Touch of the Demon
A Sensual Seduction
By
Christina Phillips
Published by Christina Phillips at Smashwords
Copyright 2012 Christina Phillips
Cover Design RNC & Barry Holt
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Touch of the Demon was previously published by The Wild Rose Press in 2009
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy.
TOUCH OF THE DEMON
Prologue
Rafe sprawled across the black leather chair, one foot propped against the edge of the natural stone coffee table. He eyed the other occupant of the opulent library in disbelief. “You’ve got to be joking.”
Mammon extended his magnificent indigo wings. A clear insult, even after all this time, but Rafe refused to rise to the challenge. After all, it had been almost a century since Rafe had lost his wings in an ill-advised wager with one of the Sirens. And while the subsequent fuck had been mind-blowing, it hardly compared with losing his bloody wings.
“The humans are pissing me off.” Mammon undulated his wings, each feather shimmering with its own iridescent glow. Rafe tightened his grip around the Waterford crystal glass and resisted the urge to sling the contents in Mammon’s perfectly sculpted face.
It would be a criminal waste of two hundred year-old whiskey.
“So what else is new?” He swallowed the priceless spirit and savored the way it scorched his throat and heated his stomach. “Humans were created with the sole intention of pissing us off.”
Mammon paced across the illegally acquired semi-sentient rug, then paused in front of the custom built fireplace. “The fucking gods are pissing me off as well.”
Rafe shrugged one shoulder. “Let the gods annihilate the humans. Who cares?” He certainly didn’t. He despised the entire species with their petty disputes and inability to see beyond their own personal greed.
He contemplated the angelically enhanced and preserved Rembrandt displayed above the stone fireplace, and silently conceded that, occasionally, humans did have their uses.
Mammon finally stopped pacing and folded his wings. Hands clasped behind his back, he frowned down at Rafe. “Because, impossible as it should be, the humans aren’t crumbling beneath the celestial gods.”
“And sending me back in time is going to fix that?” Rafe stood, strolled to the bar usually concealed behind the timber paneled wall and poured another generous shot of whiskey.
Mammon’s eyes narrowed. “Legion’s been approached to join forces with the gods. We’ve been given an ultimatum. Join with the other immortals or be considered in league with the humans.”
Rafe choked on his whiskey. “They’ve got a nerve.” Generally, the gods liked to think they were the only beings of any importance when it came to the hierarchy of the immortals. Unless they wanted a special assignment undertaken—a black ops mission. Then they were only too happy to enlist the services of Legion.
“A nerve,” Mammon said, as if the word was acid in his throat, “isn’t what I’d call their fucking hypocritical arrogance.”
“We can’t be the only ones they’re trying to blackmail. Who else have they approached?”
The tips of Mammon’s wing feathers bristled as if offended. “I don’t give a shit who else they’ve approached. No being gives me an ultimatum and gets away with it.”
Finally intrigued by the situation, Rafe returned his glass to the bar. “Why are they so eager for our help now? This power struggle between them and the humans has raged for centuries. What’s changed?”
Mammon’s lip curled. “Because it’s finally occurred to them, in all their celestial omnipotence, that victory won’t necessarily be theirs.”
Rafe digested that fact and found it bitter. He wasn’t a great fan of any of the gods inhabiting the cosmos, but none of them irritated him to the degree the self-styled Great Earth Mother did. Not only did she possess a suffocating geocentric arrogance, but also an unfathomable affection for the human race.
His ego still hadn’t recovered from when she’d laughed in his face when he’d attempted to reason with her over his missing wings. The Sirens were, after all, of her Earth. She did wield power over them.
And she had chosen not to. “Which means the elemental power of Earth wins.”
“And we don’t want that, do we, Rafe?” Mammon gave a mirthless grin, which a millennia ago had possessed the power to terrify a human into an incoherent wreck.
“You honestly think humans stand a chance?”
He’d never given the possibility serious consideration before, when it appeared inevitable that sooner or later the gods would win. In fact, despite his aversion to their species, he’d occasionally admired the humans for the way they were finally standing up for their rights against their masters.
Still, there was a limit. If humans truly did manage to subdue the gods, who was to say they wouldn’t then set their sights on enslaving the angels?
“Stand a chance?” Mammon raised one skeptical eyebrow. “Of course I don’t. Not by themselves. But if you recall, Rafe, I’ve never believed the humans were working by themselves.”
Rafe conceded that point. Mammon’s interest in this particular battle had always bordered on obsession.
He narrowed his eyes, suddenly convinced Mammon had uncovered the answer to his personal fixation. “How the hell are the humans managing to outwit the gods?”
“That,” Mammon said, “is the ultimate question.” He flung himself into Rafe’s recently vacated chair. “Dark angels, unlike blinkered gods, are willing to look at the impossible. And guess what, Rafe? We’ve finally discovered the impossible.”
The air crackled with tension. A century ago, Rafe had been involved in the covert mission to uncover how humans were managing to hold their own against the gods. Although he might not have cared that they were, he’d been as curious as any of his brethren as to the how.
But an unscheduled screw with a Siren had finished his involvement. What good was an angel without his wings? And so he’d retired from the game, and for the last twenty years had almost forgotten Mammon’s driving desire to solve that particular mystery.
He stared at the other angel’s grim face, and a shuddering certainty surged through him that his destiny balanced on whatever it was Mammon’s spies had uncovered. “Which is?”
Mammon was silent for a moment. “The DNA of every human leader in the rebellion is tainted. In other words, this rebellion started with the infiltration of non-human blood into the species a millennium ago.”
“Non-human?” Rafe frowned. “That’s not very specific. Humans have never been fussy about what they fuck, so long as it possessed a pretty face. Which god got careless?”
Mammon waved an impatient hand. “That’s not important. What is important is we’ve pinpointed the exact moment of conception. The absolute second when the tainted blood enters the human DNA strand.”
“And you need an assassin.” Rafe folded his arms. “Aren’t you forgetting something, Mammon? I’ve been out of commission for the last ten decades.”
“You’re also the best operative Legion has.”
Rafe o
ffered Mammon an icy smile. “I don’t much like the sound of this mission. Think I’ll pass.”
Mammon returned Rafe’s icy smile with interest. “It comes with fringe benefits.”
Rafe stilled. “Go on.”
“Undertake this mission, and I’ll ensure the reinstatement of your wings.”
The ice turned to fire. “You have that power?” One hundred years ago, Rafe would have pleasured the Great Earth Mother herself if it meant the return of his wings, but Mammon had, with apparent regret, assured him he was powerless to do anything to help.
“Let’s say the Siren in question became compromised. She had no choice but to relinquish her prize to me.” Mammon allowed a smug smile to touch his lips. “I thought you might need some persuasion. So, is it a deal?”
Rafe glowered. “Sure, I’ll make a deal with the devil, Mammon. On one condition. You give me my wings before I go into the breach.”
Mammon shrugged. “Done.” He paused for a moment and gave Rafe a considering look. “There’s just one other thing you should know about your mark. It’s only half human itself.”
Chapter One
Earth—A Millennium Earlier
Rafe leaned against the damp stone wall, the shadows shrouding his presence from the weak-minded mortals who scuttled through the cobblestone alley. The stench from the waste rotting in the gutters offended him. The dank night irritated him. Most of all, being so close to humans disgusted him.
Only the knowledge that he was no longer severed from an essential aspect of his being tempered his mood. He flexed his shoulders and felt the corresponding ripple of his feathers, despite the fact that here, on Earth, his wings remained hidden on the physical plane.
He glared through the darkness, his senses searching for his quarry. As soon as he discovered her whereabouts, he intended to fulfill his obligation and get the hell away from this polluted time and planet.
It had been too long since he’d enjoyed the freedom of the cosmos, and now that he was whole once again he had no desire to spend a second longer than necessary concealing his true nature.
And then, without warning, her scent invaded his brain, electrifying every nerve he possessed. The blood thundered along his veins, his body hardened, and he clenched his fists against the raw power thrumming in the heavy air.
Where the fuck had she come from?
He still couldn’t see her. Not even with his preternatural sight. But she was here in this alley. And she was watching him.
* * *
Shielded from view by the benevolence of the Great Mother, Celeste stared at the dark shadow hulking at the end of the alley. She could feel the evil emanating from him, choking the atmosphere with death and decay and reaching out for her soul in relentless waves of unadulterated hatred.
She shivered despite the heavy woolen cloak she wore, and her fingers tightened around the slender stiletto that had been forged from the very heart of the Mother. There would be only one chance to send this demon back to the hell he inhabited. One chance to ensure he could never again return to this realm. And she didn’t intend to fail.
She wrapped the darkness around her as she stepped over the filth-strewn cobbles. He would never guess she was so near, until it was too late to do anything about it.
Anticipation hummed through her blood. She’d dreaded this moment for years, always knowing it would come, even as she had prayed it never would. But now he had arrived. And blood lust heated her heart at the knowledge that soon he would no longer be a threat.
Closer. So close she could almost taste his blood, touch his rage. Another step and she would be upon him. Stealthily she began to raise her arm beneath her cloak, every atom of her attention focused on hitting her mark.
And then he swung around, and she froze as her eyes clashed with his.
Shock reverberated throughout Rafe’s body as he stared at the tall woman standing not an arm’s length from him. Her long silver hair tumbled over her shoulders, seeming to radiate its own ethereal illumination and throwing her features into stark relief.
She had the face of an exalted angel.
“You can see me.” The words were banal. Had he really uttered them? But there was no need for the question or an answer because of course she could see him. She was staring at him as if he were a gargoyle from the pit. Did she know how close to the truth she was?
“I see you.” Her voice was low, husky, and a sharp arrow of lust pierced his groin. Hot visions of taking her here, up against this rough stone wall, pounded through his mind, clouding his vision.
Again he fisted his hands, willing himself to concentrate. To ignore her intoxicating scent, the rise and fall of her breasts beneath her cloak, and her strange, starlit hair.
“And do you know who I am?” Why was he talking with her? He could reach out one hand and break her where she stood. He knew, despite her matrilineal heritage, she was nothing more than a frail mortal. A mere human female.
So what was stopping him? The way she looked at him so intently? Or the way his body hungered for hers?
Could he fuck her before stealing her soul? Surely even he hadn’t sunk so low.
Not yet.
“Yes.” Her voice was as steady as her gaze. “I know what you are.”
What, not who. Despite everything, a wry smile twisted his lips. “Then why aren’t you running from me, human, or begging me for your sorry life?”
Celeste gripped the stiletto, grateful the deadly blade was still hidden in the folds of her cloak. She no longer had the element of surprise, since this creature had somehow sensed her presence.
She could still eliminate him. He thought her human, and therefore slow and cumbersome.
Her hand remained fixed in place, as surely as her eyes remained fixed on his.
“I’ll beg you for nothing.” It was a lie. If she thought begging could get her anywhere, then she would already be on her knees before him. She kept that knowledge locked deep in her heart.
He took a step toward her and her heart hammered in her breast. He was taller than any human she had known over the years. But then, he wasn’t human. Beneath the long leather coat he wore against the night’s chill air, his broad shoulders all but blotted out the rest of the world.
She hitched in a suddenly panicked breath, and his evocative scent of other worldly essences, meshed with hot, raw male enveloped her. Against every principle she stood for, her nipples strained against the fabric of her bodice, peaking with desire and disgust and pure, animal heat.
A mocking smile twisted his full sensual lips. “I could make you beg, human.” His finger traced the outline of her face and she shuddered, hating the way she reacted and yet unable to help herself. “I might even listen to your pleas.” His smoky whisper shimmered along her senses, searing with words unsaid.
“You don’t know how to listen.” But she turned her head slightly, so his palm grazed against her jaw. He drew in a sharp breath and satisfaction whipped through her. He wasn’t immune to her, any more than she was to him.
It meant nothing. Could lead nowhere but hell. And yet she still couldn’t draw back.
“Why don’t you try me?” His thigh pressed against hers, hot and unyielding. She refused to retreat, instead returning the pressure and hot darts of lust pierced deep within her womb.
“I wouldn’t lower myself.” She flattened her hand against his chest to push him away. His heart beat beneath her fingers and, instead of repelling him, she pressed against the cool linen of his shirt as the heat of his body warmed the fabric.
His fingers caressed her face then speared through her hair. She gasped in shock as her head jerked back.
“You don’t have to beg.” His voice was hoarse, his dark eyes glowing with lust. Instead of terrifying her, the vision inflamed. “You only need to ask.”
Rafe stared down into the woman’s wide eyes. Between his fingers her hair felt like the finest of silk, cool and sensuous. Her warm breath against his face reminded him of summer
days and celestial orchards. And her body, so tantalizingly close to his, gave him fantasies of unbridled pleasure.
Tangled thoughts twisted through his brain. How could a human female tempt him this way? He’d never before found any of her species to his taste. But she was only half human.
Not the genetic monstrosity he’d expected. But instead a creature who could rival the call of the Sirens themselves.
Without warning, her fingers ripped open his shirt and shock speared through him. Before he had the chance to react her nails dug deep into his flesh, clawing across his chest and slicing across his nipple.
Instinctively, his hand tightened around her head as his body reared against her. Desire lanced through him, from his throbbing nipple to his engorged shaft.
“You play a dangerous game.” He was vaguely unnerved that his voice shook. Since when had a woman possessed the ability to touch the core of his being?
“Who says I’m playing a game?” Her whisper grazed across his wounded flesh. With a sense of detachment he realized she’d drawn blood. “This is as real as it gets.”
Game or not, two could participate. He spared a fleeting nanosecond to check that they were still concealed from mortal eyes, before he tugged the ties at her bodice.
“Unlike you, I’m not a barbarian,” he said as his hand slid beneath her opened bodice and cupped her full, warm breast.
She fumbled beneath her cloak, and for a moment he thought she was removing her dress for him. But then she raised her left hand, slid her fingers around his neck, and held him firm.
“Of course you are.” Her voice was uneven, and her eyes glittered from the glow of the gas street lamps. “You always have been.”
He forced her roughly against the wall, his thumb teasing the hard nub of her nipple.
“You claim to know a lot about me.” His eyes focused on her parted lips. He imagined those lips around him. Taking him. His balls ached with frustrated need.
She wound his hair around her fingers and pinpricks of pain penetrated his skull, stabbed into his brain. He bared his teeth in a parody of a smile and squeezed her erect nipple between forefinger and thumb. She gasped and thrust herself against him, as if she too welcomed pain for her sins.
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