by Michele Hauf
The pink dress number barely covered her breasts, and Kir wanted to peel back the candy-colored latex to get to the good stuff.
She snapped her fingers before his face. “Up here, husband. You can have dessert later.”
“Right, uh...crepes. Let’s eat quickly. I invited over the Jones brothers tonight. They’re dark witches who might be able to tell us how to gain access to Daemonia. Is...that okay?”
She settled onto the chair, open bag in hand, and peered inside, but he knew she was thinking too hard on what he’d just told her.
“Bea?”
A dramatic sigh melted her shoulders. “Yes, that’s fine. If I’m half demon, I’d like to know once and for all. Daemonia, eh?”
“It’s the Place of All Demons.”
“I know what it is. When I was little, my cousins used to tell scary bedtime stories about faeries lost in Daemonia. But that was nothing compared to the tales about The Wicked.”
Sensing her mood wasn’t going to lift if they stayed on topic, Kir grabbed the bag and set out the meal containers. “Let’s eat and save the demons for later.”
“But what if we can never put them aside for later? What if I am one? Kir, your wife is a demon. One of The Wicked. Doesn’t that make you angry?”
“Never angry.”
“Appalled?”
“No, just...” Just yes! And no. And, hell, he didn’t know how to feel about this. But he didn’t want Bea to pick up on his lack of surety about their marriage right now. “Later, okay?”
“Fine. But I’m not so hungry anymore.” She pushed her unopened tin forward on the table.
“Really? I bet you’ve never tasted banana-and-chocolate crepes.”
She tugged back the tin with one finger and lifted the paperboard cover to peer inside. “Smells reasonably edible.”
Kir dragged his finger through the chocolate that oozed out of his sweet meal and offered it to Bea. “Just a taste?”
Going up on her knees on the chair, she leaned across the table and licked his finger. Eyes closed, she moaned in appreciation. Had he noticed how bow-like her lips were? Or that pert tilt to her nose? She was pretty, no other word for it. Not glamorous or elegant, but simply pretty. And that set his heart racing. Because she was simple and sweet and good and she was his.
Yep, you claimed her, wolf. Did you hear that? You’ve claimed the woman you didn’t want to marry. Who might possibly be half demon. So now you really are like your father. Sucker.
Bea opened her mouth and waggled her tongue at him. He swiped a finger through the chocolate again and this time she sucked his whole finger into her mouth. Her tongue tickled the sensitive underside and he leaned in to kiss the corner of her eye. He wanted to taste her. Now. Covered in chocolate.
May his heart be damned, if she was a demon.
He opened her tin and peeled back the top of the crepe to expose the gushy chocolate inside. Dragging his fingers through the warm ooze, he then held them up for her to lick, but as she got close, he tapped her nose with them and then caught her under the chin with his chocolaty fingers and kissed her deeply. She tasted sweet, but her giggles separated them from the kiss. He lashed his tongue across her nose, then dived to her jaw, where chocolate streaked her skin.
“You think so, wolf?”
Her fingers worked quickly down his shirt, unbuttoning it and peeling it back as he cleaned the chocolate from her throat. Then he felt Bea’s fingers wiping the warm ooze over his chest. It was sticky and— Damn, he was going to enjoy this meal.
“Why haven’t I tasted chocolate until now?”
“Not sure.” He moaned as her tongue found his nipple. She licked and bit him gently, lashing him to a hard jewel.
“You like that?”
“Feels great. Probably the same way it does when I lick your nipples.”
“Well, then, this must feel fabulous. They’re so tiny, though. Poor men. Although you did get something even better.”
Her hand slid down to unbutton his pants and the warm, gooey slide of chocolate coated the head of his erection. Bea slipped lower to kneel on the floor, and he obliged when she pulled down his jeans and gripped his cock. Reaching up to score some more chocolate, she then swathed it up and down him as if she was a talented painter.
“Remind me to bring home crepes more often,” he said, and then growled with pleasure.
* * *
Kir toweled off while Bea dressed in the bedroom—the pink latex had taken on a lot of chocolate. His cell phone rang and he checked the screen. Edamite. He’d left him a text regarding the investigation.
He answered but spoke softly so Bea wouldn’t hear.
“Hey, bro,” Ed said. “It’s been a while. You must need something.”
Kir’s heart dropped. Did he only ever contact Ed when he needed something? There was not a thing about the man he didn’t like, beyond his breed. He should be able to embrace him as family and look beyond the fact that his very existence was proof of his father’s infidelity.
“Have you heard of V-hubs?” Kir asked, trying to keep it as businesslike as possible.
“Since when are you in the market for vampire blood?”
“So you do know about them?”
“Not saying I do, but I’m not saying I don’t.”
Ed’s status among the Parisian demon denizens was right up there with some kind of mafia leader. His brother was involved in things Kir would rather not know about. Yet there were times he sensed Ed was only involved in the evil stuff to ensure it didn’t spread and catch innocents in its grasp.
“You’re not involved with V, are you, Ed?”
A heavy sigh preceded his response. “You’re investigating this? That enforcement team of yours?”
“We are. We found a tortured vamp and thought he’d come from a pack using him for the blood games, but the investigation has led to V. I suspect a pack may be involved somehow, but my source says a demon is in charge. If you’re involved, Ed—”
“I can get a location of a hub for you, but beyond that, I don’t have any info.”
“Because you’re protecting someone?”
“Nope. I don’t dabble in that stuff. Got enough on my plate lately, as it is.”
He should probably be the good brother and ask what the problem was, but Kir couldn’t summon the concern. “I’d appreciate it, Ed. I owe you one.”
“No, I think we’re good. What we went through with our sister’s boyfriend, Stryke? We’re good.”
They’d battled demons intent on summoning a demon prince from Beneath. Ed had been involved until he’d learned his involvement could harm family, so he’d withdrawn. Yeah, the demon had a conscience and that made him twenty times more favorable than any other demon Kir had met.
“I’ll call you when I get a location,” Ed said. “Give me twenty-four hours.” The phone clicked off just as the front doorbell rang.
* * *
Bea answered the door and couldn’t help but say, “Damn.”
Both men standing on the stoop looked at one another, then back at her. They both had long black hair, dark eyes, narrow frames with muscles that didn’t stop, and one sported many tattoos. Lanky and sexy, they wore their clothes as if someone had tossed the fabric at them and it clung to muscles for dear life.
“Sorry. It’s not every day tall, dark and handsome shows up at my door,” Bea offered. “Times two. You must be the Jones brothers. Kir didn’t tell me you were twins.”
“Is that a problem?” one of them offered.
“Oh, no. No, no, no.” By the blessed Norns, these boys were hot. “I’m Bea. Kir’s wife.”
“I’m Certainly Jones,” the one with an elaborately tattooed hand said, “and this is my brother Thoroughly.”
“Mercy.”
“Call us CJ and TJ,” Thoroughly said. Bea decided he was slightly more built than the other and maybe a little taller? “Is Kir in?”
“Yep.” Bea took in the dark gorgeousness of it all as the men
awaited an invite to enter. But as soon as they stepped inside, then she’d no longer have them all to herself, so...
“Bea?” Kir’s hand slid around her waist, reminding her of her attachment.
“Right,” she said. “That’s me. Bea. The chick married to the werewolf. So not interested in a dark witch sandwich—er, won’t you two come inside?”
“What’s up with you?” Kir whispered at her ear as they led the twins into the living room.
“You didn’t tell me our guests were twins.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Never. Nope. Double the sexy? I can deal. Here we are, gentleman witches. Have a seat.”
Bea sat in the middle of the couch and gestured that the Jones brothers sit on either side of her. Until her husband grabbed her hand and pulled her to stand beside him.
“Sit down, guys,” Kir said. “Whiskey?”
“Always,” Certainly said. He and his brother sat on the couch. CJ pulled up a leg and propped an ankle across his knee. TJ scanned the room.
Bea tried to figure the logistics of squeezing herself between the two of them, but there wasn’t much space... The brush of her husband’s arm along hers straightened her and she saw him gesture toward the kitchen.
“Right! Drinks. Be right back.”
She rushed off to play the domestic goddess that would please her husband. And impress two sexy witches.
* * *
An hour later, the men nursed the dregs of the whiskey bottle Kir had opened, and Bea sat on the arm of Kir’s easy chair, having forgone the libations. Whiskey was too strong. She preferred wine but had been too curious to pour herself a goblet.
She’d taken in the brothers and had spent stolen moments looking at CJ’s tattoos. One at his neck looked like some kind of language she wasn’t familiar with. The entire left hand was covered, including his palm. At his opposite wrist it looked like a big V and she wondered what lay beneath the clothes. More tattoos, for sure. The witch’s elaborate ink made the violet sidhe markings on her feet seem insignificant.
“So the only way to Daemonia is with a blood sacrifice.” Kir repeated Thoroughly’s suggestion. “How is that done? Have either of you tried it?”
Thoroughly, a man of no tattoos that Bea could determine, cast a dark glance toward his brother, who offered a sheepish shrug.
“I’ve been there,” CJ offered. “And I will never do that again. I came back with passengers.”
“Demons?” Bea’s eyes widened.
CJ nodded. “It was not pretty. I wouldn’t suggest a werewolf or a faery venture into Daemonia. The landscape is brutal.”
“But if the werewolf wanted to go there,” Kir insisted, “how would this blood sacrifice be made?”
CJ sighed. “You need vampires. Lots of them. Drink the blood from the heart of a vamp daily, for thirty consecutive days.”
“Yuck.” Bea clasped her throat, and she felt Kir’s hand nudge her thigh. “What? That’s awful. The last thing I would consider is to ask you to kill to get to my mother.”
“Not like the city doesn’t have vampires to spare,” CJ said. “But if you so much as miss one day, you have to restart the thirty-day cycle. If all else fails, you need a mass killing and all the ash from those vamps. Thirty vamps in one day will do.”
This was too terrible to listen to. And the men were discussing it as calmly and rationally as if they were planning a shopping trip. Bea saw nothing attractive about the twins now. Dark magic? Ew.
“If you’ll excuse me.” She wandered out of the room, aiming for the upstairs bedroom.
“You all right, Bea?” Kir called.
“Yep. Just had my fill of horror stories for the night. Nice meeting you, CJ and TJ!”
They called back to her, but she was already at the top of the stairs and aimed for the bed, where she landed facedown with a groan.
“Guess we won’t be going after my mother after all.”
Which, all things considered, was probably the better option. Bea had never dreamed there was a possibility her mother could be demon. She didn’t know what to think about that beyond her obvious disgust.
And then she coiled in on herself and felt a teardrop splatter her cheek.
* * *
Kir said goodbye to the twins, but only after asking them what they knew about V. Neither knew much, but CJ suspected that it made sense that demons would involve themselves with werewolves. They needed the muscle to wrangle the vampires who would provide their product.
As the witches drove off, Kir’s phone rang. Ed had a location. The V-hubs moved often, so he suggested Kir check it out immediately.
Casting a glance up the stairs, he listened for movement from Bea. Had she already gone to bed? It was only ten in the evening. “Bea? I’m going to head out with Jacques for a bit. Business.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You okay?”
“Are the witches gone?” she called down.
“Yes.” He smirked. She’d been hot for the both of them until their true natures had been revealed. Served her right for mooning over them like a lovesick puppy. “I hate you?” he tried as he stood at the bottom of the stairs.
“I hate you, too,” she called down, but softly. “I’ll see you when you get home, big boy.”
“Don’t wait up. This could take a while.”
Half an hour later, Kir checked the salt blade tucked at his belt and secured the stake at his hip. He glanced at Jacques. His partner gave the ready nod. The hub was in the Bois de Boulogne, a huge city park that centuries ago had once served as a festive place to see and be seen, hold parties and entertain one’s desires with whores. It hadn’t changed much. Only the shadows beyond the archery range in the Jardin d’Acclimatation were what drew them both now.
“This section is a kids’ park,” Kir said as they strolled across the manicured grass and left the safety of the last streetlight. “I can’t believe they’d operate so close.”
“That shed.” Jacques pointed to a brick building with paper coating the inside of the windows. The door hung open. “You go ahead and lead, buddy.”
Smirking, because he sensed Jacques’s unease, Kir walked ahead. Very few times had he been aware of Jacques wanting to turn tail and run. Must be the spooky atmosphere. Approaching carefully, salt blade drawn, Kir stepped up to the open door. He didn’t scent anything beyond the stale, greasy odor of fried foods and animal droppings from the nearby zoo. Not a hint of sulfur. Or vampire blood, for that matter.
Stepping up to the door, he peered inside the empty shed and, with an inhale, made a sensory appraisal.
“What do you see?”
“Abandoned,” Kir confirmed, and Jacques joined his side. “But maybe...”
Another sniff detected sulfur, faint and distant. “They were here.”
He strode inside the shed, which was empty save for a few wood shelves on one wall and a couple of rusted chains hanging near a dirt-smeared window. He could see well enough without a light. Something glinted on the floor. He bent and picked up the necklace chain and immediately hissed.
“What is it, man? Silver?”
“No.” It had the faintest scent of— “I, uh, thought it was something else. It’s evidence, though.”
He tucked the chain in his pocket, not wanting to look it over too closely with Jacques watching. Because he didn’t need to study it overlong. He recognized the iron circle pendant. Kir had seen his father wear this very chain and iron circlet when he was younger.
Chapter 15
Days later Kir couldn’t ignore Bea’s casual comments about wanting to help locate her mother. She wanted to find her. If she did find her mother, would that be like admitting she was one of The Wicked? He didn’t understand that but could guess demons were as reviled in Faery as they were in his heart.
On the other hand, never having answers could drive her bonkers.
Bea would attempt witch magic to summon her mother in some manner. Kir suspected she would have no luck
, what with her waning glamour, so he allowed her to play with the simple magical items Certainly had dropped by. The dark witch had promised she wouldn’t hurt herself or open any voids to other realms with the stuff. He also suggested to Kir it required an actual witch to work witch magic, so...
It kept her busy while he was at work, and she’d not asked about his going to Daemonia since. The idea of sacrificing thirty vampires to gain access to the demon realm did not sit well with Kir. On the other hand, he lost no love for vampires. But he was not a murderer.
There had to be another means. And maybe Bea was on the right track. If the word could be put out that she was looking for her mother, maybe that word would somehow find its way to Sirque and she would come to her daughter.
On the other hand, Sirque had abandoned her daughter. Kir suspected she wouldn’t come rushing in with hugs and kisses if she did hear about Bea’s attempts.
How else could he make his wife happy? They’d been married three months, and they’d grown close. They had sex nearly every day, and it was now more making love than sex. They enjoyed both. The only thing that could make life any better was if Bea was truly accepted into his pack. But after Jacques had let it slip about Kir’s mother and Bea, he wasn’t so sure that was possible.
Kir had not asked his mother about how she felt about Bea. Hadn’t seen Madeline in weeks. And, okay, so he had a certain level of respect for his mother that wouldn’t allow him to disrespect her. So his avoiding her was probably his means to avoiding the greater issue about whether or not she could ever like his wife.
Jacques was actually pulling a shift watching the faery portal today because Jean-Louis had missed his shift. The guy wasn’t exactly sick, but they did suspect he was more anxious about his wife, who was due to give birth any day now. Jacques hadn’t minded; he was interested in the portal, and knowing that his turn at the hunt in Faery was the next full moon, he’d eagerly volunteered.
Kir hadn’t gotten a chance for the hunt yet, but he’d been too busy to care. While the hunt would serve his werewolf the adrenaline rush it required and satisfy it on a feral level, he didn’t need to bring down a small animal and tear it to shreds to satisfy any physical need his body had. It was just a bonus. A bonus he would accept when his turn came up.
