Unholy Pleasures (Half-breed Series Book 4)

by Debra Dunbar

  I let out a breath and turned wide eyes to Irix. He grinned, his teeth red with blood. Then he staggered backward and slid down the side of the leaning refrigerator to collapse on the floor.

  Chapter 6

  I jumped up from the sofa and ran to Irix, ignoring my own injuries to attend to his far more significant ones. Grabbing a towel off the sink, I pressed it to his shoulder, checking the gouge marks along his waist and hips.

  Wait. He was a demon. And now that he had immunity, he could repair himself without fearing that the angels would catch him.

  I threw the towel aside and swatted him on the shoulder. “Fix your injuries before you get any more blood on my floor.”

  He winced. “That’s the thanks I get? I’d hoped to lay here in a pool of my own blood while you fussed and cried over me a little. Can’t a guy enjoy a little attention before he repairs his wounds?”

  No, he couldn’t. “I want to hug you and cry on your shoulder and tell you how scared I was and that you arrived just in time like my own personal sex-demon knight, but I can’t do that when you look like I should be measuring you for a casket.”

  He sighed, and with a flash his flesh was once more smooth and olive-tanned. His clothes were still tattered. His skin was still red with blood, but he was no longer injured.

  So I threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck, and sobbed. He held me tight, rocking me back and forth while I let all of my fear release. I had a bite mark on my breast, a bite on my lip, and a shallow but bloody scratch on my waist. I’d heal quicker than a human, but not nearly as quickly as if I’d been a full demon. If Harkel had been overcome with passion, if he’d done to me what he’d done to Irix, I might have died.

  And wouldn’t the warmonger have been shocked to find himself holding a corpse in his arms when he was doing nothing that a demon wouldn’t have found completely normal in a sexual encounter? I really liked Harkel and I wanted to have sex with him, to have a relationship with him. But I wasn’t what he thought I was. I couldn’t do these things, and I didn’t know if he’d be interested in something with me that was more human and less demon.

  When I was done sobbing, Irix lifted my head from his shoulder and brushed away my tears, leaning forward to kiss my nose. “I did what I had to do, Amber. I would never let him hurt you. I only wish I’d come back a few minutes earlier.”

  He’d taken my place. He’d turned Harkel’s lust from me to him and in his expert incubus fashion, had given the demon exactly what he wanted.

  “I’m so sorry. I feel horrible that you took that…endured that for me. I’m so sorry.”

  He smiled, smoothing the hair from my face. “Don’t be. I actually enjoyed it. Harkel was gentle by demon standards. I get the impression he’s quite a bit more moderate and sane than most of the ancients. If you wanted to be entangled with a demon, I think he’d be the right choice.”

  Why did Irix’s words make me feel so much better? But he’d enjoyed that? What he’d just done with Harkel wasn’t anything he could have done with me, even if I’d had the correct body parts. Maybe both of us could find something of value in a relationship with this warmonger. Well, if I could somehow convince Harkel that I needed to be handled with the demon equivalent of kid gloves.

  “And when he comes back in two nights?”

  Irix smiled and I caught my breath, suddenly wanting him even though my lip and breast were still throbbing in pain. “In two nights we will meet, talk, then come to an agreement. Trust me, Amber. I’ve survived as an incubus unaffiliated with any household my entire life. I’ve never needed another demon’s protection because I’m good at what I do. I’m very good at what I do. By the time he leaves, either Harkel will be the most gentle, loving sexual partner you’ve ever had or he’ll be ripping up the breeding contract he sent and vowing to never see you again.”

  I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. “And why would he do that?”

  That golden spark was back in Irix’s eyes, his smile turning lascivious. “Because after tomorrow night, all he will be able to think about is me.”

  And when his voice grew deep and husky, when he smiled like that, his golden-brown eyes lit with an unnatural glow, I believed him, because all I could think about was Irix, as well.

  “So how did this happen?” he asked. “I come home from hunting and find Harkel on top of you, biting you while you screamed. Did he break in and attack you? Because if that’s the case we’re going to have a very different conversation in two nights than I’d imagined.”

  “No, he was actually very nice until he started the biting stuff,” I explained. I told him all about Harkel showing up at my work, and how bashful and sweet he’d been. “I think he was just overcome with passion, and since he assumed I was a full succubus, he didn’t think anything was wrong about clawing me and biting me hard enough to draw blood.”

  Irix stroked my shoulder. “No, he probably didn’t. That’s gentle as far as demons are concerned. And your squirming, your fear, and your screams would have only encouraged him. We’re predators, Amber. And even when two predators meet, they enjoy the fear and the pain. Never forget that you’re only half of us. Never forget that we’re capable of killing you and not even realizing we’re doing harm.”

  We. He’d included himself in that statement, but I knew Irix was different. Whatever he felt, he was able to hold it all in check for me. I wasn’t sure Harkel would be able to do the same.

  “You’re hungry,” he told me, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on my bruised and cut lip. I felt a tingle and knew the skin was knitting together.

  “Did you just heal me?” I accused him. Demon’s didn’t heal, they fixed and fixing wasn’t a perfect science when it came to repairing injuries that weren’t their own. Irix might do a great job, but I’d wind up having to repair and deal with whatever long-term damage his “fixing” had caused.

  “No. You’re an elf. Elves heal. I’m just jump-starting that process in you since you’re only a half-elf.”

  I was starting to feel better already. “Sex? That will definitely help me heal.”

  He stood, pulling me upright with him. “Yes, it will. Come to bed Amber so I can share my energy with you. Tomorrow you can go out to hunt, but let me be the one to feed you tonight.”

  I had no desire to go out and hunt for sexual partners tonight, not after what had happened with Harkel—what had almost happened with Harkel. I wanted to be cherished. I wanted to be loved. I wanted to have someone fuss over me and take care of my every need.

  “Can you see my fantasies,” I whispered to Irix.

  He smiled. “Always, Amber. Always.”

  Chapter 7

  The next day I felt like I’d been worked over with a tire iron. The remaining bruises and sore muscles from Harkel’s affections combined with a very late night that included lots of affection from Irix left me both aching and sleep deprived.

  Even after Irix had dozed off, I’d tossed and turned as I worried about how this thing with Harkel was going to work out. Then I kept reliving the image of Irix, torn and bloody after sex with the warmonger.

  It wasn’t just my safety I was concerned about. It wasn’t just worry that Harkel might find out I was a half-elf and drag me off to his lair. It was something else, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

  Jealousy? Was I some crazy woman who was jealous that the warmonger’s affections had so easily turned to Irix? Compared to Irix I was young and inexperienced, so of course he could command even an ancient’s attention.

  Or was I jealous that Harkel could fulfill what the demon in Irix wanted, that he could give him the rough sex that was out of the question even if I could physically make it happen?

  Irix had never been jealous of my sexual partners, even Kai. But I was of his. Maybe the fact that Harkel was a demon bothered me. Maybe the fact that Harkel was a higher-level, older, powerful demon bothered me.

  Yes, I was smitten with the warmonger, and it seemed he
returned that affection, but Irix held a place in my heart that no one else would. As often as I told him that, he never seemed to believe me. His response was always that I was young, that as I gained experience I’d change. And here I was worrying that he’d change his mind, that I’d become boring to him, that he’d want what someone like Harkel could give him—sex that crossed the line into violence as well as offspring between two beings of spirit. I’d love Irix forever, but was I just an exotic fling? Would he miss the things I couldn’t give him? Would he want to leave his genetic mark with someone that didn’t insist he change diapers and deal with spit-up burps?

  I guess I’d find out tomorrow night when Irix, Harkel, and I had our sit-down. Until then I had a vineyard full of disease and pests to deal with. When I arrived where Jorge always gave out our daily assignments, there was a group of the field workers standing around the Gator just outside the equipment sheds. For a second I wondered what the commotion was, then I remembered that today was the day that the “expert” would arrive.

  “Is he here yet?” I asked Manny, taking the Styrofoam cup of coffee he handed to me. Wow, this expert rated coffee? He must be important for Jorge to have pulled out the huge coffee urn and drag it into the field with a box of cups and little bags of sugars and powdered creamer.

  “Not yet.” Manny rolled his eyes, one of which was shadowed right above his cheekbone, no doubt from his warmonger-inspired altercation with Scotty last night.

  “I’m guessing he’s some French dude with knife-pleated, black silk pants and a cravat,” I told him.

  He laughed. “And a jaunty beret tilted rakishly to one side.”

  “And he’ll lecture us that the reason our crops are having these blights is because our grape varieties are inferior and the soil a poor substitute for what they have in Bordeaux or Champagne,” Scotty added, reaching over Manny to grab a sugar packet.

  “French grapes, pfft,” Rosa chimed in. “They are a poor substitute for what we have in Chile.”

  “Nobody grows chardonnay like northern California. Nobody,” Henry added. “And as far as vintnering goes, our red blends are putting us on the map.”

  “Ah non,” Manny said in a fake French accident, waving his hands in the air. “The red blends, they are a sacrilege to fine wine. The uneducated peasants may buy them by the caseload, but those who have even a modicum of palate will turn away their noses in disdain.”

  I laughed. “He’s not a sommelier, he’s a pesticide or insecticide expert. I’m thinking some old dude who spent the last forty years of his life working for DuPont.”

  “Or a twenty-year-old hippy from the co-op who is Richard’s cousin’s wife’s stepbrother’s nephew or something,” Scotty conjectured.

  A shiny black F350 pulled up and we all fell silent, trying to catch a glimpse of our expert through the dark-tinted windows of the truck. Jorge hopped out of the driver’s side. The passenger door opened, and we craned our necks.

  First, expert dude wasn’t a dude. He was a she. And she was a diminutive woman wearing clothes that looked like they just came off a hanger at Nordstrom’s. Her make-up was subtle and tastefully applied, her long blond hair clipped back at the nape of her neck with a gold barrette. She wore an oversized pair of designer sunglasses, expensive, yet comfortable Italian leather flats, and a pair of thin leather gloves that looked more suitable for driving a sports car in the French Riviera than handling thick vines and wires. In her hand she carried a clipboard that was a duplicate to the one in Jorge’s hands.

  And she had pointy ears.

  “Whoa. An elf.” Scotty elbowed Manny in the ribs. “I thought they were all in Iceland.”

  Manny elbowed him back. “Nah, there’s an island of them somewhere in the South Pacific where they learn about money and how to drive cars and operate cell phones.”

  “And shop at Nordstrom’s, evidently,” Rosa added.

  “Yeah, that, too.” Manny nodded. “But when they’re ready, they are supposed to join society and get jobs or something. Weird, huh? Elves running around. A dragon in the British Museum. And angels. Although I’ve never seen one of the angels. I’m not sure where they all hang out.”

  “Probably on the island with the elves,” Henry commented. “Right, Amber?”

  I didn’t reply because I was frozen like a deer in headlights, watching the elf woman’s head swivel as she eyed our group of field hands clustered around the Gator, drinking coffee. Maybe if I hid behind Henry she wouldn’t see me. I wasn’t in Hel, so my ears weren’t pointy and my mirror told me I looked like a human, but Irix had always said even without the distinctive tips on my ears, I looked just like an elf.

  At this moment I didn’t want to look just like an elf. Why was this happening to me? My mother had sent me to live here in a changeling swap so I’d be safely away from both elves and demons, and here I was with a warmonger literally bringing me flowers and wanting me to have his baby, and an elf who would be walking the fields beside me. Two races who couldn’t know what I was, right here right now. Was there nowhere safe for me anymore?

  “We’ve got a busy day ahead of us,” Jorge announced. “But before we head out, I want to introduce the expert that Richard hired to help us combat the insects and blights we’ve been having with our vines and fruit this year. Hallwyn will be working with all of you in the fields over the next few months, and I expect you to give her your full cooperation.”

  Manny’s hand shot up. I cringed, trying to distance myself from him. “Hallwyn is an elf? Is this legal? I mean, I had to practically get fingerprinted here to prove I could legally work in the U.S. She got her social security card, H1B, and all that other stuff?”

  Jorge fixed him with a stern look. “Here at DiMarche we comply with all federal, state, and local labor and employment laws.”

  Rosa’s hand shot up. “Yeah, but she’s an elf.”

  “And you’re from South America, Rosa. She’s an expert. She knows more about powdery mildew, cutworm, and black measles than anyone in this field.”

  Well, anyone except me. Suddenly my fear vanished and I eyed Hallwyn, feeling incredibly bitter that I, who most likely knew even more than she did about the plants, bacteria, fungus, and insects indigenous to this area would be sweating in the field with a set of clippers, while this elf got to prance around in her Italian leather flats and be the hero who saved the harvest. And she probably got paid five times as much as I did, too.

  “I’m thrilled to be helping you,” Hallwyn announced, her accent lilting with rolling lls and long vowels. “I will begin with the mildew and the measles, then look at the others.”

  Rosa sniggered. “Her English is worse than Manny’s.”

  “Hey,” Manny glared at her. He didn’t have time to do much more than glare because Jorge had started handing out the day’s assignments.

  “Amber, field eight. Show Hallwyn where you found that Phomopsis.”

  I caught my breath, hesitating a moment before walking forward to grab my tools and clipboard. Then I walked to the elf, giving her a stiff smile. She was staring down at her clipboard, but the moment she looked up from it, she did a double take.

  “You’re Am-burr?” Her eyes narrowed, her gaze swinging from my face to my ears. I had my hair in a high ponytail today, my rounded, very human, ears clearly on display.

  “Yes. I’m Amber Lowry. I’m here this month on an internship. I graduated in May from Penn State with a degree in botany. You’re an elf?” I looked at her ears, as if I’d never seen such things before.

  A shadow passed across her face. “Yes. Formerly of Wythyn. My family managed the royal gardens.”

  I nodded. “Well, let’s go look at some Phomopsis.”

  She followed me through the fields, removing her gloves and brushing her hand along the canes. A few times she had me stop while she examined the underside of some leaves or a bunch of immature fruit. Each time I watched carefully, trying to see why she’d needed a closer look at those particular plants. None of
them were diseased or damaged. Perhaps she was trying to get a baseline on what a healthy vine looked like so she could detect subtle differences in the infected ones that had left them open to disease. Or perhaps she had no idea what she was doing, and was faking expertise. I wasn’t sure what foliage the Wythyn elves had in their royal gardens, but from my short visit to Hel, I knew similar plant life didn’t mean they were exactly the same.

  “How long were you on the island?” I asked, looking back at her. It was hard to read her expression now that she’d put her sunglasses back on.

  “A few weeks.”

  That didn’t sound right. “You learned all about human culture, human language, and our flora and fauna in a few weeks? You somehow became an expert in pests and diseases of grapevines in a few weeks?”

  “Elves are very intelligent. We learn exceptionally fast and your plant life here is remarkably basic. Becoming an expert took only a few days, but I was not allowed to leave until I had secured an assignment and a means to both support myself and provide a service to human society.”

  Well, la-de-da.

  “How do you elves get assignments? Is there a placement service? Do human employers post job openings somewhere? I had to apply for this internship, submit a copy of my senior year study, and interview, competing against thousands of other applicants.”

  I don’t know why I told her all that. It wasn’t like she’d care, and it made me sound as if I were desperate for validation of my intelligence and worth from her. I shouldn’t be bothered about what she thought of me, but it rankled that she was the expert while I was the field hand. And it irritated me that she’d been handed this assignment on a silver platter while I’d needed to work my butt off to get this internship.

  “We each have areas of expertise. There is someone who coordinates connecting us with positions where humans can benefit best from our superior knowledge and abilities.”