Demonica: Base Instincts Part 2

Slake was always pretty uneasy in the room.

Not, of course, that he showed any sign of being nervous. Nope. In fact, he made a point of casually lounging in the uncomfortable wooden chair across from the Big Boss. Frank Dire, humans called him-humans who were clueless about the fact that he was ter'taceo, a demon in a human suit. To his inner circle, he was Dyre, and he was as evil as anyone Slake had ever known.

He was, all by himself, Dire & Dyre. He was Dire and Dyre, and when human clients demanded meetings with both "partners," he had the ability to replicate himself for short periods of time, but only after sacrificing an innocent. The dude was a definite five on the Ufelskala scale of evil.

"So." From across the polished mahogany desk the size of a freaking pool table, Dyre stared at Slake, his dark irises ringed by glowing scarlet. The demon inside had come out to play today. Not a good sign. "You haven't completed your a.s.signment."

"I'm close." Slake eased back in the chair even more and crossed his booted feet at the ankles, the very picture of everything's cool. "I've tracked her to a vampire club in New York. She's been seen in the company of a certain male."

The neutral expression on Dyre's deceptively handsome face didn't change. "Her species is parasitic. Did she attach herself to that male?"

"Unclear. But I'm working on finding out." If she had, it was possible that Raze would sense if she were in trouble. And a kidnapping probably counted as trouble.

Dyre picked up a gold pen and began flipping it between his fingers. Slake tensed. The guy was the most dangerous when he appeared the most casual. "The client has been very patient."

Slake slid a glance at the angel painting. No melty eyes. So far, so good. "The client didn't provide a lot to go on."

"You've never needed a lot to go on," Dyre countered. "You're one of Dire & Dyre's best hunters. So why is it taking you so long to track down one parasitic succubus?"

G.o.ds, he was impatient. "It's only been a month-"

"You have one week to complete your a.s.signment."

Slake shot out of his chair. "One . . . week? That's bulls.h.i.t! I was supposed to have until the end of next month."

"The clients moved up the timeline."

Son of a b.i.t.c.h. "Why?"

"That's their business."

"Yeah, well my soul is my business, and it's affected by this new deadline."

Dyre's lips peeled back to reveal his shiny white teeth and big-a.s.s fangs. "Your soul is also my business."

As if Slake needed the reminder that Dire & Dyre didn't exist just to make a lot of money. It existed to collect souls too, and Slake's would become another of the law firm's a.s.sets if he failed to bring in Fayle before the deadline.

Slake ground his molars so hard his jaw ached. "Yes, sir."

Dyre smiled. "Good. Now that we're in agreement, go complete your a.s.signment."

That had been way too easy, and with so much on the line, Slake couldn't pa.s.s up an opportunity to dig a little deeper. "I'd think," Slake said, "that you'd want me to fail, given that my failure would mean my soul defaults to you upon my death."

Dyre shrugged. "Either way, I win. Either the clients pay me millions, or I get your soul. Matters little to me, except that the clients have always been good ones, and I'd like to keep them."

As far as Slake was concerned, the clients could go f.u.c.k themselves. Whoever they were. With a mental f.u.c.k you, he escaped the office and hit the nearest Harrowgate, an ancient one that sat behind a stinky-a.s.s fish shop. Before he stepped in, he texted Atrox.

Find out everything you can about a demon named Raze. Medic at Thirst. I want to know about every breath he's taken since the day he was born.

Slake waited, picturing Atrox awkwardly knuckling his phone's keyboard until he finally came back with, Is this personal or business?

Just do it.

Personal, then. Gotcha.

Slake cursed under his breath as he typed. Just do it, jacka.s.s.

:-) I love you too, buddy.

Shaking his head, Slake slipped the phone into his pocket and stepped into the Harrowgate. Instantly, the black walls lit up with symbols for Sheoul, Earth, and Underworld General Hospital. He tapped the Earth symbol, and a map of the entire globe covered the inside of the closet-sized s.p.a.ce. He swiped a finger over the glowing continent of Europe, then Germany, then Bavaria, and finally, the Harrowgate nearest his home in the Alps.

The gate opened, and as he stepped out into the dark forest, he sighed with relief. No matter how bad his day was, it always felt good to come back here, to the place no one, not even Atrox, knew about. This was his sanctuary.

But as he trudged through trees to the log cabin sitting high on a bluff, he wondered how much longer it would remain a place of safety. Because if Dyre claimed his soul, there would be no place on Earth or in Sheoul where he could hide.

Raze should be in bed. He should be sound asleep and resting for his shift at Underworld General in the morning.

Instead, he was sitting at Thirst's bar, letting the cacophony of nightclub life drown out the thoughts in his head.

Seven hours later, Fayle was still in retaliation mode, and this time, she was stretching it to the limit. He needed s.e.x so badly that stabbing pains were starting to feel like tiny daggers in his groin. In another hour, the pain would turn him into a mindless monster that would attack any females near him, and if he still didn't get s.e.x, in another hour he'd be dead. Even now, the females were feeling the effects of his f.u.c.k-me pheromones, rubbing up against him and touching themselves, probably without even realizing what they were doing.

It would be so easy to take off with any of these females, but while his c.o.c.k said yes, his mind couldn't go there until it became too fogged with pain and need. And it wasn't even because of his deal with Fayle. It was because he couldn't stand how it made him feel to have s.e.x with someone he didn't want, simply because biology forced him to. Maybe that made him an idiot, but he wanted control over his mind and his body.

As a particularly severe stab of pain made him suck air, it crossed his mind that maybe holding out until Fayle finally came to him instead of going to her and begging was his way of punishing his body for making him need what he didn't want.

A slinky blonde vampire approached, her hips popping with each step, her fingers trailing up and down between two plump b.r.e.a.s.t.s that seemed desperate to escape the tight black corset that bound them.

Raze's c.o.c.k strained even more against the fly of his jeans, but it was a response based on the need he hated so much, not desire. No, the male vamp sucking on a man near the medic station was far more Raze's type.

So is Slake.

With a growl, Raze reached for his ice water, tempted to dump it on his crotch. Maybe an icy bath would douse the fever starting to spread from his groin.

The female vamp was closer now, her lips parted to reveal two pristine fangs. Suddenly, his field of vision filled with a curvy brunette who made him sigh with relief.

"Hey, my sweet baby," Lexi purred, her thick Irish accent cutting through the other sounds. "Need a save?"

He grinned. Like all of the club employees, she knew he was exclusive with Fayle. But unlike everyone else, she knew the real deal. The lion shifter saw what others didn't, and within a couple months of working at Thirst, she'd started playfully teasing him, pointing out the especially hot guys when they came in. He should have been annoyed, he guessed, but it had been a relief to have someone besides Fayle to talk to.

Fayle didn't feel the same way.

"You're awesome," he said, hugging her to him and taking grim satisfaction in the way the vamp stormed off. He liked Lexi, loved that her bubbly personality concealed a genius IQ she wielded like a weapon, unleashing it now and then to knock arrogant idiots down a few pegs. Watching her tend bar for a bunch of drunk imbeciles who thought she was just a dumb, pretty face was a form of entertainment. "If I were into females . . . and lion shifters . . ."

Laughing, Lexi kissed him on the cheek. "My a.s.s. If one of my brothers walked in here right now, you'd come all over yourself, lion shifter or not."

"If I could do that, I wouldn't need Fayle." He snorted. "Which would be a blessing right now."

Lexi frowned down at him. "What's up her a.s.s this time?"

Not him, that was for sure. Fayle didn't like to be touched. Or kissed. Didn't like her body defiled by sweat and saliva and s.e.m.e.n. Only on very rare occasions did she allow him more than a businesslike b.l.o.w.j.o.b. G.o.ds, what he wouldn't give for someone to touch him. To hold him. To kiss him like he was the only person in the world.

The way Slake had done just hours ago.

"Nothing," he muttered.

"I seriously doubt that," Lexi said, gesturing to her fellow bartender. "She's holding out on you over this nothing, isn't she?" The bartender handed Lexi a bottle of tequila and a shot gla.s.s. She poured a shot as she spoke. "You need to kick that controlling t.w.a.t to the curb."

"She doesn't do this often, Lex."

Lexi slammed the liquor and poured another. She was on duty, but management didn't care if employees drank, as long as they could keep their s.h.i.t together. Lexi could down the entire bottle and still win bartending compet.i.tions.

"Don't give in to her this time." Lexi dropped her hand to his thigh. "Let me take care of you."

She offered now and then, and he'd been tempted to take her up on it. Lexi could keep s.e.x and love separate, and he knew she'd be more than a robot in bed. But Fayle wouldn't take it well, and he wouldn't put Lexi in her crosshairs.

"I can't," he said roughly, his need growing almost out of control now. Lexi's hand cupping his erection wasn't helping. Neither was the fact that Slake's face kept popping into his mind, as if it was the male ma.s.saging his c.o.c.k instead of Lexi. "Fayle-"

She squeezed him, and he hissed in both pleasure at her touch, and pain at the need to come. Sweat broke out all over his body, and his mind went hazy as instinct began to override his rational thoughts.

"Fayle will get over it," Lexi said.

He shook his head even as he arched into Lexi's hand, and as he did, he got a glimpse of a silky black head of hair whipping around as the female it belonged to stormed toward the rear exit.

Fayle.

Cursing, he peeled Lexi's hand away and stood. "She might get over it, but I'm the one who has to live with her until she does."

"Good luck," Lexi called out as he made his way through the crowd, but he barely heard her over the rush of blood pounding in his ears. His body had control now, and it took every last brain cell he had to maintain forward momentum to the apartment instead of grabbing the closest female and doing her right up against the wall.

The only thing that kept him going now was the thought that by the time he got to their place, he'd be so far gone with l.u.s.t that he'd control the battle of wills that always raged between him and Fayle.

She was ready for him when he burst into the apartment, standing naked in the middle of the room, her clothes draped neatly over the back of the couch. A stranger would see defiance in her wide-legged stance and squared shoulders, but that was all for show.

She smelled of fear.

The incubus inside him would have preferred to smell arousal, but ultimately, he was a demon who had been driven to the very limits of his self-restraint, and the scent of her fear made his blood sing and his c.o.c.k throb. He wouldn't hurt her, but he wouldn't spare her, either. And he sure as s.h.i.t wasn't going to let her call the shots. She hated and feared not being in control more than anything, but she'd pushed him too far, and she knew it.

When he took her roughly down to the hard floor and ground his mouth onto hers, she didn't protest.

Not even when he murmured Slake's name against her lips.

Slake had dreamed of Raze all night long. Then he'd thought about him all morning as he got his a.s.s ready for the day. Now it was early afternoon, and he was still thinking about him.

It p.i.s.sed him off. He never let his lovers occupy important s.p.a.ce in his head, let alone dreamed about his lovers . . . or potential lovers. Not since Gunther. Not since Slake had been a different person. Very different.

Snarling to himself, he put his vampire ex out of him mind, but he kept Raze front and center as he fondled the smooth length of enchanted rope in his jacket pocket, one of the few objects that could immobilize a demon of Fayle's species. Without it, she could hypnotize him or, if the rumors were accurate, she could shift into a dragon-like beast and swallow him whole.

Not cool.

The Harrowgate he'd entered a moment ago opened, and he stepped out into the bustling emergency department at Underworld General Hospital. He'd never been here before, but like everyone else who didn't live under a rock, he'd heard about it. A hospital run by demons, vampires, and weres that existed under the streets of Manhattan, right under human noses, was sort of a big deal in the underworld community, even if a large percentage thought it was a stupid concept.

Personally, Slake thought that it and its London-based clinic were a good idea, and not even so much for the medical aspect. The hospital and clinic provided jobs and education, not to mention sanctuary, inside their no-violence-allowed walls. Which wasn't to say that UGH's and UGC's staff were a bunch of saints. Apparently, pain meds were optional for patients who were a.s.sholes, and the concept of bedside manner was a totally human notion.

Whatever. Slake didn't plan to ever be a patient. Besides, there was only one kind of bedside manner that worked for him, and it d.a.m.ned sure didn't include needles or sutures or antiseptic.

Although . . . he wouldn't mind if "bedside manner" involved a certain male medic.

On the topic of a certain male medic, he did a quick scan of the emergency department. At the reception desk, a vampire was arguing with a chubby, ratlike demon in scrubs, and across the room under rows of caged lights, several patients of varying species waited for their turn to see a doctor. And there, in one of the exam cubicles, his gloved hand resting on a patient's distended abdomen, was Raze. As Slake watched, the glyphs on Raze's arm began to glow, and the female patient cried out before sighing and relaxing.

Raze said something that made her smile weakly. He smiled back and took her hand in his with a tenderness that left Slake in awe. In Slake's world, there was no room for kindness. He showed none and received none. Sometimes, he didn't believe it existed.

But Raze wasn't just doing a job for a paycheck. Clearly, he enjoyed helping others. And just as clearly, Slake thought sourly, Raze had never been in the real world. Anyone who'd seen as much as Slake had lost their sense of empathy.

Raze fiddled with a dial on a machine next to the female's bed and then peeled off his gloves as he exited the cubicle. He waved at someone down the hall, but the moment he saw Slake, he came to an abrupt halt.

"What the f.u.c.k are you doing here?" he growled. The grumpy a.s.s.

"A bouncer at Thirst told me you were working here today," Slake said, leaving out the part where he'd had to threaten the bouncer with the loss of vital organs if he didn't cooperate. His threats had probably gotten him banned from Thirst, but whatever. They'd worked. "You have two jobs?"

Raze shrugged, one powerful shoulder rolling under green scrubs embroidered with the Underworld General caduceus symbol, a blade with stylized bat wings circled by two serpents. "I started here a while back, but I work part-time at Thirst. A few of us do both."

A stunning dark-haired demon with arm markings similar to Raze's exited the Harrowgate, the name Eidolon st.i.tched onto his white lab coat. Almost simultaneously, another impossibly handsome demon with matching tats came through sliding doors that appeared to lead to an underground parking lot. Although the newest guy wore jeans and a black Star Wars T-shirt, he strode through the place like he owned it, whistling to the tune of Johnny Cash's "Ghost Riders in the Sky," his shoulder-length blond hair brushing against the glyphs on his throat as he walked.

"d.a.m.n, there are a lot of you here," Slake said, unable to hide the appreciation in his voice. "Which begs the question . . . what are you?"

The blond newcomer slowed, smiled wide enough to reveal fangs, and slapped Raze on the back. "We're Sems."

"What?"

"Seminus demons," he said. "Incubi. We're kind of awesome."

Raze wheeled away to toss his gloves in the trash. "Thanks, Wraith," he said flatly. "You're always so helpful."

Slake looked between Wraith and Raze. "You're s.e.x demons?" The reason for their model-handsome good looks suddenly made a lot of sense, and so did Slake's intense attraction to Raze.

"Yup. Cool, huh?" Wraith gestured to the Seminus demon with the short dark hair. "That's my bro. Raze is related to us somewhere down the arm."

Slake blinked. "Somewhere down the . . . arm?"

"It's really not important," Raze muttered, but Wraith shouldered him out of the way and gestured to the sleeve of tats that began on his right hand and extended all the way to his neck, just like Raze's did.

"It's called a dermoire. The glyphs are a paternal history, and we each have our own symbol." Wraith fingered the hourgla.s.s symbol just below his jaw at the top of his dermoire. "This one is mine. The one below it is my father's. The one below that is my grandfather's. Keeps going. See, this skull glyph belongs to my great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, who happens to be Raze's great-great-great-grandfather."

Slake eyed the two braided tribal rings around Wraith's neck. "Why do you have a glyph around your neck, but Raze doesn't?"

Wraith grinned. "Means I'm mated."

"So there are females of your species?"