Leader Of The Pack

by Karen McInerney

  And before she could object, I stepped outside, closing the door firmly behind me, and went out into the night—and into the arms of the demon of lust.

  “I’ve missed you,” he purred, pulling me into a hot embrace. His smoky smell was stronger than ever tonight—or maybe I was just hypersensitive.

  “I’ve missed you, too,” I said, perhaps a bit tentatively. Which was understandable, given the conversation I’d just had with my mother.

  He released me, studying my face. “Is something wrong?”

  I shrugged, trying to put aside my misgivings. Which was a challenge, because there were a lot of them. “Just worried about my father, is all.”

  “We’ll have him out before you know it,” he said, and ushered me into the back of his limousine. I tossed my purse into a corner and climbed in. The partition, I noticed, was now black, and despite the rather stressful nature of our errand, the moment Ben closed the door behind Mark, my demon lover had slid over beside me and was playing with the neckline of my T-shirt.

  His fingers, as always, were hot against my skin, and they seemed to ignite a trail behind them. As worried as I was about what the evening would hold, I felt myself respond, and when he lifted my chin to kiss me, I melted into him. His hand reached for the hem of my T-shirt, sliding under it, and soon his fingers found my breasts, running slowly, teasingly, over the lace of my bra. I moaned with pleasure, leaning into him as his tongue traced a trail of fire down my neck, dipping into the crease of my neck; within seconds, he had lifted the T-shirt over my head and his tongue was slipping under the edges of my bra.

  All of my concerns slipped away, things that seemed so important a moment ago as insubstantial as wisps of cotton, and I reached for him, my hand closing around his hard member. He tore down my bra with his teeth, mouth closing on one nipple, then the other, tracing a line of fire between them, then fumbled with the button of his slacks. His urgency was contagious; all I could think of was having him deep inside me, thrusting, filling me. I slid my jeans down my hips, opening myself to him, hungry for the feel of him inside me.

  “Sophie,” he said, his voice rough with lust. The sound of my name made me tingle.

  “Asmodeus,” I gasped as he reached down and slid a finger down my clitoris, sending a shiver of pleasure through me.

  He paused, raising his head from my breasts, his blue eyes sparking in the dim light of the limousine.

  “What did you call me?” he asked.

  “Asmodeus,” I repeated. “You’re Asmodeus.” For some reason, at that moment, it seemed perfectly reasonable.

  “Yes,” he said, reaching down between my legs. I shivered at his touch. He caressed me, touching lightly on my clitoris, then slowly reached lower and parted my lips. Then he pushed my legs apart and lowered himself so that the head of his penis just touched me. The heat of him made me shiver.

  And then he plunged deep into me, filling me, withdrawing and then thrusting again. I growled, deep in my throat, and pulled him toward me, deep into me, feeling the slick sweat on his flat abdomen as it slammed against me. I was hungry for him—I wanted him inside me, all the way inside me. My mouth found his neck, his salty, smoky neck, and my teeth clamped down as he rode me, until the taste of blood mingled with the sweat. I was teetering on the brink of ecstasy when finally he thrust into me one last time and I tumbled over the edge, howling, heat rising in a ball inside me and spreading through me until I was limp.

  I lay beneath him for a few minutes, watching the reflection of headlights on the roof of the limo, starting to feel somewhat human again—and wondering exactly what it was I’d just done. Other than having unprotected sex with a demon in the back of a limo, that was. If Mark really was the demon Asmodeus, I just hoped Sarah hadn’t had the clap.

  The lights of Austin were fading into the distance by the time I was feeling up to talking again. Mark and I sat in the back of the limo, fully dressed, stretched out next to each other. Although I was trying to play it cool, it wasn’t easy.

  “So,” I said as we passed an Exxon station advertising Camel cigarettes and six-packs of Lone Star Light. I really wanted to ask him all kinds of questions about his demonic history—his crushes, the mortality rate of his crushes’ close associates, why it was the ring he gave me seemed to be glued on with epoxy and have a direct line to Mark’s brain… there were so many, it was hard to choose. But instead, I said, “What’s the plan for tonight?”

  “We go in and get your father out of the garden cottage,” Mark said, as if it were as easy as picking up a pack of Camels at the Exxon we’d just passed.

  “I know that,” I said. “But the question is, how?”

  “I have my ways,” he said.

  “Like sprouting flames and wings and walking past everyone?”

  “I was thinking of something a tad more subtle,” he said, and even in the dim light I could see his grin.

  “But you won’t tell me,” I said.

  “Of course not,” he said, his voice mischievous. “I want it to be a surprise.”

  Great. Personally, I’d had more than enough surprises for one day—heck, maybe even my whole life—but something told me not to push it further. Funny how the power balance shifts when you realize your companion is a ranking member of the demon community.

  We lapsed into silence for a few minutes, and his warm fingers encircled my ankle, making me shiver—both with a little bit of lust, and fear. I fingered the metal band on my hand, and finally couldn’t contain myself anymore. “This ring you gave me—why won’t it come off?”

  “You don’t like it?” he asked.

  “No, it’s not that. It’s just, well, when I transform, it changes size with me. I’ve never had a piece of jewelry do that before.”

  “And your mother couldn’t get it off either, could she?”

  “Uh, no. How did you know she tried?”

  “Another mystery, my dear.”

  “You’re just full of mysteries tonight,” I said.

  “Do you really want to know?” he asked.

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

  “It’s a magical ring,” he said.

  “I figured as much. How many of them have you given out?”

  “Why do you assume there are more than one?” he asked. Something changed in the tone of his voice.

  “It’s just a hunch,” I said.

  “You used a name a few minutes ago,” he said. “A name I didn’t tell you.”

  “What name was that?”

  “Asmodeus,” he said.

  Despite the heat Mark was emanating, I felt a chill of fear when he spoke the word. “You told me Asmodeus was your name,” I said quietly.

  “No, I didn’t.” His blue eyes glowed slightly in the darkness of the car. “I told you it was Ashmodei.”

  I shifted in my seat, trying to keep calm. “That’s what I said, wasn’t it?”

  “No, my dear.” He traced his finger up and down my calf. “It wasn’t.” He was quiet for a moment longer. Then he said, “Have you been talking to your mother about me?”

  “Maybe,” I admitted. “A little.”

  “She doesn’t like me, does she?”

  “It doesn’t matter what she thinks.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

  “Mark,” I said. “What are you?”

  “Why should I tell you?” he asked, his voice teasing, yet slightly dangerous.

  “Why wouldn’t you? You know what I am. Shouldn’t we even things up?”

  The limo was silent, except for the muted hum of tires on asphalt. The world seemed very dark outside, and fear prickled my skin. If Mark decided to hurt me, I realized, there was nothing anyone could do about it. “The reason I won’t tell you,” he whispered, “is that I think you already know.” The limo seemed very small, all of a sudden, the walls pushing in at me, and Mark seemed very, very big. The smell of smoke was thickening in the air, and his eyes were sparking.

  “You’re a demon,�
�� I whispered.

  He nodded, looking satisfied. “And not just any demon,” he said, and he leaned forward, kissing me so hard and fast I felt my body tingling all over again.

  “Wait a minute,” I said, turning my head and gasping for air. “Tell me what happened with Sarah.”

  He stiffened slightly. Then he leaned down and kissed my neck, leaving a trail of heat that led to the hollow of my neck. “Sarah,” he said between kisses, “is ancient history, my dear. The only thing that matters now is you.”

  I crossed my arms, pushing him away slightly. “Oh really? Then why are there so many pictures of her in your office?”

  That stopped him. “Pictures?”

  “The woman,” I said. “The one in the headdress. The one in all those old paintings you’ve got on the walls.”

  “I have an interest in medieval art,” he said curtly. “It stands to reason, since I was there when it was painted.

  “So you are that old,” I said. Even though I knew Tom and Wolfgang were centuries old, I still wasn’t used to people talking about events that had happened 500 years ago as if they had taken place just last week. “And Sarah was a real person.”

  “Yes, I am that old.” He nuzzled my neck. “But I like to think I’ve aged pretty well.”

  “And Sarah? What about her?”

  “She was a fling,” he said. “Like I said, ancient history.”

  “And so were the suitors you killed. There were seven of them, I believe.”

  He shrugged. “Actually, only four—they exaggerate.”

  “But you did kill them.”

  He didn’t answer, just continued to brush my neck with his lips. Now he was nibbling on my earlobe, and although part of me was happy to surrender to the heat of him, another, growing part of me was starting to set off the alarm bells.

  “Did you have something to do with Tom’s motorcycle accident?”

  He ignored me.

  “And what about that tree limb that almost crushed him the other day? Was that you, too?”

  Again, nothing. And in this case, as far as I was concerned, his silence spoke louder than words.

  “What I can’t figure out,” I said, “is why you didn’t go after Heath. I mean, Tom and I are both werewolves, but he’s dating someone else. But Heath—Heath and I were sleeping together, and you didn’t do a thing.”

  He paused in his ministrations for a moment.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I must confess that I wasn’t entirely blameless in your breakup with Heath,” he said. The headlights of a passing car illuminated his face as he spoke. He looked thoughtful, like a CEO who has just learned of a potential takeover bid. But he wasn’t just a CEO, I reminded myself. He was an ancient demon.

  “What do you mean, you weren’t blameless?” I asked.

  “Miranda and I, well, we are associates.”

  “But she’s Heath’s associate,” I said, confused.

  “Miranda and I have a long, long history together. She has a way with men, so she agreed to help me distract your boyfriend. Worked like a charm, actually.”

  “Wait a minute. Miranda’s a demon, too?” I thought about the faint smoky smell I’d often picked up from her, and with a sinking feeling, I realized it made sense. “I’ve smelled it on her,” I said quietly. “I don’t know how I didn’t figure it out.”

  “Most rational people don’t expect to find demons popping up all over town, so you can hardly blame yourself. Her real name is Lilith, by the way—she just likes the name Miranda.” Mark said. “But all of that is beside the point. Heath wasn’t right for you, anyway. You broke up with him because he’s not a werewolf, remember? So I don’t see why you’re concerned.”

  I pushed myself up on the seat. Demon or no demon, I was pissed. “So let me get this straight. You got your friend to seduce my boyfriend, and then contrived accidents to kill another friend of mine?”

  “I never said I did anything to your werewolf friend,” he said. “And you and I both know he’s more than a friend to you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Mark pointed to the ring on my hand. “It doesn’t lie.”

  I looked from Mark’s shadowy face to the silver band on my ring finger. “Wait a minute. You put this ring on me so you could spy on me?” I tried to tug it off. Of course, it didn’t budge. “What does it do? Does it have a radio monitor? How much do you know?”

  He gave me a sly smile. “It came in handy when you were in trouble with all those werewolves in Round Top, you must admit.”

  Just because he’d appeared out of nowhere last month and helped keep me from turning into an Aztec sacrifice didn’t mean I thought spying was okay. “It doesn’t matter. That’s just… immoral!”

  He smiled, a lazy, gorgeous smile that even in the dim light of the limo made me weak in the knees. “But darling, I’m a demon. I’m supposed to be immoral.”

  “I want the ring off,” I said. “Now.”

  “But what about dear old dad?”

  “What about him?”

  “Don’t you want to free him?”

  “Of course. What does that have to do with the ring?”

  “I am quite fond of you—you must know that—but you must know I can’t just keep dishing out my assistance without any recompense, my dear.”

  A finger of ice ran down my back, and I leaned over to retrieve my purse. “What kind of recompense?”

  His fingers slid up my leg, circling my kneecap. “A promise, of sorts.”

  I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “A promise,” I repeated, trying to keep from squeaking. “How about, ‘I promise to be deeply grateful for your assistance and to take you to dinner.’”

  “Delightful,” he said. “But I’m afraid I’m going to want a tad more than a kiss on the cheek and a steak dinner.” The smell of smoke intensified, and his presence seemed to grow, somehow, so that there was hardly any air left in the limo. I’d had a lot of experience with client relations, but nothing quite like this.

  “What do you want from me?” My voice was barely a whisper. I fumbled in my purse, reaching for the little bag of salt, feeling mildly comforted when my fingers made contact with the little cloth bag. The pressure in the limo was so great I thought I might scream.

  Then, suddenly, there was a lightening, an easing in the air. I gasped for breath, feeling as if a spell had lifted. Mark was no longer a brooding presence across from me. He was just Mark. I shook myself, as if ridding myself of a bad dream. Only it wasn’t a bad dream; Mark was still a demon. A demon who wanted something from me. And I still didn’t know what.

  “Let’s not worry about that now, shall we?” he said. “We can talk about all this when we get there. It’s a gorgeous night to be out in the limo, and I love these rural billboards. I’ve never understood why all these animals keep advertising the restaurants that serve them.” He pointed to a lurid pink billboard with a poorly drawn rendition of Porky Pig. “I mean, look at that pig over there, advertising its own ribs for sale. Who came up with the idea of a cannibalistic pig? And people say demons are twisted.”

  Relieved that the pressure in the limo had abated, I let the whole demon thing go. Mark spent the rest of the ride pointing out weird billboards and adult video stores (the parking lots were always full) while I tried not to think too much about the fact that I was sitting just a few feet away from a thousand-plus-year-old demon with a reputation for murder. Or what I was going to do when Mark told me the true fee for saving my father.

  And whether I’d have any choice but to pay it.

  All too soon, we were at the gate of the Graf Ranch. Ben rolled down the window at the intercom, but before he had a chance to push the call button, the gates swung slowly open. I shot Mark a questioning glance, but he just smiled enigmatically as we bumped down the dusty road. “How are we going to do this?” I asked, hoping to gloss right over the whole ‘promise’ thing.

  “We haven’t decided we’re going to do anything yet,”
he reminded me.

  “Don’t you think this might be a good time to talk about it?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “We’re in the middle of Werewolf Central here, Mark. They’ll figure it out soon enough.”

  “Back to Mark again? What a shame,” he said, touching my knee. “I liked it when you called me Asmodeus.”

  “What are the terms?” I asked.

  “In good time,” he said, refusing to budge. I mentally cursed him, which was probably pointless—I mean, how do you curse a demon?—as Ben pulled under a grove of trees not far from the compound.

  “You can shield yourself, right?” Mark asked.

  I nodded. For some reason, I was able to shield my scent—and my presence—from other werewolves. Weird, but handy.

  “Good,” he said. “You might want to start doing that.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” I said, and a moment later, I grabbed my purse and slipped out the limo door into enemy territory.

  As Mark whispered instructions to his driver, I stood next to the limo and scanned the territory. As far as I could see—and smell—everyone had gone to bed, and I wished I was there, too. The chilly night air passed right through my T-shirt, raising goose bumps on my arms and back. When Mark gestured for me to follow him, I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering, and padded after him.

  Within moments, we were passing through the compound. Wolfgang’s house was dark, but a lone light glowed on the second story of Elena’s little farmhouse. Was she waiting for the pleather boys? I wondered. Had either of them managed to get in touch with her yet? Or would Boris turn tail and flee? He’d promised to testify tomorrow; would he go back on his word?

  It doesn’t matter, I told myself. Luc won’t be here tomorrow anyway. At least I hoped not. I still hadn’t heard the terms I’d have to agree to to secure his release.

  Before I knew it, we were at the outskirts of the little group of buildings, and only yards away from my father’s prison. There weren’t any guards at the door, which I took as a hopeful sign, and I followed Mark right up to the front porch. I could smell my father inside.