Disciplining the Beast: Taming the Beast, Book 5 (2 page)

Perspiration beaded on his forehead. He scooted back. “About what you did to Pete Tremore?”

Another guy who’d lacked manners. Newly turned vamps were the absolute worst. “Never heard of him.”

Rafael’s gaze roamed her thigh. “The report states you dated him for several months.”

Until he dumped her for a mortal. A guy, no less, who had season tickets to all the sports events. Jerk. If she could have taken Pete’s soul, she would have. “I’m free now. Totally unencumbered and ready to roll.”

Rafael stared hard.

She smiled. “Is good cop gone? Are you going to be bad cop now? Mix things up?”

“This is why I waited for you in the reception area rather than coming here.”

“To avoid having this conversation?”

“To see what would happen. When I arrived, I told Heather not to buzz you. I wanted to gauge how long you’d last before losing control. You got through five seconds.” He pointed at her. “You wanted to take my soul out there, admit it.”

Well, hell, she’d wanted to enjoy all of him, especially his mouth and family jewels, until she’d learned who he was. A freaking good angel. Talk about lousy breaks. “Maybe I should call a lawyer. Know any good ones?”

“Do you want to spend your entire existence locked up? You may not like Hell.”

“I hear the BDSM clubs are epic down there.”

“Not for someone in solitary.”

She pushed out her bottom lip. “Would you do that to me?”

He stared at her mouth, hair, boobs, lingering on each part for an indecently long time.

Her pussy creamed.

Someone or something rammed into the wall behind her. The framed business license tapped the plaster. Howls filled the hall along with Stefin’s curses, him bellowing in a thick Russian accent.

Rafael focused on her legs and rack.

Zoe joined the fray, barking orders, her voice as gravelly as someone who’d guzzled acid. Suddenly, everyone chilled. Footfalls and thumps followed. Knowing Stefin, Wynona figured he’d thrown the uncooperative client into a treatment room.

Rafael lifted his face and met her gaze.

Longing raced through her, coupled with a shitload of lust. He was such a beautiful guy, his expression soulful and sweet now. A balm for a lonely reaper who’d known countless rejections, who everyone treated like a leper.

Not that he’d be any different in the long run. As he’d said, he was her parole officer. He’d make her behave with threats of solitary in Hell, rather than whips, crops, cuffs, and chains, playing Alpha to her sub, disciplining her inner beast the way she really needed.

Once she was a good girl, he’d get kicked upstairs and someone else would come down to hassle her. Probably a troll like the last guy.

Crud. She needed to do her thing without interference. Being stuck here was bad enough.

“Look, I know you’re a busy man. Working for the Big Guy must be hell. To make things easier on you, I’ll behave. Promise.” She gave him the Boy Scout salute she’d learned from Pete. “I’ll only take souls I should and even throw in a deep, wet, lingering kiss and a slap on the ass to send them on their way with a smile on their faces. How’s that?”

His eyes had gone blurry when she’d mentioned
deep
and
wet
. He stared at her mouth again. She moistened her lips. A scream rang from the next room. Numerous thumps punctuated the sound.

Rafael glanced over, his shirt fluttering with his ragged breaths.

Lucky him. She was having trouble pulling in any air.

“Every day.” He turned back to her.

“Sorry, what?”

He pocketed his smartphone and glasses. “I’m going to be here every day.”

That could be a good thing or bad. Cautious, she tried a submissive smile to give him an idea of what she’d like. “Why?”

“To keep you in line. Make certain you don’t steal any more souls. We’re running out of fresh bodies to put them into.”

“Hey, is that my fault? Tell your boss to create more. He’s the man, he can do anything.”

“He already has, putting me in charge of you. Whether you like it or not, I’m going to protect you from yourself.”

“Oh, yeah?” She swung her foot one last time, grazing the side of his thigh. “Who’s going to protect you?”

Rafael stood.

The room dipped and swayed. He clutched the back of the chair and tried to clear his head. Impossible. Her flowery fragrance invaded his senses, calling to mind women from way back when with gentle smiles, modest gazes, impeccable morals.

Wynona was light years from that.

Her black top, jeans, and boots fit like skin, the leather molded to her slender yet curvy figure, her breasts ripe, hips lavish, legs long. No woman’s mouth was plusher. Sensuality poured from her. In the harsh overhead light, her hair was whiter than fresh snow, the ends dangling to her waist. Her silvery eyes were unearthly, her alabaster complexion the only delicate thing about her.

From reading her file, Rafael knew she was a creature of passion, not afraid to get her hands dirty, or any other part of her for that matter. He couldn’t imagine her in the missionary position unless she was on top, driving a man crazy, corrupting his soul.

Good times.

He shook his head to clear it. The room lurched worse than before. With his face down, he turned.

Her spike heels tapped the floor. “You’re not planning to go through my files, are you?”

He had one arm slung over the metal cabinet to steady himself. “Nope.”

“Then what are you doing?”

Pulling himself together, if he was lucky. “I need to make a report to my boss. Be right back.”

He walked through the wall. An easy matter for an angel. Not so good for the people on the other side.

There were four beings in this treatment room. Given the sulfur smell and flickering flames in their eyes, they were demons. One was a short female with a nice figure, though nowhere near as epic as Wynona’s.

He rubbed his forehead.

This woman had long black hair, an ivory complexion, rosy nipples, and dark curls between her legs. Other than her high heels, she wore a surprised look and lifted her slender eyebrows.

Stefin was also nude, balls pulled tight to his groin, his cock hard as stone and pointing at the female demon’s pussy. “Rafael, hey. Stefin here.”

The black demon shook his head, making his dreadlocks dance over his shoulders.

The redheaded demon eyed Stefin with dismay and sighed loudly. “Cretin.”

“Sorry.” Rafael backed up. “Didn’t mean to intrude.”

“I’m the cretin.” Stefin slammed his fist into his chest. “Not you.” He bared his teeth at the redheaded demon with the country-western accent. “At least I know how to charm a woman, especially my Zoe.” He wrapped his arm around the female. “What’s your excuse besides being a hick?”

“Least I got some
brains.”

“Yeah, where the sun don’t shine.”

“Hold it.” The female put out her hands. She glared at Rafael, smoke puffing from her hair. “Do. You. Mind? We’re on break. We only have fifteen minutes.”

The black demon patted her ass. “Relax,
chéri.
” He had a lilting French accent. “What we don’t finish now, we can save for our dinner break.”

The other guys snuggled close.

She moaned. They grunted.

Rafael walked through the next wall. A woman in a white uniform lay on the treatment table, a vampire huddled over her, his mouth on her neck.

She glanced at Rafael. Her lust-slitted lids snapped open. She shoved the vamp away.

He windmilled his arms and staggered to the right, the left, finally slumping against the wall. “Hey, babe, what’s the deal?”

She pointed at Rafael.

The vamp looked over, saliva dripping from his fangs.

After shooting to a sitting position, she zipped her uniform to cover her lacy white bra. “This isn’t what it looks like. See, no marks.” She pointed at her neck.

The hickey there was nearly as large as Rafael’s fist, the center bright red, the edges purple.

The vamp leaned in. “She means no puncture wounds.” He puffed up. “I didn’t drink one drop of her damned blood, even though I wanted to.”

She beamed. “He’s been such a good boy.”

“Saving all my moves for later, in bed.” He winked.

Holding back a groan, Rafael unfurled his retractable wings and rose through the ceiling, willing to risk running into drones or birds. Anything to get away from so much temptation.

What kind of operation did Becca Salt run? The paperwork said she owned a makeover service, not a brothel with staff and clients who were equally depraved. Sending Wynona to this halfway house had been a mistake, but there hadn’t been anywhere else to put her except here or the bowels of Hell. Places even Satan wouldn’t visit.

From Crud to Stud had seemed the perfect solution. No one there was fully mortal, so taking their souls wasn’t an option for her. She could scare them, sure, especially sweet Heather, but couldn’t go further than that.

Of course, the neighborhood outside the service teemed with mortals, their lives and souls ready for harvest by an RR—rebel reaper.

Pickings were good tonight.

The mild weather had brought out tourists and locals gearing up for Halloween. Plastic skulls, glowing jack-o-lanterns and fake spider webs decorated storefronts. A bluesy tune poured from a bar. People shouted and laughed. Horns honked. Horse-drawn carriages clattered down the street. A soft breeze carried scents of booze, seared meat, and spicy Cajun fare.

None drove away Wynona’s fragrance, sweet yet musky, reserved but seductive.

She had to have some good in her, somewhere. Even if she didn’t, Rafael had to save her from herself. That was his job, his honor-bound duty.

However, as she’d asked, who was going to save him from what he’d just seen and shouldn’t want?

Chapter Two

Wynona couldn’t catch a break.

First Constance had lectured her, then Rafael, and now Becca would have her say.

Her office sported more greenery than the reception area, had countless pictures of her and Eric on the cabinet, and boasted real Tiffany lamps. Those priceless babies flickered and then stilled, casting colorful splashes of bright red, sunny yellow, cool violet, and deep blue that wasn’t nearly as pretty as Rafael’s eyes.

He hadn’t come back. Maybe that’s why Becca had called her in here. Wynona had done what no reaper had before—chased off a guardian angel, aka parole officer, after one super-short meeting.

She should have gloated but was realistic enough to know she might get someone far worse than him. Short, old, ugly, and humorless like the last guy. No fun at all. Now she and Rafael… They’d sparred and shared soulful gazes while feeling each other out. The spark between them might have eventually turned physical. If he hadn’t run off.

Becca gestured to her needlepoint sofa. “Please, have a seat.”

Sounded like Wynona might need one after their little chat. She remained by the closed door. “I’m good. How about you?”

“Fine.” She wound a flame-colored tress around her finger.

Becca’s red hair, coupled with her Windex-blue eyes, fair skin, and Goth makeup, went surprisingly well with the silky crop top and harem pants she wore. Tonight’s burnished-gold ensemble matched her anklets and toe rings. Definitely not an uptight corporate appearance, though she was still on the far side of friendly given her cautious expression.

Again, she glanced at the distance separating them. At least ten feet. The moment Wynona had come inside, Becca had scurried behind her desk, trapped now, unless she wanted to crawl out the window to the balcony.

Rather than force her to dive through the glass, Wynona stayed put and got real. “If you need more space, that’s cool. I could stand in the hall if you’d like or go back to my office and we could speak by phone. Instant messenger or even email works too. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

“I’m good with this.” She inched back.

Wynona leaned against the closed door and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. The most non-threatening stance she could think of. If she couldn’t touch, she couldn’t reap. “What did I do now? Is this about Rafael?”

Becca stopped playing with her hair. “Who?”

So he hadn’t come in here and bitched about their meeting, betraying her like so many other guys had. Gratitude and happiness bubbled within her until she recalled that he hadn’t returned as he said he would. Her glee disappeared beneath disappointment. “Never mind. Why am I here? Someone else want to see me?”

Her newest-new parole officer?

Becca lifted her shoulders. “Not that I know of.”

Wynona blew out a sigh and relaxed, sort of. “Then what’s this about?”

“Please stop scaring Heather.”

“She actually complained about me?”

“Well, no.”

“Constance did?”

“Not at all.”

“Who? Wait. Stefin?”

Becca’s face turned as red as her hair. “He was concerned.”

“He’s a pompous SOB. If I could reap him, that sucker would go down like a ton of bricks.”

“No need for violence, please.” She wrung her hands. “I’m sure he exaggerated, and I’m sure you didn’t mean to frighten Heather. However, since she is a good fairy, she’s easily excitable. If you could try to tone things down around her. Be careful not to approach too quickly. Chill out. You know?”

“You mean whenever I arrive here or leave my office, you want me to keep the lights from flickering, the wind from gusting, and dogs from howling?”

Several strays were outside now, wailing like banshees and weres. Every freaking night, the same thing happened. The moment Wynona showed up for work, so did they, along with the wind, announcing her presence to everyone near and far. Didn’t help that goodhearted Heather had taken to feeding the mutts, encouraging them to come back.

Becca stepped closer and then retreated the same distance. “We’ve called a no-kill shelter. They’ve promised to take care of things.”

“Awesome sauce.” Wynona killed her smile. “Who are you planning to call to take care of me if I don’t tone things down?”

“I was hoping you would.”

“Hey, I can be as agreeable as the next person, but what exactly do you want in addition to me not messing with the electricity, weather, and the animal population? By the way, I have no control over that stuff. It just happens. So do you also want me to be more like Zoe, Constance, Heather, and MJ? Is that it?”

“No, not at all.” She smiled weakly. “I don’t expect you to be exactly like them.”

“Whew.” Wynona wiped her brow. “That’s a load off. I was worried you’d want me and three naked guys to get it on in the break room like Zoe, Stefin, Taro, and Anatol tend to do. Or maybe steal kisses with a former satyr and genie in the reception area, the same as Heather does. Or wait. How about threatening to remove memories from someone as Constance always likes to do, especially when the person doesn’t want that. Or I could be like you, mixing lousy potions that never, ever work right for the—”

“I get it, okay?” Becca screwed up her mouth. “None of us is perfect.”

“You said it, I didn’t. But let me guess, I’m a special case. The other women here don’t have to change, but I do, right?”

“I’m only asking you to tone it down a little.”

“How?” She uncrossed her arms and gestured frantically. “You tell me. I’ve always been this way. It’s who I am. No one came to me the second I was created and said, ‘Hey, Wynona, how about being a reaper? It’ll be a blast.’” She dropped her hands. “I didn’t have a say in this or how I affect things because of what I am. If I’d had a choice, I would have opted for going to prom, cheerleading at football games, having friends, being voted most popular, and living a normal life like a mortal or even a socially acceptable supernatural.”

She pointed at Becca. “You and the others get kisses and hugs from your guys. Do you know how long it’s been since someone has actually wanted me, other than a reaper or the Horsemen of the Apocalypse? I dated three of those guys at once, all of them turds. Don’t get me started on War and Famine. Talk about crappy attitudes. And Conquest? I’m into BDSM as much as the next person, but he went too damn far.” She rubbed her forehead. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to go centuries without a real hug? Not mindless sex, but genuine affection? Can you even imagine how lonely that gets?”

Becca’s face was slack, her color drained. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know…I didn’t think. You poor baby.”

She raced across the space, arms open. More than a foot away, she stopped and froze before they touched.

Despite her good intentions, there was always the same shit to overcome. Touch a reaper and die.

Wynona hung her head. “I’m not telling you what to do, but your powers will neutralize mine. No way can I harm you, even if I wanted to, which I don’t. If you want to test things out, touch my shoulder first with your fingertip, see if anything happens. If it does, Heather can always heal you. I swear I’ll call her in here, pronto. Then you can fire me. Send me to the depths of Hell. I don’t care.”

“I’d never do that. And you should care. You don’t have to promise anything. I trust you.”

Becca threw her arms around her and hugged. Not tentatively, as one would if holding a viper or a corpse. With tenderness in her caress, care in her heart, one friend to another.

Fighting tears, Wynona embraced her in return, savoring her touch, warmth, and sultry scent, totally witchy, completely Becca. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She rocked them back and forth. “This is only the beginning.”

Wynona stilled. “Ah, I don’t mean to disappoint you, you’re really hot, but I’m not into women.”

Becca released her and stepped back. “Neither am I.” She gestured to Eric’s photos. “I’m talking about the others. Don’t move.”

She buzzed Heather, MJ, Zoe, and Constance.

Zoe arrived first, hair mussed, one tail of her turquoise blouse hanging from her black trousers, the rumpled look courtesy of an unruly client or a quickie with her guys. “Yo.”

Becca gestured to Wynona. “Hug her.”

Zoe stepped away. “What? Why?”

“She’s not only staff and a friend, she’s family. Go on.”

Smoke belched from Zoe’s hair.

Wynona cocked her head. “What’s the matter, you chicken?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“Think you’re a real badass, huh?”

“Think? Ha. I know I am.”

They’d inched closer with each comment and now stood toe-to-toe.

Becca cleared her throat loudly.

Zoe shrugged. “What the hell, I’m game if she is.” She held out her arms.

They hugged, each giving their best, and finally giggled like sisters.

Before anything happened with Constance, Wynona needed to lay out the ground rules. “No touching above my neck to remove memories.”

“I’d only target the nasty ones.”

“Sadist. Those are the best.”

Laughing, Constance eased her close. “You’re not going to be alone anymore. We’ll always be here for you.”

Wynona forced down a swallow. “Same here.”

“My turn.” Mistress Jin, lovingly known as MJ, prowled close. Before she’d shacked up with Heather and Daemon, she’d lived in his ring. As a genie, she was the poster girl for outrageous sensuality, her long black hair, caramel-colored skin, exotic features, violet eyes, and sensational curves adding to her allure.

Never one to be shy, MJ snuggled her mound into Wynona’s and groped her ass.

Heather cleared her throat.

MJ returned to her and gave Heather a prolonged and noisy kiss, putting the blooms back in her cheeks.

They faded quickly with her the only one who hadn’t offered a hug.

Heather’s lingering fear hurt, but Wynona understood. If she’d been a good fairy, she wouldn’t have wanted to come anywhere near a creepy reaper. “You don’t have to ever touch me. We can blow kisses from across the room and call it a day.”

“Like hell.” Constance smacked Heather’s ass. “Get your butt over there. Nothing happened to us, so nothing’s going to happen to you.”

“I know.” Heather pulled in her shoulders. “I’m ashamed for acting as I have.”

“Since when?” Zoe made a face. “You make out with MJ and Daemon all the time while we’re around, and you just now noticed how icky that is?”

“Wait.” Constance held up her hand. “I thought she meant holding up a cross to Wynona. Even a good fairy should know that crap doesn’t work on reapers. Most of the time it does zip for vamps.”

“I thought she meant how she apologizes all the time, endlessly too.” MJ took in the entire group before focusing on Heather. “Not necessary, babe.”

Becca rested her hand on Heather’s shoulder. “I think she means not trusting Wynona, right?”

“Yeah. I’m so sorry. I should know better. I really feel awful. I’m so—”

“No biggie. All is forgiven.” Wynona pulled Heather into her arms and hugged her with all the affection she owned. If circumstances had been different, she would have wanted Heather as her parole officer. Putting one over on the sweet fairy would be a piece of cake.

Mean too.

Wynona couldn’t do that to these ladies. They were her people now. However, when it came to being bad with Rafael, all bets were off.

If he returned.

* * * * *

Rafael sat on the New Orleans Marriott roof, the damp breeze in his face, knees to his chest, emotions running wild. Below, the French Quarter sprawled, alive with good food, boisterous times, depraved thoughts, endless sex. Most of those carnal vibes oozed from the makeover service. Specifically, Wynona’s office.

He glanced away and forced himself to focus on lights sparkling across the mighty Mississippi. The undulating water should have soothed. Its rolling mass entranced, reminding him of a provocative walk, long legs, tight leather pants, and spiked-heel boots tapping seductively.

He lifted his face to the cloud-smudged sky. The gentle plumes were white as snow, like her hair. Stars winked from the clear areas, their silvery sparkle matching her eyes.

Sweating badly, he looked down. More laughter pealed from the highest floor in the hotel, the sound clear and tinkling. Not throaty or sassy like hers.

He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead.

Air rushed over him, warm as life, scented with purity. His supervisor, Frank. About time. Rafael had called for him what seemed eons ago. Although the guy was ancient, even by angel standards, he shouldn’t have taken this long to arrive.

Frank plopped down, wispy hair wiggling in the breeze. Dressed in a steel-gray jogging suit, the old guy tucked in his wings and held tightly to a muffuletta. The huge Cajun sandwich had olive salad, soppressata, mortadella, capicola, and provolone stuffed within the roll.

“Sorry I’m late.” He took a huge bite. “Balestrieu’s was running a special on these. The line was pure awful. What’s up?”

Rafael folded his hands over his throbbing cock. Maybe he shouldn’t have called for help. Admitting weakness might get him thrown off this case. He’d never see Wynona again unless Satan decided to allow her visits in solitary. “Uh…”

Frank ran his tongue over his teeth and dove in for another humongous bite before coming up for air. “I need more than that.”

The exact words Rafael had said to Wynona. She’d answered by swinging her foot toward his leg. He’d resisted and edged back. She’d followed. Persistent as hell. Sexy as sin. He groaned.

“You don’t like these?” Frank held up his remaining sandwich. “The smell’s grossing you out?”

“No. I mean, yes. No, I mean, no.”

Frank eyeballed him. “You working too hard?”

He wasn’t doing anything except thinking about Wynona. At the moment, those images were nearly chaste, meaning she still had clothes on in his mind. Give him a few more minutes and he’d have her in nothing except her underwear, surely a lacy black bra and an indecent thong, the material so thin perfume would cover her better. “I need advice.”

“About what?”

Rafael lifted his shoulders. “Women?”

“You don’t seem so sure. You like guys? Perfectly okay. No matter what the folks down here think, paradise is an equal-opportunity lovefest.” Frank bumped Rafael’s arm. “You should know that by now.”