How to Kill an Incubus Page 8

  I was scared to death of being struck down by a lightning bolt for being a demon-lover and trying to set foot on holy ground. It was irrational but I was equally afraid that Father Brady would point one wizened finger at me and cry “Unclean!” in front of everyone. I had an active imagination.

  “Everything OK?” Renée asked, and I could feel her eyes fixed on me.

  “I’m fine, Ren. I just… hate coming back here.”

  She sighed. “Oh, Rae. I know you do. I understand.”

  No, I thought bitterly. You don’t.

  “Is your friend still here? Andrei, right?”

  “No. He’s gone,” I replied.

  “Weird guy. Weird but hot. I mean, what was up with that thing about doors?”

  I’d spun a story about Andrei’s phobia of doors and how he had to abruptly leave through the toilet window last night. It seemed more believable than telling them that he’d teleported out of the house. The fact that he’d come in through the front door didn’t seem to register with them. Heineken probably had something to do with that.

  I gave Renée a sideways glance. “You’re married.”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind,” she quipped, her voice high-pitched. “Jesus, Rae, and we were trying to hook you up with Paul. I feel stupid. Why didn’t you tell me you had some hot guy hanging all over you?”

  “Paul said he wanted friendship,” I muttered, “and I don’t have Andrei. He’s just an acquaintance.”

  “Sure. An acquaintance you did the nasty with in my toilet.”

  I jumped. I couldn’t help it. “What?!”

  Renée laughed into the cool morning air. “I’m not stupid, hon. Lorenzo and I have enough sex for me to know what it smells like!”

  I blushed, finally looking at her. “I’m so sorry, Ren. I swear, I hadn’t meant for that to happen and he really is just a person I vaguely know so….”

  “Babe,” she interjected, holding a hand up, “I love you, OK? I’m just mad that it looks like you’re keeping secrets from me and I’m supposed to be your best friend.”

  Now I felt guilty. But I looked away and said, “I wish I could tell you everything.”

  “Then tell me,” she gently prodded, taking my hands in hers. “Please, Rae. I want to be your friend. I want to be your sister.”

  How could I tell her my mother was still alive but hadn’t aged a day? Or that I had a half-brother who was also a half-demon?

  “You’re my only family, Ren,” I murmured, tears collecting at my eyes again. I squeezed her hands. “And I love you, too.”

  But I couldn’t tell her everything. So I chose to tell her about the safest thing I knew and something I hadn’t thought about in a little while: Mooning over Daniel Lawless.

  Chapter 6

  This was against my usual protocol but I found that I was genuinely thrown by Ana Fontaine. I told myself that this was the only reason I’d agreed to meet her at a cute bistro on the Left Bank—in broad daylight, no less. But the truth was that I was human and therefore allowed to get a little star-struck by a famous fashion designer that rang me up out of the blue. Face-to-face meetings were usually saved for after I’d done the job. However, since this was the age of technology, most of the time, they weren’t necessary at all.

  “I am quite sorry that I have made you come here,” she said apologetically, her voice thick with an accent.

  Sitting opposite me in a chic paisley blouse and elegant black pants, she looked every bit the renowned fashion designer that she was. What she didn’t look like was a woman scorned and out to get some proof from it.

  “It’s quite all right,” I said sincerely, eyeing her phone sitting on the table. It had been vibrating incessantly since we’d sat down at a window-side table inside the bistro. Ana had steadfastly ignored it. “I was… intrigued when you called me.” Not to mention excited.

  It didn’t matter which city I “ran” to. The sale had recently come through, so I was in my new Parisian penthouse this week. Andrei Anghelescu could teleport and find me in a heartbeat. In fact, when he started unceremoniously dropping in every few days, my body welcomed him with open legs. And I was afraid that I was starting to look forward to his impromptu visits. I mean, I’d even gone back on the pill. I couldn’t even deny that I experience a certain high when, with every ejaculation, he’d fill me up with his hot semen. And since business had been relatively quiet, I usually had nothing to do, which meant that he always found me lounging around, virtually waiting for him. So I was over the moon when Ana Fontaine rang me up, told me she knew I was in Paris, and asked if I could meet her at Chocolat for coffee. Although, there was also the little-known fact that I had a few Ana Fontaine LBDs in my closet, so she was kind of a celebrity to me. I would never say that aloud though. Still, it was a bit unnerving to discover that she knew my phone number and location when I was supposedly flying under the radar.

  “Yes, I suppose you would be… intrigued,” Ana was saying, giving me a weak smile. “After all, I have no lover to speak of.”

  “Exactly,” I told her.

  “I don’t enjoy beating around the bush,” Ana said, her face suddenly grim. “I need you to follow my brother.”

  “Your brother?”

  Incestuous, creepy little woman, was the first thought that flashed through my mind. Is she sleeping with him? Is she jealous he might be cheating on her? How am I going to look at her now?

  She smiled, none the wiser about my mental conclusion of her. “You did not know, of course. Few do. He is the product of our late father’s affair with an employee.” She dug into the adorable blood-red leather tote on her lap, pulled out a photograph, and slid it across the varnished table. “Jean-Philippe. He goes by JP.”

  There was zero resemblance between Ana and her brother. In the photo, he had his arm wrapped around a bikini-clad redhead in front of a swimming pool. Where Ana was fair, JP was dark. Her eyes were a piercing blue while his looked grey. She was an elfin woman while JP was a giant. She was sporting a few wrinkles on her face while her brother looked to be about a decade younger.

  “He’s only thirty-two,” Ana spoke up, as if reading my mind.

  “Oh,” I said, pushing the photo back to her. I looked up. “Why exactly do you want me to follow your brother?”

  Please don’t say you’re sleeping with him… Please don’t say you’re sleeping with him…

  Ana looked mildly embarrassed. “Because I believe he’s involved in something illegal.”

  “What would that be?” I sputtered, blindsided yet relieved.

  “I… don’t know,” she said softly, clasping her fingers on the table. “JP was a problem child. And after our respective parents passed away, I had to raise him for the better part of our adult lives. He dropped out of school and wanted to become a DJ, despite my telling him not to.” She sucked in a deep breath, laughing bitterly. “Now, he works for a man called Damien Ivanov, a character I don’t particularly like because it is rumored that he has ties to the Russian mob. JP says all he’s doing is DJ-ing at a nightclub Damien owns here in Paris but…” Her voice trailed off and her brow furrowed. “My brother is not a bad man but I think Damien is using him somehow. He hasn’t been himself lately.”

  “Meaning?” I forced myself to ask.

  “He’s… different,” Ana replied, her brow crinkling. “The last time I saw him, he was with these strange girls, women who seemed a little off. He was keeping them in his apartment for some reason, and yet… and yet he seemed afraid of them—or for them. I’m very sure that that Russian is involved.”

  “Ana,” I said soothingly, “I don’t know what you heard but I usually get intel on cheating husbands. I’m like Cheaters but way classier and more discreet. No violent confrontations, for a start. I don’t follow drug users and prostitutes around.”

  “Miss Erickson, you come highly recommended. I would not have asked you if this was not so.”

  “Thanks, but you’re talking about the Russian m
ob,” I hissed in trepidation. “I’m not sure I…”

  “I don’t want you to follow Damien. Just my brother.”

  I bit my bottom lip. “You’re hoping I find out about those girls, too? Why can’t you just call the cops? Or the—what is it?—gendarmes? That’s their job.”

  “JP will inevitably get into trouble if I do that,” Ana said practically. “This way, I can find out what’s what and strategize. I only want to know, Miss Erickson. I doubt you will be at risk.”

  I sighed. What Ana Fontaine was asking of me was ludicrous. I was hardly a secret spy and my technology amounted to a Nikon, BlackBerry, and laptop. The only weapon I had the balls to carry was a Rampuri knife and I’d never even used it, save for scraping the occasional gum off the soles of my suede boots. This was crazy!

  Ana seemed to sense my inner turmoil. “I will, of course, generously compensate you.” Her gaze became fierce. “If my brother is involved in shady dealings, I must know so that I can help him get out of any mess.”

  I looked at the older woman, amazed. She called him her brother when they didn’t share the same mother. She clearly adored him. I was instantly reminded of Temp. Would I ever feel this sort of affection for him?

  No, because he’s a demon spawn.

  “OK,” I heard myself say. “I’ll do it.”

  “Do you know a guy called Damien Ivanov?”

  His head on one end and motorcycle boots hanging over the other, Andrei arched a brow from his comfy sprawl on my couch. “What do you want with him?”

  “Yes, or no?” I countered, unfurling myself from the recliner beside him so I could stretch.

  He sat up, his eyes darkening—with anger, not lust. “Don’t fuck around with me, Rainelle. I ask a question, I get an answer.”

  I frowned. “I’m not one of your minions. I don’t answer to you.”

  He gave me a final glare and stood up, stomping out of the living room and leaving me alone with Shaun of the Dead continuing in the background. I’d been innocently watching the movie when Andrei had appeared out of nowhere—I was getting used to that. But instead of attacking me like he usually did, he lounged on my couch and watched the movie I put on in silence.

  It was surprisingly… nice… to just be with him.

  Now, I’d ruined it. He was pissed off about the Ivanov thing. He obviously knew the guy and didn’t want me anywhere near him. Well, Andrei might be a king, but I sure as hell had no allegiance to him.

  Actually, I like fighting with him.

  The thought came out of nowhere but it was true. I enjoyed coming to blows with Andrei because after—or, sometimes, during—he’d pleasure me in ways that were wicked and inconceivable, and left me panting for air. I was becoming addicted to him, the same way he was addicted to me.

  Maybe this is how Lauren started out with Vitaly, I thought, my brow creasing. No, I couldn’t start comparing myself to my mother.

  There was no way in hell I was going to be as stupid as she had been, and fall in love with the freaking lord of sex demons, and have permanently horny demon babies. No way in hell!

  “I know Ivanov,” Andrei’s deep voice startled me from behind my recliner. I looked up at his imposing face looming over me. “Does he have a wife I don’t know about? A wife who’s contacted you?” he continued, his face impassive.

  I got up and sighed, staring him down. “There’s a woman who has a brother involved with him. She wants me to tail her brother. I just want to know what I’m getting myself into so don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

  Andrei’s eyes blazed a traffic-light red and I instinctively took a step back. “You’re not getting into anything because you’re not getting involved. Period.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t aware you were my protective boyfriend, here to save me from myself,” I quipped, warily watching him as he rounded the couch and shoved his face into mine.

  “You’ll only get yourself killed, you stupid bitch.”

  Furious, I reached up to whack him across his face, but he caught my wrist midway, spun me around and held me to him with an arm firmly coiled around my waist.

  “Listen to me, Rainelle, and listen pretty fucking good,” he snarled into my ear, shaking me. “This guy is a common breed of… human that makes my kind look like the direct descendants of Mother Teresa. He’s already got a one-way ticket to hell, fully paid for.” His hand fanned out across my belly. “You with me? If you so much as breathe in his direction, you’ll interest him, and you do not want to interest Ivanov.”

  My breathing grew rapid and I was trembling with suppressed rage. Oh, how I longed to beat the horse crap out of this guy, demon or not. I was even considering joining ranks with the hunters just to get a chance to do it. But I stood there passively, my heart pounding at an insane rate against my chest from adrenaline.

  “Does every Russian on the planet know each other?” I asked through clenched teeth.

  “Who said I’m Russian?”

  I wasn’t about to admit my initial nickname for him. It was too embarrassingly juvenile.

  “If you want me to kill him, all you have to do is say the word,” Andrei whispered when I didn’t answer his very valid question.

  “I don’t want you to kill him!” I snapped in annoyance. “I don’t know the guy!”

  “Then promise me you won’t go anywhere near him.”

  “I won’t,” I muttered, squirming in his mock-embrace. “I won’t go near him.” I’ll be at a safe distance with my camera, of course.

  “Good girl,” Andrei murmured, his hand dipping low and tracing the waistband of my sweatpants.

  “Don’t. I already want to hit you,” I mumbled churlishly.

  He surprised me by laughing, a strange, deep sound that rang out so near my ear. “Do you think that would make you feel better?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Andrei released me, turning me to face him. “Then go for it.”

  I had never tied anyone up but I’d watched a hell of a lot of movies and—considering the fact that I wouldn’t let Andrei use his demon magic to tie himself up—I guessed I had been watching pretty closely.

  The single high-backed wooden chair I had in my bedroom was dwarfed by Andrei’s sheer size. I’d bought it at an antique store while roaming the lesser known rues of Paris. It was ancient, stately-looking despite having no armrests, and completely out of place in my modernized bedroom.

  I stood back from Andrei, admiring my handiwork. Thick, industrial rope bound his denim-clad legs to the chunky wooden legs of the chair, as well as tied his hands behind the back of it. He was naked from the waist up, his upper chest had a smattering of dark hair that peppered down his stomach and into the waist of his jeans.

  “Why are you letting me do this?” I questioned—when really, I was wondering why I wanted to hurt him, and why the prospect made me wet in my innermost nook.

  Andrei looked up at me, his gaze dark. “Because I want you to.”

  He didn’t have to explain. The jut of his erection in his pants said more than enough.

  “But you’ll heal, right?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “No.”

  “Then I won’t.”

  I ran my tongue across my upper lip. “If you want to, you can get out of the rope?”

  He gave me a wry smile. “In the blink of an eye.”

  I considered this. “Well, don’t. This will be so therapeutic for me.” Taking a deep breath, I slipped on the knuckle duster Andrei had so graciously provided for me. It felt soothing, iron on skin, and I folded my hand into a fist, testing the weight out first.

  “What are you waiting for?” Andrei goaded, his eyes flashing a dark red.

  Exactly. What was I waiting for? I knew I was going to enjoy this, knew I was going to be hitting my mother, Temp, Vitaly, and every other demon I’d come across and done shit to – when I hit him. This was going to be more than healing. It was going to save my sanity.

  “This is for breaking
into my hotel room,” I said to myself, and I delivered the first blow to his cheek, the sound of metal hitting bone filling my ears.

  Andrei’s head jerked to the side but he made no noise. Blood instantly ran, red and brilliant, from his flesh that made contact with my fist. I winced, although I knew that I probably didn’t hurt him at all. And true to his word, he didn’t allow himself to heal.

  “Feel better?” he coolly inquired, the masculine perfection of his face marred by the bleeding gash.

  “Not yet.” And I struck him again, the sickening crunch of his nose sending goosebumps of intense pleasure up my spine. “That… Well, that’s for giving it to me so good.”

  Blood was spurting from his nose in a steady, brilliant flow, splotches of it spattering onto his bare chest, bright red on russet. I sucked in a deep breath, squeezing my eyes shut. It was so twisted how… aroused I was from hitting him, from drawing blood—his blood. It made him seem so human to me, vulnerable. And it made me feel a delicious power that was so strong, I sensed it in my throbbing clit.

  I was a sick and depraved human being. My conscience told me to stop but the anger I felt at myself for being so attracted to him, among other things, propelled me to land another venom-filled punch to his face—his jaw this time.

  “And that’s for calling me a bitch,” I spat, and his face crinkled into a weird, pained half-smile. “A stupid bitch. No one calls me a stupid bitch, asshole. What the hell are you grinning about?”

  Andrei tilted his head and spat blood out onto my carpet. “I am going to… fuck your brains out.” His voice sounded husky, probably on account of his possibly broken nose and equally busted chin.

  I hit him again, splitting his lower lip. “That’s for tying me up in my own home that one time. I don’t get treated like that. I’m a woman.”

  “You’re only making me hard.”

  I socked him in the gut and he tensed in surprise, barely doubling over. “That’s for ruining my life. My life is ruined, Andrei.” I flexed my hand, throwing him a death stare. “If my father were still alive, he’d disown me. You’re a demon. You’re evil.” I reached out and lightly pressed a finger to the wound on the side of his face. “You’re a demon,” I repeated, wanting this to sink into my thick skull.