by Sidney Ayers
Rafael tightened his grip, the silver etching along the hilt digging into his palm. “Why?”
“I’m a connoisseur of fine swords. Especially seventeenth-century Ottoman sabers.” Squeaky smiled. “Funny, I always pegged you for a Frenchie.”
Rafael shrugged. “And I thought you were Aztec, not Italian.”
“Oh, a wise guy, are ya.” Lounging against the wall, Squeaky scratched his ape chin and chuckled. “There may be hope for you yet.” He gazed at the sword, his tongue wagging.
With a deep breath, Rafael unsheathed the weapon. The silver glinted in the glow of the tapers hanging on the wall. Even though the sword had been his for over four centuries, he never stopped marveling at its beauty. Carved dragons and their intricate breaths of fire wrapped around the hilt and vined their way down the blade. Sapphires along with rubies dotted their eyes and emeralds sprinkled along their spines. Nothing matched its exquisiteness. Save for that seductive swirl of emerald and amber that flashed in Lucy’s eyes.
Desire flooded his body. Rafael clenched his teeth. This obsession was unhealthy. He’d lost focus. He’d lost his edge. A loud grumble formed in his throat. He was going soft.
“Ahem!” Squeaky coughed out. “Earth to Rafe.” He scratched his hairy chin. “Oh yeah. We aren’t on Earth. Limbo to Rafe. Come in, Rafe.”
Shaking his head, Rafael leaned against the hall’s gilt wall. Too much gold for his taste.
With reluctance, he handed it to the imp. If it got the thing to shut up, he’d let it handle all his weapons.
“The sword was a gift from my Turkish trainer.” Right before Nic and he traveled to Roanoke. The first strike. Thanks to Lamia and her bloodlust for children, his first assignment had been a failure. Nic had since proven himself. Rafael, however—the strikes were constantly against him.
The watch in his left pocket burned a hole in his jacket and singed his skin. Not literally, but it might as well have. He stiffened. Don’t reflect on the second strike. Not now.
With a quick parry and thrust, Squeaky danced back and forth. Was that a flourish?
“En garde!” Squeaky lunged forward.
What the bloody hell? Rafael gazed down at his white shirt, now emblazoned with three slashes in the shape of a Z. Rafael grumbled. “My sister gave me this shirt.”
“Your sister would tell you to remove the stick from your ass, Rafe.”
Rafael jerked his head to lock gazes with Nic. Swiping a hand through his sandy blond hair, he shook his head.
“She’d do no such thing. We think alike.”
Nic snorted. “How well you know your sister.” His expression hardened. “I have news, by the way.”
“Tell. Me. Now.” From the sternness of his friend’s gaze, it wasn’t good. His stomach roiled and his head spun. The longer Nic waited, the more anxious he became.
Scratching his chin, Nic drew in a deep, calculated breath. He tugged on his ceremonial tunic, the red eagle emblazoned on his chest. “We know where they’re keeping Coby.” He clenched and unclenched his fists. “It doesn’t look good.”
“Why? Has she been thrown in the pit?” Rafael cringed at his question. If that were the case, all hope for his sister was lost. Icy shards raced through his blood.
Nic shook his head. “Quite the opposite, my friend.” He paced the expansive marble. “I know how you prefer to stand to receive your news, so I won’t beat around the bush.” He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “Your sister appears to be a welcome guest in Belial’s palace.”
Welcome guest? Coby had given in to that evil monster? He couldn’t believe his ears. He gritted his teeth and his jaw locked. While he was strutting around Earth chasing a woman he couldn’t have, his sister had been tortured so much that she’d turned to the dark. Beautiful Coby, the one who kept him balanced? Not bloody likely. He wouldn’t give up hope. Not yet. Belial would pay.
***
After two haircuts and one capping, Lucy had time to relax. Taking a bite of her turkey club sandwich, she leaned back in her office chair and stretched her legs. The bland turkey and burnt bacon wasn’t much, but it would do. Her tastes had matured.
A hot plate of Rafe, anyone?
Lucy shook her head. She wasn’t sharing him with anyone.
Glancing at the computer clock, she sighed. Five after two. Where in the hell were Frankie and Kalli? They should’ve come back by now. Frankie’s appointment was due to arrive any moment.
The doorbell chimed. Like now?
Just what she needed. An irate customer on top of her uncontrollable succubus powers. And no Kalli to teach her how to reign them in. Hopefully, this protection shield she and Rafe had put up was strong enough. Otherwise, she’d be S-O-L.
Gazing down at her half-eaten sandwich, she sucked in a breath. She just wanted a few minutes to herself to think. Her world was changing. She was changing. Energy she never knew existed ripped through her body. For the first time in five years, she was scared. Was her life a lie? Was she good or evil? She had so many questions. But only one truly plagued her.
If she was a sex demon, who was her father?
She shuddered. Obviously not Dr. Louis Gregory, orthopedic surgeon.
“Gerardo can handle one simple customer.”
Pushing her sandwich away, she turned her attention back to the computer and clicked her mouse. What better way to pass the time away than an über-boring game of solitaire?
She aimed the mouse pointer at the ace of spades, letting it pop to the top right of the screen. Yawn. A seven of hearts here, a ten of clubs there. She moved a king of diamonds over and revealed another ace. Yippee! She prepared to click the card.
“Lucy!” Gerardo burst into the office, a wide, excited smile spread across his face. “There’s this hunky guy up front looking for you!”
Gerardo’s gaze floated to the ceiling and his breath hitched. Absolutely comical. Never a dull moment at Luscious Locks where Frankie and Gerardo were concerned. Now it was rubbing off on her. Case in point: Exploding shampoo bowls and demonic chests. Yee haw!
“Me?” Maybe Rafe’s and Kalli’s energy was wearing off. She hoped not! Why, oh why, couldn’t Kalli have given her lessons before she went traipsing off with Frankie? She didn’t like it one bit. Rafe wouldn’t either. Something didn’t add up.
“Yup!” He clapped his hands excitedly and jumped up and down like a giddy schoolgirl—sans the plaid skirt and stockings, thank goodness. “And he asked for you by name.” He let out a dramatic sigh. “Dios mío, Lucy. You’re one lucky chica.”
Hardly. Being an overactive sex demon didn’t necessarily exude luck—unless you were into that freaky shit. She flashed Gerardo a sidelong glance. Bedecked in a magenta feathered sleeveless shirt, he lounged against the doorjamb in his black leather skinny jeans. Now there was someone who got freaky with the best of them. Oh, the stories she could tell. Imagine that, a Mexican who couldn’t hold his tequila.
“Men love me. What can I say?” Shrugging, she pulled herself from the desk. Not that she wanted the love. Not if it was as obsessive as it was earlier this morning. She saw how it affected Frankie and Gerardo. No, thank you! Being an object of one man’s desires was good enough for her. She let out a long sigh of hope. Hope? Where’d that come from?
“Love is an understatement,” Gerardo sauntered to the computer and flung himself into the chair. With a dramatic sashay, he swiveled around. “They adore you.”
His dark brown eyes brightened and he waggled his brows. Not that expression! What now? “Spill it, Gerardo.”
“Uhh…” He threw his hands up in exasperation. “¡Dios! I think he’s with the modeling agency I sort of… sent your photo to.”
Ugh! She knew he was up to no good, and now she had to run damage control. She blew out a long breath. “When will you learn?”
Gerardo shrugged. “I don’t know. You’d be a great model, Lucy.” He heaved a sigh, his gaze all of a sudden somber. “I told you that chest was bad.”
&nbs
p; “Muy malvado, right?” Maybe she was wrong. Sure there was a touch of evil in it, but she still sensed good. Weird.
Gerardo nodded and crossed his arms over his flamboyant sequins. “Too late now,” he said with a click of a mouse. “You have more important things than being on the cover of Vogue. I’ll let you give Mr. Bell the bad news.”
“Thanks Ger. I really appreciate it.”
Gerardo smiled, his white teeth sparkling. “Any time, chica.”
She blew him a kiss and headed out of the office. One thing she appreciated about Gerardo—even when he was right, he never rubbed it in someone’s face. If what Rafe and Kalli said was true, she had just unleashed a legion of demons on Earth. Not comforting at all. On the upside, if what the inscription said was true, she could control them too. Maybe it was as simple as just commanding them back in the box? Could it be that easy? She hoped so. Then again, nothing in life was ever simple.
There she went again, her inner pessimist—surgically implanted by her mom and her crazy family. It was time to show the Jennings family she was worthy of something. Saving the world was as good as anything.
She made her way down the hall, the strong scent of permanent solution wafting in the air. Stronger than usual, like someone dropped a ton of rotten eggs on the doorstep. Had Frankie and Kalli returned with some new industrial strength brand? Hopefully not! She wanted to keep customers, not drive them away.
There weren’t any perms scheduled, though. The odor drifted away, and the cloying scent of cinnamon assailing her nose instead. She didn’t know what was worse, the acidic burn of the solution or the overly heady aroma of spices.
Rubbing her nose, she headed into the shampoo area and scanned the shop. Her gaze drifted toward the waiting area. At the front desk stood an angel. She’d never seen someone so golden. Wavy blond curls framed his tan face. A wide smile spread across his face, revealing pristine white teeth. He was everything Rafe wasn’t. Bright and vibrant, where Rafe was dark and brooding. His amber eyes sparked bright and beckoning.
“You must be Lucia Gregory?” he asked, his voice smooth as melted butter. She couldn’t place his accent, but it was sexy just the same. “You don’t mind me visiting you at work, do you?”
She arched a brow. “Depends on the reason for the visit, Mr.…”
“Bell. Jon Bell.”
“I don’t recognize your name, Mr. Bell.” It was best to keep things formal. After all, it appeared to be a business call and she still wasn’t sure of this man. Besides that, he was too hot for his own good. And in her experience, sometimes the hottest guys were the most trouble. She took cautious steps toward the golden god wannabe.
Mr. Bell smiled, stuck his hand in his designer suit, and flipped out a card. With a flourish, he handed it to her. Wow, he was smooth. Too smooth. “Here’s my card.”
Glancing down at the ornate script, she scratched her head. “Jonathan Bell, River City Herald.” A newspaper reporter? “You want to write an article about us?”
Mr. Bell flashed that expert smile again. He was a man who got what he wanted. She had news for him. He never met Lucia Anne Gregory.
“I want to write a feature on local beauty spas and their offerings. Yours came highly recommended.” He brushed his golden waves from his cheek. “I was in the area and decided to introduce myself.” He drew out each of his words on a wispy breath and extended his hand to her.
He smiled, his paler than pale blue eyes swirling. Unnatural and creepy. Then her head buzzed. Tingles filled her body. She felt this way earlier. When Kalli demonstrated enrapturement. Alertness zinged inside. Demon!
Another demon? And from the creepy vibes he gave off, he wasn’t one of the good guys. So much for protection. She should have gone to get the foils. So that’s why Kalli wanted to go! She couldn’t believe it!
Her brain kicked into overdrive. “So, Mr. Bell, would you like a tour? Perhaps a demonstration?” she took extra care to pronounce the word correctly. Couldn’t have this fiend too cautious.
“Demonstration?”
She picked up the new silver sheers and twirled them in her fingers, a huge grin on her lips. “You know, a haircut?” She pointed to the plaque hanging at her station. “I’m a master stylist.”
Mr. Bell scratched his hairless chin, his pale eyes intense. “I happen to like my hair, Lucy. You don’t mind me calling you Lucy, do you?”
“Are you my friend, Mr. Bell?” He irritated her more as each minute ticked by. At the shake of his head, she snorted. “Then I mind.”
He leaned in, his breath hot against her skin. The pungent spice mingling with rotten eggs wreaked havoc on her nose. Her stomach roiled. “I hoped we could become more than friends.” A long fingertip scraped along her cheek. Her body shuddered, revulsion gurgling through her veins. Who in the hell did he think he was? She had to act—and fast!
Gripping the shiny new scissors behind her back, she raised her chin. “You’ve overstayed your invitation, Mr. Bell.” Hah! Beat that, demon boy! Now he had to leave.
“Invitation?” The demon roared with laughter. “Those silly rules don’t work with true demons, Lucia.” The hiss of his words stung her ear. He yanked her against him, his pale blue eyes swirling into dark pools. His fingernails elongated, digging into her back. “Don’t trust the Paladins. They’re your enemy.”
The demonic douche bag lashed out his forked tongue and traced it along her cheek as his clawed fingertips traced against her ass. Seduction wasn’t his forte. Her stomach roiled and heaved.
“Let me go!” Still maintaining a tight grip on the shears, she wrenched her arm from his grasp. She raised her arm and arced down, slicing his chest. A circle of bright red marred his pristine shirt.
“We’ll be so good together. You and I.” He grabbed her wrist and squeezed, plucking the scissors from her entrapped hand. Examining the weapon, he clucked his tongue. “Silver. How very creative. You’ll need a bigger pair of scissors to incapacitate me, my dear Lucy.”
So this freak offered her a challenge? Lucy wasn’t one to refuse. “There’s more where that came from, a-hole.” She probably wouldn’t win points for snazzy comebacks with that one, but considering the circumstances it still was pretty good.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes really.” She jumped high in the air, higher than humanly possible. A-freaking-mazing. Spinning in a complete three-sixty, she kicked her leg high and roundhoused the offending demon in the chest. The force of the blow sent him staggering back. She grabbed the sharpened curling iron, gripping it like a wooden stake in a cheesy vampire movie. Alertness flooded her entire body.
In a flash, he righted himself and grabbed her hair, jerking her toward him. “Do not fight me, Lucy. I want to help you.”
Help her? Yeah right. “What a nice way of helping,” she said, curling iron at the ready.
Jon, if that was even his real name, snaked his arm tighter around her, his hot, moist breath creeping along her ear. If he thought he knew how to woo a woman, he was wrong.
“Put the curling iron down, Lucy.” He fisted her hair, yanking her head up to meet his soulless gaze. Arrogant bastard. And here she thought Rafe was an asshole. He was an angel compared to this jackass.
He sneered, sharp fangs poking from his mouth. With a hiss, he angled her head to bare her neck. She had no choice but lower the curling iron. She loosened her grip, the iron hitting the floor with a loud clang.
“I wanted to help you, Lucy, but you’ve left me no choice.” He inched his mouth down to her neck.
She shivered with utter revulsion. So this was where her life had taken her? She would die at the hands of a demon not twenty-four hours after learning she was a succubus? Not what she wanted in life. Then the proverbial anvil hit. She wanted to live. She wanted to prove herself. She wanted to save the world.
Making a quick upward thrust, her knee connected with the demon’s groin. Howling in pain he doubled over, throwing her to the floor. With a loud crack, her head slammed a
gainst the tile. Stars danced in her eyes and the room floated around her. Fear and adrenaline warred inside her. One part of wanted to cower and hide, the other part wanted to fight. To live. The curling iron had to be nearby. With frenetic abandon, she grabbed for anything she could find.
Jon loomed over her, fully recovered from his ordeal. Peals of sick sardonic laughter boomed from his mouth. The heel of his designer shoe came crashing down on her fingers, grinding into her knuckles. Pain ripped through her fingers up into her wrist. She bit back the tears. She wouldn’t show this bastard weakness.
“Looks like I’ve won, Lucy.”
A gust of wind whipped through the salon, sending bells jangling.
“No, Belial. You’ve lost this time.” The whiny voice she complained about only two days prior was now music to her ears.
An ax sailed through the air, thrown in an arc, with expert precision. A startled gasp gurgled in the demon’s throat. He fell on top of Lucy and vanished in a poof of dust. Only the silver ax remained.
It had to be her imagination. Wrenching herself from the ground as she brushed demon dust from her sweater, she glanced up. There stood Mrs. Gunderson in the entrance with sword in hand.
Chapter 12
“Mrs. Gunderson?”
Lucy shook her head and rubbed her eyes. She had to be imagining the stout woman whose ankles put an elephant to shame standing there holding a sword like a knight preparing for battle. Her poised, confident stance would give a fencing champion a run for his money.
Mrs. Gunderson? Yeah right! Maybe the shock from having the wind knocked out of her had made her delirious.
The woman shrugged and sheathed her sword in the scabbard strapped to her back. “Only when I’m in your shop, my dear.” Her voice, once high and whiney, morphed into deep and seductive tones. Damn these demons with their sexy sultry voices. Lucy might’ve been part demon, but her voice didn’t hold a candle to Mrs. Gunderson’s, or Kalli’s for that matter.
“I suppose your name isn’t Mrs. Gunderson, either?”
