Demons Imps and Incubi (Red Moon Anthologies Book 1)

by Cori Vidae

  “It’s not that easy, you know,” he whispered. “It takes more than that to hurt me, much less kill me.” He wiped the blade on Cora’s dress before he pocketed it himself. “But I appreciate tenacity, Cora. We just might have a great time together, you and I. Now, it’s my personal opinion that if you’re going to stab someone, you have to be sure you can get rid of the body. It’s the most important part of stabbing.”

  He helped her to the sink and turned on the tap. He wet his hand and gently wiped Cora’s face. Make-up and dirt stained his fingers, so he repeated the process until the water ran clear.

  “You will get used to it, you know.” He ran his fingers along her jaw while he waited for her to recover from the violent pull of their deal’s leash.

  “But you won’t,” she said, her voice rough, her blood so ready to boil. “This is gonna be the last good deal you’ll get, I’ll make sure of that, even if it gets me a shallow grave.”

  Valerian’s smile sang sugar, and his honey pale eyes radiated warmth. “Well, in that case, get while the getting is good.” His lips skimmed her jaw. “I’ll let you be friendly. Play nice. Hold you to the terms of our deal, just as you may hold me to them. I promised to take care of things for you. I plan to hold up my end of our bargain.” With her body pressed against his, he felt the moment it responded. He lowered his head for a summer breeze kiss, pressed his lips on hers gently as a cherry blossom falling down to earth. Cora turned her head away and clawed her fingers into his flesh, but it was just a twitching of her wild soul. When Valerian wasn’t scared away by it, she kissed him back, rough, wild, needful, using her teeth on his lips until Valerian growled with joy.

  Cora ground herself into him, rubbing against his rock hard cock.

  Valerian grabbed her by the neck and bent her head to the side. “You will be quiet when you come,” he whispered into her ear. He spun her around so that her shapely buttocks pressed against his rod. What a delight to feel you like this. “Hold on to the sink.”

  With his left hand, he kept hold of her neck, gently massaging it with his thumb. His right explored the outside of her thigh, then across and back up the inside, up to her pussy. He felt the fabric of her dress stretch teasingly just when his fingers found her wetness. He moved them back and forth, circled her bead every other turn. Then he dipped inside her, and Cora groaned under his touch.

  “Quiet,” he hissed. Cora’s grip on the sink tightened, but she nodded. “Good.”

  He opened his pants. His dick jumped out, rigid. Excited. The tip glistened, greedy to connect with Cora’s own moisture. Valerian pulled her dress up and guided his dick with his hand. The tip slid into the waiting softness. Cora caught her breath, and in the mirror over the sink he saw her press her lips together. Valerian pulled back out and rubbed his shaft’s length over her before entering her again, this time all the way. His hips pressed against her, her muscles straining with excitement.

  He pulled back out again and slapped one of her cheeks, hard.

  Too focused on keeping quiet, Cora just uttered a sharp moan as the pain of the slap registered in her brain, but before she could voice a complaint, Valerian filled her again and bent over her a little. “That’s payback, for when you slapped me,” he said, moving his hips, then stopping again, “though I still owe you the interest.”

  Valerian straightened and started pushing into her in a steadily rising rhythm. His left hand never strayed from Cora’s neck, but his right circled her hip so he could massage her clit with the tips of his fingers.

  Just when he thought his testicles were swollen to the point he couldn’t take it anymore, he felt her sheath begin to tremble, saw the muscles of her body jolt. He held on a heartbeat longer before pulsing into her just as her pink walls firmed around him as if to suck him dry, drink him like the juice of a ripe summer plum.

  When he had pushed everything he had inside her, he withdrew and pulled his pants back up with her delicious juices still clinging to him. Valerian covered Cora back up with her dress, dirty as it was, and felt quite satisfied when he saw their cocktail dripping down underneath her.

  Just like fresh dew, dripping from a sweet blossom, he thought.

  “This means nothing,” she rasped, her eyes shooting ice at him in the mirror.

  It means I fucked you in a restroom, and you liked it. “Oh, just that I still owe you,” he waved the hand he had slapped her with, “interest.”

  Smiling brightly and quite satisfied with how Mistress Chance and Lady Fate had steered the boat, Valerian walked out. And how delighted I will be, dearest witchling mine, to keep paying you back.

  * * *

  Alexa Piper is a romance writer, which so far she finds very stimulating. “Measures of Greed” marks her first publication, but it won’t be her last. Keep a weather eye on the Red Moon Romance publishing list for her collection of sexy short stories, Luminous Dreams, and be sure not to miss Cora and Valerian who will reappear in a future Red Moon Romance anthology. For news and updates, visit www.alexapiper.com.

  Pomegranate Cupcake

  Erzabet Bishop

  “Get that thing out of my sight.” Demeter snarled, knocking the pomegranate out of Aphrodite’s hand and onto the floor with a thud. It rolled down the dais, landing at the bottom of the steps.

  “Wow. That wasn’t bitchy at all.” Aphrodite narrowed her eyes and scooped the fruit off the marble floor of the palace. These days Olympus was all but deserted. The gods hung out in smaller places now—anywhere their presence was revered: Greek restaurants. Movie theaters. Even a florist shop in a small town in Texas. It was disheartening, to say the least.

  “Look. I know you hate it when Persephone is in the Underworld, but you want to hear this.”

  Demeter leveled her gaze on her friend and sister goddess. All she wanted to do was be left alone to brood. She hated the annual trip her daughter took to the Underworld. She refused to think of the place as Persephone’s home. What daughter of hers, a child of light and springtime, belonged in the gloom of Hades’ domain? It was mortifying. Even worse, Persephone seemed to love the handsome, dark haired god that had stolen her away. She went willingly to the Underworld every year, spending three months at his beck and call. It made Demeter want to spit nails.

  Her fellow Olympians told her to get over it eons ago. Damned if she would, not when she had to see Hades’ smug face at the dinner table nine months out of the year, and lose her daughter altogether the other three.

  No. Persephone might go to the Underworld, but the globe would know her grief. Let everyone remember not to trifle with goddesses. Demeter closed her eyes and clenched her teeth. Her friend meant well, but talking about the situation just made it worse. When Persephone was with her, all was right. Even if she had to endure Hades’ insufferable presence at the dinner table.

  Damned, domineering oaf. Did Persephone have to follow his every command? The way he sipped his Ambrosia made her want to slap him. The way he chewed his food was better suited to a donkey than at table with polite company. Even the way he watched Persephone like she was a prized dog made Demeter cringe.

  “Hades is giving one of his infamous parties at the Elysian Club tonight. I hear tell that Persephone will be there. Do you want to go? I know Persephone is still in the Underworld a while longer, but I figured you might want to get a glimpse of her.”

  Demeter sighed. “Hades will see me and I would never live it down.”

  Aphrodite shook her blonde curls, her lips curving up in a devious smile. “Nope. Not a chance. It’s a masked affair, so all the party-goers will be anonymous.”

  “What?”

  “Yep. And I have the perfect costume for you.”

  “You’ve lost your mind.”

  Aphrodite snorted. “Are you afraid?”

  “I really don’t want to see my daughter in a place like the Elysian Club.” Demeter crossed her arms, her lips pressing into a thin line. She knew her daughter was an adult, but still. It didn’t have to be rubbed in h
er face.

  “It’s a club. What people do behind closed doors is their business. She’ll never know you were there.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Aphrodite touched Demeter’s arm. “Look. I know you’re worried about her. You’re a mother and you can’t help it. But here’s the thing… Persephone is a grown woman and you need to let her go. Seeing her happy and having fun would be good for you.”

  Demeter played with the folds of her robe. “But what would I wear?”

  Aphrodite grinned. “Oh, you leave that to me. I have the perfect outfit.”

  * * *

  “What were you thinking?” Demeter hissed. Her eyes blazed as they raked across her body. A tight leather bustier threatened to cut off circulation and spill what flesh it didn’t display right over the top. Demeter desperately wanted to cover her backside with her hands, as the flouncy micro skirt barely concealed anything at all. Thigh-high boots that felt like stilts covered her feet and her hair was fashioned into an up-do that made her head want to loll from her neck. A lacy mask covered half of her face and she struggled with the urge to rip it off.

  “I was thinking we could finally have a good time instead of you sulking like a child.” Aphrodite sniffed, pushing her forward in line. The graceful lines of her almost transparent lavender gown made Demeter blush behind the mask. Aphrodite didn’t look like herself at all. Short, cropped red hair and a fluttery butterfly mask made her look like a pornographic naiad.

  The Elysian Club was hopping and the traffic was horrendous. The line to get inside was long, but moved quickly. A woman in a barely there mini-toga hung off the arm of a muscle bound man in a gladiator outfit. A few places up the line she thought she caught sight of a mermaid wearing strategically placed shells. Cerberus, the three-headed attack dog, attended the bouncer, a pomegranate the price of admission. His growls abated as the treacherous fruit was placed into the wicker basket at his feet.

  “How droll,” she muttered.

  “Quiet. You want him to figure out it’s you?” Aphrodite growled, elbowing her friend in the side.

  “Ouch!” Demeter wobbled in her thigh-high boots and stumbled into the arms of the man behind her in line. “Oh!”

  “Had a little too much to drink there, Cupcake? You only just got here.”

  Demeter spun around, her lips already twisting in a retort. Her gaze settled on the muscular form of the man in front of her and her mouth went dry. Broad shoulders and sculpted abs filled out the tight black t-shirt. Leather pants fit along muscular thighs and long legs slid into biker boots. Delicious warmth settled in her stomach and a tingling raced over her body. He could rival Adonis for beauty but she sensed there was something wild about him, too… Not too pretty, but the rugged kind of man that could take a girl against the wall and make her like it. Goddess, and those eyes. They contained an inner fire that stoked her pussy into high alert.

  A blush settled over Demi as the image stuck in her head. Hell, he probably had dimples on his well-shaped ass.

  “Well, hello there.” Aphrodite maneuvered herself between Demeter and the attractive stranger.

  “Hello, yourself.” Mr. Handsome’s lips quirked up.

  Demeter rolled her eyes. The spark she felt when she first took in his bad boy style withered and winked out. Why would anyone possibly look at her twice with the Goddess of Love standing next to her? Even in these borrowed clothes, she still felt like herself, and a coquettish nymph she was not.

  Snorting, Demi moved forward, leaving Aphrodite to her conquest. She would go in, find her daughter, and make sure Persephone’s lout of a husband wasn’t making her wait on him hand and foot.

  “Where are you going, Cupcake? Afraid I might bite?”

  He was talking to her?

  Demeter stopped in her tracks. Spinning on her heel, she found herself staring into the tight t-shirt of Mr. Handsome. Aphrodite stood a few steps behind, eyebrows raised. When Demeter hesitated, she mouthed, “Go on!”

  Lifting her chin, she met the challenge in Mr. Handsome’s gaze. How had she not noticed the piercing gray color of his eyes before?

  “My name is not Cupcake.”

  “Really? And here I thought you were one of those brainless Goth chicks Hades usually invites to his raves.” His infectious grin set the tone.

  “I can assure you, if that’s what you’re looking for, you have the wrong woman.”

  “Oh, I think I’ve found just what I’m looking for.” He cocked his head to one side.

  His gaze burned into her and Demeter felt her knees grow weak. His tone aroused and infuriated her. She had to admit she found perverse pleasure in his challenge. The jackass clearly did not know who he was talking to. And he certainly had no right to stand there looking so virile, so utterly edible and cocksure of himself. “You do, do you? I ought to teach you some manners, pretty boy."

  A spark lit in the stranger’s eyes. "Oh, lady. Now that would be the icing on the cake."

  With a flick of her wrist, she centered her hand on his torso and let her essence crawl into him. The barest inkling of time crept forward, causing him to open his mouth in shock.

  She heard his quick intake of breath and Demeter basked in the knowledge of her power. Her dormant senses revitalized and she let fly with only a small measure of her influence: life. Death. The seasons. All were at her command.

  She watched his brazen expression fade into one of astonishment and disbelief.

  His youth flickered. It trickled out of him like the changing of the seasons and was replaced by the shriveled husk of a man long since dead. Mr. Handsome staggered but she caught him, supporting his weight. Demi pulled him close and pressed her lips against his. Life.

  With a shake of his head, he stared at her, baffled. “Wow, Cupcake. You really pack a punch.”

  A scream of frustration rose from her lips and she stomped away. He still had the nerve to be flip with her? After that? She had to walk away before she did something rash like turning him into permanent beef jerky.

  “That’s it.” Demeter promptly disengaged herself from his grip. Giving him a curt nod of farewell, she hurried to catch up with the line. Bastard. Who the blazes did he think he was? She should just reduce him to a pile of ash, but she kind of liked the guy. He had balls enough to stand up to her, and that was more than most people had. That, in her mind, made him interesting.

  She wove through the crowd and before she knew it, she was through the door and in the club. Aphrodite was nowhere to be found. What she did see made her eyes almost roll back in her head. Men, women, and shades strolled about in a semi-dressed state. Women danced in cages as the lights flickered and strobed. The scent of brimstone and too many bodies, both living and dead, assaulted her nostrils. The throng of people moved and pulsed to the techno-pop music that vibrated through the room. It was electrifying.

  Staggering to the wall, Demeter sighed. How would she ever find her daughter here? Would she even want to? Wobbling on the too-high boots, she straightened herself. A shade floated by, offering her pomegranate seeds.

  “No, thank you,” she said through tight lips. She was not some fool to be tricked into the Underworld. At the thought, she flinched. Persephone. She needed to see her for just a moment and she could give up this ridiculous charade. She was not a twenty-something human with a death wish and a micro skirt. The shade nodded and skittered away, to try claiming unsuspecting playmates for his master elsewhere. The slime.

  A parade of leather-clad party-goers danced through the center of the room. At the tag end of the proceedings was none other than her Persephone. Rigged from head to toe in a tight leather bra and form-fitting leather pants that blended into magnificently high boots, she wielded a whip at the unfortunate man in front of her.

  The music paused long enough for Demeter to hear the whip connect with the man’s flesh and his agonized wail. He wore a barely decent leather mini brief. A fine red line appeared on his back.

  “What do we say, Hades? I don
’t think I heard you right?” Persephone arched one finely shaped eyebrow and frowned.

  “Yes, Mistress. I’m sorry, Mistress. My actions were inappropriate and I deserve any punishment my Mistress deems to give me.” Hades lowered his head to the ground and kissed the toe of her boot.

  “I thought so. Tomorrow is another day, but tonight you wear my collar.” She bent down and fastened a black leather collar around the King of the Underworld’s neck. Securing a leash, she gave it a firm tug. Hades groaned. Persephone reached down and placed a kiss on top of her husband’s head. “And you’ll keep wearing it until I say otherwise. Now crawl. I want to see you grovel under my feet while I sit on the throne.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” Demeter stared.

  “He looks good like that. Don’t you think, Cupcake?”

  Demeter sighed and tore her gaze away from the couple. “You again. My name isn’t Cupcake.”

  “I never thought it was. Want to get a coffee, or maybe clean my clock again? I think I still have a hard on from that little flick of the wrist thing you did back there.”

  A grin spread across her face despite her annoyance. She wanted to stay longer and see Hades ground under Persephone’s boot. It appeared—to her great surprise—that her daughter had things well in hand.

  “I might be persuaded.” Demeter looked out over the leather-clad people and shook her head. It was hard to go from a white toga to a micro skirt in one night. She paused, eyes searching for her daughter and Aphrodite once more. She’d never met a man she wanted to see dragged around by his neck more than Hades. The jerk had it coming. Part of her wondered what he’d done to piss off her daughter, then decided she didn’t want to know. No; they had their own lives to lead. Maybe it was time for her to do the same. She eyed the man in front of her and considered her options.