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Authors: Saranna DeWylde

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BOOK: How to Lose a Demon in 10 Days
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And that ass! It should be illegal for a man to have that ass.
Just as the water grew cold, Grace found herself up to her neck in a hot tub. When she could think, she would have to remember to ask Caspian why he always teleported them when they were having sex. And, why not to a hot spring? This hot tub was familiar, but it was hard to place, especially when his tongue was doing things to her that made it impossible for her to think.
His mouth closed over her nipple. Caspian had positioned her so that his cock was rubbing her clit, and she threw her head back in abandon and didn’t give two damns about the hot tub any longer.
Just as she was about to demand more, he shifted again so that she was straddling him in a reverse-cowgirl position, leaning forward to use the side of the tub for support. She could feel his breath on her shoulder. Not that she needed it, but his arms were around her, his hands on her breasts, and she was anchored to him. And just as he entered her, she discovered a strategically placed water jet that doubled her pleasure as she rocked her hips against him.
He moved inside her, slowly, deliberately. There was a different kind of intensity to this encounter, something urgent but unknown. His movement, his ministrations—everything was measured and controlled and designed for her pleasure. The feel of him against her back was new, the breath on her skin and the slow caress of his hands on her breasts. And it was good. It was all so damn good.
Grace met his thrusts, grinding herself against him as she tightened herself around his cock only to release and pull him in again. She was so close, but she didn’t want to come yet. She wanted this sensation to last. She never wanted it to end.
“Not yet,” she whispered.
“Come for me, Grace.” Caspian pressed his mouth to her shoulder blade. “Come for me now. I want to hear my name on your lips as you do.”
“Caspian,” she cried softly.
“No. Louder. I want everyone to know who’s making you come. Whose cock are you riding? Tell him!”
“Caspian!” She gasped as the water jet increased in pressure like his thrusts. “Oh,
God,
Caspian!”
Electric pleasure shot through her, and her entire body contracted against the onslaught to release in a galaxy of stars and sensation. She relaxed against Caspian and realized that she didn’t even know if he’d gotten off. She took a deep breath and figured if he hadn’t, he would do something about it. And if not . . . ? Well, that was his problem.
“That was so good,” she sighed. “It’s always so good with you.”
The demon pushed her wet hair away from her forehead, kissed her softly and asked, “If it’s always so good, why did you try to banish me?”
C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN
A Night at the Opera
M
ichael Grigorovich was watching a show. His bill to the demon Ethelred was about to come due and he needed to relax.
Carmen
was in town and it was a particular favorite, especially the end. Of course, if he’d been Don José, he never would have been so stupid as to confess. Who gave a damn about a gypsy whore?
He smirked to himself as he looked at his new arm candy. Dina was blond, thin, and rich—everything that would have made Grace gnash her teeth together like junkyard machinery chewing through a rusted-out El Camino. She wasn’t physically attractive to him; he fucked her because he liked the power. It was like the ultimate grudge fuck.
She looked a bit like a famine victim, always hungry. He liked that. Also, she was more than willing to let him do all sorts of cruel things to her. She even enjoyed them. Of course, she liked to starve herself, too. That made him wonder how far he could push her before she snapped, how much pain he could convince her she liked. She was a new toy. He’d play with it until it broke.
Dina’s father leaned over and spoke. “You’ve got great taste. I’m impressed, Grigorovich.”
Of course you are, you pretentious bastard.
You
couldn’t get these tickets.
The seats were practically impossible to obtain. But he waved his hand as if it were nothing.
“Let’s talk business after the show, shall we?” Dina’s father suggested.
Michael inclined his head and nodded. He’d just as soon shoot him in the face and take what he wanted, but Ethelred had told him to make nice and benefits would be forthcoming. This wasn’t turning out anything like he’d imagined. He’d thought he’d be a demon by now. Instead, his ass was in a sling, and it would be until Grace came to her senses—or until he talked her out of them.
A voice in the back of his head wondered if he should have actually bred with her. He should have at least told her he wanted a baby. Women seemed to think that meant something. And then he wouldn’t have added to his Hell-debt by implanting those memories, because they would have been real.
Of course, it was possible Grace would have been equally recalcitrant if a child existed. After all, there was no way Michael’s mother would sacrifice her life to save
him
. He couldn’t blame Nadja—he wasn’t about to go hanging his ass out on the line for her, either. He hoped she remembered that as she stewed in her limbo prison, neither living or dead, waiting for someone devoted enough to use the old magicks to release her. He pitied the creature who loved his mother enough to free her.
Sasha harbored soft feelings for Nadja. Michael knew that, but he hadn’t decided how to work it to his advantage. He was most thankful that no one knew where his mother rotted, waiting for her chance to vent her poison. Michael was torn between admiring his mother’s strength and yearning for her approval and fearing her great power while hating it at the same time. And all the while, he coveted it as well.
Dina slipped her hand into his as the tenor sang. Michael allowed it, since her father was watching with an approving eye, but he couldn’t help but wish that she were Grace. Grace wouldn’t have tried to hold his hand or make any other public display of affection she knew he hated. Maybe when he’d succeeded and was a demon, he would raise her from the dead and keep her with him. She’d always been a good lay, and he’d have complete power over her then.
He glanced at Dina’s breasts. The low-cut dress did nothing for the flat, desolate plain of what was supposed to be her cleavage, and Michael was actually somewhat offended that she tried to pass herself off as a woman. If the bitch would eat, she might be hot. Then again, he did like her hungry look.
He smiled at his date, and she returned the expression. Sort of. That mouth too big for her sunken-in little face turned upward in a vulpine expression that was supposed to be a smile. He wanted to hold her down and force-feed her sausage gravy and chocolate cake. Together. Perhaps that’s what he would do to her, make her fat. Not just the Marilyn Monroe sort of classic voluptuousness that he found attractive; he would see if he could push her beyond that. She’d hate herself even more than she did now.
He gave her hand a little squeeze, and Dina seemed content in her place in the great wheel of his machinations. Yes, Ethelred had been correct yet again. Making nice had its advantages.
Feeling very satisfied, he caught sight of an elegant blond man seated nearby. The stranger seemed familiar and inclined his head. Michael returned the gesture in acknowledgment but was unsettled by his smile. Frankly, it was a look that Michael recognized, having worn it on his own face quite often. It was a sort of horrific glee, and seeing it on someone else did not bode well.
The blond man smiled wider and then kissed the tips of his fingers, extending his hand as if blowing Michael a kiss. He mouthed something Michael couldn’t quite catch but was clearly not a blessing on his mother. About five seconds later, the man was up and gone—the inconsiderate prick rose and left just as the gypsy hooker onstage was getting what was coming to her—and the most horrible sound gurgled out of Michael’s stomach. It was not unlike a toilet chugging down a full bowl of the abuse it had suffered after a college frat house’s taco night bender.
Dina’s eyebrows scurried up into her hairline like fleeing mice. She turned to look at him. “Are you okay?”
Michael nodded and crossed his legs. A small squeal erupted under his chair like there were four piglets fighting for a single teat. Michael felt his face flame, and Dina slowly turned her head to face the stage, her cheeks tinged pink.
He didn’t know why he was embarrassed. So he’d had some gas. So the fuck what? Everyone did. The average human male farted more times a day than he thought about sex. He was never going to see these people again, and if he did, they’d be puckering up for a good long blow on the rump horn just to get in his good graces. As far as he was concerned, he could perform the “William Tell Overture” out of his ass and these people should be thankful to hear it and expound upon his musical genius.
At least, that’s what Michael told himself to get his face to return to a neutral color.
The gurgling started again, but this time it was accompanied by intense pain. The sound was deeper. He wasn’t sure if he could get up, at least not without releasing a devil wind that was being restrained like the Kraken. With the pressure he was feeling, this was bound to be a tornadic assault. His entire body clenched, and he uncrossed his legs so he could better glue his cheeks together. He had a sudden terror of exploding there in the middle of the theater like some kind of new biological weapon.
Gritting his teeth against the stabbing in his gut, he glanced down at his belly as if he could will it into submission. If he’d been able to unclench his teeth, he would have gasped like a woman. His stomach was the size of a basketball and slowly inflating. He had to get up and get to the bathroom. If he didn’t, there was no doubt that his stomach would burst. That blond man had obviously cursed him. Michael would remember the bastard’s face, and when they next met there would be hell to pay—hell not unlike that he was in now.
Oh, no. He had to sneeze. The force of the sneeze would send atomic fire shooting out of his ass like a malfunctioning death ray. If he held the sneeze . . . well, he just didn’t think he could. Michael believed himself to be a man of few limitations, but this was one of them. He was in deep shit—or he soon would be. Literally.
He rose and fled, squeezing his thighs together, hoping that would help him at least make it to the mezzanine. Dina didn’t spare him a glance. She kept her head solidly facing front, which was just as well. If she’d chanced a look at him, she would have been sorry, especially if she opened her mouth to speak. Because, when the scent reached his own nose, Michael was sure the paint was going to curl off the walls.
He gagged a little as he slammed through the door to the men’s room. The attendant took one look and his left nostril flared, the rest of his face turning a garish purple. He coughed behind his hand, trying desperately to escape the stench.
A sound tore from Michael, an apocalyptic thunder that seemed to shake the very walls. The expelled air was something of a self-propulsion engine, and he barreled right through a stall door. Unfortunately for everyone concerned, the stall was already occupied.
“Somebody in here,” squeaked a high-pitched voice.
Michael looked down and saw a poor bastard sitting there with his white boxers hanging around his ankles, studying his iPhone over horn-rimmed spectacles. The game app he was playing made happy little noises.
“D-D-Didn’t you hear me?” the man stuttered.
Another thunderclap rattled Michael’s glutes like windowpanes in a hurricane, and he grabbed the guy by the shirt and heaved him out of the stall. The hapless gent went sprawling across the floor, his boxers still around his ankles; his lily white cheeks flew up in the air, two marshmallows fighting for dominance.
“Didn’t you hear
me
? Get out!”
Michael then slammed the door, and what followed was nothing short of Hiroshimic, mushroom cloud and all.
C
HAPTER
T
WELVE
The Hot Tub
I
don’t know exactly what you’re talking about,” Grace said as she took a redneck-like swig of the golden-hued champagne that Caspian handed her. Though, she did wonder why he hadn’t just conjured it. He’d been gone an awfully long time after making that accusation about her banishing him. Had he really just popped out to get some bubbly?
“Oh, no?” Caspian’s voice went up in pitch on the last word.
Grace shook her head. “Unh-uh,” she mumbled through a mouthful of booze. It wasn’t technically a lie.
“Grace. You don’t lie for shit.”
She set her glass down very carefully and ran her finger around its silver rim. “I don’t lie.”
“Then why is my hair blond?” He shouted the last word as if she were stone deaf.
“How am I supposed to know?”
“It’s banishing cream, Grace. You were mixing it. I seriously doubt that you’d prepare a Hell-stench like that without knowing what you were going to use it for.”
“Hell-stench?” She was indignant. He was impugning her potion-making skills, which was akin to insulting her cooking. “I thought it smelled like mangos. It was
supposed
to smell like mangos . . .” Her brow furrowed. Maybe demons smelled things differently. Especially banishing cream.
“Maybe mangos after they’ve been through someone-with-food-poisoning’s intestines.”
“Look, Caspian—”
He interrupted. “My hair, woman. Look what you’ve done to my hair!”
Grace had the good sense to act a bit sheepish. “Yeah, I’d noticed that. It’s, uh, very striking.”
“It’s
balls
is what it is, witch. So it’s quite obvious you were trying to banish me. Well, if not me, someone. But I’m thinking me. What other demons have you been carousing with?” He narrowed his eyes. “Have you been riding the demonic baloney pony with someone else now that I’ve given you powers of healing?”
“Jealous?” Grace taunted.
“Hell, yes. I broke you in for demon stick and now you’re hopping on someone else’s? Who wouldn’t be jealous?”
“Jealousy is a
human
emotion,” Grace shot back.
“So what?” Caspian said. “I was born to a human woman.”
“Really? Because—”
“No. Enough. Stop trying to change the subject. Who were you trying to banish? And for future reference, a banishing cream will not work on a Crown Prince of Hell. Not with the deal we made. Once you open that circle, I can stay out until Daddy calls to tell me playtime is over.”
“Maybe Ethelred,” Grace suggested.
“Ethelred? What did he do to you? Did Michael sic him on you?” The dark depths of Caspian’s eyes burned with intensity, and his demonic nature was never more evident. They were sitting in a hot tub that had been previously soothing, but now the heat bordered on unbearable.
She was sorely tempted to blurt out the truth, but if it wouldn’t make him leave, why bother? He was a demon, and she couldn’t exactly trust him. Demons had big egos and cocks, and often tiny brains. He’d just do something that would push Michael over the edge and Nikoli would be dead.
“Grace!” he demanded.
She didn’t say anything. The flame had spread from Caspian’s eyes into a black halo around him, and as his rage built, so did that fire. She knew that the water was going to boil her soon, but she couldn’t speak. She couldn’t even move, because her fear held her frozen. She’d always kept it in the back of her mind that Caspian was a demon, but she’d never seen his power spiraling out of control like this. It had just been great sex and word games. But now he was shedding his façade and displaying the power of Hell. Michael was dangerous, but he was mortal. Caspian was something else.
When he reached out to her to grab her arms, she screamed. That was when great black wings erupted from his shoulder blades, fire sluicing down all around them.
“Why are you so afraid?” he asked. “Ethelred? I will destroy him.”
She realized that he wasn’t aware of how his voice had taken on a thundering timbre, of how his flesh was shrouded in fire, or even of the beautiful downy wings of darkness that marked him as one of the fallen. They were splayed out behind him.
“I’m afraid of
you,
” she whispered.
He looked surprised. “Me? I’m the same demon you’ve been shagging senseless. And, demon or no, I’m male. We all get jealous. It’s normal. You’re afraid of a little jealousy?” He paused. “Or is it because I offered to destroy Ethelred? Don’t most women like that chivalric garbage—‘destroying thine enemies’ and all that crap?”
Her voice was shaky, and Grace hated how weak it sounded. “The water is really hot, Caspian.”
Steam was rising in waves. Caspian looked down and reached out again to touch her, but Grace flinched away. That was when he saw he was wreathed in flames. If he stepped out of the water, she’d bet the whole place would go up.
“Get out of the tub,” he said calmly, moving slightly away from her.
She scrambled, naked, out of the tub and wrapped herself in a towel just as the water began to boil. Her skin was red and tender all over, but she knew it was nothing compared to the damage that he might have unintentionally wrought.
Caspian repeated himself, as if he were talking to a child. “You need to answer me, Grace. What did he do to you? Ethelred.”
“Nothing, Caspian. He didn’t do anything but talk.”
“Most women wouldn’t banish someone for talking to them. Especially not a handsome man like Ethelred appears to be.”
Grace desperately wanted to see Caspian as a man again. She
needed
to. What she saw now was horrifically beautiful, but it was both impossible to look at or away from. She wanted to see him as he’d been—dashing, funny, gorgeous, a means to an end who saw her as exactly the same, and who also happened to be delightfully talented at the carnal arts. Nothing less, nothing more.
“You think he’s handsome?” She gave Caspian a weak smile that made the corners of his mouth curve and the flames began to recede. “I just know he’s helping Michael. I wanted to take away the advantage. That’s all.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re sure that cream wasn’t for me? Because if you want me to leave, all you have to do is say so.”
After this? She wasn’t going to tell him shit from apple butter—and without having time to think better of it, she told him just that.
“I’d never hurt you,” he promised.
Grace wanted to ask him why not. Why hadn’t he hurt her before this, in fact? She wondered if he was like Michael. He’d said he would never hurt her either, not unless she forced his hand. She wondered just what it would take to force Caspian’s.
“I was angry because I thought Ethelred hurt you,” he continued. “I haven’t been angry in a long time. I’d forgotten what it was like.”
How did one forget what it was like to be angry? Probably the same way Grace forgot that Caspian was a demon. She couldn’t imagine what it was like to have lived so long to forget feelings, to be so unaffected by the world. Sure, it would be wonderful to never be sad or lonely. To never feel pain. But Grace also knew that being without those things would mean existing without the other side of the coin. She wouldn’t know the good things: the warmth of love and joy, awe at the beauty of the universe.
She wondered what it was like to be Caspian. How lonely it must be, and she doubted he even knew it. That part saddened her and she didn’t know why.
Grace decided she needed another guzzle of champagne. Picking up her glass this time, she noticed the dramatic masks etched into it, and she recognized they were from the Kansas City Met opera house. She also recognized the hot tub. There was different greenery around it now, almost like from someone’s backyard. But this wasn’t a backyard. It was a magickally enhanced balcony on the hip side of Westport. Worse yet, it was Michael’s.
She dropped her glass and it shattered. Droplets of golden champagne covered the ground. “What have you done?”
Caspian looked sheepish. “Which time, Gracie?”
She didn’t correct the use of that name. “This time. Right now.”
Caspian shrugged. “He’s not here.”
“Is my son?” Grace pulled the towel tighter around herself.
“Did my son hear his mother having sex with a demon?”
“You don’t have a son,” Caspian said.
She spun to face him, irrationally angry. “And how would you know?” She went to the door and tried to enter the apartment, but found she could not. “Were you there?” she threw over her shoulder.
What if Nikoli was inside the apartment and alone? What if he was afraid? She felt an overwhelming urge to get through the door no matter the cost. How had Caspian walked right through it only moments earlier, holding their champagne? Grace was almost hysterical, banging on the door, trying to get through. Her power pooled around her fingertips, drawing energy from everything around her, including Caspian.
Her power turned to flame and she was just about to release the full force of her need upon the door when Caspian grabbed her hands. “The door is hexed, Grace. Whatever you cast on it will come back to strike you.”
Her frantic fears were not allayed. “Then how did you get through?”
“I didn’t. I went to the opera and stole Michael’s champagne. He wasn’t drinking it; he was launching Scud missiles in the men’s room. Oops. My bad.”
She couldn’t resist the mirth that the image evoked, but it warred with her fear for her son. “I don’t want to laugh right now, you ass!”
“Look, Grace.” Caspian sighed. “This wasn’t part of our deal, so I probably shouldn’t be handing out freebies, but Nikoli is not real. You don’t smell like a woman who has given birth.”
Grace shook her head, unimpressed. “You don’t understand. I
feel
him. I know he’s real.” Her hands were shaking. “I remember feeling him move inside of me. I remember his baby smell. I remember . . .”
Emotion choked her, and she couldn’t say anything else. Her eyes fluttered closed and her dark lashes swept the curve of her cheek.
At last they opened wide. “Petru told me to ask you,” she admitted. “He said you’d tell me the truth. So I ask you now: Is my son real?”
He drew her close, his ebony wings curling in to cradle her. He paused a moment and then said, “I swear to you, Grace. I swear if he
is
real, I’ll get him back.”
She felt shielded from the world in that dark embrace, and Grace was tempted to believe his promise. She also wanted to ask him why he’d asked her to scream his name while he fucked her here in Michael’s hot tub. If it had been a mortal man, Grace would assume he was staking a claim. But, Caspian was a demon. He didn’t have feelings. Not like mortals. This didn’t make any sense.
She supposed it didn’t matter. All that counted was his pledge. He’d made a promise, and a demon’s word was not lightly given. Could she let him stay long enough to try to get Nikoli back? They had ten days. But if he failed, she’d have to get rid of him.
BOOK: How to Lose a Demon in 10 Days
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