Stories from the Demons of Fire and Night World
Contains Angela Death, Shadow Mage, The Angel and the Beast, and The Abysmal Sea
C.N. Crawford
Contents
Copyright
Angela Death
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Shadow Mage
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
The Angel and the Beast
Introduction
Chapter 1
The Abysmal Sea
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Copyright
Angela Death, Shadow Mage, The Angle and the Beast, and The Abysmal Sea
A Demons of Fire and Night Short Story Collection
* * *
Copyright © 2017 by C.N. Crawford.
All rights reserved.
* * *
No part of these novelettes may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Angela Death
Chapter 1
Of all my burlesque routines, the “stripping angel” was the biggest crowd-pleaser. I wasn’t sure if it was the shimmering silver dress that I peeled off slowly, the creative use of wings or just the innocent-girl-gone-bad vibe. Or maybe the feigned shyness. In any case, at Madame Francine’s, the “stripping angel” killed even more than the “naughty Puritan.”
Backstage, I looked at myself in the mirror as I threaded white crystals into my blood-red hair. I’d piled my locks high, securing them with a silver hairpin. My false eyelashes swooped over my eyelids, and frosty makeup shimmered over my cheekbones. A hint of purple eyeliner brought out the pistachio-green in my eyes.
My alter-ego was nothing like the legends of the angels I’d been told growing up—those mythical spirits who dwelled in the heavens—but New York’s cocktail drinkers didn’t need to know that.
I liked my job. Granted, I didn’t make a ton of money performing, and most of the money I did make went right back into costumes. But it covered the rent for a tiny apartment in Brooklyn—just enough room for my younger sister and me.
In the backstage mirror, I applied ruby-red lipstick—what my fellow dancer Tommy Sugar jokingly called my “whore mouth”—then arched an eyebrow at my reflection. Nearly perfect.
Reaching above my head, I adjusted the hairpin that held my hair in place, secure in the knowledge that its tip could cut through flesh and bone. Call me paranoid, but whenever demons were around I liked to have at least one or two weapons at my fingertips. I’d had this hairpin specially-made, and I could ram the tip of it right into a demon’s heart—carve the fucker straight out if I needed to.
These days, demons were always around. Even if humans didn’t recognize them.
I scrutinized myself in the mirror, wondering if I could still live up to my stage name: Angela Death. It had been a long time since I’d actually needed to fight anyone, and I might have gone a little soft. A perverse part of me almost hoped that something would kick off soon to give me the chance to test my skills again—to draw blood—but maybe that was a dangerous thing to hope for.
“Are you going to stand there all evening, Lady Death?” Fanny Fluffer stood behind me, her arms folded, her dark eyes narrowed. Her dress of shimmering black sequins and feathers glinted in the pulsing white lights that streamed in from the stage. A feather fell from her corset, and my eyes tracked the movement, strangely mesmerized.
Feathers falling from the heavens…
“Hey Ruby?” she prompted, snapping her fingers in my face. “You’re nearly on.”
I popped my lipstick back in my bag and tucked my makeup bag into the corner of the counter.
“Right. Sorry. I’m done.” I lifted a set of large white wings from the table—important props for a classic fan routine. As I crossed through the dark passage to the side of the stage, my body hummed with anticipation. From here, I could see Tommy performing. With his cheeky grin and russet-brown skin, he had to be the cutest boylesque dancer in New York, and his soldier performance always brought a smile to my lips.
As the music pulsed through the club, I peeked at the crowd. My heart thrummed at the sight of Marcus. Even for a vampire, he was stunning—despite the fact that he’d been alive for four centuries. His tousled, chestnut hair fell into his eyes, and warmth sparked in my heart, which still raced at the sight of him even after all our time together. Part of me wanted to skip the routine altogether and curl up in his lap.
He was sipping a Manhattan, watching Tommy Sugar’s routine—not quite as interested as he usually looked when I took to the stage, but clearly enjoying himself. When he caught a glimpse of me peering at him from behind the curtain, he smiled, his cheek dimpling.
I ducked back behind the curtain, returning to watching Tommy as he peeled off the last of his colonial soldier’s costume to reveal tiny, sparkling shorts. He was nearly at the end of his act.
Before I crossed the stage, it was time to summon my piece de resistance. As a fae, I could glamour myself as any other kind of supernatural creature. Any demons or fae in the crowd would recognize the faint hallmarks of the succubi, and the sight of a dancing succubus would thrill them beyond measure. There weren’t many actual succubi left in the world, so rumors of the legendary seductresses could draw a real crowd.
Standing behind the curtain, I summoned the glamour, feeling the thrilling tingle of magic ripple over my skin and curl around my ribs. When I finished, my skin had taken on a faint golden sheen. Even without looking, I knew my irises had darkened, black as the night. I couldn’t see magic very well, but powerful demons would sense tendrils of charcoal magic curling off my body. It wasn’t real succubus magic, but looked close enough to fool people.
I took a deep breath, smiling in anticipation. Fae were hedonistic creatures, each with our own vices and pleasures. Some fae liked food, some the texture of silk, some perfumes. For me, it was dancing—feeling that precision of getting each movement right, the visceral thrill of my own body’s movements. That was my high.
I stepped onto the stage, catching Marcus’s eye. Smiling, he lifted his cocktail and took a sip, toasting to me.
As the stage lights gleamed off my silver dress, the music began: Rihanna’s Love on the Brain. The gentle beats vibrated through my core, and my hips began to sway to the drum beats. Fluttering the fans behind my back like wings, I let a tendril of my hair fall in front of my eyes. Each movement was perfectly choreographed, each movement of my hips designed to hypnotize and entrance. The music beat through my blood—a deep, rhythmic thrill.
I shifted one of the fans in front of me, gently moving it so the feathers pulsed like a heartbeat. As I did, someone else in the crowd caught my eye, and my actual heart skipped a beat.
I could tell the guy was a demon—the sheer, muscled size of his body made that clear. More than that, his close-cropped golden hair seemed to glow as it framed his head, gleaming like a crown of fire. His skin was sun-kissed; his deep, burnt-amber eyes penetrated me to my very core.
Everything about him exuded power. The hard glint in his eye—and the sensual curve of his lips—promised conquest and pleasure all in one terrifying pac
kage.
A sun-demon. I couldn’t think of any other way to describe him. Kinda made the glamour of my Angela Death persona pale in comparison. No one would outshine this guy. Was he aligned with Emerazel, the goddess of fire? Maybe one of her twelve high lords? He must be a demigod from her Sun Court.
That was when I noticed the two bodyguards sitting behind the sun-demon, and by the sickly yellow glow of their eyes I immediately pegged them as dragon shifters. A hot rush of fury ignited in my blood, and I had to restrain myself from crawling off the stage, glassing them, then stabbing them with the broken shards. Maybe take out the sun-demon while I was at it.
Maybe that sounded like a bit much—but the last time dragons had visited New York, they’d razed the city to the ground, burning buildings, massacring humans and demons alike. Even among demons, dragons were a class all their own, terrifying agents of chaos and slaughter.
My parents had died fighting them—something I tried every day not to think about. But it was kind of hard to forget it when dragon shifters showed up here, in my place of work.
I spun, twirling one of the fans over my head. Stopping with my back to the crowd, I wiggled my hips, trying to forget who was watching me.
I faced the audience again, holding the two fans in front of me to completely cover my body, waving them gently like the opening and closing of a clam shell.
No matter what resentments New Yorkers harbored, we weren’t allowed to attack dragons. The city had formed a sort of truce with them over the past few years, and the dragons had been on their best behavior ever since. I wasn’t about to start a new war right here in Madame Francine’s—even if I desperately wanted to.
I caught Marcus’s gaze, subtly nodding toward the sun-demon and his dragon buddies. Already, Marcus’s muscles were tensed, his dark eyes locked on them. He’d spent several centuries fighting in vampire armies. If anything was about to kick off, I was in good hands.
I twirled in my high heels. The sun-demon’s golden gaze pierced through my comfort zone. Obviously, he liked the succubus glamour, but he was looking at me with the predatory gaze of a snake sizing up a mouse. The power rolling off him made me want to flee in the other direction.
What was his deal? I tightened my jaw. Stay focused, Ruby. I had a show to put on, so I tried to bury those distractions in the back of my mind. Tuning in to the music, I felt its vibrations pulsate over my skin and sank deeper into the thrill of the dance.
With the fans shielding me, I let the strap of my dress fall off one of my shoulders. The bass drum pounded between my ribs. I undulated my hips behind the fans, making the feathers twitch.
For just a moment my gaze flicked back to the demon, who twirled his wine glass between his fingers. A faint smile curled his lips. As the lights shifted to a deep red hue, I thought I glimpsed phantom wings cascading from his back, and a gleaming bow slung over his shoulder. A voice in the back of my mind whispered, Not a demon…
I blinked, clearing my mind, and twirled to the corner of the stage, reveling in the feel of my feet moving across the stage.
Block him out, Ruby. Bury those thoughts.
Of course he was a demon. Just an ordinary, run-of-the-mill demon of some sort.
Swallowing hard, acutely aware of his eyes on me, I let my dress fall to the floor in the corner of the stage. Under it, I’d worn shimmering white stockings and a white sequined corset with feathers over the bust. Two sheer strips of tulle reached from my hips to the floor in front and back, and the shimmering material covering a silver thong.
I kept the fans raised, moving them until they pulsed like violent storm clouds, swishing my hips behind the feathers. Then, with a twirl of my wrist, I spun one of the fans over my head, giving the audience a glimpse of the corset.
I glanced at Marcus, flashing him a smile. A beautiful rosy blush colored his cheeks, and warmth pooled in my ribs. More focused now, I turned in my high heels, looking at the crowd from a profile view. Smiling coyly, I extended one of my legs beyond the fans, slowly pointing my toe into the air.
As they cheered, I dropped my foot to the ground, and extended the other leg, arching it high into the air. For just a moment, I forgot about the demon, thrilled at the feel of my own body’s movements and the warmth of the lights on my skin.
A small smile curled my lips, and I turned back to the crowd. The rhythmic beats thrummed over my body, and I swirled a feathered fan above my head. Smiling at Marcus, I spun in my heels. As I moved across the stage, the tips of the feathers tickled my skin.
So far, I’d kept to the routine, each movement precise and planned—but for some reason I was having a hard time working up the resolve to pull the fans away. I think it was the sun-demon’s eyes burning a hole into me.
Focus, Ruby. He’s just a regular demon. Nothing to get worked up about.
I spun, my back to the crowd, one fan covering my backside. I puffed it in the air, bending over just a bit—a faint glimpse of thong beneath the sheer fabric. The crowd whooped.
I spun again on my heels. Usually at this point I’d worked up a serious buzz from the dancing, but tonight I felt strangely empty. Maybe this classic burlesque style of dance was growing old. It was too coy, too gentle. I needed something with a little more teeth.
Or maybe the gods-damned dragon shifters were making me feel aggressive.
Whatever the case, I wanted to draw blood with my dance. Tonight, I didn’t just want to entice. I wanted to terrify.
I tried to focus on the routine—every footstep in the right place—and held both fans in front of me, my gaze darting back to the sun-demon. As I met his eyes, an unwelcome ache pooled inside me, and an electric rush rippled over my skin. Despite myself, when I looked into his amber eyes, I was starting to feel it again: the thrill of the dance.
My body grew warmer under the hot white lights. A sheen of sweat covered my skin. I shot a glance to Marcus again, taking in his stark beauty; that hot thrill intensified further.
I swished the fans through the air until I held them both in front of my body with one hand. With the other, I reached behind my back to unzip the corset, fluffing the wings as I did so.
Anticipation rolled off the crowd.
Shielding my body with the gently waving feathers, I wiggled out of the corset. Now, behind the delicate wall of feathers, I wore only a white sequined thong, feather pasties, and the swaths of sheer fabric.
I turned on my heels, shifting the fans again—one in front, one behind. The wings swayed.
I spun again, this time crossing my arms in front of my chest, hiding my breasts. I gently beat the fans behind my back like wings—a slow, undulating pulse. Then, as the music changed, I turned to the side, one fan in front of me, soft against my skin. I arched my back, lifting a fan with one arm and extending it over my head. The crowd cheered, and I pivoted again.
Each footstep in the right place, a calculated dance. Precise and expected. I waved the fans before me, nearly giving glimpses of my body, but not quite.
I turned my back to the audience again. This time, I raised the fans completely above my head, my thong nearly visible under the fabric that draped from my hips. I arched my back and undulated my hips the way I’d learned in my belly dancing class.
Turning again in my high heels, I faced the crowd, the fans covering the font of my body. With a few beats of the feathers, I pulled them away, holding them over my head. I curved my back, and the lights of Madame Francine’s washed my body in pure white, shimmering over the white pasties, the sheer fabric.
I looked out at the crowd. To my relief, the golden-haired demon had left the club, and his table sat empty.
Still, that phrase once again rang in my mind: Not a demon…
While the crowd cheered, I crossed off the stage and into the hall that led back to the dressing rooms. I sucked in a deep breath. I felt strangely shaken by tonight’s performance—dazed, almost—and after five minutes of putting every footstep in the right place, each twitch of my hips perfect
ly calculated, I tripped over my own damn feet—right into the arms of the sun-demon.
He deftly caught my arm, fingertips clenching on my wrist possessively, like he was claiming me. His thin, coppery sweater had felt like a combination of silk and cashmere wrapped over pure, muscled steel. His clothes probably cost the same as one month’s rent for my shitty apartment.
The sun-demon arched a dark eyebrow, and my stomach clenched. I felt an overwhelming urge to submit to him, to drop to my knees in front of him. Still, I managed to wrench my arm away from him and stepped away from him. His two enormous dragon-shifter bodyguards stood behind him, their yellow eyes locked on me.
“A succubus dressed as an angel.” His accent was English, and extremely posh. “How deliciously perverse.”
As he spoke, light seemed to shine from his body, warming the air around him. I wasn’t sure what his game was, only that I needed to get the hell away from him—even as he seemed to lure me in. But he, along with his dragon-thugs, was blocking my path back to the changing room.
As I glared at him, his eyes swept over my body, heating my blood. Something about him exuded pure dominance.
Of course it didn’t help that I was practically naked. I quickly shifted my fans in front of my body.
Irritation sparked. “Is there someone else you could bother right now? Maybe you need to put your lizard friends back in their cages, feed them some mice? I’ve got somewhere to be.”
He cocked his head, the movement nearly imperceptible. “Trying to get away from me already? That’s a shame. I was hoping to get to know you a bit better.”
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