Demons Prefer Blondes (12 page)

Her brain kicked into overdrive. “So, Mr. Bell, would you like a tour? Perhaps a demonstration?” she took extra care to pronounce the word correctly. Couldn’t have this fiend too cautious.

“Demonstration?”

She picked up the new silver sheers and twirled them in her fingers, a huge grin on her lips. “You know, a haircut?” She pointed to the plaque hanging at her station. “I’m a master stylist.”

Mr. Bell scratched his hairless chin, his pale eyes intense. “I happen to like my hair, Lucy. You don’t mind me calling you Lucy, do you?”

“Are you my friend, Mr. Bell?” He irritated her more as each minute ticked by. At the shake of his head, she snorted. “Then I mind.”

He leaned in, his breath hot against her skin. The pungent spice mingling with rotten eggs wreaked havoc on her nose. Her stomach roiled. “I hoped we could become more than friends.” A long fingertip scraped along her cheek. Her body shuddered, revulsion gurgling through her veins. Who in the hell did he think he was? She had to act—and fast!

Gripping the shiny new scissors behind her back, she raised her chin. “You’ve overstayed your
invitation
, Mr. Bell.”
Hah! Beat that, demon boy!
Now he had to leave.

“Invitation?” The demon roared with laughter. “Those silly rules don’t work with
true
demons, Lucia.” The hiss of his words stung her ear. He yanked her against him, his pale blue eyes swirling into dark pools. His fingernails elongated, digging into her back. “Don’t trust the Paladins. They’re your enemy.”

The demonic douche bag lashed out his forked tongue and traced it along her cheek as his clawed fingertips traced against her ass. Seduction wasn’t his forte. Her stomach roiled and heaved.

“Let me go!” Still maintaining a tight grip on the shears, she wrenched her arm from his grasp. She raised her arm and arced down, slicing his chest. A circle of bright red marred his pristine shirt.

“We’ll be so good together. You and I.” He grabbed her wrist and squeezed, plucking the scissors from her entrapped hand. Examining the weapon, he clucked his tongue. “Silver. How very creative. You’ll need a bigger pair of scissors to incapacitate me, my dear Lucy.”

So this freak offered her a challenge? Lucy wasn’t one to refuse. “There’s more where that came from, a-hole.” She probably wouldn’t win points for snazzy comebacks with that one, but considering the circumstances it still was pretty good.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes really.” She jumped high in the air, higher than humanly possible.
A-freaking-mazing.
Spinning in a complete three-sixty, she kicked her leg high and roundhoused the offending demon in the chest. The force of the blow sent him staggering back. She grabbed the sharpened curling iron, gripping it like a wooden stake in a cheesy vampire movie. Alertness flooded her entire body.

In a flash, he righted himself and grabbed her hair, jerking her toward him. “Do not fight me, Lucy. I want to help you.”

Help her?
Yeah right.
“What a nice way of helping,” she said, curling iron at the ready.

Jon, if that was even his real name, snaked his arm tighter around her, his hot, moist breath creeping along her ear. If he thought he knew how to woo a woman, he was wrong.

“Put the curling iron down, Lucy.” He fisted her hair, yanking her head up to meet his soulless gaze. Arrogant bastard. And here she thought Rafe was an asshole. He was an
angel
compared to this jackass.

He sneered, sharp fangs poking from his mouth. With a hiss, he angled her head to bare her neck. She had no choice but lower the curling iron. She loosened her grip, the iron hitting the floor with a loud clang.

“I wanted to help you, Lucy, but you’ve left me no choice.” He inched his mouth down to her neck.

She shivered with utter revulsion. So this was where her life had taken her? She would die at the hands of a demon not twenty-four hours after learning she was a succubus? Not what she wanted in life. Then the proverbial anvil hit. She wanted to live. She wanted to prove herself. She wanted to save the world.

Making a quick upward thrust, her knee connected with the demon’s groin. Howling in pain he doubled over, throwing her to the floor. With a loud crack, her head slammed against the tile. Stars danced in her eyes and the room floated around her. Fear and adrenaline warred inside her. One part of wanted to cower and hide, the other part wanted to fight. To live. The curling iron had to be nearby. With frenetic abandon, she grabbed for anything she could find.

Jon loomed over her, fully recovered from his ordeal. Peals of sick sardonic laughter boomed from his mouth. The heel of his designer shoe came crashing down on her fingers, grinding into her knuckles. Pain ripped through her fingers up into her wrist. She bit back the tears. She wouldn’t show this bastard weakness.

“Looks like I’ve won, Lucy.”

A gust of wind whipped through the salon, sending bells jangling.

“No, Belial. You’ve lost this time.” The whiny voice she complained about only two days prior was now music to her ears.

An ax sailed through the air, thrown in an arc, with expert precision. A startled gasp gurgled in the demon’s throat. He fell on top of Lucy and vanished in a poof of dust. Only the silver ax remained.

It had to be her imagination. Wrenching herself from the ground as she brushed demon dust from her sweater, she glanced up. There stood Mrs. Gunderson in the entrance with sword in hand.

“Mrs. Gunderson?”

Lucy shook her head and rubbed her eyes. She had to be imagining the stout woman whose ankles put an elephant to shame standing there holding a sword like a knight preparing for battle. Her poised, confident stance would give a fencing champion a run for his money.

Mrs. Gunderson? Yeah right!
Maybe the shock from having the wind knocked out of her had made her delirious.

The woman shrugged and sheathed her sword in the scabbard strapped to her back. “Only when I’m in your shop, my dear.” Her voice, once high and whiney, morphed into deep and seductive tones. Damn these demons with their sexy sultry voices. Lucy might’ve been part demon, but her voice didn’t hold a candle to Mrs. Gunderson’s, or Kalli’s for that matter.

“I suppose your name isn’t Mrs. Gunderson, either?”

“Only when I’m in—”

“Yeah, yeah. You said that already.” Wow, she wasn’t that forthcoming with information? “What’s your real name? Bathsheba? Jezebel? Salome?”

“Infernati’s most wanted,” Mrs.
Whatever
said. She snapped her fingers, her plump elderly muumuu-sporting body morphing into a tall, lithe, vivacious brunette. Her long wavy hair cascaded in rivulets down her back. Tight black leather leggings clad her too-perfect legs. Clunky brown orthopedic shoes were now red spiky stilettos. Adjusting the clingy bright red sweater that broadcast all her assets to the mortal world, she smiled. “Ahh, much better.”

When your sole purpose was sex, you had to look the sexpot. There was no mistaking the succubus in her. “If you’re into the whole ‘come fuck me’ look, I suppose.” Duh! She probably was.

“Oh, you have your father’s wit! Wonderful!”

Father?
“You know my dad?”

Mrs. Sex-on-a-Platter gnawed on a perfectly manicured nail. “Hmm. I can’t say too much, I’m afraid. Belial’s lackeys may still be lingering.” Concern sparked her golden eyes. “Where’s your protector?”

“Protector?”

“The one who put up the enchantment.” She kept raking her fingers through her luxurious mane. Didn’t she know she already had the big sexy hair thing down pat? “If Belial weren’t so strong, it might have worked.”

How many demons would come out of the woodwork? Demons, demons, everywhere. And how did she know this woman was one of the good guys? After all, look at Kalli. She’d up and left just like that. Lucy couldn’t trust anyone. Heck, she couldn’t even trust herself.

She wasn’t ready to spill secrets. “So what brings you here? Obviously not pedicures.”

The brunette threw back her head in laughter. “You’re a smart one too. Then again, I always knew that.”

“Always?” Great, she had demonic stalkers too.

She grinned. “I wouldn’t go that far. Oh, and call me Lilith.”

“You all need to teach me that trick.”

Lilith arched a brow. “What trick?”

“The whole mind-reading thing. Or at least tell me how to block it.”

A frown creased her lips. “Only a few of us can do that, and even fewer Paladins. Tell me they didn’t send her.”

“Kalli?”

“Kalliope.” She scrunched her nose. “How much has she told you about herself?”

“Not much.” Lucy crossed her arms. “But if you’re worried about her protecting me, there’s no need to worry. She isn’t the one they sent.”

Lilith nodded. “Who did they send?”

“Me.”

Rafe’s voice teased her ears, her heart pounding. She loved that voice. She spun around to lock gazes. He stood tall, his hand resting on his waist. Was that a sword strapped to his side? “Where’s your fuzzy little friend?”

“Squeaky is protecting the chest, at your house.”

The demoness smirked. “Rafael Deleon, how lovely to see you.”

“Lilith.” His voice lacked emotion as he stalked next to Lucy. “What brings you here?”

She rolled her eyes. “Where were you while Belial attacked your ward? Lucky for you, I was in the area and came to Lucia’s aid.”

“She was in capable hands.”

“Capable hands that have since wandered off,” Lilith bit back with a huff. “Kalli? You know how she despises our race, yet you leave her to protect Lucia?”

“Kalli’s changed.” Rafe drew his mouth in a straight line. “She’s proven herself many a time to the Paladin cause. She won’t fail us.” His eyes swirled in a look of determination. It drew her to him. It made him seem almost
human
. She wanted to wrap her arms around him… comfort him. What could cause such despair?

In a flash the glimmer of sadness morphed into his usual stony façade. “I’ll ask once more, Lilith. What brings you here?”

Six degrees of demon separation? Or was it the six hundred and sixty-six degrees? Was there a demon that didn’t know one another? “So I suppose they have succubus and Paladin mixers in Hell?”

Rafe blew out a disappointed breath and groaned.

“We live in Limbo, thank you very much.” Lilith crossed her arms in front of her. “Lucifer and his princes, along with Belial’s Infernati and the damned, reside in Hell.”

Rafe nodded and popped a squat, never once taking his glare from Lilith. “Why is one of the Sexubis’ most prominent figures protecting a common succubus?”

Common? Screw him. Even when she was still 100 percent human, she was anything but common. She balled her hands into tight fists. “What the hell am I? Chopped liver?”

“No Lucy, you aren’t chopped liver.” Rafe reached out and wrapped his arms around her waist and hauled her toward him. With gentle force, he sat her next to him.

Shocked, she could only gape at him.

“You’re special, I can feel it.” He ran a tender finger along her cheek. What the hell was happening? He angled his gaze toward Lilith, who stood there with mouth equally agape. “And since the High Priestess of the Succubi takes an interest in you, that only confirms my suspicions.”

Lilith arched a perfectly manicured brow. “I’m not allowed to show an interest in one of my subjects? I’ll have you know, I’m a real people-person.”

Rafe smirked. “I suppose you want to take over her training?”

“She needs to learn the ways of a succubus. And since I’m one of the oldest, who better to instruct her?”

She wasn’t lacking confidence. She stood there, all six feet of her, with her hands on her hips. Pride sparkled bright in her glittering amber eyes. Lucy liked her better as Mrs. Gunderson than this over-confident stack of steaming sexpot. “Kalli and Rafe will teach me all I need to know.”

Lilith rolled her eyes, a sarcastic laugh rolling from her lips. “They aren’t succubi. They can’t train you.”

“I know how to screw, fuck you very much.”

Lilith huffed. “I made a promise to your father that I would protect and train you if you were to ever come into your powers.”

Lucy attempted to bite her tongue, but she was too damn angry. She didn’t care what this woman had to say. Louis Gregory was her father. This incubus was only a glorified sperm donor. Never mind. Nothing like that should be glorified—ever. “My father died ten years ago.”

“How wrong you are.” Lilith flashed a cryptic smile.

“Try me.”

Rafe sucked in an uneasy breath. “Is all this animosity necessary?”

“It’s the way of the Sexubi. We’re very territorial by nature.” Lilith sauntered toward where Lucy sat and crouched down to face her. Taking her hands in hers, she smiled. “I don’t plan on infringing on your space. I’ve already got my own territory to
satisfy
.”

Lucy controlled the snort that threatened. Satisfying? From what she’d read about succubi, there wasn’t anything satisfying about it. Unless you enjoyed having the energy boinked out of you. “So, where’s your domain?”

“Las Vegas.”

She snorted out a laugh. “How appropriate. Sin City. I bet you make a
killing
there.”

“I don’t kill my victims. Only those who’ve joined the Infernati do.” Lilith huffed. “I suppose I’ll let your father explain everything to you. I’m making a mess of things.”

“That’d be a good idea.” Lucy narrowed her eyes. Hopefully her gaze threw daggers at the sexpot. “But my real father died ten years ago. I don’t deal with demon sperm donors.”

“Lilith, why not come back later, after Lucy’s had time to deal with everything?” Rafe shot the sexpot a pleading gaze. He had that expression down pat.

Lilith nodded. “I see that you care for her, Rafael. I’ll honor your request.” Cared for? What the hell did she mean by that?

“I’ve been sworn to protect the chest, and with it…
her
.”

Lucy’s heart sank. Was he only doing this as a duty? At least Belial, even with the stench of rotten eggs and cloying spices, seemed genuine. Genuinely concerned with himself, her inner conscious challenged. Then again, he tried to kill her. “Oh.”

“Good, Rafael. Just make sure she doesn’t end up like all the other females in your life. I heard your sister has taken residence in Belial’s palace?”

Rafe’s eyes blazed, his jaw twitched. “You’ll keep your mouth shut, succubus.”

“Pardon me, I forgot your ineptitude of protecting the fairer sex was such a touchy subject.”

Clenching his fists, Rafe rolled his tongue over his lips. He opened his mouth to retort, but the busy jangle of bells cut him off.

Kalli and Frankie burst in the room on a gust of air. Kalli scanned the room, her eyes narrowing on Lilith. “What is she doing here?”

“I’m here for Lucy. I’ve been watching over her.”

With a sarcastic snicker, Kalli shrugged. “I’m glad they’ve put her in such capable hands.” She scrounged around in her coat pocket. “I’d like to know why there are so many succubi in one single town. Two I can chalk up as a coincidence. But three? That kind of throws the coincidence theory out the window.” She pulled out a photo and handed it to Lilith.

“Oh dear,” Lucy’s would-be mentor murmured. “Not good.”

Rafe jumped to his feet. “What is it?”

“Nothing for you to concern yourself over, Rafael.” Lilith handed the photo to Lucy. “Do you know this woman?”

Lucy blinked. Gerardo and Frankie hovered over each of her shoulders. Their gasps in unison lightened the tense situation, but only slightly. She looked again. There, her tightly wound blond hair in a severe bun, suited up in a dark blue Armani pantsuit that put Hillary Clinton to shame, stood Larissa Harding, Josh’s fiancée—the one who’d
stolen
him from her. “But she’s so boring!”

“An act, I’m certain.” Kalli wrinkled her nose. “Why she chose to single you out is beyond me. You’re only half succubus.”

Sidling next to Lucy, Rafe snatched the photo from her hand. “There’s more to Lucy than you all realize.” He turned the photo over. His silvery eyes swirled, his breath caught. That look of despair and agony ripped through him again.

“Rafe, are you okay?” Lucy asked with concern. For some bizarre reason, she reached to take his hand. Strangely enough, he didn’t pull away. He gripped tighter.

“This can’t be.” His voice cracked. “She’s dead. I saw her die.”

Kalli flung her dreadlocks behind her head. “I wish I had better news, Rafe.”

“There has to be some mistake.”

Lilith shrugged. “No mistake, I’m afraid.”

“But she was innocent.” Rafe’s eyes clouded as he stared at the photograph.

“You know Larissa?” Lucy asked, her eyebrow arched in wonder. She wrapped her arm around Rafe’s bulky shoulders.

Rafe jerked away and stalked to the far corner. “Her name was Amanda Newell and she died in my arms almost two hundred years ago.”