Beverly Hills Demon Slayer

by Angie Fox

  We really should do it in a bed more often.

  But right now, the man was upstairs—naked in our shower.

  I rolled my hips and was rewarded with a streak of pure rapture.

  Get a grip. I had to meet the witches, not jump my husband. Even if he was six and a half feet of raw Mediterranean heat and power. Even if he did growl every time I licked that sexy hollow right where his collarbone met his neck.

  My fingers clenched at the marble countertops, when they should have been sliding down his shower-slicked skin. "Shiloh," I gritted out, "you want to tell me more about this potion?"

  She reached past me to grab the blender. "Isn't it great? It's also an aphrodisiac."

  I could picture him under the spray of the shower, the water droplets clinging to his hard pecs. "Why didn't you tell me that?"

  Her shoulder hitched as she rinsed out the pitcher. "Sometimes you don't like to have fun."

  I tried to ignore the heat coursing through my body. "I don't have time this morning." Although I did have to shower. And since Dimitri was already in the shower…

  She shot me a look over her shoulder. "Lizzie." It came out as an accusation. "I wouldn't give you something that would mess you up." She placed the blender on a towel to dry. "I timed it out. We don't have to leave for twenty minutes. You won't be late as long as you don't dawdle." She turned to me. "If you have your man safe and whole, be thankful." The corners of her mouth lifted in a sad smile. "Take advantage."

  She had a point. We were involved in a dangerous business. There was no telling what tomorrow might bring.

  Shiloh wiped her hands on a towel before tossing it on the counter. "In the meantime, I still have half my magazine. I think I'll go read out on the deck with Flappy and the gang. Maybe I'll get Pirate's opinions on 'Who Wore It Best.'"

  "Great," I said, heading for the stairs. I was going to do it. I was actually going to go attack Dimitri in the shower. Still, I forced myself to slow, if only for a moment. "Shiloh," I said, pausing halfway there, "thanks."

  "You're welcome," she said, blushing a little as she slipped outside.

  The shower blasted hard upstairs. Dimitri should have been finished by now. He didn't normally linger. Unless he was taking care of something.

  I doubled my speed up the stairs, and once I made it to our bedroom, I closed the door and quickly stripped down into what God had given me.

  The bathroom door was closed. I could feel the warm steam escaping.

  The urge to barge in, to take what I wanted, was overwhelming. Instead, I fed my curiosity. I eased the door open.

  He stood under the spray, one hand clutching the top of the clear glass shower door. His arm looked massive in that position, the firm, hard muscle flexing down over his ribcage and curving at his hip. He was built like a Greek god, a magnificent work of art.

  His head was thrown back, water clinging to his spiky black hair, water trailing down his neck, over his chest, down to where he pumped a fist between his legs.

  His cock thrust long and hard, his fingers curling around it, touching it the way he liked. The way he taught me. He circled the head, hissed as he drew his fist down the length and back up again.

  Every corded muscle, every tendon, was locked tight, focused on his pleasure.

  He was beautiful.

  And he was mine.

  I crossed the room and opened the shower door. He jolted, shocked out of his trance, then treated me to a wicked smile as I joined him.

  The warm water sluiced over me. I breathed in the moist air, the heat, the soapy aroma of freshly washed male. "Sorry I'm late." I ran my fingers over his chest, down over his nipples and lower.

  He inhaled sharply. Tilted his head down, the water clinging to his broad jaw. "I was just thinking of you."

  He kissed me then, a harsh, demanding, all-consuming kiss that left no doubt as to what he had planned for me.

  Thank heaven.

  He pulled away. "You feeling okay?"

  My fingers curled in his wet hair. "Never better." I kissed him hard, my tongue tangling with his, breathing him in, giving myself over totally.

  His mouth trailed over my collarbone. His thumb flicked my breast and I gasped, drawing a leg around him, desperate to urge him closer. But as much as he looked like a statue of a god, he was also as hard to move. He took his time, circling my nipple with his thumb, watching it bead as if it were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

  "I was thinking of this," he murmured, his Greek accent thicker with desire. He drew his thumb down over my breast, lingering on my belly button, coasting even lower. "And this," he said, dipping into the cleft between my legs.

  I thrust against him, struggled to make him go faster. He had to feel how slick I was, how ready for him.

  A smile tickled his lips as he drew his fingers over my wetness. His thumb lingered on my clit, sending shocks of pleasure straight through me.

  "Did you think about going faster?" I gasped as he rasped his thumb in a slow, achingly delightful circle.

  "No." He pressed close, his chest scraping over the tips of my breasts. "I'm enjoying every fucking second."

  This was it. He was going to kill me.

  He brought his mouth down to mine for a biting, eating kiss, his fingers working magic between my legs, his body teasing me, torturing me, wrapping me up in a fury of need and want and white-hot fire until I couldn't think beyond the next moment, the next touch.

  My body screamed for him. His cock felt hard and hot against my hip. I closed my fingers around him, reveling as his muscles clenched. He pulled away with a moan, both of our mouths wet from the kiss and from the water beating down over us.

  "Not that way," he said, even as I drew my fingers down his length, found his balls tight and straining. "This way." He turned me against the back of the shower, and lifted me in one motion until the head of his cock found my entrance.

  I tried to think of something to say and might have succeeded if I hadn't been so focused on my thighs spread over his hips, his cock at my entrance.

  It was beautiful.

  This time, there was no teasing. No hesitation. We both cried out as he drove deep inside me. He filled me so tight, so good. His breath rasped harsh against my ear. "You're so fucking wet."

  I nipped at the hot skin of his neck, licked it. "Only for you."

  A shiver ran through him. I could tell my words excited him. And they were true. This was the only man I wanted to be with. The only one I'd ever loved. And I would show him that until the day we died.

  His grip tightened. He let out a strangled moan as he pumped his hips into me. I tried to roll with him, to keep up as he thrust.

  He was my world, my North Star, my everything.

  He kissed me hard, slid his lips down my jaw, over to my cheek. I tried to kiss him back, but my thoughts centered on the sensations that radiated from where his cock filled me. Every down thrust, he scraped my clit. Every piston of his hips, pleasure erupted everywhere my over-sensitized skin touched his.

  He began losing it too. His motions became more and more erratic. His breath came in wet pants against my cheek.

  I wanted to scream in triumph that I'd brought this rock of a man into a state of pure desire, of lust. My fingers dug into his shoulders, my body clenched as I reached for it, felt it. I tumbled over the edge as the pleasure turned supernova.

  He shouted, or maybe that was me. It echoed off the tile walls as he erupted deep inside of me.

  For several long moments, I clung to his neck. Pressed against the wall, surrounded by him. I felt safe. Loved.

  He stirred, his fingers touching my cheek, nudging me up to look at him. "I love you, Lizzie Kallinikos."

  He didn't need to tell me. I could see it in his expression, the warmth in his chocolate-brown eyes. But I loved hearing it all the same. "I love you too, stud."

  "Stud," he laughed, his chest rumbling against mine as he helped me slide down the wall and regain my feet. "I like that,"
he said against my ear. "If you ever need a reminder, just let me know."

  Chapter Fourteen

  I was in a much better mood as we set off to see the witches that morning.

  Shiloh drove her Miata convertible while Dimitri and I rode our Harleys. I didn't even take it personally when Pirate opted to ride in the open car. Yes, I could give him motorcycle-style wind to blow back his ears and shoot up his nose, but I suspected Shiloh had also packed him a few homemade doggy biscuits.

  Dimitri led the way, even though I'd been to the witches' new hideout more often. Chalk it up to the Y chromosome. Or maybe I simply felt extra mellow.

  At least we were early enough to avoid traffic on the 405.

  We headed in the direction of Beverly Hills once more, but this time, we exited onto Pico Boulevard before I could detect any of the darkness that had invaded the city itself.

  I took it as a good sign, although I wasn't naive enough to think we'd been given a reprieve. Tentacles of evil slithered outward with every vibration of energy captured, with every soul "saved."

  At least we were about to do something about it.

  The Pico Boulevard exit took us down into an older neighborhood of squat 1940s-era buildings, mixed in with strip malls and restaurants. A yellow-and-orange sunrise colored the sky overhead.

  This place reminded me of some of the older, more comfortable neighborhoods back in Atlanta. The urban sprawl seemed to go on for miles.

  The witches had holed up in an old motor inn just past the white-and-gold painted facade of Eddie's Guitar Heaven. Grandma claimed it felt like home the first time she saw it. I didn't want to argue, because their last home had been a beat-up biker bar off the New Jersey Turnpike.

  We pulled into the lot behind the Cocoa Cabana, a U-shaped assembly of motel rooms made to look like beachfront bungalows. Only they were painted brown, and they were all attached, and we were in the California desert. I glanced up at the dried bundles of white yarrow hanging from the pointed rooftops. It warded off hexes, so I'd heard.

  "I always figured they'd end up living over a place like Big Nose Kate's," I said to Dimitri as we shut down our Harleys. Most of the other Red Skull hangouts had been along the highway, or at least more rough-and-tumble.

  He hitched a leg over his bike. "They have a new life now," he said, careful not to step in a lavender garden, "just like we do."

  I glanced at Shiloh, who pulled up to a spot under a palm tree. Pirate danced around in the front seat while she untied the yellow-and-pink daisy scarf she'd used to tame her hair.

  What if Dimitri was right?

  What if the witches and I had grown apart, without my even realizing it?

  I didn't like it. After all, the gang had always been around for me when I'd needed a hand. They usually showed up before I called. Half the time, I didn't even want them there. This time, I'd had to wait for them.

  To be fair, I hadn't been hanging out with them as I used to, either. Dimitri and I had invited them over a few times. But we'd been focused on our own place.

  But dang—the witches had been busy. They'd taken this goofy little motor inn and made it their own. Every small plot of land between the parking lot and the rooms had been turned into gardens. They'd planted spearmint and chamomile, hyssop and larkspur, and dozens of other herbs and flowers I couldn't even name. Half of them didn't even grow in the desert climate of California. Most people's gardens around here consisted of rocks, scraggly palms, dead grass, and the occasional rattlesnake. Nothing like this. There was definitely magic afoot.

  Pirate sniffed among the plants, his tail poking out of the foliage. "No other dogs around here. That's nice."

  Dimitri studied the dirt. "They've got crystals planted around the roots of these plants. Looks like they're staying."

  "It must help them survive the arid climate." I'd have to ask. The Red Skulls had also replaced their room numbers with rune symbols, guaranteeing that they'd also spelled whoever managed this place.

  "What do the runes mean?" Shiloh asked, hovering close.

  "I'm not sure." First, I needed to master spell jars.

  It didn't matter. The coven had been expecting us. Maybe they didn't need me the way they did when I had to save them from a demon, but they had always had my back in the past.

  I knocked at the door in front of me, with a symbol that reminded me of Pac-Man. Nobody answered. I moved down to the door with a crazy-looking B symbol.

  Nada.

  Pirate stood up on his hind legs and pawed at the door. "Are you sure they're home? I don't hear anybody."

  "They have to be. They're expecting us." We moved down another door. Then another.

  Dimitri stood at the rear, not because he planned to go in last, but because he needed room to shift if something went wrong. That alone told me volumes.

  I started to worry as well. Yes, the Red Skulls could take care of themselves, but this wasn't like them.

  We moved to a door with a squiggly pear-shaped rune. This time, I didn't knock.

  Perhaps announcing my presence wasn't the best idea.

  Not when I had another way.

  "New plan," I said, reaching into my utility belt. Shiloh watched, riveted. Dimitri didn't look so happy. "It's answer time," I said, turning to them. I held up a fat red spell about the size of my thumb. A Lock Eater.

  Grandma had worked on this spell personally with me. Lock Eaters were one of the easier and more practical live spells available. They were small, portable, and able to wriggle inside a lock and disable it in ten seconds or less.

  The witches tended to keep theirs in Ziploc sandwich bags, calling it the cheap and easy solution. But I had mine housed in a Ziploc snack bag, because you really didn't need full-sized bags for Lock Eaters. See? I was making improvements.

  A muscle in Dimitri's jaw twitched. "You know how I feel about this."

  Yes, you couldn't exactly call me a witch. We were both aware of that. But how crazy would it be for me to limit my power and abilities while a demon tried to rise up in my new home city?

  Shiloh, on the other hand, gave the proper "Ooh…" response.

  "His name is Houdini," I said, holding him up like a little worm. He was kind of cute, if you liked live spells.

  Pirate licked his chops.

  I was careful not to drop the spell as I pointed what I hoped to be the creature's nose end at the keyhole. Lock Eaters would chomp key card entries, too, but in this case it was fortunate the old motor inn hadn't updated. I didn't like the idea of smushing him flat. And real keyholes had to be tastier.

  "Show us what you've got, buddy," I said, as it wriggled right in.

  His backside had barely disappeared inside the lock before we heard a high-pitched teek from inside the door. I counted one second, two, before the tumblers fell and the lock clicked open. "Lookie there!" I said, mostly to my doubting griffin husband. "Go, Houdini," I said, as I gripped the doorknob.

  It came off in my hand. Whoops.

  "Is that supposed to happen?" Shiloh asked.

  "No." I handed it to her. At least he'd gotten the door open. "Houdini's a little enthusiastic," I said, trying to be flip about it as the lock-plate screws loosened one by one.

  That wasn't good.

  "He's breaking the door," Pirate warned.

  "I can see," I said, nudging him out of the way.

  "That's not our door," Pirate said, refusing to let it go.

  "Halt," I told the spell as screws pinged down onto the concrete at my feet. "Heel."

  "You are not going to get a treat if you don't behave," Pirate warned, in his best imitation of me.

  I realized with a rising sense of alarm that none of it worked. How did you get a Lock Eater to lay off? Grandma hadn't warned me about this.

  Dimitri watched, shoulders stiff. "He'd better not take apart the whole hotel," he warned, in the grossest exaggeration ever.

  At least I hoped so.

  The lock plate fell off and still, the spell was nowhere to
be seen. Then I saw the door hinges begin to loosen. Maybe Houdini would stop with the door.

  Maybe not.

  I mean, if the thing started disassembling everything, surely the witches would step up and stop it. If they were here. And truly, I'd followed the recipe exactly.

  The problem was, we were left looking at the hole where the doorknob used to be.

  "Come on," I said, shoving the door open before it fell completely off its hinges. Houdini wasn't on the other side of the door, or anywhere I could see him.

  In the meantime, we'd entered the third-rate hotel room decorated in contemporary biker witch. Silver thumbtacks bit into smoke-stained, formerly white walls, supporting long swaths of dental floss that crisscrossed the room like party lights. The floss sagged with squares of colored cloth, like do-rags, only in some of the wildest colors I'd ever seen. And they smelled funny, like gunpowder and peppermint.

  Thwack.

  The front door had fallen out onto the porch. Lovely.

  "Houdini?" I called.

  "There," Shiloh said. We watched as a screw unwound itself from the front window and pinged onto the sill.

  Dimitri—because he valued his life—didn't say a word.

  Covering my head, I ducked under the jangle of sorcery. "Let's find the witches."

  At least Shiloh was willing to let it drop. "I can't believe this is where the all-powerful Red Skulls live," she said, pausing in front of an old cabinet-model television, stacked with grocery bags full of dried herbs.

  Yeah, well, right now, I didn't know where they were.

  "There's a back door," Dimitri said, opening it for Pirate.

  My dog dashed out into a courtyard. "Heyyyy!"

  A jumbled collection of voices carried inside. They sounded scratchy, like women who'd inhaled way too much road dust over the years.

  "Thank the Lord," Dimitri muttered under his breath. Okay, he was allowed that. Frankly, I felt the same way.