by Larissa Ione
Slake watched Gunther go, a sick feeling settling in his gut. What if he was right?
His phone buzzed again, and with a harsh curse, he looked down. Abruptly, his heart skidded to a stop so hard his chest hurt.
The message, from Dyre, flashed on the screen like a lightning bolt, shocking Slake through the device. He yelped and dropped it, but the words, two hours early, were seared into his mind.
Time’s up. Your soul is now mine.
Raze wasn’t looking forward to walking into an empty apartment. He’d lived with Fayle for over thirty years, and it was going to be weird to be there without her.
It would be good to be there without her. He still couldn’t believe she’d attached herself to him through a bond he hadn’t known about. The violation sat in his gut like an oil spill, making him feel . . . dirty.
Had Raze meant nothing to her? They’d never had a romantic relationship, but he’d thought their friendship had been based on respect and mutual need. Apparently, he’d been wrong about the respect part.
And now, after so many years of relying on her for survival, he was going to have to do what every normal, unmated Seminus demon had to do and dedicate a large portion of his time to finding females to fulfill his needs.
He dreaded the idea. He was so tired of being forced into survival mode. Slake had made him feel alive for the first time since he’d gone through his transition so many years ago, and if Raze could truly be with the guy . . .
He shook his head as he climbed the stairs to his apartment, trying to clear it of thoughts he shouldn’t be having. Of hopes he shouldn’t be having. What if finding sexual release with Slake had been an anomaly that couldn’t be repeated? What if Slake didn’t want Raze?
Nope, he wasn’t going to get his hopes up.
He reached his apartment, but as he dug in his pocket for the keys Slake had included with the clothes he’d brought to the hospital, he went on high alert. There was sound coming from inside.
And the door was unlocked.
Stepping to the side and putting his back against the wall, he pushed the door open slowly, and noise from the TV grew louder. His first thought was that Fayle had returned, but almost instantly, he did a turnaround on that. She would rather pluck out her own eyes than watch The Bachelor.
Assuming that no burglar would break in to watch a mind-numbing TV show, he stepped inside . . . and sucked in a startled breath. Gods, he’d forgotten how damned gorgeous Slake was, the way his dark hair framed his deeply tanned face and curled around ears Raze had traced with his tongue.
His hands got clammy and his heart started doing a crazy flip, and he wondered if this was what a crush felt like. Was this rush of excitement and anxiety normal when the person you most wanted to see in the world was right in front of you?
He stared for a moment, taking in the magnificent sight of Slake as he sat on the couch, his leather-clad legs sprawled out in front of him as if he didn’t have a care in the world. But the dark shadows around his eyes and the grim set of his mouth told another story, and Raze’s excitement turned to concern.
Slake’s leather jacket creaked against the couch as he hit a button on the remote, muting some girl who was wailing about being cheated out of some highly desirable activity with the bachelor.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Slake said quietly. That voice. Raze had missed that deep, confident rumble.
He shut the door behind him. “Thanks to you.” An awkward silence stretched, until he finally added, “We need to talk.”
“I know.” Slake scrubbed his hand over his face. He looked exhausted. Pale. As if he was in pain. “What happened the other night? What happened to you?”
Raze’s stomach churned at the memory of what he’d done. “I’m sorry, Slake. You didn’t deserve—”
“Not that,” Slake said, sounding like a military drill instructor. Raze might have taken exception to being spoken to like that if he hadn’t found it so . . . sexy. “Don’t apologize again for what happened between us. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” His tone softened now, but it was no less sexy. “I’m talking about afterward. Why did you lose consciousness? Was it because of me? Because you aren’t supposed to be with males?”
Raze stared. Slake thought what happened was his fault? “No. I mean, Eidolon has a theory about that, but being with you shouldn’t have caused me to go into a coma.”
Slake glanced away but looked back up so fast Raze thought he might have imagined it. “What’s the theory?”
Raze kicked off his boots and padded into the living room, but he didn’t sit. He’d been in bed for three fucking days, and his body felt tight and wired, like he could run a triathlon and still have enough energy leftover to scale a mountain.
“Eidolon said that every member of your species is born female. Is that true?”
Slake went as rigid as the support beams in the apartment. He averted his gaze to stare at the TV as if hoping for advice from the current bachelor.
“Slake?”
Slake remained in his statue-like state, gazing at the TV with a faint hopelessness in his eyes that punched Raze in the heart. “Do you know my name?”
“Ah . . . I thought it was Slake.”
“That’s my last name. The one all my people use when they deal with outsiders. My first name is Damon.” He inhaled. Exhaled. “It used to be Damonia.”
Raze didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until his lungs started to burn. He let it out slowly, sensing this was a big deal to Slake. “Okay.”
Slake cut him a look, as if he expected more of a reaction. Or a worse one. Criminy, what kind of people did he usually hang around with?
“Eidolon is right. Mostly,” Slake said, almost tentatively. “Every once in a while, a Duosos is born male. He is celebrated and revered, believed to be kissed by the gods, and he’s inducted into the ruling royal class. All of our leaders are males who were born that way.”
“I’m guessing you . . . weren’t born male?”
There was a long silence, but Raze wasn’t going to push. He’d dealt with a lot of trauma during the years he’d worked at the hospital, and he knew it was always best to coax. It was safer to lure a hellhound into a trap than it was to push one in, as the saying went.
Finally, Slake said, “No. But it’s complicated. Females are . . .”
Slake trailed off, unable to believe he was about to discuss his species’s biggest secrets, and not because he’d held on to loyalty for his people . . . but because he hated thinking about them. Hated who his people were, hated how they lived, hated everything about them. He hadn’t thought about his past in decades, and now he was about to blow the lid off years of shame, humiliation, and hatred.
But this was just the beginning of his confession. When he was done, Raze would probably hate him. Not that it mattered. He’d lost ownership to his soul, and even now he could feel it growing dark, as Dyre’s influence began to infect it. He felt sick, as if he’d eaten something very, very wrong, and every now and then his organs seemed to twist together in an excruciating knot.
This could go on for days, and if he was one of the fortunate few, it could kill him.
But maybe Raze would do it first.
Raze stood a few feet away, the very model of patience. He was a good guy, a rarity in Slake’s world, and suddenly it felt wrong to contaminate him with his presence.
“I should go,” Slake said, but Raze moved to block his path before he could even stand.
“You came here for a reason. You’re safe here. You can tell me about your people.” Raze’s voice was deep. Smooth. Encouraging.
Gods, how long had it been since anyone had spoken to him like that?
“Females are . . .?” Raze prompted, and Slake hesitated for a moment before he figured he had nothing left to lose and relented.
“Females are raised to give males pleasure and be breeders,” he growled. His days as a female had been little more than a waiting game as he counted t
he days until he could choose to change his sex. “Somewhere between the age of twenty and thirty, females reach maturity and develop the Mark of Tiresias. At that point, we have a choice. Ignore the mark until it fades in about a year, or go on a long, dangerous journey into what loosely translates into the Plains of Carnage, drive a bone shard into our chests, and wake up male. That’s assuming you wake up at all. About half don’t.”
“Damn.” Raze whistled. “Life must really have sucked if you’d rather risk death than remain a female.”
Actually, life hadn’t sucked . . . yet. Females had a lot of freedom until they gained the mark. As Damonia, he’d been allowed to leave the community for short periods, to experience the outside world. Getting out into the normal demon and human worlds had been an eye-opening experience that showed him how backwards and cruel his people were.
It was also how he’d met Gunther.
Gunther had shown Damonia the beauty of mountains. The wonder of luxury ocean liners. The pleasure of sex. He’d treated Damonia like a queen.
But there had always been something missing. As a female, Slake had never felt overly feminine, had preferred sparring with weapons over spinning the wool of his people’s sharp-fanged demon sheep. It was said that females who humans called tomboys fared the best during the transition, so when he—as a she—had gained the Mark of Tiresias, he hadn’t hesitated to take the journey to the Plains of Carnage.
Well, he’d had one moment of doubt. He knew he’d lose Gunther. As a transitioned male, he’d be attracted to females. It had always been that way, and there was no reason to think he’d come out of his change any different. Besides, his relationship with Gunther would have been doomed anyway. No post-Mark of Tiresias female was ever allowed to leave the community.
Ever. Runaways were hunted down and executed in the public square.
“Slake?” Raze said softly, and he realized he’d been lost in the past. Which was a shitty place to be.
“Right.” He clenched his teeth as a series of cramps threatened to make him double over, and he swore he could hear Dyre cackle. When it passed, he hurried on, hoping Raze hadn’t noticed the slight pause. Or the fact that his hands were shaking. “Yeah, life kinda sucked. My species is extremely nonsocial. The only contact we have with the outside world is when we trade goods.”
“What kind of goods?” Raze frowned. “And are you okay? You look flushed.”
“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “To answer your question, the blood of post-Mark of Tiresias females can be used to create and enchant weapons to make them far more powerful than they would be otherwise. It’s part of why Duosos are isolationists; inside the clan, females give their blood willingly. But if a female fell into the wrong hands . . .”
“Yeah, I see the problem. But obviously, they let males out.”
He shook his head. “Males have a little more freedom. They can leave for business or supplies, but they have to live in the compound.”
“You don’t.”
“That’s because I burned down half the village and escaped.”
“Subtle,” Raze said, and Slake laughed. He loved how Raze’s laid-back demeanor put him at ease.
“Yeah, subtle. But I had to get away, and I needed a distraction. Once I realized that my gender had changed but my sexual preference hadn’t . . .” He shook his head, remembering how he’d been thrilled at first, because he’d still wanted Gunther. Unfortunately, the feeling hadn’t been mutual. “I had to go.”
The shift in Raze was subtle but tangible, a tension that bloomed between them. “Because you’re gay?”
“It’s a death sentence for my backwards-ass people. But so is leaving the clan.” He’d been terrified, knowing he’d be on the run for the rest of his life, which he’d figured would be short. Duosos were not only weapons experts, but they were tenacious trackers, and once they found his trail, they’d stop at nothing to get their prey.
It was those particular qualities that had made him approach Dire & Dyre with a deal.
“Protect me from my people and I’ll give you anything you want.”
Gods, he’d been an idiot. Gunther had warned him not to sign a contract with Dire & Dyre, but their relationship had been on rocky ground, which had pushed Slake even more.
Because he’d been an idiot.
Raze’s feet padded almost silently as he paced between two brightly colored support beams. “Why is leaving such a big deal?”
“Because Duosos is more than just what we call our race. Duosos is a religion. A way of life. It’s political. Social. Every aspect of Duosos life is ruled by our belief system, from what we wear to what we eat and how we reproduce. The only way out is death. Unless you’re lucky and happen to have royal blood in your veins.” He paused. “Life would have gotten real bad if I’d remained a female. I didn’t want to be treated like shit. Used. Abused. I figured that if I became a male, I could try to make some changes. But the fact that I wasn’t . . . normal . . . screwed all of that.”
He glanced over at the TV, where half a dozen women were frozen in various states of smiling at the bachelor. He wondered idly if anyone on the show was a demon. For some reason, his ability to see identifying auras only worked in person.
Raze appeared to consider what Slake had said. “Your laws and ways of life explain why there’s very little information on your species. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to talk to my boss at Underworld General.”
“Eidolon?” Slake paused as he reached for the glass of ice water he’d helped himself to when he’d first arrived. “He doesn’t want to dissect me or some shit, does he?”
Raze laughed. “He likes to add to the hospital’s database of knowledge. Every shred of information helps, especially when it comes to rare species.”
In Slake’s world of chaos and death, such a logical and reasoned approach to life and the mysteries in it was so foreign that he could only sit there, dumbfounded for a second. Deep down, he waited for some sort of judgment or scorn or something from Raze, but the guy just watched him expectantly.
“Ah, okay. Sure.” He eyed Raze. “You’re taking this pretty well.”
“No one should be judged solely by their species,” Raze said with a shrug. “We have demons working at the hospital to help people when ninety-nine percent of their species brethren would rather be killing than healing.”
“Listen to you, being all progressive.” Another wave of pain rolled over him, but he tried not to think about it, instead concentrating on the wistful smile ruffling Raze’s perfect lips.
“I grew up with very practical parents.” Raze finally stopped pacing and propped himself against one of the support poles. “And I saw for myself how no one, not even animals, fit into molds. I once had a pet duck that roosted in trees with the chickens. Her mate slept at the base of the tree.”
Slake tried to picture the city-dwelling medic in a country setting and drew a blank. “You had ducks and chickens?”
“My parents had a little farm. We had a few of just about every kind of animal there is. That’s how I got interested in medicine. I used to tend to the animals’ injuries and illnesses. That was before I got my healing power, but even then, my dad was shocked at how well the animals did under my care. And trust me, they watched me closely.”
“Why?”
“Because by then they knew I was a demon.” He said it so casually, as if humans raising demon children was a completely ordinary experience. It did, however, explain why Raze was so different from any other demon Slake had met. “They loved me, but they were realists.” He smirked. “They didn’t want to find me disemboweling the family pig with my teeth or something.”
Slake studied Raze for a moment, his gaze drawn to the designs on his arm that glowed when he was helping a patient. “Why do you have a healing power? I mean, you said Sems have an innate ability, but why? You’re a sex demon.”
“All Sems have one of three different abilities, all with a primary purpose of seducing or i
mpregnating females.” Raze’s voice deepened, as if talking about sex triggered his incubus instincts, and Slake’s body responded, his temperature jacking up, his cock stirring. “Some of us can get inside a female’s head and trick them into thinking something is real or not real, but that same power can be used to repair the mind. Wraith can do that. His brother Shade can use his ability to affect bodily functions. He can trigger ovulation, for example. But when used for medical purposes, he can slow or speed up the heart, increase dopamine production to alleviate pain, shit like that.”
Huh. Slake had an innate ability to control certain weapons with his mind, but aside from killing scumbags who deserved to die, he couldn’t think of anything positive that could come of his skill. “So what can you do?”
“Eidolon and I share the same gift,” he said, his voice still pitched low and still having a devastating effect on Slake’s libido. “Mature Sems who have gone through the s’genesis use it to ensure that their sperm fertilizes an egg, but until we reach that stage, we can use our ability to repair damaged tissue.” His mouth quirked in a sexy half smile. “Of course, we can also use it to rip tissue apart. It’s a handy weapon.”
“I noticed,” Slake said wryly, remembering the werewolf in the alley. “It was awesome.”
Raze finally came around the coffee table and planted himself in the overstuffed green chair that matched precisely nothing in the room except a painted pole near Fayle’s bedroom.
For a moment, a comfortable silence fell, but gradually, tension began to thicken the air between them. Slake had shared a secret that he’d never told anyone but Gunther, but there was still the matter of Fayle to discuss.
Raze deserved the truth. But just as he opened his mouth, Raze spoke.
“So what now?” Raze asked. “I’ve never . . .” He trailed off, took a deep breath, and started again. “I’ve never been in this situation before.”
“What kind of situation?”
“One where I want someone.” Raze’s freckles stood out as his cheeks turned adorably red, but there was nothing innocent about the promise in his steady gaze. “For more than, you know . . . just sex.”
