Dancing With the Devil

by Cate Masters

  Any female should be honored.

  Zeveriah gnawed at his pinkie claw. Something told him this girl would not see it that way. Would not succumb to him so easily.

  And for once, the idea of rejection stung too bitterly to accept. His hand fisted tight and his nails dug into his palm. I must make sure she wants me.

  He forced his fingers to spread wide. Relax. Play it cool. He’d built his reputation around it. His laid-back demeanor belied the intensity beneath, the furious drive to succeed propelling him through millennia.

  I’ll woo her. Yes, ridiculous as it sounded, he would stoop that low. Charm the girl into loving him, as The Prince had with Persephone.

  The Prince had no angelic counterparts to thwart his plan, however. Bodiel had been a thorn in Zev’s side for too long. The Ruling Angel of the Sixth Heaven better stay the hell out of this, or he’d meet his counterpart face to face. Sword to sword.

  A knock sounded at the chamber door.

  “Enter.” Though he’d rather be alone with his thoughts of her, it wouldn’t do to meet her in his present condition. The image of her dancing like the goddess she didn’t know she was – oh sweet licks of flame, it burned into his mind.

  He had to purge it, bit by bit, slave girl by slave girl, until he could sate his desire with Lily.

  “Sir.” Elistair bowed.

  Behind his manservant, a wide-eyed woman slipped in on soundless steps. The scent of an unfamiliar tension filled his nostrils. His groin tightened, his erection already at full tilt straining against his silken boxers.

  “Thank you, Elistair. Lock the door on your way out.” He loved tossing that in to ratchet up the terror.

  The woman’s gaze flicked from him to his manservant, and back. Rather than fear, she exuded something more palpable. Confidence? No, wait. The brittle tang in the air signified something much closer to passion. Anger?

  Oh yes, she would do nicely tonight.

  Elistair gave the slave a shove in his direction and hissed a warning at her before pulling the heavy metal double doors together in his backward retreat. Zeveriah had to restrain a grin. If he was a rock star, Elistair was his roadie, attuned to his wants and needs, always ready with the right tweak. In this case, using fear and wonder to make the slave wet with anticipation so Zev could bang the hell out of her, leave her shaky and begging for more.

  He made a mental note to give Elistair a bonus. He sprawled on the immense sectional sofa and emitted a low, menacing grunt. “Let me see you.”

  The woman glanced up, long enough for him to see the wicked gleam in her eye. The look that revealed desire and need, the yearning for seduction. The musky scent permeating the air signaled the woman was primed.

  He’d make her suffer for it. As much as he suffered every moment awaiting The Destined One.

  When she padded to the far edge of the sofa, he commanded, “Stop.”

  Uncertainty crossed her face, though she kept her head lowered.

  Biting his nail, he scrutinized her. Average build. Dark hair to the middle of her back, pulled into a single ponytail high on her head. Pretty enough face. He didn’t linger on her facial features. Other features interested him more.

  “Turn,” he ordered. “Slowly, so I can look at you.”

  Beneath the spandex band circling her breasts, nipples pressed against the surface. Her feet shuffled as she executed a crude whirl. Not the most graceful wench. Eh, how much grace did she need on all fours?

  The image heightened his impatience. “Dance for me.” Her hesitancy made him bark, “Dance.”

  Her knees buckled.

  Zev braced to catch her, should she faint. When she curtsied, clumsily, he eased down again.

  She heaved a breath, staring at the black marble floor. For what, inspiration? Did the wench need a boot in the ass?

  She closed her eyes and rocked her hips.

  Yawn. He settled back and tucked his elbows behind the top of the sofa. Maybe he should just fuck her and be done with it, before she left him completely flaccid.

  Her arms lifted, and her hips swished. Yeah, that’s more like it. If she had a hoop, she’d keep the thing circling on those hips, undulating in hypnotic rhythm. His cock perked to attention again. Swirling her hands over her head, she swayed, her breasts keeping time.

  His sneer became a half smile.

  With one long tug, she drew her tube top over her head, sending her ponytail cascading. Against instruction, she met his gaze, eyes half closed, the glow of heat unmistakable.

  So, Elistair had found him a little vixen this time. He stifled his smile. She wouldn’t rob him of control.

  Her movements grew sharper. Evoked power. Her ponytail whirled as she spun, always returning to him as a focal point. Each spin brought her nearer.

  At his feet, she halted and ran her hands down her breasts to her hips. Swiftly, she dropped to her knees, settling her hands beside his thighs and dragging herself up, nipples grazing his legs.

  Her breath heated his cock through his boxers. It answered by stretching to full length, engorged and aching.

  He grabbed her ponytail and held her head in place. No bitch would tease him like that.

  One glance told him she understood. And wanted to please him.

  With careful strokes, she freed his cock. Thumbs at the base, she worked her hold upward, kneading till she reached the head.

  Ah, heaven. Right here in Hades. The irony of such bliss in hell satisfied him almost as much as her mouth, taking him in by excruciating small measures.

  Oh, fuck this. One push filled her mouth with him. And her throat.

  His breath hitched. So good. With each gag, a delicious squeeze. He kept her head in place until her eyes rolled, then nudged her away. No fun in fucking an unconscious wench.

  She landed against the marble, legs awry, panting.

  “Get up.” He flicked off his sandals, stood to remove and fold his boxers, then sprawled back and gestured to his stiff cock. “Have a seat.”

  Her eyes lit up. She scrambled to her feet, fumbled off her short skirt and panties and reached a knee toward the sofa.

  “No. Face that way.” He had no wish to see her bite her lip, heavy-lidded eyes glazed, a dim witted attempt to seduce his affection. Nor did he wish her to witness his pleasure. He’d take his fill and then some, a purely physical need to relieve himself.

  Her expressions might anger him. Remind him he wasn’t fucking the one he truly desired.

  Stance wide, she shuffled backward until her hands found his cock and guided him inside.

  A tiny yelp, and she rocked her hips to take him in. Oh, that had to hurt. She kept bucking, his very own cowgirl riding him like he was a wild mustang. Never one to disappoint a peon needing a challenge, he stabbed deeper. One moment of braced muscles, and she resumed impaling herself with renewed gusto.

  When the flood of release finally came, shudders careened him upward, close enough that her hair brushed his cheek. Coarse hair, not fine and silky. Not Lily.

  He collapsed against the back of the sofa, arm braced against her spine so she wouldn’t relax against him.

  She massaged his balls, milking the last from him. “Oh yes, that’s good.”

  Very good. She might prove herself an asset.

  ***

  The Prince swirled into the sitting room, lavishly appointed yet tastefully understated. “Is all in readiness?”

  Persephone glided to his side and smoothed his shirt across his chest. “For hours now. You doubt my hostess skills?”

  His arm clenched her waist. “Never.”

  A thrill shot through her. After all this time, his touch still excited her. “Then what?” She drew back to study him. “Don’t tell me you’re nervous.” She’d have thought it impossible, yet the slightest gleam of sweat traced his brow.

  “I trust you implicitly. You know that.” Others might interpret his clenched jaw as irritation with her. Persephone knew better.

  “Of course.” She cupped
her hand to his cheek. “It will be fine. It always is.” She wouldn’t admit that uncertainty fluttered through her. Why now, after so many before her? She’d be the first to admit the transition was not easy, but all resolved to it in the end. Many even came to love it, as she did.

  His cheek pulsed beneath her hand. “Not this time, my love. I sense her forthcoming resistance. It could signal the end.”

  The end of the line? Was such a thing possible? “Please don’t worry, darling. Remember, she is of our lineage. Our blood.” She kissed his cheek. “Our love.”

  He heaved a breath and slid his gaze to hers. “You always know how to soothe me. This time, however, I fear even your diplomacy may not convince the hardheaded girl.”

  “Give her time. The patience you showed me paid off, didn’t it?”

  The hint of a smile curled his lips. “More than I’d dared to hope.”

  “We will plan for the worst. Then we’ll have more cause for celebration when she steps into her role with the required dignity and humility.”

  “And gratitude.”

  “Yes.”

  A low grunt accompanied his long exhale. “What time will she be here?”

  “Soon, love. And every detail’s finished. So we have time to relax.”

  “What if I don’t want to relax?”

  She tipped her head toward his. “There’s time for that, too.” Her husband’s amorous attention always took top priority.

  ***

  Lily scanned the second floor of the building – her loft – as she trudged to the outside door.

  With Bryn nestled into his side, Keb called from the sidewalk, “Want me to check inside, to be sure?”

  Might be prudent, on such a strange night, even though all appeared normal. “Nah. It’s fine.”

  The shadow world bustled with activity, maybe a little more than usual, but then, it was getting close to Halloween. The other-world inhabitants seemed to celebrate the holiday more than humans.

  “Right.” Bryn nudged him. “She’s a black belt, remember?”

  Keb mock-frowned at Bryn. “Then why isn’t she the bouncer?”

  Lily wanted to kiss them both for lightening her mood. “Because I’m too fabulous a dancer.” She couldn’t claim the best, not in front of Bryn anyway. She’d never hurt her friend’s feelings like that.

  “No one would argue with that.” Keb’s teeth flashed in a smile. “Be safe.”

  “And call if you need anything,” Bryn added. “Happy birthday, baby.”

  Keb joined in with Bryn, and they sing-songed the last, making Lily laugh out loud. “Go home, before my neighbors hate me.” She waved and went inside, flipping the light on as she shut the door.

  A gold envelope gleamed on the floor.

  She bent to retrieve it, fingering the raised gold seal on the back. A symbol, maybe a rune, flourished within the circle. Not a design logo. Definitely not any language she knew. Who would have slipped it under her door?

  A chill passed over her. Someone had entered her loft building. A mistake?

  She flipped the envelope over. Her name appeared in script, as illustrious as the seal.

  So, not a mistake. Unless they meant another Lily? Don’t open it. Right. It couldn’t be for her.

  The longer she held it, the more reluctant she grew to let go of it. Tossing it in the trash became unthinkable.

  The faintest whisper issued, and she could swear it came from the envelope. Lily.

  “Oh, this is ridiculous.” She delved her nail behind the gold seal and it popped open, a four-fold self-sealing letter. Flakes of gold fell. Gold leaf? Seriously? Who used such expensive invitations these days?

  Her limbs grew leaden as she read:

  Happy birthday, darling Lily.

  We would be delighted if you would join us at midnight for a champagne toast.

  Look for a black limousine outside.

  Her thoughts raced. Champagne toast? No one she knew would plan such an event. Who on earth would invite her to an exclusive party?

  No one – on earth.

  “Now you’re really being ridiculous.”

  A flash of red caught her eye. The answering machine flashed, signaling a message. Glad for the distraction, Lily pressed the button.

  “It’s your mother, Lily.”

  The familiar voice shocked her to her senses. “Adoptive mother,” she snapped at the machine. Jean had never let Lily forget it.

  Jean continued, “I wanted to wish you a happy birthday. Sorry I can’t be there.”

  I’ll bet you are. I’m not. Lily reached to delete the message. The next words stunned her to a halt.

  “You’re going to receive an invitation, Lily. It’s very important that you go.”

  Important to whom? Lily turned the envelope over in her hand and fingered the strange seal. Who were these people?

  “Have a good time, and be polite. The limo will take you there and back.”

  Right, the limo. How had Jean known? Curiosity drew her to the window, the letter clutched in her hand.

  On the street below, the roof of a long black limousine reflected the street light.

  A limo. Against all reason, it made her giddy with joy. She’d always wanted to ride in one. To sink into the plush seat, tell the driver, Home, James.

  Jean continued, “Whatever you do, don’t keep them waiting. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  Of course she would. To check up on Lily, make sure she followed instructions. One good reason for not going through with it.

  The invitation grew heavy in her hand. Such a beautiful design, and it looked familiar. There was only way to find out why.

  A glance at the wall clock sent a rush of dread through her. Eleven forty. If she was going to attend, she had to change, fast. Into what?

  Someone else.

  Snide little bitch. Someday she’d silence her inner critic, or whoever the hell she was. Now she was determined to prove the snide voice wrong. In fact, starting tonight, she might get her chance. This high-class event could open doors, the escape from her life she needed.

  She hurried to the closet and rifled through her clothes. Work outfits, no way. They hardly qualified as clothes. Go casual? No, not for a champagne toast. That left two dresses. A shimmering red slinky thing she reserved for New Year’s Eve, and a little black number she’d worn to her friend’s wedding, in protest of the marriage. She’d been right; the couple split up faster than the latest celebrity disaster wedding.

  Black sheath it was. Topped with a jacket, it would lose its sexiness. Mostly.

  In a quick change rivaling her top speed of outfit switches at work, she almost looked elegant. Except for her bare feet. A shuffle through shoes found only black stilettos. They’d have to do.

  Her large hoop earrings stayed. A personal statement.

  Was it her imagination, or did the shadow people seem to be checking her out?

  Careful, don’t let your ego grow bigger than the door.

  Nervousness fluttered through her as she reached for the door knob. This couldn’t be right. Things like this didn’t happen to her.

  “I have no way to respond, so I’ll simply have to go and find out.” Did you say ‘simply’? What a pompous ass.

  Right. Be yourself. If it was a mistake, they’d send her home again.

  The door closed behind her with a click so loud, it halted her. She turned to stare at it. Don’t go.

  Miss a champagne toast? In her honor? “Oh, I’m going all right.”

  She sauntered down to the limo and stood beside the rear door. The driver got out, a tall man in a black uniform, and reached to open the door. He moved with sharp precision, like a soldier. She peered up at him, straining to see any features. Nothing. Must be the way the light fell behind him, and his cap obstructed his face.

  “Thank you.” No answer, not even a grunt of acknowledgement. Must be trained not to speak. She slid onto the leather seat and sighed with relief. For a horrific moment, she feared some
one, or something, waited for her inside. Don’t be a dweeb.

  The driver got behind the wheel and the limo surged ahead. He didn’t even check for oncoming traffic. She glanced out the rear window. The glass was tinted so darkly, no light shone through.

  Really weird. An odd sensation crawled across her, like fire ants dancing on ice.

  “Where are we going?” she called. In answer, the engine roared, and the car veered sharply left.

  Hadn’t he heard? “How soon will we arrive?”

  The driver reached forward and pressed a button.

  A panel opened in front of her, and a minibar presented itself. “How lovely.” Freaking awesome. “Thank you.” A gasp of delight escaped. Champagne. The good stuff. She filled half a flute and settled back to savor it.

  One sip made her close her eyes in bliss. Oh yes, definitely the good stuff. The kind she’d likely never have again, even at her own wedding. Her inner bitch snorted. Like you’ll ever get married.

  Before she knew it, the flute was drained. Better keep your head. No more. She eyed the bottle longingly. Why the hell not? Might as well avail herself of the goodies, before they realized their mistake and snatched them all away.

  She refilled the flute. To the top. With deft movements, she slipped two of the tiny bottles into her purse. If she had brought a larger bag, she’d have taken them all.

  After two more glasses, the limo might have been sailing. It glided to a stop, and Lily cursed herself. What a stupid ass, arriving half drunk. The flute clattered to the shelf on the minibar, and she reached to steady it.

  The door opened, and a warm glow flooded the interior. She peered out, mouth agape. “Seriously?” The driver gestured toward the huge brownstone, understated yet elegant. Such places cost a bundle, Lily knew that much.

  “Are we in New York City?” Impossible. It would have taken hours, and they hadn’t been on the road more than fifteen minutes. Had they?

  She gathered her purse and stepped onto wobbly stilettos. Whoa, Lily. Get hold of yourself. Mustering all the control she could dredge up, Lily forced herself to take slow steps up each stone stair to the landing.