Demonica: Base Instincts Part 3

"Nope. We reproduce with the females of other species, but our offspring are always purebred Seminus males."

Huh. Slake glanced over at Raze, who seemed extremely engrossed in opening a box of surgical masks. From this angle, Slake couldn't see Raze's personal symbol, but now he wanted to know what it was.

"And you guys are s.e.x demons," he mused. Wasn't that curious. He'd never heard of s.e.x demons that went for their same gender, but he knew d.a.m.ned well he hadn't read Raze's signals wrong. He certainly hadn't read the kiss wrong. "So . . . you do males too?"

"Dude." Wraith cringed. "f.u.c.k, no. Females only."

"Really." Slake looked over at Raze again, whose face had gone an interesting shade of red. "No exceptions?"

The Harrowgate flashed open, and Wraith waved at the female wearing a lab coat with the name Gem st.i.tched onto the chest pocket in big loopy, multicolored swirls, her blue-streaked black hair pulled up in twin pigtails. "Other males can partic.i.p.ate, but-"

"Slake, can I talk to you?" Raze ground out from between clenched teeth. "Outside?"

"'S'okay," Wraith said. "I gotta catch Eidolon before he gets busy helping people and c.r.a.p. Later."

The moment Wraith sauntered off, Raze grabbed Slake, and the next thing he knew, he was being dragged into the parking lot. The manhandling was something he'd normally beat the s.h.i.t out of someone for, but as Raze threw him up against a concrete pillar and got in his face, all he wanted to do was kiss the guy. Continue what they'd started in the alley behind Thirst.

"No more questions," Raze growled, the low, breathy sound rumbling through all of Slake's erogenous zones.

Then realization dawned. "Your friends don't know, do they? They have no idea you're into males."

Gold flecks, like sunlight glinting off a lake of emerald, glinted in Raze's eyes. "What the f.u.c.k did I just say?"

In a quick motion, Slake gripped Raze's shoulders and spun him around so it was Raze's spine biting into the post. Before the incubus could recover, Slake covered his mouth with his own. Raze froze, his body taut, his teeth clenched behind lips as cold and unyielding as the pillar. Slake kept up the pressure for a few seconds, making it clear that he didn't give up easily.

Point made, he put his mouth to Raze's ear and whispered, "Was that why you broke it off last night? Right when things were getting good?" Never mind that Slake had been about to do the same. "Because you don't want anyone to know you're into guys?"

"It's a little more complicated than that." Raze tried to shove Slake away, but he held his ground, pulling back only enough to look the guy in the eye. "Actually, a lot more complicated."

Slake understood that, since he wasn't exactly a typical, shining example of his own species. "Tell me."

Raze snorted. "You gonna share your trauma first? I didn't think so. So step off, a.s.shole."

G.o.ds, this guy was hot when he was p.i.s.sed. Slake had never been one for angry s.e.x, but something about Raze made him want to tear off both of their clothes and make use of the hood on that new BMW behind them.

He was about to say as much when the hospital's sliding doors opened and two paramedics rushed out, heading for one of two black ambulances parked nearby. One, a blond guy with eerie silver eyes, shouted at Raze.

"It's Thirst," he yelled. "Some kind of explosion."

Slake's heart skidded to a panicked stop in his chest. If Fayle had been injured or killed, he was in a s.h.i.t-ton of trouble. The m.u.f.fled trill of a phone ringing jumpstarted his heart again, and then Raze had his cell to his ear.

"Yeah, s.h.i.t, I'll be right there." He pocketed the phone and tore away from Slake. "I gotta go."

"I'm going with you."

"Whatever," Raze said. "But get in my way and I'll send you back here-in the back of that ambulance."

Slake almost laughed. Almost. Because if Fayle was dead, being in the back of an ambulance would be far preferable to whatever punishment Dyre could come up with.

Raze had always prided himself on his ability to remain calm during a crisis. To put fear on the back burner when things were crazy. But as he leaped out of the Harrowgate next to Thirst with Slake on his heels, terror pumped through him. Images of his parents, torn apart by demons, flashed in his head, and he knew he'd see the same kind of trauma in the bombing victims. Victims who were his friends. Marsden, Lexi, Vladlena . . . Fayle.

Oh G.o.ds, no.

The acrid stench of death made him gag as he stepped over chunks of jagged debris, his palm sweating all over the handle of the medic bag he'd grabbed from UGH.

Chaos ruled the scene, chaos and charred bricks and twisted, mangled metal. Sirens and screams rent the air, which was thick with black, ashy smoke that stung his eyes and nostrils. New York City emergency responders scrambled to treat the humans who had been caught in the blast that had ripped apart both Thirst and the strictly human club that served as its front.

Nate, wasn't stupid, though, and he'd already deployed the mystics he kept on staff to alter human memories when needed. The last thing anyone wanted was a paramedic or cop coming across injured demons or discovering a vampire club in their own human backyard.

"d.a.m.n." Slake's soft voice came from right next to Raze, but somehow it seemed distant, as if there was no place for anything here but screams.

"Come on," he barked, sprinting toward Thirst's blast-warped side door.

A few feet away, one of the mystics, Jen, was doing her, These aren't the droids you're looking for thing to a firefighter who had been heading toward the same door, now visible to humans thanks to a failure in the concealment spell that kept the place hidden from human eyes.

Inside was . . . s.h.i.t. Smoke clogged the air and soot covered the destroyed furniture, walls, and every piece of broken gla.s.s that littered the floor next to the bodies of the dead and injured.

Pained moans and cries for help spurred Raze into action. Heart pounding, he frantically searched the victims, hoping his friends weren't among them. Hoping Fayle wasn't among them. She generally avoided the club, preferring to collect the s.e.xual energy she needed to survive from quieter sources. But every once in a while, if she needed a quick fix, the club offered s.e.xual vibes in spades.

As he kneeled next to a goat-demon and pressed his palm against a spurting wound in the male's furry leg, he heard a female voice call out his name, and he gave a mental sigh of relief.

"Raze." Fayle stood near the destroyed medic station, her face pale, but she was otherwise unharmed. "I was in the apartment when I heard the blast. What can I do?"

She was useless around blood, fainting at the sight of anything more than a paper cut, but it was cool of her to offer. "Go back to the apartment and wait for me. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"What about me?" Slake called out from where he was crouched over one of the vampire waitresses, Ava, as she rested against a wall, her mangled arm held protectively against her chest. "What do you need me to do?"

Raze eyed Slake, the bulge of weapons beneath his jacket, and wondered what the guy did for a living. Somehow, Raze suspected Slake was more likely to be the person who caused injuries than fixed them.

"Get Ava to Underworld General Clinic. All the walking wounded need to go there. We'll let the hospital handle the critical patients." He increased pressure on his patient's wound while he used his other hand to gesture to his medic bag. "And grab some triage tags and black flag any DRT you come across."

"DRT?"

Right. Slake wouldn't understand the medical slang. "Dead Right There. Deceased," he clarified. "Tag 'em as you come across them. It'll save medical personnel time." And it would give Slake something useful to do while he searched for walking wounded to escort to the clinic.

Slake leaped into action as Raze turned back to his patient. "Hey, buddy," he said in his calmest medic voice. "What's your name?"

"B-Blead."

"Like bleed," Raze said, keeping his tone light. The guy was going to be okay, but without Raze, he'd bleed out. "What you're doing right now."

"Funny . . . guy," Blead gasped, his goatlike snout wrinkling as a wave of pain wracked him.

Quickly, Raze engaged his healing power to reduce the guy's bleeding. Energy surged through his arm, running along his dermoire in a pulsing tingle instead of a steady buzz. Son of a b.i.t.c.h, he was running low on juice after six busy hours at the hospital.

Instead of doing a full heal, he did a partial, enough to keep the guy alive until one of the uninjured staff members could escort Blead to one of Underworld General's facilities.

For the rest of the afternoon, he was forced to use his gift sparingly, moving from patient to patient to triage and heal the most severe and life-threatening injuries so that the other arriving UG medical staff could treat and transport to the hospital.

He hated triage. Always had. Every instinct in him screamed for him to heal his patients, to stay with them until he was confident they were out of danger. But ma.s.s casualty situations didn't allow for that, and he lost track of the number of times he had to pause for a few seconds to rein in his frustration.

He also lost track of time as he worked. Every once in a while he'd catch sight of Slake as he helped rescuers haul heavy debris off victims or offered comfort to the injured. Once, Slake even saved a life by tying a tourniquet around a human's leg that had been blown off at the knee. Where Slake had found the rope he'd used, Raze had no idea, but it was good thinking.

A couple of times, Raze found himself admiring the way Slake handled the situation with confidence and authority, while still obeying orders from rescue personnel. Impressive, how he was able to keep his ego in check. Raze had figured Slake to be the kind of muscle-bound, arrogant warrior who would balk at taking instruction. So he was hot and smart.

Knock it off. You're only setting yourself up for disaster.

Not to mention that he kept drooling over another male in the middle of a disaster. So. d.a.m.ned. Inappropriate.

Cursing himself, Raze wiped his brow on his sleeve and got back to it. The frantic pace of the emergency finally wound down as evening settled in, but as he helped another of Wraith and Eidolon's brothers, a paramedic named Shade, wheel a patient out to the waiting ambulance, he heard Slake shout for help.

He ran back inside, but he didn't see Slake anywhere among the scorched and mangled debris. "Where are you?"

"Over here!"

Raze threaded his way to the far corner of the building and found Slake kneeling behind an overturned table, his voice low and soothing as he spoke to someone Raze couldn't see. When he got closer, Raze's heart stuttered at the sight of a female form lying on the floor, her lower half crushed beneath a ma.s.sive section of wall. Slake was holding a frail hand in one palm as he tenderly brushed long brunette hair out of the female's blood-streaked face.

Lexi.

"It'll be okay," Slake murmured, his tone hesitant and awkward, as if he wasn't used to promising hope. "I won't leave you. I swear."

Lexi's golden-brown eyes were glazed with pain and shock, but she locked onto Slake's gaze with the fierceness that only a lion shifter could manage. "Thank you," she rasped. "Thank . . . you."

"No." Raze's voice sounded as destroyed as the club as he sank heavily to his knees. "No!"

He gripped Lexi's biceps and channeled what was left of his power into her, but a heartbeat later it became clear that she was beyond his capacity to help, even if his ability had been fully charged. He felt her drift away, her pulse becoming weaker as his pounded harder, until it stopped completely and her beautiful eyes clouded over.

"Ah d.a.m.n," he whispered.

"I'm sorry," Slake said softly. "I didn't know what to do-"

"You did everything you could." Raze shuddered, but long after it should have stopped, his body continued to tremble. He couldn't let go of Lexi, not until Slake pried his fingers from her limp arm.

"Come on, Raze." Slake signaled to a team of rescue personnel as he pulled Raze to his feet. "Let them do what they need to do."

Raze nodded numbly, grateful for the way Slake had taken over and given him a chance to step back. He was also grateful for the way Slake stood protectively close, his hand a comforting, steady presence on Raze's shoulder.

"I liked her," Raze said, his voice as thick as the smoke that lingered in the air. "I liked her a lot." He looked at the trashed club, at the pools of blood that mingled with the soot and ash, and without an adrenaline rush and victims to treat, the reality of the situation finally sank in. "So much death and destruction. Why?"

Slake shook his head. "Looks like Thirst took the bulk of the blast. At first, I thought the human club was the target, but if you look over there-" he pointed to the restrooms "-you can see where the blast originated. It was also focused, so it blew toward the front of the club. Someone wanted to take out the club without taking out the entire building. In fact . . ."

Slake's voice became a muted buzz, until all Raze heard was, blah, blah, maybe humans did it, blah, blah, inspect the materials used, blah, blah, blahblahblahblahblah . . .

"Blah."

Raze felt himself being shaken.

"Blah!"

More shaking.

"Raze!"

He blinked. Focused. Slake was standing in front of him, expression tight with concern, his hands on Raze's shoulders.

"Raze, man, you okay?"

"Yeah." No. Someone had intentionally maimed and killed dozens of people. How could he be okay with that? Making matters worse, as his adrenaline waned, his body was going through alternating hot and cold flashes, and his gut was starting to ache as the first symptoms of s.e.xual withdrawal began. He glanced down at his watch. It was nearly 7 p.m., a little over twelve hours since Fayle had given him a release that had been so cold and clinical they might as well have been at UGH's fertility clinic instead of their own apartment. He had no idea how long she was going to punish him for taking all of the control away from her last night, but he did know he'd need her again soon. Very soon.

But right now, as he looked into Slake's eyes, he needed something else. He wasn't even sure what. All he knew was that Slake was the key.

"Come with me." Raze started walking, wondering if Slake would follow.

It wasn't until he reached the door that led to his upstairs apartment that he heard the heavy strike of Slake's boots behind him.

Slake followed Raze to an apartment across the way from Thirst, his steps leaden with exhaustion. At over a century old, Slake had seen a lot of violence-had been the cause of a lot of violence-but he'd never let himself get sucked into an emotional involvement.

Sure, over the years he'd lost a lot of friends and lovers, but he'd learned the hard way to never get too attached, and even more importantly, to never be affected by anyone else's attachments. To never feel empathy. Or even sympathy. Life was hard, and it only got harder when you had more to care about than just yourself. Inevitably, those you cared about had a nasty habit of kicking you in the nuts when they couldn't accept who you were.

But seeing Raze so affected by his failure to save everyone, especially a friend, had rattled something loose inside him. The guy had been stoic and professional from the moment they'd arrived on scene, but in the last five minutes, the hard sh.e.l.l surrounding Raze had cracked-as much a victim of the bombing as Thirst had been-and Slake found himself wanting to fix it.

Weird, considering that Slake had been born to a species of demon that was all about destruction and suffering. Of course, the fact that Slake had never fit in was exactly why he'd left them behind.

Still, his people might be barbaric and primitive, but there was something to be said for not giving a s.h.i.t about anyone else's pain. Even now, when Slake should have been doing what he always did and mentally preparing himself for the worst thing that could possibly happen once he stepped inside Raze's apartment, he was wondering what he could do to erase the shadows that haunted Raze's gorgeous green eyes.

Raze led Slake inside a small but neat apartment that appeared to be part of a converted factory floor. Thick metal pillars made for interesting obstacles, but at least they'd been painted in bright primary colors that matched the Ikea furniture and modern art on the walls. Soft jazz music drifted from what Slake a.s.sumed was a bedroom, but Raze took a sharp left and made a beeline for the kitchen. Slake started after him, but movement in the bedroom doorway caught his attention.

Halting, he swung his head around. A female was watching him, her black hair falling over her face so he could only see one eye, but that one eye was narrowed, full of suspicion.

Fayle. No question about it. He'd seen enough pictures-and one extremely detailed drawing provided by the law firm's client-to recognize her.

He watched her until she pivoted around and disappeared back into the bedroom. Complete with a door slam.

For a split second he wondered what would happen if he hadn't used the bindings intended for her to stop an injured dude's bleeding, and instead barged into her room, grabbed her, and packaged her for delivery to Dire & Dyre. How much of a battle would Raze put up? Would he be forced to kill the guy?

Slake had always been careful to avoid collateral damage, but his soul was on the line, and he'd do what he had to do. But d.a.m.n it, something about Raze made him want to figure out another way. Or, at least, to stall a little. Fayle would still be here tomorrow.

Probably.

Cursing himself for a fool, he entered the kitchen . . . and stopped dead. Raze stood at the sink, his scrub top wadded on the floor, leaving him tantalizingly nude from the waist up. His muscles rolled and flexed under the supple skin of his back as he washed the blood and soot from his hands and arms.

d.a.m.n. Slake swallowed dryly, unable to tear his gaze away. And when Raze finally grabbed a hand towel and wiped himself down, all Slake could think about was how lucky that piece of cloth was. And how his tongue could do a much better job.

Raze tossed the towel to the floor next to his soot-and-blood-streaked top and yanked open the fridge door. "Beer?"

Somehow, Slake managed a casual shrug and a scratchy, "Sure."

Raze tossed him a bottle of some fancy microbrew, and then he twisted the cap off his own and drained half the contents.