Prey (The Hunt Book 2)

by Liz Meldon

  He wasn’t fine. But neither was she.

  Once he’d been sure they had no angels tailing them through the back alleys, Severus had cut back across town with Moira in tow. Three streets over from Seraphim Securities, they’d passed the popular university crowd hang, The Inferno, and stopped a little way up the street in front of an enormous, gaping space between two red-brick apartment buildings.

  Exhausted from running in heels, Moira had dreaded another detour through the garbage-dumpster lined alleyways. It was then Severus had taken her hand again, and as he pulled her into the alley, she quickly learned what he had meant when he’d said his cousin had spelled his home up tight. One moment they were outside—the next, she was walking into the ground level of a long, narrow building, clutching Severus’s hand so tight that he complained he’d lost circulation.

  Panicked, Moira had whirled around to find Severus closing the front door, which sat next to an enormous window overlooking the sidewalk—the same view one might expect from a ground floor apartment in any of the buildings around them. Only this building had been invisible to the naked eye from the outside.

  “You need a special mark to get in and out, to even see or touch the building in the first place. The only way someone without the mark can get in is if they’re touching someone with said mark,” Severus had told her, totally blasé about the whole thing as he lifted his shirt to reveal a crudely carved pentagram over the left side of his ribcage. “Alaric and my cousin Cordelia have the same branding. It’s her mark. Bit cliché for a witch, but that’s the key in and out. No one else, demon, angel, human, vampire, garden gnome, will be able to find us.”

  To the rest of the world, there was no building. They would walk right through yet another dusty, abandoned alley—the illusion a product of his witch cousin’s magic.

  It had been a lot of information to take in all at once. Unable to get a word out, Moira had just plopped down on the floor, as cross-legged as her skirt would allow, while her brain scrambled to connect the logic dots. Rather than console her, Severus had disappeared to make tea and grab a bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the ground-floor kitchen. He then led her up those nightmare stairs to the fourth floor—his floor—and sat her down on a leather couch in front of the window that faced the street.

  And there she’d been, almost totally immobile, for long enough that her limbs were starting to stiffen. As she set the little china teacup down on the window ledge, catching a glimpse of the sunny, beautiful spring day outside, Moira knew she should have been thinking. Processing. Coming to terms with everything she’d seen and learned. But her mind had been relatively blank, and she couldn’t help but wonder if it was because she had already decided to accept whatever Severus had to throw at her—or if she was just in shock.

  Despite not thinking like she should have, Moira had memorized nearly every detail of Severus’s home. Four floors. Invisible to outsiders, but tastefully and sparingly decorated on the inside. It made her think of those house-hunting shows she and Ella had shamelessly binged on during undergrad exam seasons. Who didn’t want to look at pretty, expensive houses in far-off lands? The shows were like cotton candy—no substance, but enjoyable. The building Severus shared with this Alaric guy reminded her of something she had seen in Amsterdam: tall, dangerously steep stairs, thin but multi-level.

  A grey and black colour scheme carried throughout the interior, from the painted exposed stone on the walls to the slick black hardwood on every level. First floor: kitchen and dining area. All the latest appliances. Sleek furnishings. Second floor: Alaric’s level. A bit messy compared to the rest of the house. Furnished with a huge L-shaped sectional and an enormous wall-mounted TV. Third floor: empty. Under construction, apparently. Severus hadn’t elaborated.

  Fourth floor: Severus’s domain. Sparsely furnished save for the couch and a trio of black bookshelves, each filled to the brim with books—orderly chaos. A white and grey checkered rug at the foot of the couch. A glass coffee table. No curtains over the windows. Across the space, beyond the stairwell next to the wall, just like on Alaric’s floor, was a closed door, which she assumed led to a bedroom.

  Moira wasn’t sure why it surprised her that Severus kept his personal space neat and tidy, but it did. He just had all that personality. She assumed it would carry over into the way he decorated his home. Not so. Not a photo, painting, or decorative vase in sight. No plants either, save for the herb garden growing in the kitchen downstairs.

  “Moira?”

  “Hmm?” She blinked out of her staring, heart pitter-pattering hard when she found herself the sole object of his attention.

  “Really… How are you feeling?”

  Her jaw clenched briefly as she considered it. How was she feeling? Like her whole world had been turned upside down. Like her body wasn’t hers anymore. Like their first and possibly only attempt to get into Seraphim Securities had been a complete disaster and she was still no closer to finding her dad. So, just peachy.

  In no mood to discuss it, not yet, she shuffled to the edge of the couch, elbows propped up on her knees, and rested her chin on one fist.

  “What did you do to the receptionist?”

  The muscles along his jawline flickered, as though he too were clenching in response to a question he didn’t want asked. Silently, he strode across the narrow room and set the glass tumbler on one of the bookshelves. Jacket gone, button-down sleeves scrunched up to his elbows, tie loose, that face—he was positively swoon-worthy. Moira hated that she thought that—hated that he had this unspoken method of distracting her.

  “I did what I do to all humans,” he admitted softly, trailing his fingertips along a few books before turning on the spot and pinning her with that unflinching stare. “I charmed her.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “Some demons are born with certain gifts,” he told her, hands in his pockets as he began pacing back and forth from one side of the room to the other—no more than ten or twelve feet, at the most. “I was born an incubus. You know we draw strength from humans to survive, surely, but we give a little of ourselves in the process. Our touch is…electric. It’s exhilarating. Exciting. A sexual thrill without the penetration.” He grinned when she made a face. “Oh, don’t look like that. It’s what we do. You must have felt it.”

  “Felt what?” Her cheeks warmed. “A sexual thrill without the penetration? No. I can’t say I did.”

  He paused for a moment, brow furrowed. “Come now. You don’t need to be embarrassed by it. The sensation is perfectly natural. It keeps our, er, suppliers compliant. Many humans climax from touch alone.”

  Moira stood abruptly, moving before realizing she had responded so viscerally to the idea. How nice for all those women—to be able to orgasm just from an incubus touching them. How fucking swell.

  “Well, you and I weren’t headed that way, if that’s what you’re implying,” she said stiffly, her stomach in knots. His chuckle only made the heat in her cheeks burn brighter.

  “Look, I know you’ve got some angel in there,” Severus pointed to her, waving his hand up and down her body, “but there’s human too. I know you felt something that night. It was clear in your…response.”

  Mouth hanging open, Moira gawked at him, no longer caring if he saw her blush. “Wow. Wow. You really are full of yourself.”

  “It’s not an issue of being full of myself,” he growled back. “It’s a fact—”

  “No, what I’m telling you is a fact.” She tugged Ella’s bunched-up blouse out of the waistline of her skirt, suddenly too hot. “Look, this isn’t a challenge to your ego, but I didn’t feel like you were, you know, drugging me, or whatever it is you do to humans. I’m sorry, but I didn’t.”

  “You don’t need to be ashamed of the way your body responded to—”

  “I was just trying to get into it!” she cried, wanting to run her hands through her hair—only to remember it was drawn up in a tight braid. At this point, however, many rogue hairs had esca
ped, likely giving her a half-crazed look. She exhaled sharply and planted her hands on her hips. “I was just trying to get into the moment. I was nervous as hell about hiring an escort, and I just… I just wanted to have a good time for once. I figured that would be doable with a professional.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “And are you telling me that didn’t happen?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “That’s bullshit,” he snapped, starting to pace again. “You and I would have had a grand old time together, just like every other human out there, if you hadn’t run off scared.”

  “No—”

  “Yes,” he sang the word back at her, almost cruelly, and glared. “It’s just a part of your fucking biology. I don’t know what you’re playing at here, trying to tell me otherwise. Clearly, you’ve found one of my buttons, and you’re trying to push it. To what end, I have no idea.”

  “You are so full of yourself!” Moira half shouted, glaring right back. “This isn’t about you. This is me, trying to be honest. If what usually happens when you touch a human was that live sex show with the receptionist, then no, that didn’t happen!”

  “Right.” Severus’s eyes swept up and down her figure again, almost dismissively, and he snorted. “Of course not.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” That, what, there was yet another thing wrong with her? She had always been self-conscious about the fact that she’d never fully orgasmed before. Always. Now here Severus was, telling her that she should have felt something that she didn’t, and Moira didn’t have to put up with it. Not from him. She got enough of that crap from her own critical self.

  “Look, you’re half human,” he ground out. “You must have been close to—”

  “No, I wasn’t!” Moira marched right up to him, blocking his path, going toe-to-toe with the demon and refusing to wilt under his glare. “Was I having a good time? Yeah, you give a really good massage, and I was kind of getting into it once the nerves went away. But you’re just like all the rest of them. You’re the same as every other guy who can’t get me off.”

  His nostrils flared, and in one blink, the whites of his eyes vanished, replaced by an inky black that did strange things to her—things she wasn’t ready to admit to. Moira swallowed hard, refusing to be intimidated just because some sex demon was getting a reality check.

  “I always thought I was just picky, that the guys I was with were inexperienced, something,” she continued, her voice low and carefully controlled. “But then I couldn’t do it myself either, and suddenly the guys touching me didn’t feel like anything anymore. No one does. Every person in my life who touches me, it’s like…it’s like a gust of wind. It’s nothing.” She stabbed an accusatory finger at his chest, all the while unsure of who she was really angry at here. “You were supposed to be different. And you were! I finally felt like I was being touched again, like I wasn’t totally disconnected from the world, but then it ended the same as it always does…with me unsatisfied, hating myself, and yet another guy who can’t help me close the fucking deal to add to my list.”

  Mouth suddenly dry, Moira pressed her lips together and realized she was shaking—and closer than she should have been. Hell, she was up on her toes, glowering at him like he was the one who was totally fucked up. And he wasn’t. Sure, he’d inadvertently poked the bear by refusing to accept her truth, but—

  “I,” Severus hissed, his voice like the first rumble of thunder before a devastating storm, “am nothing like the little human boys you’ve no doubt fumbled about with through the years.”

  “Oh yeah?” She cocked her head to the side, eyebrows up. “I’ve yet to see a single shred of evidence to back that up.”

  “That night, I was as good as I always am.” His cheek twitched, hands curling into fists, and Moira gulped. She knew she ought to back down. She knew now she was the one poking the bear, adding fuel to the fire, but she couldn’t help herself. He didn’t get to win this one. Severus had a leg up on her in just about every other part of their strange relationship, but not this. Because Moira was right, and he was being a stubborn, petulant sex-demon ass.

  “Are you good though?” she whispered, tilting her face up and holding that all-black stare. He must have leaned down to meet the challenge, because she felt the buzz of their proximity, the hum of anger and something far more dangerous boiling beneath his skin.

  And she liked it, the danger, far more than she should.

  “Because, let’s think,” Moira carried on, their noses nearly touching. Severus continued to glower down at her, still as a marble statue save for the odd twitch in his lips, the flare of his nostrils, the flicker of his jaw muscles. She inhaled softly, her gaze dropping to his lips. “You escort for a living. Your whole schtick is that you use it to sustain yourself. I get it.” Moira held her hands up. “I don’t judge, as long as you’re not killing your clients. But let’s be real… You don’t have to actually try all that hard. Like you said, some of them climax just because you’re touching them. It’s their biology. So, really, are you good?”

  “Each and every one of my clients experiences pleasure beyond what she’ll ever receive from any man in her lifetime.” He over-enunciated his words. Anger-enunciating. It was kind of hot—and she knew, once again, that it shouldn’t be. Why couldn’t she stop staring at his lips? Drawing in a shaky breath, Moira lifted her head further, tipping it back just enough so that it wasn’t their noses about to bump, but their mouths.

  “Well, yeah, of course they do…because you’re drugging them.” She nibbled her lower lip, not missing the way Severus’s eyes became heavy-lidded—as though watching her just as she had been watching him. Moira cleared her throat, her anger slipping away word by word. “And, you know what? I don’t think you would have made me come. You know why?”

  “Why?” he snarled.

  “Because you’re probably just not used to trying,” she murmured, grazing her lips over his before swiftly retreating, adding about two feet of much-needed space between them. Severus seemed to lurch after her, but he righted himself quickly as Moira planted her quivering hands on her hips and shrugged. “Just accept it, Severus. You’ve been showering me with hard truths since we met. I think it’s time to swallow a taste of your own medicine. You are a fucking lust demon. You don’t have to work to make women come, so, logically, when you’re faced with someone immune to your crap, you trip up a bit. You’ve just never had to try before. I get it.”

  What the hell was she even accomplishing here? Pissing off the only creature in town who could possibly help her find her dad, all because he, what, didn’t believe her? Had used her as a human shield? It was petty, but damn, did it ever feel good.

  Severus straightened, rolling his shoulders, his knuckles cracking. She expected to see rage glowering at her again. Instead, she found bemusement. Frowning, she countered his step toward her with one giant step back.

  “Oh, sweet Moira, I have been trying,” he told her, following step for step until the backs of her legs nudged the couch—and still he stalked her. “I’ve tried to keep it all in. I’ve tried to push you away, tried to create some distance between us, but I suppose that’s been my fatal flaw, hasn’t it? My error, thinking of you as some silly human who’d be taken by my tricks…by my mask.”

  “W-what?”

  His smile was positively predatory. “I think it’s finally time to stop trying…”

  Moira shrieked when his hands clamped down on her forearms, his grasp so solid and real that it made her heart skip a beat, just as it had the first time she saw him. Smiling, his eyes still black as the night, Severus yanked her toward him, and in one swift movement, threw her over his shoulder like she weighed absolutely nothing.

  Chapter Three

  It was pathetic how little prodding he needed to unleash the beast.

  Severus had been trying. So. Damn. Hard. To ignore his baser instincts. To dissuade her, to throw her off. Moira had become too comfortable in his company, and sh
e didn’t know the danger she put herself in.

  But to insult his gifts. To doubt his power, the only natural talent Severus possessed… Well, she had crossed the line.

  And now she would taste the consequences. She’d feel them, live them, breathe them until she begged him to stop, and even then he made no promises.

  “What are you doing?” she cried, her legs fighting against his arm as her fists pummeled his back. “Are you fucking serious? Put me down!”

  Scream all you want. It won’t do you any good. Moira had made the mistake of thinking she called the shots here—that she could waltz into his house and insult him.

  Just like all the others. Insult upon insult upon insult. Incubi and succubi might not be worth much in the grand demon hierarchy, but they had skills. Talents. Abilities that they alone were born with, and, after centuries of honing them, Severus was damn skilled.

  It truly was pathetic, to get so riled up over a bit of wordplay.

  Perhaps it was just an excuse—the straw that broke the camel’s back. The last nudge toward his undoing. Whatever the reason, Severus no longer cared. All thoughts of pissed-off angels vanished. Moira was the only thing on his mind, and by the time he was done with her, she wouldn’t be able to shake him from hers.

  He crossed the length of his floor in long, quick strides, then wrenched open his bedroom door and stalked in. Over his shoulder, his little angel hybrid continued to fight him, even when he slammed the door and shrugged her off. She yelped again, tumbling toward the floor, but Severus caught her before she had a chance to fall far. The demon’s reflexes were stronger, faster—primal. He had her trapped in the time it took her to murmur some incoherent protest, his hand around her throat. She lifted her chin, stiffening.