Demon Chained (Shadowfae Chronicles) (2 page)

I didn't know. To tell the truth, I'd always been too scared to find out.

The girl's handbag was just big enough. I stuffed the lamp inside and forced the metal clip shut. I clutched the bag close over my shoulder. The creep who imprisoned me was dead. The lamp was mine. I was free. And I was never letting it out of my sight again.

I pushed the swing door open, stumbling on my new heels, and sensation washed over me like a burning tide. Flashing lights, so dazzling my eyes watered, the glorious stink of sweat and spit and breath. Glowing snapshots of movement, muscles, limbs, sweat-slick skin, glinting metal, shining leather, bright rainbow hair. Sound assaulted me, throbbing deep inside my body, thuds and electric screeches and a voice stretched raw with pain and rage. Music, so wild and free and gorgeous it stabbed a sweet ache through my guts.

Things had definitely improved while I'd been gone.

I laughed, and my blood sang with the feel of muscles working in my guts, air buzzing in my larynx, freshly made sound rolling over my tongue. Magnificent.

"Dance, smoky girl?"

I nearly walked into him before I realized he was talking to me, and when I recovered I started wishing I had. Glistening silvery skin, inky blue dreadlocks, translucent fairy wings frosty with glitter. Hard grey eyes, insistent, definitely not shy. The hint of razor teeth behind supple white lips that begged to be sucked on. And oh my, muscles everywhere, fragrant silver sweat shining in smoky rainbow lights. He twitched his wings, and sinew rippled across his perfect chest.

I goggled, transfixed. Men were a lot . . . umm . . . bigger than I remembered. And they wore a whole lot less. Shirts were apparently optional, and the only thing stopping those pants from sliding off his oh-so-lickable hips was surface tension. I hadn't seen that much of a man who wasn't naked since . . . well, since forever.

My pulse thudded, heat swelling my veins. Something about the sharp steel spike through his earlobe and the barbed chain circling his neck in tiny beads of blood suggested he wasn't all that nice, and I chewed my lip, wicked delight prickling my spine.

Bad men are my weakness. I've got fifty-odd years spent crammed inside my lamp to show for that. I should know better.

But my gaze draped itself over him, and I swallowed a mouthful of greedy spit. Gimme, oh yes. I want one.

Jewel, are you mad? Inconspicuous, remember? Keep it in your pants, for heaven's sake.

Oh, yeah. Sure. After all these years with nothing else to think about. Just you try.

Bits of me I'd forgotten I had sprang to life, urging and aching. What was freedom for, if not this? I smiled. "Beautiful, you can do whatever you want to me."

He pulled me close, crushing his hips into mine with long bony fingers, and my knees weakened so fast I thought I'd dissolved by accident. His body burned me, hard, slick with fragrant sweat. I savored every gorgeous curve and . . . umm . . . bulge. Blood rushed to my sex, swelling my flesh until it hurt. I hadn't touched anyone for half a century, so it wasn't understating things to say that rubbing up against Mr. Bad-gorgeous-and-so-clearly-in-the-mood was a bit more than I could handle. And he smelled amazing, too, male skin and leather and sex, pine-scented glitter from his wings tingling over my face.

I slid my arms around his neck, skin rasping on skin. His knotted blue hair slithered on my wrists, and a delicious shudder wracked me. I inhaled, dizzy, his raw fae scent sparkling on my tongue. Angry tension twisted me deep inside. I wanted to taste him, swallow his sweat, drag my tongue over his satiny white lips, delve inside and remember what it felt like to be touched, ravished, hurt.

He bunched my newly cropped hair in his fist, sharp knuckles grazing my scalp. "Sweet cherry girl. So hot."

His voice caressed inside my ear, throaty with promise. I was still picking up on modern phraseology:
I'm really into that
, or
bitchin!
, or
it's so, like, awesome
. Somehow, I didn't think he meant the opposite of cool. "Baby, you're hot enough to eat."

"Wanna go?"

"Love to." I wasn't sure why we needed to go anywhere to make out, though. People seemed more daring in public these days. The two guys next to us were kissing and no one cared. Couples and threesomes were all over each other everywhere, limbs entwining, lips shining wet, clothing tugged awry by grasping fingers. Over on the couches, a green-haired banshee and her boyfriend were actually at it in front of everyone, her sinewy thighs clutched around his naked hips. God, I loved this place.

My fairy sex god wrapped sinfully flexible fingers around my wrist and dragged me away, fluttering up a few metal steps into the dark. My senses crackled, electric. Sighs and cries of pain or pleasure brushed my ears, haunting, and I strained to see but the limpid green glow was too dim.

In the rich stink of flesh he pushed me into a wall, face first. My bag bumped on a doorframe beside me. The cold steel bruised my hipbones, torturing my breasts until my nipples swelled and ached to be twisted. Pain, pleasure, I didn't care. I couldn't restrain a groan of delight as he rubbed against me, big and hard and ready. Apparently, horny fae boys hadn't changed too much there. Heat welled between my legs, and it felt so damn good I whimpered. I didn't know what kind of underwear I had on, but I hoped it came off easily. I wanted him on me, all over me, inside me, and I didn't think anyone would care if he did me right here and now.

Something heavy crashed into the opposite side of my wall, cracking my teeth together. But I wasn't in any shape to care, not with this guy's fingers spidering deftly up my thigh, his exquisitely sharp teeth tantalizing my shoulder, his warm breath sugary like apples.

My nerves stretched taut, tension flavoring my skin so his every movement was sweet agony. God, it felt so good to be touched. I kind of wished he'd slow up a little, let me savor it, but if he was in a hurry I wasn't about to tell him to stop.

Then someone yelled from just beyond the doorway, and I had to take notice.

—Don't shoot, crazy motherfucker, get off me.

A man's voice, brittle with fear. Was he being attacked?

"Wait." I gasped as the fairy pierced me, his sharp nail grazing. It stung, but any sensation was sexual after so long. My muscles jerked around him, already quivering for release. "What was that?"

"Cherries and smoke," he whispered, and tasted my ear with his sharp tongue. Another claw, digging, probing, his fingers impossibly, gloriously long, sinking effortlessly into me and he knew exactly where to stroke to make me shudder. My breath shortened, spasms building deep inside me. Oh, my God, yes. Touch me. More. Harder . . .

—Shut the fuck up.
A different voice, determined. Shaking with emotion.

Damn it. So close. But I couldn't ignore this. I wriggled, panting. "Stop it. We can't just—"

The crisp, unmistakable click of a bullet in the chamber.
—See you in hell.

The fairy stiffened—the rest of him, I mean—and snarled, razor teeth nipping my ear. His fingers curled inside me, claws teasing, but it wasn't enough. "Bullets. Taste like landfill. Later, sundae girl." And in a rain of sweet silver glitter, he was gone.

I stumbled, off balance, wrenching my ankle. Before I could right myself, I'd fallen into the open doorway.

A dark-haired fairy with reddish skin, slouching in the corner, his ruby eyes glinting. A blond guy, half-naked, pinned to the floor by something that looked like a quivering chunk of fury brandishing a pistol.

I'm still not too sure what happened then.

The madman with the pistol looked up. The blond one under him flexed like a whiplash, breaking free, and next thing I knew a fist dragged my hair back and an icy steel blade stung my throat. Holy cow, Blondie was fast.

"Go on, shoot me, you fucking psycho." Blondie's wet jeans stuck to the backs of my legs. His hot breath hissed in my ear. "Put it down or this pretty girl bleeds. You want that?"

The fucking psycho twisted to his feet. Lank dark hair fell in his face. His up-tilted eyes glinted black, his bare arms slick with dirty sweat as he sighted down the barrel at the guy's head.

Which happened to be directly behind my right eyeball.

***

Chapter Two

My pulse sprinted, and sweat dripped a cold trail between my breasts.

"I said, drop it." Blondie dug his blade deeper into my skin. The sting caressed, like a warm feather, and a hot trickle of blood fingered my collarbone.

The red-eyed fairy sidled closer against the wall, his long padded fingers stretching like a frog's, but Blondie jerked the knife, making me yelp. "Stay put, fairyshit."

Crap. I was already on edge, and my body just went right on reacting, blood pumping to all the wrong places. My nipples strained against the tight nylon, but I didn't dare move. Maybe I could play the helpless female, defuse the situation.

I sprinkled the air with sweet djinni persuasion. "Let me go. Please. This has nothing to do with me—"

"Shut the f . . . just shut up." The dark guy with the gun clenched his jaw so hard it popped, muscles standing out along his dirt-smeared cheek. His finger jerked on the trigger, tightening.

My guts clenched, watery. Guess I was out of practice. Enough with this heroic stuff. I sucked in a hot breath to scream for help.

But his grimy forearms quivered, and at last he ripped one hand away from the gun. "Goddamn it. Before I change my mind."

Blondie chuckled in delight, and let go. "Be seeing you, loser." His warmth vanished from my skin as swiftly as it had arrived. The red-eyed fairy bolted after him, a dark blur.

Leaving me alone with an armed madman.

Cautiously, I wiped blood from my throat, smearing my choker. My pulse thrummed under my fingers. My throat swelled, tense. I didn't know what to say, how to calm him down. "Are you—"

"That asshole murdered my daughter." His voice was toneless, soft, and on the last word it cracked, but he didn't lower his pistol.

Great. I'd stumbled into a personal vendetta. Still, my heart melted. I knew how much it hurt to lose the one you loved. I'd even have felt sorry for this guy, if he wasn't aiming a gun at my face.

He stepped closer. I backed off, only to bruise my shoulder blades against the wall. I smelled sweat, piss, something else not quite fresh, and my mouth watered. A ripe smell, but any smell was chocolate cake tonight.

I swallowed. "Put the gun away, all right? I didn't mean anything."

Very smooth, Jewel. For a girl who persuades for a living, you've got a rotten line in wheedle-the-crazyman. I tried to spark my magic again, searching for a glimmer of persuasion to ward him off.

But nothing ignited. My blood slithered cold like a snake in my veins. So many years in my lamp, not casting a single spell. What if I was broken?

What if I couldn't survive alone?

He slapped his palm into the wall beside my head. His gun hovered inches from my face. I jerked back. My skull smacked the metal. I didn't want him to touch me, not with a weapon in his hand and that unsettling smell so strong. But I couldn't help noticing he'd be damn fine, if he'd only take a shower. Exotic. Strong cheekbones, curvy lips, hot dark eyes with a hint of oriental mystery, acres of long straight hair just perfect for trailing over me if it wasn't thick with dirt.

His body wasn't half bad either, despite the weird pearlescent sheen on his skin. Lickable body art, inked black thorns curling over his bunched biceps and down the inside of his forearm. Strip him off, soap him up, rinse him off . . . mmm. My skin puckered into stinging goose bumps, and delicious remnants of my arousal sparked.

Did I mention that bad men are my weakness?

I could have smoked out of there, left him to his dark revenge games. But something about his steely determination stopped me. I felt like he deserved more than my cowardice. More than just some broad who waltzes in, ruins his day and vanishes in a puff of screw-you.

I tried again. "Look, I know how you feel. I'm sorry."

"You know nothing." He leaned closer, muscles straining, and the fleshy smell intensified. Not perfume, nothing artificial or tacky. Just
him,
hot and male and delicious. I gritted my teeth as he prodded the cold metal barrel into my chin. I wanted him to do it harder, to feel my soft skin bruise. I wanted to kick him in the face for threatening me.

His chest hitched, like he gulped a breath, and his black gaze burned sweet acid trails over my cheekbone, my jaw, my mouth.

I shivered, and tried not to let him see it, clenching my thighs immobile. I'd expected rage, sarcasm, violence. Not this.

He looked like I felt. Deprived. Ravenous. Desperate.

Oh, no. No way, Jewel. You are not intrigued. Not sympathetic. Definitely not interested.

He stared at me, dark blood flowering in one eyeball. Dirt seeped in his hair, staining his cheek with little flecks of . . .

My mouth dried. Bone. They were bone splinters. Psychotic male model had a hole in the side of his head. And that grime . . . it wasn't dirt. It crawled beneath his skin, like a mottled black shadow.