by SF Benson
“Thanks, man.” I extend my hand.
Hank’s eyes narrow before he accepts the gesture. The tight expression crossing his face lets me know I have nothing to be grateful for. “Don’t thank me yet. I have to report to Council. The leaders, along with the PD, will want to question you. I suggest you get your story straight.”
He speaks into the radio on his shoulder, “I have a 187 in the alley next to the Depot. No backup needed. Send the coroner.”
I walk over to the female djinni, grasp her elbow, and whisper in her ear, “You’re coming with me. No arguments.”
She stares down at my hand. Mixed emotions rise and fall on her gorgeous face. After a minute or two, she nods.
It’s a quiet walk back to the shop. Not once does she open her mouth to say anything. Her silence, as if she’s broken or worse, stirs my heart. Is it stupidity or horniness urging me to help this female?
Once inside I turn on the lights, in case Hank drives by, and point to a station. “Sit there and don’t move.”
She shrugs. “Where can I go?”
Her leather pants squeak on the vinyl seat. I go to check on Alec. Instead of finding my friend, I see a note.
Cash, whatever your friend said over the phone did the trick. I feel a lot better. I’m going home. Stop by the apartment after you close up.
Alec
I tuck the note into my back pocket. I’m glad Edwina worked her charms for the good. Hopefully, it’ll be the last request I make of her services. I’ll call the Mazrels once I’m done with a certain djinni.
I grab a beer from the compact fridge and go back up front. She’s huddled in a chair and flipping through one of my design books.
“See something you like? I could get you started while we talk.”
She slams the book shut. “Why did you vouch for me? I’m a stranger.”
“Let’s fix that.” I sit on the stool and twist off the cap. “Once again, my name’s Cassius Martin. Everyone calls me Cash. I own this place. Next.”
Her features sag as she mumbles, “My name is Qadira. I am the fifth daughter of Al-Qadir.”
“That wasn’t so hard.” I take a swig from the bottle. “Now, why are you in Falls Creek, Qadira?”
“My parents arranged a marriage for me that I’m not ready for.”
What is it with supernaturals and this arranged union bullshit? I witnessed this crap with my sister. In all honesty, I think the consort match pushed her into the arms of that vampire. “Tell me your story.”
Qadira’s forehead puckers. “You want to hear my story?”
“Yeah.” I rub my neck, searching my mind for a reason to hear what she has to say. “I like to get a grasp of what I’m up against.”
Her eyebrows squish together. She frowns and says, “My parents are powerful djinn. Mother is Marid, and Father is a Shaitan.”
“Sorry.” I tap my boot against the yellowed linoleum. “I know nothing about djinn. Either speak plainly or provide a fucking dictionary.”
“Must you swear?”
“Sorry. I don’t filter my words for anyone.” I lift the bottle to my mouth.
“The simple explanation is my father is a demon.”
Okay. That clarifies shit really quick. “Is your father, like, head of the demons for djinn?”
“Exactly. He matched me with another djinni, Shedad from the House of Djonda.”
I draw in a deep breath. There are words I want to say, but they’d be offensive. I exhale loudly. “Is this Shedad the one you were running from?”
“No. My father sent his henchmen for me. He will not listen to reason.” She sighs. “Prince Shedad prefers djinnis not djinniyahs.”
I shrug my shoulders. If their families would let nature take its course, this female wouldn’t be sitting before me. Is that a bad thing? “He’s not the first supernatural to prefer same-sex mates. Just tell your father.”
Despite my issue with Victor, I’m not tolerate of any kind of prejudice. Besides, I don’t have a problem with him being a vampire. My concern is about my sister’s well-being. I thought she wasn’t strong enough to deal with the ridicule from other Lilin. She’s proved me wrong.
Qadira shakes her head. “It is not so easy. If Shedad was a servant, he could anyone marry. But he is royalty. A female he must marry.”
“Your father doesn’t know he’s gay?” I drain the bottle and place it in a nearby trashcan.
“Our parents know but say it’s unheard of for djinn. Plus, it goes against our custom. In order for our lines to continue, a marriage between our houses must take place.”
Just my luck to find a bona fide damsel in distress. This shit Qadira’s describing can get ugly real fast. It’s a situation I shouldn’t get involved in, but I like trouble. Besides, there’s something about her. I’m gonna hate myself in the morning, but I ask any way, “Do you have some place to stay?”
She hesitates for a moment. “The next town over is an abandoned house.”
“The one near the club?”
Qadira nods.
“That’s not gonna work.” I jerk my chin toward her wrists. “Those things won’t let you leave town without alerting Council and the police. Give me a minute. Let me make a call.”
I also say a prayer as I find Kelsie’s number. She’s been out of the country for the last six months. Last time I heard from her, she was in Paris. It’s three a.m. there.
“Cash?” My sister’s voice sounds drained. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I lie. “I need to use Victor’s house for a few days.”
“You’re not planning a wild party, are you? Victor will have a fit if you trash his place,” Kelsie admonishes.
“Listen, I’m not gonna trash it. I promise.” My eyes drift over to Qadira. “I have a friend who needs somewhere to stay. You know how Mom feels about strangers in the house.”
“So, you are planning a party. Is this one of those incubi celebrations?”
I drop my head and close my eyes. My little sister is well aware of my reputation. Unfortunately, I don’t think the djinniyah will want to party. “This isn’t a celebration, Kels. I promise you there will be no festivities.”
Kelsie sighs. “Okay. There had better not be. The key’s behind a loose brick to the right of the front door.”
“Thanks, sis.” I disconnect the call and realize shit just got weird.
Talk about being out of my element. I don’t believe I’ve ever helped an unrelated female and not received something in return. Well, there’s this one woman I bankroll. She’s a good kid working the pole at the Wild Stallion. I think she deserves a better life, so I’ve started an anonymous scholarship. Soon her college education will be funded, and she won’t have to strip anymore. But I didn’t do it because she smiles like sunshine. Delia satisfies my needs regularly.
As far as the djinniyah goes, helping her is a thankless proposition. I might get a headache or a serious case of blue balls, but nothing more. Something deep down won’t let me not help her. And that bothers the shit out of me.
I check that the antiquated autoclave is on. Last time I forgot to double-check it, the piece of shit didn’t work. Fucked up my whole morning. I had to hand clean all my equipment before starting on my first client.
“Come on,” I say to Qadira. She steps in front of me, and I lock the door. I walk toward my Ducati, parked at the curb, with her heels clicking against the sidewalk behind me.
Suddenly the sound stops. I whirl around to see Qadira with her hands planted on her curvy hips. She cocks her head to the side, and her cocoa-brown hair falls over a shoulder. “You expect me to ride on that?”
“Yeah, I do.” I straddle the bike and pass her a helmet. “I also expect you to wear this and not complain.”
Her voice turns caustic. “Is there another way to get there?”
I pinch my lips together and stare into the dark sky. No male, human or supernatural, should deal
with this much attitude. I should have left her alone when I had the chance.
Yeah, right. If given the opportunity, you’d do it again.
I exhale loudly. “Listen, there’s no time for this. We need to leave.”
“I am not riding on that contraption,” she points out.
“You need a place to stay. This is how we get there. It doesn’t look like you can zap us out of here. So, get your ass on the bike. I’m not saying it again.”
She mumbles something unintelligible as she edges closer, takes the helmet from me, and lifts her leg over the seat.
“I suggest you hold on tight,” I throw the words over my shoulder before I twist the throttle. With this beautiful creature behind me, this would be one hard ride.
I navigate my bike through Falls Creek’s winding roads and head into the hills. The wind howls around us, but I don’t notice the chill with Qadira’s hot shape pressing against my backside. She’s driving me mad. My entire body tingles, and all I can think about is how her thighs grip me. I’m surprised I didn’t crash into a tree imagining this female in my bed.
In time, the landscape of modest homes with small yards gives way to imposing, large properties. The smell of hickory burning fills the air. I pull onto a quiet street with a few scattered houses. We stop in front of a red brick Victorian with a front and side porch. I notice a driveway and park behind the dwelling.
Qadira’s heels clicking on the concrete is the only sound in the too-quiet neighborhood. We climb the stairs—our footsteps pound the creaky stairs. I recall the conversation with Kelsie and go to the door. Rubbing my fingers over the rough bricks, one stone rocks back and forth. I wiggle it free from the wall and find the spare key.
“Who does this house belong to?” Her breath fans across my ear.
I clutch the key tight in my palm. This female will undo me. “My sister and her,” I gulp, “fiancé.”
Qadira answers with a laugh. Then, she says, “I take it you don’t like her fiancé.”
“Understatement.” I turn the knob and push the door open.
It’s been a while since I was in Victor’s house. The last time I was here, he had just turned Kelsie. She called me when her warring supernatural needs overwhelmed her. Back then, the place was empty—just a sofa, a piano, a bench, and a few lamps occupied the living room. Now touches of my sister—a pair of comfy, dark red chairs and antique wooden tables—grace the place. A knitted throw hanging over the back of the sofa brings a smile to my face. All the comforts of home. Kelsie style.
I fling my keys on a table and place my helmet next to them. “Bedrooms and bathrooms are upstairs. I’ll have to check the kitchen for food. You do eat, right?”
“Yes, djinn eat food. Don’t worry. I can…” Qadira’s voice trails off as she looks at her wrists. Her shoulders droop. “I guess I’ll need your help after all.”
“How ‘bout pizza?”
She shrugs. “Fine. Can I freshen up first?”
I’d forgotten about her blood-stained clothes. There’s no way Kelsie’s slim-fitting outfits will accommodate Qadira’s curves. I should call Edwina, but the she-vamp might come with her own dose of jealous attitude.
“My sister’s room is the only girly one up there. You can wear whatever you find that fits.”
Qadira nods and ascends the steps.
I pull out my phone and sit on the sofa. First, I call a local pizzeria and place an order. Next, I call Alec.
“Hello?”
“Dante? Why are you answering your brother’s phone?”
“Dude can’t stay awake. Alec came home and went straight to bed. He told me to leave him alone. What happened to him?”
I ignore his question for a minute. I ask, “Do you remember anything odd about the girls from last night?”
Dante pauses for a beat or two. “I got a strange signature off one of them.”
“Signature? Do you mean an aura?”
“Nope. I felt like she was hiding something, but I couldn’t figure it out.”
I rub my forehead. “One girl was a trickster’s niece. I have no idea if she was a pure, but she may have had trickster tendencies.”
“Cash, we had no idea.” Dante’s voice rises. “The one with the funky signature was with Alec.”
“Calm down, Dante. Your brother came to see me earlier today. Said that his dreams were being haunted. I found out about the trickster from Hank,” I lie.
“So, what happened to Alec? Why can’t he stay awake?”
“I know someone. She gave Alec a little sleeping spell. He’ll be better tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Dante sounds deflated for a moment. Then, a charge of excitement comes through his words. “You coming through tonight?”
“Can’t.” My mind travels to the female rummaging upstairs. “I’ve gotta little problem to handle. Check in with me tomorrow. I’ll be at the shop in the morning.”
“Cool. Well, go deal with your issue.” The words rush from his lips. Dante, never an incubus to stay idle for long, perks up and announces, “I’m hanging with Colt and Rocco tonight.”
“Have fun.”
I disconnect and nearly drop the phone. Qadira stands in front of me wearing nothing but an oversized, white T-shirt. The lightweight fabric doesn’t hide a thing. My eyes slide up from her slender ankles, over her golden shapely calves and supple thighs, and stop at the edge of the hem. Mercy. I lift my gaze and take in her angelic face.
Her curves bend and trap my mind. No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop staring at her. Heat settles in my groin.
Thank Siren, the doorbell rings. I think I’m saved until I glance down at my crotch. Oh shit! There’s no way I can stand up in front of Qadira.
“Can you get us some plates?” I say to her. “Kitchen’s in the rear of the house.”
“Of course.” A smile sneaks across her face. “Perhaps you should do some adjusting before answering the door? You might scare the delivery person, but then again, he might be what you ordered.”
Busted.
I wait for her to walk out of the room, adjust myself, and then go to the door. My stomach growls at the savory, greasy smell of pepperoni, cheese, and mushrooms. I give the kid a fifty, too much even with a tip.
He pulls out a wad to count out my change.
“Keep it,” I tell him and start to close the door.
“Thanks, man,” he says and quickly pockets the generous tip.
Some things, like a certain female, are more important than money. Despite my lecherous thoughts and Qadira’s assessment, I wouldn’t order a skinny, pimply faced high schooler. I do have some standards.
I scratch my head and consider calling Dante back. A night of debauchery is the only way to calm my growing appetite for the female djinni in the kitchen.
After eating a couple of pizza slices, I’m worse off. Being around Qadira is hammering my emotions. I place a call to Dante. Unfortunately, it goes straight to voicemail. I hang up and call Rocco. Wrong move.
“Hey, Cash.” Rocco slurs his words.
He must have started drinking hours ago. Female laughter and music throbs in the background. I’m a little late to the party. “Sounds like you’re having a good time.”
“Hell, yeah,” he shouts into the phone. “Dante hooked us up with some babes from out of state.”
As much as I want to join them, I’m nobody’s fifth wheel. “Have a good night. See ya tomorrow.”
It’s times like this when I call my pitch-hitter. Edwina will never leave me hanging.
What in the name of Allah have I gotten myself into? Riding on a motorcycle with a demon built for seduction is so not my thing. Thank the heavens no one saw me clinging to him as if my very life relied upon it. What is it with Lilin and their love of things shiny?
My mother once told me spirits of the night can be flighty and will vex your composure. I think she might be right. This particular incubus will try every bit
of patience I might have, and I am not known for tolerance.
Cash assumed I did not know of his discomfort on his bike. It would have been difficult for anyone, human or supernatural, not to have noticed. I think it was a fitting punishment for a man-whore. Incubi should be grateful they do not suffer disease like humans.
Of course, I could have made things easier for him. Drop all the attitude. Pressing myself against his backside was not a necessity. Unfortunately for him, I have too much of my mother in me. She is a blue djinn with a taste for humor. Mother enjoys pushing individuals beyond their comfort zone. Another inherited quality. It all comes down to how much fun I can have.
It’s also why I appeared in front of the incubus wearing nothing but a T-shirt. His discomfort grew and became unbearable. So much so he could not stand. I do admit he intrigues me. There is something drawing me to the young demon. It’s not attraction, Allah forbid. I left home to avoid such entanglements. I’m not ready to tie myself to anyone, especially with a creature who does all his thinking below the waist.
Cash comes into the kitchen wearing his jacket.
“Are you going somewhere?” I ask.
He pockets his phone and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. I’ll be back in the morning. Do you need anything?”
What could an incubus do for me? He cannot recreate the comforts of my home—vibrant-colored silks, overstuffed pillows, exotic plants, mouth-watering treats, and servants. I say absently, “No. I’m fine.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “You sure? I can make a phone call. Get whatever you want.”
I walk away and place our dishes in the sink. How do humans handle this task by hand? It’s a new, unwelcome experience for me—doing things without use of my powers.
Cash comes up beside me, and his hand grazes mine. A spark, like lightning hitting the ground, shoots across my skin. The sensation is unnerving, raw, and too intense. My feet want to flee, but something inside me wishes for more.
What in the name of Iblis is going on?
His voice interrupts my thoughts. “Leave them. I’ll take care of it when I come back.”
