Pure & Sinful (Pure Souls)

by Killian McRae

  Lucy knew darn well she’d say yes. She was already reaching for her purse on the floor before Riona had given her throaty reply. “Okay, then. How about you go splash some water on your face, and I’ll take care of the bill. Then we can head back to your place.”

  Water on her face? Yeah, water. She needed it, needed to douse her out-of-nowhere flush so she could walk the three blocks back to their apartment building. That, or invite Lucy back to the bathroom with her and …

  Well, it wouldn’t be water she’d get on her face, but she’d be wet, all right.

  The women’s room of the Café Renet was located in the back, behind the kitchens. Buildings in this part of town, erected in days when foot traffic had reigned supreme, led storefronts to sacrifice their width for length. An alleyway buttressed the building block on the rear. Even with the door closed, Riona’s nose tingled at the sulfuric stench that found its way in from that derelict space. She rounded the corner of the hall, eyes on the bathroom door, when her arm was tugged nearly clean off her body.

  The warm paw of a hand covered her mouth in a second as her back met the brick wall of the alley. She could manage some basic repulsion magic without words, but as her eyes adjusted to the dim light caused by the shadows of adjacent multistoried office buildings, the image of her accoster sharpened. Riona stifled her screams; she was too intrigued by the why and how of his presence to blast the asshole into the dumpsters.

  She didn’t recognize the body, though in her more-relaxed, not-so-being-kidnapped-y moments, she’d admit that the guy’s physique was exactly the type you’d dream about. If ever you had a “being swept away and ravaged willingly by a fucking hot guy” fantasy, that is. But his eyes… There was something otherworldly about those peepers. That shade of blue rimmed by silver didn’t exist in the human spectrum. She’d only ever known one being who possessed that dreamy, though ultimately evil, gaze.

  “Jerry?” she breathed out when he cautiously lowered his hand. “But you’re dead. Vanquished.”

  He met her half-inquiry, half-accusation by the pressing his well-endowed body against hers, giving her a chance to see and feel just how up-and-at-‘em he really was.

  “Does anything about that feel dead?”

  “But how? Is this a glamour?”

  “You’re a very talented witch, Ree, but you only destroyed my earthly body. The soul, even a demon soul, can only be destroyed by the Big Guy. This body —” he took a step back and let her take a full floor-to-heel once over, though one of his hands stayed anchored on her shoulder, making sure she didn’t make a run for it. “— is borrowed. Possession is taught the first day in demon training. And I take it from your scent you’re pleased with my unwitting volunteer.”

  Her scent? “What?”

  His body melted back over hers like a slice of American cheese. “Yes, your scent. You smell… ready.”

  More than twisting in a knot, her insides were in full-on sideshow contortionist mode. “You can smell me? Like, there?”

  His head dipped down to her neck as he breathed her in, trying to inhale her like a fine line of cocaine. When he pulled back, he looked intoxicated. “You smell so much sweeter than anything in Hell, Riona. What I wouldn’t do to just strip you naked right here and … Holy-fucking-ow!”

  Backing up and giving her enough room to swing her knee full force into his groin was a terrible oversight, one that the poor owner of the borrowed body would be feeling for a week to come. Jerry doubled over and staggered as Riona regained her repose. She drew her hand back, as the vanquishing spell — hopefully this time more permanent — began to form on her lips.

  Jerry’s hand flew out. “Wait a second! Please, I’m not here to fight. I’ve only got a few minutes anyways. I had to pull major strings to get topside as it was, and even then, I had to possess this dumb fuck, but I had to warn you.”

  Her incantation ceased. “Warn me? About what?”

  Jerry tried to straighten up, but unlike the monster bulging against the zipper of his jeans, semi-erect was the best his spine could manage. “About Lucifahhh….. Lucifafafafa…. You can’t get too close with that woooo…. Wooo…. Wooooo, wooo, wooo… Fuck! He’s got a binding spell on me.”

  She was trying desperately to make sense of his incoherent babbling. Suddenly, he sounded like he was doing a perfect impression of Jim Carrey’s spoofier moments. One thing that did come across in his dread-filled, sincere expression was his frustration with his wobbly wording.

  “Jerry, warn me about what? Or is it about whom?”

  He clenched at his abdomen. She knew her kick packed quite a wallop, but it shouldn’t have reached his kidneys.

  “Come on, Jer. Don’t exaggerate,” she goaded.

  Jerry shook his head. “No, my time’s running out. My soul is starting to descend; I’m losing a grip here. I know the feeling, it’s like indigestion. Please, Riona, listen to me. I can’t tell you specifics, but… Gah. Fuck. Be careful with whom you keep your company. People aren’t always who they seem to be on the surface. Be care… Ah, God damn it all.”

  Some modicum of the tenderness she once felt towards him bubbled to the surface. Riona found her arms circling around Jerry’s frame and trying to support his on-loan mass of muscle. When he was able to stand, he stilled for a moment as their eyes locked.

  “I don’t suppose you’d consider giving me one last kiss, before I’m condemned for the rest of time? Just, you know, for all the good times?”

  The tiny voice in her head telling her it was a bad idea fell silent when he pressed his lips to hers. Her body blazed, belying her reticence. Lust, powerful, pure and possessive, seized her. Was this demon magic? Was it the fact that they’d been intimate once upon a time and her soul recognized his, despite the stranger’s frame? Or was it just the fact that the body that Jerry had borrowed, as she would realize later, had a slight resemblance to a certain member of the local clergy?

  Whatever. If there was a trick, this was doing it. Jerry didn’t let any opportunity go to waste. One moment, she was supporting him, the next moment, her back was against the brick wall again, and Jerry’s Larry-on-Loan body pinned her roughly at the hip. Instincts subsumed rational thought, the temptation of letting the man who had given her the best sex she’d ever known have his way with her, even in a grimy back alley, too much to resist.

  “Fuck, Riona, I could smell you before. I want to taste you, too.” His mouth moved to her neck as his hand slid up her side, settling on the mound of her breast, his thumb brushing over the pebbled peak. “Let me spend whatever short time I have left in this body making you scream.”

  Focus played hide-and-seek as his hand lowered back down, hitching under her leg and pulling it up over his hip. His grinding set her dizzy.

  “How long is that, precisely?” she gasped.

  “A few minutes, maybe four at most. I don’t need long, you’ll remember. I know just how to get you there and quick.”

  Oh, God, and how. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Perhaps more, she couldn’t believe she was allowing this to happen. But what was a little play between exes, especially when one of them was currently occupying a hot body with a limited lease, making that awkward “so, are we a couple again?” pillow talk impossible.

  “Do it, Jerry.” Before I get hold of my senses.

  “Jerry?”

  The voice was the same, but as the host body pulled back with eyes now a dull brown instead of her ex-lover’s demonic blue, she knew the game was up.

  The demon was gone.

  “Who the hell is Jerry? My name’s Pedro.” The confused guy looked down at his hand under Riona’s leg. When he saw that it was his hand holding it in place, he dropped her like a fifty-cent taco. “Who the hell are you, and what the fuck am I doing here?”

  Riona didn’t think Mr. Fuzzyhead was g
oing to believe he was about to go to town on her in the alley behind Café Renet. Or, at least, his body was about to do the duty.

  Instead, she quickly shifted into fake panic, hoping the mystery man had sense and morality enough not to want to be arrested. “That’s what I’d like to know. So, is that a nickel in your pocket, or are you just happy to rape me?”

  He took the accusation just the way she’d hoped. Immediately, his feet set about eating up pavement. “Crazy bitch! I wasn’t freaking going to rape you. I’m gay.”

  Riona huffed. Figures, she thought wryly as he hoofed it away and into the street at the end of the alley. Why was it whenever you found a man you wouldn’t mind using for non-committal, no-strings-attached sex, he already had a boyfriend?

  Just because the opportunity was gone didn’t mean her body was willing to dial it back. Riona could still feel the heat of his touch over her skin. Desire consumed her.

  “All worked up and no one to do,” she sighed to herself.

  But the clarity of having two feet on the ground allowed her to think. What had Jerry been trying to warn her about? He’d have to have a damned good reason to flicker a possession just to deliver her a message, even as unsuccessful as he was. Or was this some new plot of evil? Had Jerry been sent back deliberately to tempt her? To see if she’d break? If she’d give into temptation?

  Well, hell, if it was a test, she really failed that one, didn’t she?

  But at the particular moment, it was more the sex thing than the warning thing. Between dreams of Marc and out-of-the-blue grinding sessions with Jerry, Riona was becoming more frustrated than a chimp with a cheese grater.

  “Riona?”

  Lucy. In the spin of seduction, Riona had totally forgotten the reason she was at the Café Renet. Because she was here on a date. With Lucy.

  “Riona, are you back here?” Lucy’s head peeked around the edge of the door. Her eyes brightened on finding the out-of-breath Riona in the shadows. “What’s going on? Everything okay?”

  “Fresh air,” Riona quickly asserted. “Better than cool water on the face.”

  “Oh… Okay.” A trace of doubt lingered in Lucy’s tone, but a quick sweep with her eyes from left to right proved the alleyway empty. “Um, should we get going now, or did you need…”

  The great thing about lust was that it was a common currency, and if you had someone who was willing to let you spend it on them, it didn’t go to waste. Riona had her arms around Lucy quicker than a dog on meat. Her tongue and hands told her date she was ready to follow up on the suggestion to get back to their place and get distracted, STAT.

  “I don’t need anything,” Riona gasped out as she covered Lucy’s neck in kisses and nips. “I just need you, now.”

  Lucy, to her surprise, pulled away. Riona worried for a moment that she had been too forward. After all, it was only their second date. But as she saw Lucy’s lips widen into a devious grin, she knew the game was on.

  “Good to hear,” Lucy purred. “Race you home? Winner comes in first, if you get my drift.”

  And with a spritely lunge, Lucy was tearing up the alley towards the street.

  Riona peeled away just as quickly, giving a whole new definition to racing to the finish.

  Chapter 14

  The buzzer outside Marc’s apartment didn’t work, but luckily, a stack of empty beer cans behind the door served the purpose.

  Dee knew where Marc’s PG-rated bachelor pad was for three years, but that didn’t mean he frequented it much. It made the priest seem too common to him. Even when Marc went about without a collar, he always wore his status like an invisible necktie. Here, however, he could be just as big a slob and slub as every Joe-sinner-Friday in the real world.

  Dee found Marc on the couch, flipping through TV stations with about as much interest as someone learning the history of steel-cut oats. It appeared as though he had experimented using his face as a coffee grinder; and the unshaven chin and bloodshot eyes didn’t exactly compliment his physique. Congress could have levied fines for the oil spill that covered the priest’s forehead.

  “Something I don’t get about your religion,” Dee started as he lowered himself cautiously to the side chair. First, he had to vacate the empty tin cans. “You can’t have sex, you can’t even do yourself. No lying, no bad thoughts, no taking the Lord’s name in vain. But sit here like a sorry son-of-a-bitch and drink yourself stupid? May the ale be upon you.”

  With an indifferent sigh, Marc flipped off the TV and dropped the remote to the floor. “What can I say, the Lord works in mysterious ways. Some of them more alcoholic than others.”

  Dee was clueless about what direction to take. Should he hug the ass and be all compassionate-like, or slap him like the sorry sot he was being? “Marc, what’s going on? You don’t call, and you’re not answering my texts. Riona says she hasn’t seen you for days either. Now, unless there’s a secret congregation of elfin forest folk living under your cushions there that you’ve been holding an old-fashioned revival for…”

  “I knew him for fifteen years.”

  The cryptic comment left the demigod perplexed. “Who?”

  Proof that the couch and the priest were not one mutant hybrid creation concocted by a mad scientist presented itself when Marc rose to his feet and stretched to the sky, only to collapse backward into a turtle-on-its-back position.

  “Hermosa,” he finally breathed out. “I knew that bastard for fifteen years. He was the first one to suggest my going into a life of service, as a way to make amends for all the shit I did as a heathen kid. And to piss off my mom. Hell, was that just an attempt by him to spur anger, like I was somehow responsible for being the product of Hippie Hightowers, so that he could feed, and it terribly backfired?”

  “Do you regret entering the priesthood?”

  Marc’s eyes grew serious and somber. Even striped in red, they evidenced his sincerity. “Didn’t use to. Never second questioned it until that fucker’s glamour stripped away. Now I wonder, if I looked up to someone like Hermosa for so long and couldn’t see him for what he was, what does that say about me? Or what if he did it on purpose? Drafting me into the clergy because he saw me as some sort of possible demon recruit? What if I’m not a good person at all? How could I put my trust in someone like that, and now knowing what he was, still trust myself?”

  Dee shifted over to the couch and gave Marc a good-natured, buddy slap on the back, half-wishing that if he hit just the right spot, he could make the priest cough up the doubt choking him. “Even if that’s true, even if he did have his eye on you for some nefarious purpose, what you chose to do in the end was oppose him. Your worth is judged by the merit of your good intentions, not by the temptations or self-serving plots others intend for you. But, if I can please go beyond our Oprah-bonding moment here… Marc, you’ve got to get yourself together. This kind of downward, self-deprecating doubt is an open door for all kinds of demons. You know there’s nothing that gets them a merit badge from Lucifer faster than taking down a Pure Soul.”

  “I would never turn to their side,” Marc spat out, his face screwing up. “I’d die first.”

  Dee nodded. “A few months ago, I couldn’t have argued that a bit. I’d have put the purity of your soul at the pole position in any race. Even against mine. But things have changed.”

  “How?”

  Dee’s eyes narrowed on the priest accusingly. “Hermosa never tried to use you for food because up to a month ago, there was nothing you were ashamed of. You made your peace with your past and your own current shortcomings. Despite the fact that you’re often a sarcastic windbag, you were a humble sarcastic windbag. But something’s got you all torn up and guilt-ridden. Or should I say, someone?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Marc crossed to the kitchen and pulled two more beers from the fridge, to
ssing a can at Dee. The demigod snatched it like a professional MLB catcher.

  “No?” The crack of the can met the air. “Good, Riona will be happy to hear that. She was wondering how awkward it would be when you found out we’d slept together.”

  Marc’s arm shot out to catch himself against the fridge. He swallowed down a mouthful of beer and disbelief in one, painful gulp. “You and Riona… You slept with…” Red-faced and stumbling for both balance and words, the visage of the clergyman burned hellfire. Tendrils of magic crackled through his aura. “How? How the hell could you do that? My… Our Riona?”

  Dee wore nonchalance like a boss. “Problem with that?”

  Shades of grey and red radiated around the priest. “She’s not just another score, you fucking Greek goon. You can have almost any woman alive, why would you…”

  “Whoa, Marc! Not really. I didn’t sleep with her.”

  Marc’s face simultaneously went lazy and tight. “You… You didn’t? But why would you say…”

  Dee laid the beer on a side table and stood. “I would never sleep with the woman my best friend is in love with,” he said. “Thing was, I knew you’d never admit to your feelings without me shocking it out of you.”

  Silence. Dee studied the shifting sands of Marc’s expression. All the expected emotions came in their sequence: incredulity, denial, shock, then …

  “Fuck!” Marc suddenly burst out as his foot made contact with the fridge. “What the hell am I doing? Look at me! I can’t even leave the house, I’m so scared of what I’ll do. Every time I’ve stepped out for the last two days, I’m halfway to her place before I even realize where I’m heading. I’m like some sort of screwed-up homing pigeon.” He clutched his hair. “I know what will happen, Dee. I know that if I make it there, and she feels the slightest bit the way I do…”