Voracious Vixens, 13 Novels of Sexy Horror and Hot Paranormal Romance

by Travis Luedke

  I’d jump out of bed terrified I was back in The Center again. I’d shake for several minutes and my powers would be out of whack. When I turned over and saw someone in bed alongside me, it helped to know that I wasn’t alone.

  I know it sounds like I used the girls, hell maybe I did. But they used me too. Mostly they slept with me because they wanted to know what it was like to sleep with “Silver.” They’d ask about my powers, what it was like to be Rage’s son, and a thousand other stupid questions. Ever since The Center, my life became a series of regrettable one-night stands and empty encounters.

  The sad part is no amount of drinking I did could take away the two memories I long to forget: The Center and Pryor. The fact is, even if I didn’t make the deal I made with The Center, I still couldn’t be with Pryor. She’d never accept me knowing what I’ve become: A worthless screw-up.

  Ever since I was born there were mass debates about whether I would be good or evil.

  Some angels believe that because my mother was the second in command, that I would inherit her power, soul, and her sense of right and wrong. Other angels focused on the fact that Rage, my dad, was the top-ranking demon and that I was surely going to follow in his footsteps. Yes, my father ended up joining with good and saving humanity, but angels are quick to forget that. It’s simple: once a demon, always a demon.

  Well maybe they’re right. Maybe I will also be rotten to my very soul. In that case staying away from Pryor really is the best possible thing.

  The night I met Ruin, I had just beaten the hell out of some demons and managed to ditch the Para babysitters, at least for the time being. I went to the place I felt the most comfortable: the nearest demon bar.

  I was drinking my fourth or maybe fifth bottle of Coy. Angel alcohol really is the best thing Omnis ever allowed to be created. I was inspecting the bloody gash just below my eye, courtesy of my latest brawl, when I heard someone address me from behind.

  “You’re in my seat,” he says in a dark tone.

  I don’t turn around to find out who’s talking because I don’t care. I just shook my head and continue to drink the Coy silently.

  “Did you hear me you half-angel bastard, get the hell up,” the being demands.

  I put down my Coy mug and stood up slowly. Then I turned to face the demon that addressed me.

  “That’s right, get your ass up.” I step aside and allow him to take my seat at the bar.

  He makes himself comfortable and addresses the rest of the bar.

  “You see? That Noru shit is crap. This kid can’t take us on. Hell, he’d be nothing without his daddy to protect him,” the demon says.

  They all began to laugh. He drank the rest of my Coy.

  “Hope you don’t mind,” he says sardonically.

  “I think it’s only fair,” I tell him.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” he asks.

  “I think everyone should have one last drink before they die,” I replied.

  “Bullshit, you can’t—”

  Before the demon could finish his thought, I bashed him in the head with the heavy glass mug he was drinking from. Blood squirted out from the side of his face and he fell to the floor. The other demons inched closer as if they are about to attack. I formed a massive silver Powerball in the palm of my hand.

  “Is he worth dying for?” I asked all the demons in the bar.

  They stepped back; I got on top of the disrespectful asshole and beat the crap of out him. I was going to leave it at that but he hurled a Powerball at me just as I was getting up. It flew just past me. Pissed, I picked him up with both hands, hurl him into the wall, and forced a mini Powerball down his mouth. He imploded and it rained down demon flesh.

  Furious, a demon aimed his Powerball at me. I ducked just in time, and it killed a female demon behind me. The demon, realizing his girl was dead, tackled the demon that threw the Powerball. Soon it was an all-out bar fight. Everyone was out of control; everyone but her.

  She stood in the corner, wearing a long black body-hugging dress, with a slit that started from her upper thigh down to the floor. The only thing more shocking than her revealing dress was her calm demeanor. She wasn’t fazed by the violence around us. In fact she seemed to welcome it. She had black hair, pouty apple red lips, long eyelashes, and curves that could bring down an empire.

  Our eyes locked. She slowly sauntered over to me, without the slightest concern for the deadly Powerballs that were flying around her. When she got closer, she signaled for me to look down at her dress; there’s a tiny speck of blood on it. She leaned in and whispered to me in a raspy, primal voice.

  “You owe me a new dress,” she said simply.

  Before I could reply she turned and started to head up the stairs to the rooms above the bar. Intrigued, I followed. I found one of her black six-inch heels on the first step. I went up a few more steps and found the other heel. By the time I got to the landing, I had picked up her dress, bra and her panties.

  There were three rooms on the first floor; her room was the one with the door that’s slightly ajar. It’s her brazen and confident nature that excites me the most. I’m about to make a mistake but I don’t care. I walk in and find her standing stark naked in front of the window, facing away from me as she puts her hair up in a high ponytail.

  From her demeanor I could tell she was expecting me to be impressed and submit to her. She didn’t bother to turn towards me; it’s almost as if she was bored with the whole thing. I don’t know what she was expecting but it certainly wasn’t what happened.

  I headed for the nightstand and found what usually came in dive places like these: maps to the nearest Seller shop, mini bottles of Coy, and Tam (liquid condoms). In the past only girls could drink the Tam but it’s since been improved and guys can take it as well. I swallowed the small vial of protection and turned my focus back to the girl at the window.

  I marched over to her; grab a fistful of her hair and pulled; hard. She gasped and her eyes widen in shock. Her back is now arched and her nipples stand hard atop full breasts.

  She flared her arms wildly, trying to gain control.

  “Be still,” I commanded.

  She looked back at me defiantly and continued to move against my wishes. I whipped out my belt. The sound of the leather cutting through the air caused her to shiver slightly. Then she stopped moving altogether.

  “Good girl,” I replied.

  I instructed her to open her legs, lean forward, and place her hands against the window. She paused for a moment and considered defying me. To discourage any disobedience, I brushed the tip of my belt along her inner thigh. She moans softly and does what I say—places her hands against the glass.

  “Do not take your hands down for any reason,” I ordered.

  I knew even before I started that she’ll try to control the situation by not giving in to whatever pleasure she was feeling. So I was determined to overload her with sensations that made it impossible for her to keep her hands on the glass.

  I make patterns with my index finger along her back and nuzzle between her shoulder blades. When I plant kisses behind her neck and lower back, she inhales sharply, still keeping her hands on the window.

  I up the stakes by kneading and shaping her swollen breasts. She leans back into me and moans softly. But that’s not enough for me. I wanted her to let go of the glass and lose control to me completely.

  I got down on the ground and placed my head between her legs. She gasped as my tongue ventured between the slick folds of her center. When I make contact with her succulent tip, she pants and shouts “yes, yes, yes” as she takes her hands off the glass.

  She clutched my hair between her fingers and pressed my mouth firmly against her. She cried out and begged for more. That’s when I pulled her down to the floor, latched on to her thighs and yanked her towards my mouth so I could “eat.” Once my tongue made contact with her most sensitive spot, I sucked and slurped until she could not keep her hips from lifting off th
e floor.

  I reached up and took her ripe nipples into my mouth. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she moaned. I took my clothes off feverishly and she reached out for what she knew would be hard and waiting. She wrapped her hand around it and inserts it inside her.

  I thrust into her hard; she tore my back open with her nails. She then flipped us so that she be on top. She straddled and then rode me until the room started to spin. I groaned as her body took me to levels of ecstasy previously unknown to angel or demon kind.

  Suddenly, without warning, I felt my hands being restrained by something. I looked up and the sex maven had bound my hands above my head with Samson rope. Like Samson string, the rope version cannot be untied by anyone other than the one whose hands originally tied it. She looks down at me with her untamed hair and a gleam of mischief in her eyes.

  “My turn,” she declared.

  I was utterly unprepared for what she would do next. Her mouth traveled down my body and found detours along the way that caused me to groan loudly and swear to Omnis. By the time her lips wrapped themselves around their destination, I convulsed with pleasure. So much pleasure, in fact, we blacked out.

  *******

  “Silver, wake up!” I heard her call out.

  I popped my eyes open and was assaulted by the harsh light streaming from the window. I put my hand over my eyes to shield me from the glare. Once my eyes adjusted, I saw her quickly gathering our clothes.

  “What are you doing—hey, what’s your name again?” I asked.

  “They’re coming for you,” she said.

  “Who?” I asked, still too weak from last night’s activity to sit up in one try.

  “The Paras. You know it’s their job to watch you since you have gotten out of The Center. And they found you, so unless you want them busting in here you better move it!” she said.

  “How do you know about all this?” I asked as I gathered my stuff.

  “I heard you went to Bliss but I know a few angels at the prison and they said they hadn’t seen you in months. I figured The Center got you. I know what they do there. I know they’re vicious dicks who’ll stop at nothing to get what they want. I also know they don’t like you going to bars, and a demon friend just texted me that Paras are nearby so once again, move your ass!”

  I had a million questions for her, but if she were right, this would not be the time to ask them. We got our stuff and were about to take to the sky, when I pulled on her dress. She hurriedly turned towards me.

  “Just tell me one thing: What’s your name?” I asked.

  She opened her mouth but then she hesitated.

  “Your name?” I asked again.

  “Diana,” she replied with a girlish expression that was a stark contrast to the grown-up things we had done the night before.

  “Hi, Diana.”

  *******

  When we were a safe distance away, in a nearby alley, she started to mix vials together. That’s when she first told me she was also a Specialist. She could make mixtures that would help me evade the Paras, called Lanta. Or even the Omari if it came down to that. She also told me she had heard rumors about The Center long before someone she knew was sent there. I would have asked more info but she seemed reluctant to share. I knew the feeling well.

  “So you’re just gonna help me, just like that?” I asked.

  “You caught me on a good day. Besides, you’re almost a decent lay,” she lied.

  I smiled back at her. She told me to pull up my shirt because the mixture she created had to be poured onto my chest. I do as I’m told. She studied my chest and looked at me suspiciously.

  “There’s a slight glow under your skin. Is there another mixture on you?” she said.

  “Yeah, a little.”

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Just something to help conceal a few...scars,” I replied, not wanting to talk further.

  “The Center?” she asked.

  “Yeah...”

  “If you want to get back at those sick Para bastards, I know a warehouse they use to store equipment. It would really piss them off if something happened to it...”

  *******

  That night Diana and I hooked up in the hotel room was the beginning. In the following weeks I’d come to learn more about her. For one thing, her demon name was “Ruin” and no one knew her as Diana. That was her former human name. Demons that were born that way are called Naturals. But demons that were once human are known as Transfers.

  Diana was unlike any other Transfer demon I had ever met. She thrived on danger and thrills. She was an adrenaline junkie and if it was something that could kill her, she was more than happy to take part in it.

  Since she made me the vial of Lanta, we were able to stay off the Paras’ radar for weeks. We used that time to do whatever the hell we wanted. We blew up empty buildings that were important to the angel community, we hijacked Para-owned cargo, and we set fire to a sacred Para museum in Paris. No one got hurt, but watching the building go up in flames gave me the greatest satisfaction.

  We didn’t spare the Demon world either. It would only take a few seconds to enter a bar and find something to her disliking. She’d lure the demon that had offended her in some way, over to her. Her eyes would get a dark glow and the demon would lean in, under her spell, and go in to kiss her.

  Before he would even make contact with her lips, she’d inhale deeply and suck the energy right out of him. Sometimes if the demon was a real prick, she’d play with him. She’d loop the smoky grey stream that was his energy between her fingers and walk away; he would follow as he was under her control. And when she was no longer interested, she’d finish inhaling his energy and the demon would drop dead. She was a succubus with flare.

  When we weren’t pissing off Paras or killing demons, we’d drink Coy, smoke Demon weed (Alka), and have sex. We’d have lots of it and just about everywhere. We’d do it in drop-top convertibles while in the middle of traffic crawling with humans. We’d hook up on the top of Mount Everest and the bottom of the ocean floor while sea life continued to swim around us.

  In a barn just outside of Oklahoma, I discovered erogenous zones Diana didn’t know she had. In a mattress store in Ontario, Diana showed me there was a direct correlation between the number of pillows on the bed and the desired angle of penetration. And in the Ritz Carlton Hotel elevator, we stumbled into a sex position that was so complicated we laughed the whole time and she ended up leaving an imprint of her right nipple on the ceiling.

  We only had three rules between the two of us: No questions. No commitments. No killing humans or angels. For the most part, being with her was fun. Actually, it was more than that. Diana had reached a place I longed to go: the place where you genuinely didn’t give a damn about anyone or anything.

  There was another thing about her that I craved; Diana was wicked. She made no apologies for it. She destroyed what she wanted and did so for no other reason than it’s what she wanted to do.

  I, on the other hand, was always having to monitor my thoughts and actions when I was growing up. And I did what was expected of me. I helped even before I was asked. I fought evil and tried to do what was right. But after that night at the bar with the five humans, none of what I did before mattered.

  Many times I thought of telling the Paras what really happened that night. I thought of telling the whole world, but that won’t change what they did to me at The Center. And telling them the truth about the death of the five humans would only get someone else in trouble. And I may be a lost cause but I’m not a rat. And I would never give out information that would send someone to The Center—especially a member of my own team.

  Another aspect of Diana I liked: she didn’t care what anyone thought of her. She was a demon and she had no issue taking everything that came with that title. She didn’t love or ache to be with anyone. She had no attachment at all and that meant she was free.

  I tried to be free of my past, but there were nights when
the things that happened at The Center came back to me. I’d flash back to the mixtures designed to literally twist my soul until I begged for mercy. The simulations they’d play out where I’d watch everyone I loved be subjected to inhumane torture just to see how I would react.

  Then there was the final test they gave me. It was the test that I failed every time and it would result in even more pain and torture. That test that made me stay at The Center a whole year instead of a week. The test that almost made me hate my love for Pryor.

  One night when my nightmares were particularly bad, I bolted right up in full panic mode screaming, “STAY AWAY FROM HER!”

  “Silver, you’re not at The Center,” Diana shouts as she turns me to face her.

  It takes a few moments to realize that I’m not bound to a chair. There are no long tubes filled with poison digging into my skin. No one is stripping pieces of my soul away to see where the demon in me starts and the angel begins as I lay on the floor dying.

  “I haven’t had a nightmare in days. I thought it was over. Damn it!” I scream as I hurl a bottle of Coy at the wall.

  The tension creeps up from the soles of my feet to the tips of my hair.

  I sit down on the edge of the bed with my head in my hands. Frustrated and feeling like a complete head case, I plow both hands through my hair, lie back, and stare at the ceiling.

  “I’m guessing the ‘her’ is the redhead? The First Noru?” she asked casually as she stood above me.

  “What? Oh, yeah.”

  “Does she know how you feel about her? Does she know about the deal you had to make in order to get out of The Center?”

  “No.”

  “You’re not gonna tell her?” she asked.

  “What happened to no questions?” I replied.

  “Fine, forget it,” she said.

  I reached over and tugged on her red satin lace-trimmed nightie. She gave in and lay beside me. She then placed her head on my chest.

  “Screw The Center and screw the Angel world. You’re a demon,” she reminded me.