20 Shades of Shifters: A Paranormal Romance Collection

by Demelza Carlton

“I’m trying,” I said, with all the genuineness I could summon in my voice. I’d have to keep the irony of her statement to myself. When she ended up in the pit…then we’d see how she cried.

  Laila turned and stormed away.

  “Sorry I ruined the game, guys,” I said, standing and brushing myself off, giving everyone a big smile, especially Gabe. “But I should go mingle.”

  “Okay,” said Johnathan, obviously looking a bit dejected. “Sorry, Grace. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Yeah,” said Gabe, shaking his head. “She was being a jerk, you don’t need to go. Really. C’mon.”

  I gave him a little waggle of my fingers and stepped back. “See ya later, losers,” I said, having absolutely no intention of doing that at all, wandering off into the party to seek out my prey.

  “Wait,” called Gabe from behind me.

  I ignored him. I needed to know what Damien knew, bring him into the fold, to score some brownie points with the pit lords, so that I could at least find out what Asmodeus knew so I could go home.

  Time to get back into Hell’s good books.

  Green, Expensive Drinks

  Backyard

  Damien’s House

  New Jersey

  I left the game area and wandered through Damien’s house, back to the bar. Apparently during the seven minutes I’d spent “bobbing for apples” most of the guests had ducked out. I wasn’t sure why—the music kept playing, and Damien’s bar wasn’t likely to run out of booze, but for some reason things were getting remarkably quiet.

  Being around the remaining college kids—some of which were completely unconscious—refocused me on my task at hand. Find Damien. Get him to trust me, or at the very least, know me. Biblically or otherwise. Hell needed him for leverage, and I needed Hell to let me back in, so doing them a favour made sense.

  I wanted to go home.

  Carefully stepping over a freshly broken bottle nobody had bothered to clean up, I walked back out the back, to the water and the boat. Damien was wiping down the bar, and what was left of the party was seeming to be wrapping up. Just a few groups of randoms off in their little groups, finishing their drinks or loudly arguing about things. Snippets of conversations drifted toward me as my demonic senses adjusted to the quieter outside and the cool, night air.

  “Hey, I saw The Shape of Water, and believe me, that fish guy was hot as fuck.”

  I tuned in to another voice. “No no no, see, it’s rat poison. It’s safe to eat. It kills rats, not people.”

  “Kill two birds with one stone,” grumbled someone else. “Such a stupid saying. Is there a stone shortage I never knew about? Jeez. Just use two stones. Most of the Earth is littered with them.”

  Nothing interesting. Nothing I needed.

  “Hey,” came a voice, directed at me, drifting from the bar. Damien gave me a broad wave, still wearing his aviator glasses, grinning like some kind of game show host. “Here for one last drink?”

  “That’s right,” I said, sidling up to the bar, putting just a little bit of swing into my hips as I did. “I don’t really know anyone, so I’m kind of a social butterfly right now.” A forced, ditzy giggle seemed like the best thing I could do so I let one out. “I don’t know anyone here, so I’m just wandering.”

  “Neat,” said Damien, laying his hands out on the bar just like someone out of the movies. I could tell he was eyeing me off. Checking me out. Studying my body, drinking it in. “Well, you know me now, right?”

  Ding. The chime rang in my head again, signalling another step of my task was complete. This was definitely the target. “Right,” I said, sliding myself onto one of the bar stools. “I’m Grace.”

  “Damien Anderson.” His inflection twisted on his last name, as though that was supposed to impress me. “My folks own this place.”

  A whiff of his scent drifted toward me, but it was overpowered by his cologne. I couldn’t get a reading. “Nice glasses,” I said, smiling ever so demurely at him. “You like to fly?”

  “Hell yeah,” said Damien, a cheesy grin spreading over his face as he pulled up his glasses and, now rather brazenly and openly, eyed me off. “My mum owns a Piper Warrior that I love to take out for a spin sometimes. And, of course, there’s the boat.”

  I wasn’t sure how true that was, but of course I wasn’t going to question it. “That’s so amazing,” I said, letting a little dopey edge creep into my voice, like every word he was saying was entrancing. “I love guys who can fly.”

  “Lemme get you a drink,” he said, shooting little finger guns as he moved away from me, disappearing into the pantry.

  “So hey,” said Gabe, slipping into a seat beside me. His face was still flushed. “Uhh…so, can we talk about what just happened?”

  “What happens in the closet stays in the closet,” I said, giving him a cold shoulder. I didn’t need him anymore. “I thought I made that clear.”

  “I don’t think it was a closet,” he said.

  Gah. He was so annoying now. “Locker. Whatever. I’m busy, piss off.”

  Gabe sighed beside me. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine. Talking to Damien.” I wheeled about on the stool. “Wait, isn’t that what you’re here to do, anyway?”

  “Something like that,” he said, but threw me an apologetic smile. “But when he’s got the time. It’s not urgent.”

  Right, whatever. I made a little shooing motion. “Okay. Me first. Get.”

  Gabe, with obvious reluctance, stood up. “Long as you’re fine, I won’t bother you again.” And with that, he turned and headed back to the party. To his credit, he didn’t look back even once.

  Damien returned, carrying a bottle of green liquid which I could smell was both expensive and strong. “Check this out,” he said, casually snagging a shot glass and pouring some of the strange, sweet-but-strong liquid into it. “I give this to all the hot girls. They love it.”

  See, this was my kind of guy. Large, confident, and in charge. Kind of a jerk, but also kind of an alpha-type, too. I snatched up the drink, threw back my head, and downed it.

  A demon’s senses were higher than a humans. The smell of it was rich and, as I suspected, strong—but it was exotic, strange tasting, like nothing I’d ever seen or heard of before. Something artificial. Lead contamination, maybe? Or maybe something from the bottle? Regardless, it was strong enough to kick like a mule.

  Either way, I didn’t care. As I’d said to Asmodeus, poisons didn’t affect demons. Alcohol counted. No matter how much of this shit Damien tried to feed me to ‘loosen me up’, it wouldn’t matter. A demon’s mind was always razor sharp.

  “Wow,” I said, smacking my lips and leaning a little over the bar, Damien’s cologne stinging my nostrils worse than the damn drink did. “That’s strong.”

  “Mmm,” he said, nodding. “My folks bring it in from Abu Dhabi, when he comes back from business.”

  Well now, wasn’t he just a font of information. “Tell me more about Abu Dhabi,” I purred, leaning a little more over the counter, flashing plenty of teeth. “I’m super interested in that.”

  Cythera

  Backyard

  Damien’s House

  New Jersey

  “What do you wanna know?” asked Damien, replacing the stopper on the bottle, grinning at me like a very happy boy indeed. “I’ve been to Abu Dhabi a few times, it’s okay I guess, if you like the heat.”

  “I come from a real hot place,” I said, returning his grin in kind. “So I love it when the mercury soars.”

  “Florida?”

  “Close.” I casually slid the shot glass back toward him. “Top me up, boy.”

  Damien’s grin faded a little as he looked down at it. “Maybe something else,” he said, “that stuff is strong.”

  “Don’t be a pussy,” I said. “It was good.”

  “It’s also expensive,” said Damien, in a tone which suggested this wasn’t a discussion, but also…hinted at something else I couldn’
t quite put my finger on. “But if you want something else nice, we got plenty of other stuff. You like tequila? Vermouth?”

  Eh. I wanted more of that green shit, but I didn’t want to piss him off. “Tequila is fine,” I said, giving my best smile. “So. Your folks. What kind of stuff do they do in Abu Dhabi?”

  He narrowed his eyes at me, slightly suspiciously, but then reached for a bottle of light brown liquid and unscrewed its lid. “It’s just my mum,” he said. “Just signing contracts and making deals, selling guns and stuff. Sometimes it’s other stuff.”

  Guns could be bought anywhere. It was the other stuff I was curious about. I snatched up the tequila, throwing it down my throat, but carefully making sure to spill a little down my top. “Hah,” I said, giggling inanely. “Oopsie. I’m so clumsy.”

  “Yeah,” said Damien, a strange edge to his tone. He dipped his shades and then, with a smile, nodded to the boat. “Wanna check out the boat? We actually bought it in Abu Dhabi and had it sailed all the way here.”

  “That’s a long way,” I said, pushing off the stool and effecting a playful little wobble. “Oopsie.”

  Damien lifted up a part of the bar, stepping out from behind it. He guided me toward the miniature pier his family had, to the boat moored there. As we got closer I could see it was really more of a rich man’s small yacht; an 80 foot long ship at least, with multiple decks, plenty of glass, shaped sleek and narrow like an arrow. The hull was white with gold trim and it had shiny steel railings. It had two wind generators on the back that spun in the gentle breeze, and the top deck was bristling with radars. Inside, through the glow of lit TVs, I could see expensive looking leather couches and a much smaller version of the bar at Damien’s house.

  Lucifer’s Teeth, that thing would have cost a mint.

  “It’s a Lazzara, eighty foot version,” said Damien, with no small amount of pride. “My mum calls it the Cythera. Great for picking up chicks.” He winked at me. “Or having them pick up you.”

  Hah. “Nice,” I said, blowing out a low whistle.

  “Yeah, it’s a nice boat. If you want to know what it’s like to own a boat, stand in a cold shower and rip up hundred dollar bills.” Damien smirked. “That’s what mum says anyway.”

  “Mmm. I bet you drive it like a grandpa.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Wow, are women always so bitchy wherever you’re from—where did you say it was again?”

  Bitchy? That was…surprisingly forthright, but I kept my smile up. “I didn’t. But…well, I spent a few years in Sydney. Picked up an accent. Can’t shake it. Makes me spell everything funny too. Too many vowels.”

  Damien laughed and casually threw his arm around my shoulder. “A’right, whatever. Well, you wanna go on my boat, right?”

  “Hell yeah,” I said, leaning up against him and following him down the creaking, bobbing pier, toward the fancy boat tied up at the end. I could…sense, really, Gabe watching us as we walked, but I tried to push that out of my head. I had a job to do.

  Damien grabbed hold of the railing and pulled himself onto the front of the Cythera, extending his hand down to me.

  I took it, and climbed up after him, taking a moment to steady myself on the moving ground. Damien gave me a swat on the backside as he moved past me, toward bow of the ship, unhooking the rope and pulling it back aboard. The yacht started to aimlessly drift away from the pier. “Girl, did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” he asked, resting a foot on the railing and subtly puffing out his chest.

  Cute. And ironic. “You think I’m an angel?” I asked, putting on my best smile. “That’s so sweet. But aren’t you worried about leaving the party?”

  “Nah, it’ll be fine. Most everyone’s gone home by now.” He walked past me, to the door that led into the superstructure and the comfortable couches within, beckoning me to follow. I did so.

  Inside the yacht’s interior, soft music played through a series of speakers embedded in the ceiling. Low, soft lights lit the compartment, with the helmsmen’s instruments at the front and a huge widescreen TV at the back.

  “Check this out.” Damien moved over to the wheel, touching a few of the instrument panels and then turning the key. The engine roared to life and, with casual ease that showed he’d done this before, he steered the boat out onto the river.

  He was still wearing his aviator shades. Inside. At night. While steering a boat.

  “Cool,” I said, trying to do my best to seem impressed and not annoyed with his literal showboating. My nose tingled as his scent began to fill the enclosed space; my nose confirmed what my brain already told me. Damien’s aura was dark and sinister, rotten both morally and physically, as though he sweat too much and was ashamed of it; literally covering up his smell and moral failings with strong deodorant.

  His was a different scent to Laila. A different sin, to be sure, but I couldn’t tell which one it was.

  Damien took his hands off the wheel, fumbling underneath the console and withdrawing a fan of money, seemingly glued together and prepared for this purpose. He flashed it to me, waving it excitedly as the boat wheeled around in circles.

  Unfortunately for him, I could see it was a $100 in front of a bunch of $1’s. I felt that adequately summed up his life. A lot of pretence and flashy extravagance, ultimately all an act.

  A nagging, creeping doubt crept into my head. It might have been a stupid boat-party trick, but…if something like that really was an insight into Damien’s family situation, maybe they weren’t rich after all. If so, who was my target here? What did that other succubus, Jessica, want?

  I had a bad feeling about all this, suddenly. I wasn’t sure if it was this…or Damien’s change of attitude, or something else, but it didn’t feel right.

  The Cythera got further away from the house, leaving the party in the distance, and it motored down the quiet of the Hudson River at night.

  Making a Move

  Hudson River

  “So hey,” I said, trying to bring the conversation back to my mission. “Tell me more about Abu Dhabi.” I put a little tease into my voice. “Please? I’m super interested.”

  Damien snorted dismissively, cutting the engines and letting the ship drift in a slow circle. “Who could be interested in Abu-fucking-Dhabi? It’s a hot shithole full of sand niggers, rich from oil that they use to buy guns to kill other sand niggers. When the oil runs out, they’ll be back to being worthless desert trash in a generation and nobody will give a fuck about them.”

  What a charmer. “Well,” I said, cracking a big smile. “I don’t know much about politics or oil. I guess I was more curious about the kind of weapons your mother sells.” I spun a story as I talked. “My cousin works in Lockheed-Martin, so I guess I have an interest in them.”

  Another snort. Something he seemed to do a lot. “Government pigs suckling at the teat of the taxpayer. Besides, our new anti-aircraft system…they’re going to kick the arse of whatever LM comes up with.”

  “Anti…aircraft system?”

  For some reason, Damien suddenly felt a lot more comfortable talking about this kind of stuff. “Sure,” he said. “Mum explained it. They’re drones. Sort of. Basically a device set up on the ground, using a combination of FLIR and advanced cameras—passive sensors—to spot and identify hostile aircraft, then engage them with SAMs. Basically an air defence network that doesn’t use radar, so it’s passive and can’t be detected. Mum’s company stole the tech from the Russians so you know it actually works.”

  Ding. The chime went off in my head. The third signal. I had what I needed. Now I could leave.

  “Cool,” I said, faking a loud yawn. “Okay, well, we should probably head back.” With my stupid task out of the way, I needed to go back to Asmodeus and find out what he knew. To discover what I had done to get kicked out of Hell.

  “How about you just have a lay down here?” asked Damien, a strange light in his eyes. He was suddenly…very excited. “You look tired.”

  “I’m fine,” I said,
realising how silly that sounded after having just faked such a big yawn. “I wanna go home.”

  Damien moved over to me, seemingly not concerned for my request. He slid his hands around my middle. “Nah, have a rest first. Don’t you feel tired?”

  My phone was in my jeans pocket, but it couldn’t be later than 10:00. “What am I, a grandma?” I asked, snorting. “It’s not that late.”

  “But you’ve had so much to drink,” said Damien, smiling in a way I found distinctly creepy, cuddling up to my front.

  Something about this was off. Way off. I opened my mouth to say something and he leaned in and kissed me.

  The moment his lips touched mine I could taste the stench on him, thick and pungent and vile. Like French kissing a rotten bag of garbage. He was definitely evil, and I hadn’t even noticed because his sin was the same as mine: lust. Damien was a pleasant face behind a rotting interior and suddenly I knew why he’d brought me here and why he was curious I wasn’t unconscious.

  “You know, that drink tasted kind of funny,” I said, pretending to swoon. “Did you put something in it back there?”

  “Yeah,” he said, a flat, emotionless delivery, one made mostly for his own benefit, rather than mine. He’d said the same thing to other women, knowing they wouldn’t remember. Which is why he had told me all the stuff he’d told me. “Why don’t you lay down, you fucking little cock tease?”

  Anger.

  Anger surged through me, inexplicably strong. Of course, the roofie wouldn’t affect me—demons were immune to any kind of poison, including booze or chemical intoxicants—and normally I wouldn’t have minded, and even respected his audacity. I was a demon, after all, and evil was in my blood. But Hell had already taken some of my memories, and getting duped by some mortal using lust against me, a succubus, made me see red. I was only in this bullshit because Asmodeus, that slimy little toad, wouldn’t tell me even basic things, things I needed to know. I was only on this boat to complete the mission. I was only on this realm because I didn’t know what I had to do to go home, or what I’d done to get banished in the first place.