanced around them, wondering if someone might be listening, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

  But then again, what did she know? Severus had proven to her that she was still way out of her depth in his world, so she had stopped arguing with him—about most things, anyway.

  “Okay,” she said slowly, her tight smile matching his. “I’m sure I’m mistaken about the…pricing structure.” At his nod, Moira could almost imagine him murmuring good girl in his sultry, husky sex-god voice, and she found herself crossing her legs as desire shuddered through her. “Anyway. We don’t have to leave. We can just wait here, can’t we? Have a drink together?”

  His smile vanished, though the tightness didn’t. Severus’s dark stare bounced around the room, taking it all in, before he let out a long sigh—almost in defeat. “Sure. That’ll be fine. We can…”

  At the sound of a commotion coming from the main door, Moira looked over her shoulder. In spilled a group of loud, laughing, shouting men, all swathed in black suits and what Moira could only describe as bling.

  “We’ll sit it out downstairs,” Severus remarked curtly, grabbing her hand and pulling her off the barstool. Moira stumbled after him, her heels higher than what she usually wore, and only noticed she’d left her half-drunk martini behind when Severus stopped at the closed-down bar on the other side of the room. She watched, brow furrowed, as he tucked his sketchbook behind the counter.

  “Are you sure you want to leave that there?”

  “Alaric will be here in fifteen minutes,” he muttered, scribbling something down on a napkin with a pen. “It’ll be safe here.”

  She bit her lower lip, wondering if she ought to question him. Those sketches had taken two weeks to perfect, and they were the whole reason she and Severus were even here tonight. However, when he caught her expression, he flashed one of those sinful smiles that made her knees weak, then steered her toward a staircase that led down instead of up.

  “Don’t fret, pet,” he insisted. “I leave things back there all the time. They’ll be fine. No one wants to get incubus cooties by snooping through my things, I promise.”

  “Right.” Well, she had trusted him about pretty much everything else so far—why not this? Moira still cast one last look back, noting the empty stools and dimmed lights—the complete opposite of the bar she had nursed her martini at. The new arrivals flocked to Madeline and her cohorts, the din they created worse than the neighbourhood frat assholes who lived across the street from her in the campus suburbs.

  Soon enough, however, the chorus of rambunctious male voices was replaced by a pounding, whumping bass beat. Descending the dark path into the lower level of the Inferno was like stepping into an entirely different world. It was a wonder the sound didn’t carry upstairs, and Moira gasped at the sight of torches—real, flickering, fiery torches—illuminating the bottom half of the winding stairwell.

  Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she and Severus happened upon two half-naked individuals in the throes of rabid, aggressive sex at the last turn of the stairs. Stunned, Moira slipped on the last step, smacking face-first into Severus’s back, and then pressed a hand to her burning cheeks as she all but ran from the live sex show. Her demonic companion’s chuckles reverberated in her ears, and she only slowed when he wrapped a hand around her waist and pulled her back.

  “I’m afraid this isn’t the Inferno you thought you knew,” he rasped in her ear.

  No, it most certainly was not. They’d waltzed right into a dungeon, torches illuminating the stone floors, walls, and ceiling as far as the eye could see. There were triple the number of people down here than there were upstairs, and it fleetingly reminded her of the dance floor in the human Inferno—only with a lot more nudity. Black eyes everywhere, demons on full display. Moira swallowed hard, trying to find her nerve.

  “Are you sure you don’t wish to go anywhere else?”

  “Are any of them going to touch me?” she shouted back, gripping the fabric of Severus’s shirt so tightly that she was surprised she hadn’t ripped it. When he frowned and shook his head, Moira squared her shoulders. “Then no. I can handle it.”

  Once she realized that no one had so much as glanced their way since they arrived, the scene of writhing bodies, the air thick with sweat—among other curious smells—became slightly more palatable. The music, however, was kind of a nightmare, and Moira plugged her ears with her fingers as Severus steered her into the madness.

  With such low ceilings, Moira found this level more claustrophobic than the last, but spying things like a DJ turntable perched up on a stage and a bar manned by three other beautiful creatures had an oddly calming effect on her. It was just a club—a more gratuitously sensual club than she was used to, but it wasn’t like they’d strolled into Hell or anything. These were just people—demons, whatever—who were forking over their hard-earned cash in exchange for a good time.

  They might as well be university students.

  Severus led her around the mob, rather than through it, and soon had her seated at a tall table, one of many, along the back wall. Her feet dangled about a foot and a half off the ground, and she crossed her ankles, fingers drumming anxiously on the black—was that granite?—tabletop.

  “Would you
like something to drink?” He was forced to ask the question directly in her ear—but he wasn’t shouting. No, it was the same sinful rumble that always made her heart flutter and her panties damp, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. Moira found herself leaning into him, taking a few seconds too long to clue into why he’d even asked.

  “Oh.” She looked up, startled. “I forgot my martini. I didn’t pay for my martini!”

  “I have a tab,” he remarked, waving off her concerns when she turned her wide-eyed stare toward him. “Shall I get you another?”

  Moira shook her head, suddenly shy: Severus fetching her a drink when it was just the two of them at, well, a sex club, felt strangely intimate. Then again, it was no more intimate than Moira arching herself up to whisper in his ear, her hand settling on his chest. “I don’t really like gin. Can you make it, uhm, something sweeter?”

  The muscles along his jaw flickered, as though clenched, and Severus tugged the front of his jacket up to cover more of Moira’s figure. Her breath caught at the way he rustled her about, rearranged her. When their eyes met again, blackness stared back. She still wasn’t sure how to feel about it—the demon inside. The true Severus, if she understood all his vague comments correctly. All she knew was that it aroused her far more than it should have, and she hastily retracted her hand when she realized it was clutching the neckline of his T-shirt.

  “One sweet drink, coming up,” he purred in her ear, and she shuddered when his tongue trailed along the shell this time, teeth catching the lobe. “Don’t move.”

  “No promises,” she managed, but only when he eased away, every inch of her on fire. Severus cast one last sinful grin over his shoulder before disappearing into the crowd, headed in the direction of the bar.

  Left to her own devices, Moira took the time to calm down, massaging the colour out of her cheeks as she gave herself a mental pep talk. They were here tonight for serious work. Sure, she had spent nearly a full hour in the library bathroom after office hours tonight, primping and prepping, wearing actual makeup that took actual time to apply in order to enhance her looks, for the first time in ages. Yes, some of it had been for Severus’s benefit, and some of it stemmed from the desire to start feeling like her old self again, but Moira had wanted to fit in more than anything. She had wanted to appear cool and collected—surrounded by demons, but totally at ease with it.

  Thus far, she wasn’t sure she had been successful in that respect—but Severus certainly seemed to approve of her outfit. So. That had to count for something?

  Get a grip, girl. She leaned back against the prickly stone wall behind her, willing herself to act normal. This was just a bar. Upstairs was just a demon who might be able to put a name to her dad’s face—no big deal. Get in, get out, and get the job done. That’s what this was supposed to be. A job. Not…fun sexy times with Severus.

  She nibbled her lower lip, then sat up and rubbed at her teeth, worried her ruby-red lipstick might have transferred by her annoying little habit. When she was done, she noticed a few figures on the edges of the sex pit watching her, and she rolled her shoulders back, lifted her chin, and adopted an air of nonchalance that she assumed would go unquestioned in a place like this.

  The façade worked, boosting her confidence and soothing her nerves—until her wandering gaze stopped on a couple literally fucking no more than ten feet from her. The woman—human, if her eyes had anything to say about it—suddenly bent over in front of the tall, dark-eyed demon man behind her, jean mini-skirt hitched up and hands planted on the floor. Moira watched, horrified, as the demon undid his pants, whipped out his cock, and plunged it into her.

  “Oh my god.” She couldn’t look away. It was like a car accident—she had to watch, no matter how uncomfortable it made her. No one else around them seemed to notice, or mind, that two figures were just…having sex. Right there. Right on the dance floor. Brazen as anything.

  Suddenly, Severus’s looming, smirking figure blocked her view, and he handed her an ice-cold glass of something.

  “Sangria,” he told her. “Extra heavy on the fruit.”

  “Thanks.” The word snagged in her throat, and she shoved the straw between her lips and sucked half the white wine mix down, her cheeks flaming. Severus, rather than settling onto the stool on the other side of their table, stayed right there, planted in front of her so that she couldn’t see the dance floor anymore, a hand on her knee. Slowly, as his wandering hand drifted under the fabric of her skirt, Moira forgot what was going on around them—lost in the sensation of his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles across her thigh.

  “We’ve still got another forty-five minutes,” he told her, leaning down again—and this time blatantly dragging his tongue from the nape of her neck to her ear. “Whatever shall we do to pass the time?”

  The crux of her thighs tingled as his caress grew more insistent, more obvious, and Moira found herself widening her legs as much as her pencil skirt would allow.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She downed the rest of her sangria in near record time, though she hardly felt the usual buzz in her head or in her core. Severus’s touch, figuratively, seemed to intoxicate her more than alcohol these days. She set her glass on the table, then fluttered her lashes at him, adopting an air of innocence. “Did you have something in mind?”

  The sensual quirk of his mouth, steeped in desire and concerningly predatory, nearly made her swoon, and Moira gasped when he cupped her face and kissed her. Harshly. Roughly, his tongue sweeping between her parted lips, tasting like peppermint and risk. She adored the taste of his kiss—of every single one of them, all different but all equally dangerous. Equally thrilling. Her toes curled in her heels, legs desperate to wrap around his waist as she strained to keep pace with him, with his tongue that wouldn’t let her rest, that seemed to want to stroke every inch of her before the night was through.

  Her fingers curled around his shirt, her body rising up to his as he cradled her head. Two large hands caged her face, leaving her feeling both cornered and protected, a willing captive in his embrace. He seemed to want to work those hands into her hair, but her meticulous styling held him at bay. Instead, Severus tore himself away, eyes blacker than ever and mouth lifted in a snarl.

  Before she could get a quip out, knowing he’d enjoyed their verbal foreplay before, he snatched her hand and all but hauled her off the stool. She teetered after him, determined to keep pace without falling flat on her face or getting her heel wedged in the dusty cobblestone flooring below.

  Once again, Severus led them around the pit of writhing bodies, wherein many couples appeared to engage in something more risqué than dancing. He slowed when they reached the other side, and stopped completely in front of an arched wooden doorway. He gripped the wrought iron handle and gave it a good rattle. Then, when it opened unhindered, he dragged her inside and slammed it shut behind them.

  Moira blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the complete and utter darkness around her. The scent of sweat and sex had vanished, and in its place was a damp, cool airiness. When Severus let go of her hand, she wrapped her arms around herself, feeling uncomfortably off-balance—until a smattering of light trickled in from the ceiling. She looked up, squinting at first, the little dots like starlight—it was oddly beautiful, given the abrasive environment outside.

  With the lights growing brighter, she had the chance to quickly take in the new room. While small, its ceiling was higher than the dungeon-esque dance floor they had left behind. Made entirely of stone, it was a round little room with bench seating lining the walls—and a giant wrought-iron hook hanging from the ceiling. She gulped, lips parting as she stared at it, but before she’d had the chance to ask a question, Severus had her pinned back against the door, his mouth on hers.

  And, in a heartbeat, she forgot about the hook, about the people fucking outside, about all the black eyes and his abandoned sketchbook. All that mattered was him and her, the heat rising between their bodies—the way their mouths fit so perfectly toge
ther that it made her heart hurt.

  Kissing her harshly, desperately, Severus all but smothered her with his powerful frame, his hands first gripping her backside, then sliding up, purposefully, over her hips, her breasts. They stopped at her shoulders, where he finally wrenched his leather jacket down her arms. It crumpled at her feet, forgotten, and her skin prickled, kissed by the cool, dark air.

  How strange—to suddenly feel so exposed, so on display, while still completely clothed.

  She could feel him fumbling about between them, the sensation accompanied by the crisp snap of his leather belt as he tugged it free from its loops. Her lower lip caught between Severus’s teeth, Moira whimpered when he finally withdrew, half dragging her off the door by that lip, half daring her to wriggle free. She wouldn’t. She had never been one for pain in the bedroom, but something about the way Severus delivered it was heavenly. So, she let him pull her, an ache skittering below her skin as a much deeper, much stronger pulse of desire throbbed between her thighs.

  When he finally did release her, she fell about a foot back against the door, her heart racing. Belt gripped in hand, Severus arched an eyebrow at her, the starlight above casting unnerving shadows across his face, across those obsidian eyes. Only a fool would lean into the fear—and with Severus, Moira had become quite the fool.

  He waited, the thumping beat vibrating the door behind her, Moira’s breath coming hard and fast. He waited until she settled, until her eyes finally lowered to the belt held taut between both of his hands. Knowing he’d track the movement, she swept her tongue across her lower lip, then offered her wrists. She placed them together, daintily, and reached out to him. She hadn’t been one for ropes in the bedroom either, but Severus seemed to enjoy restraining her.

  And Moira enjoyed letting him.

  The demon eased forward with a smirk, a lift of his lips that she knew ought to make her cower, and then, slowly, with great care, looped the belt around her wrists. He took his time deciding which notch to use, and not once did his gaze leave her face. Moira stared back, chin lifted, only to gasp when he yanked her forward suddenly, the leather’s bite harsher against her skin than she’d expected.