Soul Surrender (8 page)

“Then you will put in a good word for me? I've been asking Lucien for over a year to be made into a Demon. I'd be a good one, too. I would.” He reeked of desperation—and no one wanted a fucking desperate Demon.

My gasp was barely audible; just the tiniest inhalation of air, but Julian's grip on my arms tightened all the same. The silence froze the air around us.

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” Mia answered after what felt like an eternity. “Get out of here. Go take care of his club.” Lenny's footsteps were loud and fast, heading straight for the door. And Mia's heels clicked down the stairs, off the stage. She walked up one audience aisle, slowly, stopping at the end and coming back down the other.

“Come out, come out wherever you are.” Her singsong voice echoed through the theatre. “Lucien, if this is some elaborate plan to save that succubus of yours . . .” Her words dropped off. After some rustling and a keypad beep, she spoke again. “Claudette, it's me. Next month's meeting will most certainly be our last.”

T
he door slammed behind Mia, and I moved to get up. Julian held fast on top of me and I stilled beneath him, remaining invisible. Could he sense Mia perhaps? In all these years knowing him, if there was one thing I learned, it was that Jules's instincts were almost always spot on. Except with me, of course. His index finger fell on my lips—the unspoken signal to hush.

A few minutes finally passed when we heard a
crack
from inside the theatre—right next to the same doors we'd entered in—and heard Mia exit out of. Julian lifted his invisibility and I did the same. However, neither of us moved to stand.

“That was close,” I said.

Jules nodded. His breathing was short and heavy, and his erection nestled at the apex between my thighs. I studied his face—his high cheekbones, nose, and chin so chiseled that he could have been sculpted right from marble. His skin was tan; his hair golden and unruly. And every ounce of him was delicious.

Those blue eyes refused to look anywhere but into my own. They penetrated to my very core and left me at a loss for words. “Jules,” I whispered.

His lips twitched, the corners pulling fractions higher.

“I've always loved the way my name sounds coming from you.”

I smiled at that. “Julian,” I said again, teasing. His eyes fluttered closed, grin expanding in territory across his cheeks.

The room was suddenly hot and sticky. Sweat glistened at my hairline, and I shifted it away. “I've never minded your sweat.” Julian's voice was laced with desire—and, if possible for an angel, lust.

“Because you've never seen me sweat.”

“Sure I have.” He grinned, and his pearly whites sparkled. “That summer we spent in the Mediterranean. The 1600s.”

I chuckled, still lying beneath his concrete body. “That's right. Humans would have been onto us if we hadn't sweated. That summer was hotter than Hell—and I should know.”

His smile dropped and he brushed a thumb along my cheekbone. “I'm sorry I didn't save you—from Buckley.”

“Buckley hasn't been a threat for centuries—”

“That's not what I mean and you know it.” He cut me off harshly before continuing. “I'm sorry. I should have laid out the rules for you sooner. You shouldn't have been kept in the dark. I think—I think it was unintentional, but I wanted you for myself. The more I kept you in the dark . . .”

I pressed my fingers to his lips, and his long, fair lashes fluttered closed. His full lips covered my fingertip in a lingering kiss that resonated down between my legs. “I'm sorry,” he repeated.

I nodded. “I know you are.”

“Well, then,” he said, rolling off of me. “Let's get you home, shall we?” He stood, brushing nonexistent dust off of jeans that hung low on his slender hips, then offered a hand to me. My Jules. Ever the gentleman.

I took it and he pulled me to my feet, perhaps forgetting his own strength for a moment. I slammed into his marble chest, my soft breasts pressed up against his flexed muscles. Still-tight pants pressed into my hips, and our inhales and exhales matched. It was the damn hardest thing I've ever had to do, but I put a palm to his chest and pushed him to arm's length.

Damien. I needed to see Damien; feel his body and be reminded that there are men in existence whom I can be with without killing their souls.

A moment of surprise flickered in his face, then the mask set firmly back on and he regarded me warmly. Like a friend; not with the same intense sizzling gaze I'd been met with moments before.

I swallowed. “Actually—I wasn't going home. I-I was going to Damien's.”

The warm gaze hardened to an icy anger. “Of course. I trust you can teleport there on your own?” Shoving his fisted hands into his pockets, his shoulders curled to his ears in a sulk.

“Jules, don't be like that. What do you expect me to do? Never date?”

“You can date,” he grumbled. “Date men who
deserve
you.”

“Like Heaven-bound humans? That's who you want for me? Or perhaps Hell-spawn demons? None of those are great options—you know that.”

“But—”

“No buts. Damien is a good guy. He's a detective and always fights for the right team. He's a little rough around the edges, but Hell—who am I kidding? So am I.”

Jules shook his head, blond hair fanning out at his shoulders, and turned away.

“Wait—Jules! I need to ask you . . . in Heaven, did you ever hear any rumors about me?”

His eyebrows dipped as he turned to face me once more. “Rumors?”

“Yeah. Just anything about what I'm going to become? Anything to imply why this bounty was placed?”

Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, he paused, thinking. “To be honest, no one up there really discusses it much. They're not particularly worried about the existence of . . . well, you know.”

“Right.” My voice caught in my throat and I cleared it, hoping it wasn't too noticeable. Why would angels give a damn about a sex demon? “So, nothing being whispered about me becoming the next Succubus Queen?”

Julian's gaze narrowed. “No—why? What have
you
heard?”

I shrugged, trying my best to appear nonchalant. “Not much. I think that maybe someone's afraid I might be stronger than Mia.”

His eyes flashed, sparkling with an urgency that wasn't there before. “Have you given any indication that you want that sort of power?” His face twisted.

“No!” I shouted a little too emphatically and darted a glance over my shoulder. I half expected a dozen people to pop out from the wings and stare at me. Luckily for us, no one did. “No,” I said again, quieter this time. “That's my worst nightmare. Being the leader responsible for all those lost lives?” I shuddered.

He exhaled, and the worry lines around his eyes melted away with the breath. “Oh, thank goodness.” He put a palm to his chest and with the other held mine. “Not even San Michel could pardon that.”

“Pardon?” A glimmer of hope sparked in my belly.

Jules shrugged. “Don't get your hopes up just yet. But I'm working on it. As long as I'm in existence, I'll be working on it.”

I squeezed his hand before releasing it. “It's a long shot.”

“We'll see.”

He jerked his head in the direction of the door. “Go. Go to your elemental.” His smirk was tender. The same smirk I knew from centuries ago.

I elevated on my tiptoes and pecked him on the cheek. His muscular shoulder tensed at the connection beneath my palm.

With a
crack,
I appeared outside of Damien's door. The sweltering heat surrounded me like a bubble, and I shifted away the beads of sweat gathering between my cleavage. The magic shivered over my skin like a cool breeze, and it felt momentarily wonderful. But it passed as quickly as the air off an oscillating fan.

Damien lived in an adorable suburb of Vegas called Paradise. For a lot of folks, that was exactly what it was. And I had to admit, it was a great neighborhood with a diner that made the absolute best peach pie I've had in my life. And for someone who's existed for many centuries, that was really saying something.

Palm trees shaded the moonlight, and just as I raised a fist to knock, I heard a
crack
directly behind me. Someone had blocked their aura, and I scrambled for my gun, my pepper spray, anything. Before I could even get my hand to my purse, fire slashed across my back and a blast of pain slammed into my skull. Blackness tunneled around me.

New Jersey, 1776

 

“I
'll take her.” His index finger pointed in my face, and more than anything I wanted to bat it away. Of course, that would be bad for business. And how dare I do anything to hurt Lucien's precious business.

I stood in the lineup with the other women. And in all my rational thoughts, I knew I had to recharge. My skin glowed, practically radiating with my need to feed. My hair was glossy, sparkling in its curled coif. I was essentially starving myself, supernaturally speaking—only in the succubus realm, lack of powers worked to my advantage. Nearly every man who came in took one look at the girls and singled me out. The other ladies were just as beautiful and could shapeshift any curves or lack thereof they wanted . . . but because of my abstinence, my pheromone was more potent. A lethal opium that attracted men faster than a horse to an orchard.

To be honest, there were far worse men who had asked for me before. I certainly couldn't complain about this bloke. He was older, with smile lines creasing his face, and the setting sun glinted off his silver hair, showing the reflection of what was once auburn. His golden eyes twinkled and his grin was wide as he held out a hand, palm up.

I hesitated, unfocusing my eyes as Lucien had taught me. I looked at the edge of his hair where it frayed out from his curls and met the orange sun edging past the horizon. It was faint, but I could just make out the sense that he was not going to Heaven. Death. I saw a lot of death in his aura. But what the Hell did that mean? It wasn't his fault if there happened to be a lot of death in his life!

“Well?” His brows crunched together and he tapped his buckled shoe impatiently against the wood plank floors.

The side door banged shut and Lucien entered, glancing up from a roll of parchment paper. He glanced from me to the client and back to me once again. His head twitched a nod.

Lowering my chin in a false display of modesty, I curtseyed to the man, gathered my layers of gown in my arms, and dropped my fingers into his palm. They clenched around my own in a way that conveyed ownership. The customer's leering grin widened and he directed me over to Lucien, pulling out some coins from his satchel.

Lucien tutted and twitched his fingers. “This one doesn't come cheap.”

The man's gaze molested me from head to toe, lingering far too long at my breast line. “Very well,” he said finally, dropping a few more coins into Lucien's palm. Lucien smiled at me.

“Monica, you may take him to the suite. You're a lucky man; this one here only gets the finest room in the house.” His grin swept over me, and I wanted nothing more than to wring his neck until that smile was squeezed away permanently. This was a big fucking game to him, was it? Easy for a man to sell our bodies—it's not his essence he's giving away for twopence.

Had the man known his way to the room, I was certain he would have slung me over a shoulder and taken me there himself. But as it stood, I directed him to the proper bed. I opened the door and let him enter first. He threw me another raking glance over his shoulder.

“I have a feeling you will be worth it, luv,” he said with an extended hand.

I took it once more and he yanked me into him, twirling me so that my back pressed against the front of his person. A thick shaft penetrated the layers of my gown, poking into my backside. Heat flared through my body and the damn itch ached in my core, threatening to tear me apart, rip me from the inside out.

My need for this man slammed into my body like a hard wave crashing over me. Salt lapping at my wounds, burning with the desire. His mouth dipped to the curve of where shoulder meets neck, and his moist lips laid a trail up to my ear. Blood pulsed through my body, and moisture gathered between my legs. His hand trailed down and cupped my dripping sex through the layers of my skirts. I didn't want to admit it, not even to myself, how damn good it felt. With gritted teeth, I asked, “What is your name?”

He paused, and his hot breath fogged on my neck. “What do you care?” I could hear the raised eyebrow in his voice.

I swallowed. “I just . . . do.”

A few curls fell loose from my updo, and he twisted one strand around a finger, turning me to look at him. I angled my chin down, not wanting to see what was behind those eyes of his. He hooked a finger under my chin and lifted my deep blue eyes to his honey-brown ones. One hand slid from my lower back to my bottom, squeezing. I clenched my legs as the itch flared to an almost painful level, and I cried out as he pulled me harder into him.

“Well, well, well,” he grunted. “Is it possible we have ourselves a virgin here?” I swallowed the laughter that rose in my throat.

But Hell. If a lash-batting virgin is what he wanted, I could give him that. I blinked, looking up through the feathery strands of painted lashes instead of answering.

His grin widened and the spear in his britches hardened even more. “Darling.” He brushed the back of his knuckle down my cheek to the jaw until he was tracing my mounding breasts. “My name is Jack.” He tipped my head back and lowered his lips just above mine, stopping a hair's width away. “And you're in good hands.”

His mouth captured mine, and with that one kiss I was a goner. The itch ignited to a full-on blazing hearth and this man's soul—his life force—didn't stand a chance.

A deep breath made my already constricted breasts hitch even higher. Within minutes, we had each other's layers peeled and sprawled on the floor. I smiled—all those layers were covering an impressive body: strong, lean muscles, slender hips, and broad shoulders. His member pierced forward, long and thick. A little bit of fluid winked at me from the tip, and I salivated at the sight. I sank onto the bed, my nose level with his arousal.

Wrapping a firm grip at the base, I tugged him toward my parted lips and took the first taste of his salty fluid. The hot, bitter drop fanned out onto my tongue, exploding like a musket at the back of my mouth. His soul wasn't exactly sparkling, but if you feed a starving person bugs, it will still seem like a feast. I batted my eyes, angling my face up to his. “Is this how it is done, sir?” I whimpered, my lips brushing the smooth skin at his tip.

He grunted, meaty hands falling onto the back of my head. “Open wide for me, my pet.”

It took every bit of my self-control not to bite down on him at that term of endearment.
Pet.
I snorted in my head and instead of coming down on him too harshly, I merely scraped my teeth along his shaft with a loud, slurping suckle.

He hissed an inhalation through clenched teeth. “Not so rough.”

“Aye. Silly little me.” I swirled my tongue around him, taking my time at his tip to tickle the underside. I wiggled from beneath him. “I am dripping,” I said, and dropped my eyes, “below.”

“Then I suppose you are ready for me.” With a catlike grace, he crawled across the bed over top my body, and I fell to my back, stretching my arms over head. My breasts stretched with the movement, and my nipples hardened.

“How did I get so lucky to snag a doll such as yourself?” He stroked my cheek with gentle fingers, and I bit my tongue to stop from lashing back with, “You paid a week's worth of cobbling.”

“I don't know what you mean. Surely I am the lucky one here.” I lifted my bottom off the bed, catching his manhood between my thighs. It slid between my legs with slippery, delicious friction as I pulsed my hips. Up and down; up and down. Sweat trickled down Jack's face, and his lips pressed into a thin line. I, too, was panting from below—waiting for the moment. That delicious moment when he entered me. After several tortuous panting breaths, he finally gripped himself and pushed into my slick opening. I shapeshifted my body tighter, more virginal, and he groaned at the resistance my new body offered.

I whimpered as well, and I was proud to say that this time it wasn't for show. He was long enough to hit that sweet knot inside of me, and my whole body tensed with the contact. He paused, brushing a blond curl from my forehead. “Everything quite well? I would hate to cause such a pretty girl pain.”

His smile was soft and his eyes kind. The warmth spread in my chest, and for all of a moment I doubted Lucien's aura tactics. This man—this sweet, handsome gentleman—didn't seem at all like a Hell-bound soul. Perhaps I had read him wrong? Perhaps Lucien, that whoreson, had taught me incorrectly on purpose as a way to push me further on to Hell's team?

A breath staggered in my chest.

“My dear, are you well?” He repeated the question, only this time Jack's face wasn't sexy and sweet. Concern was etched with every glance at me. His eyes flitted to my breasts and quickly back to my eyes. At least he was trying.

He abruptly pulled out, and though he was still veined and erect, he sat back on his haunches and regarded me with concern. The sudden emptiness made me cry out. I needed him filling my void. Without him, I wasn't sure I'd make it to my next fix. “How dreadfully inconsiderate of me. You probably have not ever experienced bliss yourself, have you?”

“Well . . .”

“Please, allow me. I do quite enjoy the taste of a fine woman.” He ran a tongue across his lips, and I wasn't sure if it was unconscious or for my benefit. He placed a hand on the insides of my knees and pushed them apart. His face lowered, and he ran a tongue along my wet slit.

I gasped, and my fingers plunged into his silvery hair, tugging the strands from his ponytail. “Bloody Hell!” I hissed. Remaining coquettish in the throws of pleasure would without a doubt be difficult.

His tongue impaled me, darting in and out, switching between the wet thrusts and quick flicks at the sensitive nib at the crest. Within minutes, I was close. The tightness knotted in my belly. With a final nip, I cried out—that knot exploding like a cannon settled on my chest. I exhaled as the tremors subsided and relaxed my curled toes.

He popped up from between my legs, proud smile stretching from ear to ear. “I think you are ready now.”

He knelt, throwing my legs up over his shoulders. My pleasure meant nothing to the forces of Hell. Until he spilled his seed, my service was not over. And my powers remained low. Which meant that painful itch flaring through my body would remain—and worsen with each passing moment—until he finished.

He slid into me, and I sighed right along with his moan. I bucked my hips once more and his springy hair brushed against mine. His hips circled with each thrust, and a fireball of frenzy uncurled through my body. Fists clenched the bed, and his tight sack slapped into my buttocks with each salacious plunge. One thrust after the other became more erratic and explosive, less rhythmic.

It wasn't long before he was trembling above me, spurting white-hot liquid gold inside me. Light burst behind my eyes, flickering, and Jack's life flashed before me. Born and raised in England, consorting with royals. Raping young girls. Jack fighting on the Tory's side. And, finally, as the inside man of an attack here in Trenton. He lived through the battle and died several years later.

With a gush of air, I fell back to the present.

I wanted to tear his throat out right then and there. He certainly did like his virgins, I thought with a sneer. Of course, I knew in the rational part of my brain that those fighting on the rebellion side of things would also be killing in the battles. But that battle in Trenton chilled me to my very marrow. How could one so frigidly turn his back on the area that took him in, the area he called home and where he went to church weekly? I shivered and goose bumps pebbled my arms.

Jack stood, slipping his britches back on and tucking in his shirt. “Cold?”

I wrapped the blanket around my torso and shook my head.

He dropped a quick kiss onto my forehead before traipsing out the door. “I hope to see you again soon,” he said with a wink.

And finally, even though I wasn't Lucien's biggest fan, his tactics felt right. “Oh, I hope so,” I whispered.