Soul Surrender (4 page)

The bar was busy for a Thursday night, but not uncomfortably so. It was apparently eighties night: Toto blared through the speakers, and a bunch of demons danced in neon-colored clothing and teased hair.

“Want a drink?” Kayce's eyes were wide, and she slid a glance to the bartender, who gave a less than subtle nod in our direction.

“Gin and tonic, please.”

With a tug on my hand, she pulled me toward the bar. “Hey, Ink. Two gin and tonics.” Her eyes flashed, and he glanced at the clock.

“We missed it?” Kayce's jaw dropped.

“Not yet.” His voice rumbled as though he'd smoked a few too many packs of cigarettes in his existence. His long, jet-black hair, braided in one section, fell past his shoulders. A tribal-looking tattoo started near his hairline and swirled down one side of his face to his temple. “Any minute now.”

“Well”—Kayce glanced at the front door—“when that minute arises, let me know what I owe ya for the drinks.”

He nodded and, in one fluid movement, mixed up two tumblers for us. The tart lime flavor bubbled on my tongue and tickled my throat. I was used to smooth liquor, not the carbonated stuff. But like anything else, it just took a moment to acclimate.

“So where's George tonight?” I said over the music.

Kayce rolled her eyes. “God. That boy works way too much.”

I curved a brow at Kayce. Who was she kidding? With a laugh, she nodded. “Okay, fine. Yes, we all work too much.”

“I talked to him a few days ago. It sounds like the film is going really well, at least.”

Kayce played with her glass. “I hope he isn't gone the entire length of the shoot like last time.”

I nodded in agreement as my eyes flitted around the room. Most of the faces were familiar, even if I didn't know any of them specifically. But one face particularly stood out. Buckley stood by the jukebox, strumming his fingers along his whiskey glass.

F
ear was cemented in the pit of my stomach until it finally softened into something else—something more resilient.

“Oh, yes,” I said more to myself than Kayce. “This could be fun.”

“Huh?” She absentmindedly sipped her gin and tonic, eyes zeroed in on the unmoving front door. When she finally tore her gaze away, I nodded in his direction. “What is he doing here? Wait—he couldn't be—”

I shrugged. “I don't know.” Was he capable of killing me? He already had in one sense. “Hey, Ink.” I held a finger up to signal one more gin and tonic.

Like a vice, Kayce clamped onto my wrist. “He can't know who you are.”

I nodded, sliding out of my chair, and swung my hips to the jukebox. Buckley leaned against the jukebox, his brown hair perfectly disheveled and clutched his drink in the other hand. His grip tightened as I approached, as though he could sense me before I reached him. He spun just as I tapped him on the shoulder. Our eyes locked, and for all of one second, panic set in my chest. Did he recognize me?

His glare softened and his eyes licked my body, flickering like the center of a flame. It made sweat surge to the surface of my already heated flesh. His nostrils flared as he eyed my drink. “Well, well, well . . . what do we have here?” His voice was barely a whisper. And it could melt the pants off of any woman. I should know—it had happened to me once already in this existence.

“I thought you might like a drink.” I held up the glass and clinked the ice against the sides.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I prefer the amber liquids, though.” He rattled his own glass.

I shrugged and sipped my drink. “Too bad. Guess I'll just have to double fist it.” After a pause, I continued. “So, what brings you to eighties night?”

With eyes closed, he inhaled deeply before looking at me again. His narrowed eyes creased his tanned face. “Who doesn't love a good Bangles song?” He quirked an eyebrow and shot another glance to the door. Who exactly was he waiting for? “And you? What brings such a lovely woman to such a bar this evening?”

“Oh, you know. Girls just wanna have fun. . . .”

Buckley chuckled at that. “Right. Of course.”

The song “Heaven Is a Place on Earth” clicked on in the jukebox, and the crowd went wild. Succubi and demons jumped to their feet, rushing the dance floor in a blur of neon and crimped hair.

Moonlight sliced across the dark room as the front door opened, and Buckley's gaze flew to the movement. He spun his body around so that his back was to the door, becoming suddenly very interested in the music lists in the jukebox.

“That'll be fifteen bucks,” Ink said to Kayce, his eyes wide. We both darted a glance to the front door.

The first thing I saw was auburn hair in a pixie cut and the loveliest porcelain skin. Claudette, Salt Lake City's ArchDemon, walked through the door, eyes straight ahead. She ordered two martinis from Ink. With an elbow leaning on the gritty counter, she dropped a twenty and checked her buzzing phone while he prepared the drinks.

I inhaled sharply and eyed Buckley as he covered his face with a hand. When he glanced back up, his look was different. He glamoured himself not so different that a stranger would have noticed . . . but me, I knew that face really well.

“I'm so sorry,” he said, extending a hand. “I have to be on my way. It was nice meeting you.” He squeezed my palm and turned for the door, careful not to show his face to Claudette the entire time.

“Well, that was strange,” I said to myself.

With a quick look around, I ducked into a little nook behind the jukebox and shifted invisible.

Then, slinking over behind Claudette, I peeked over her shoulder, careful not to make a sound. Though invisible, she could still hear me if I stepped too loudly. With two thumbs, she quickly typed a text message.

 

Just got here. Will be inside soon.

 

There was no name linked to the number, but as soon as her drinks arrived, she pinched them each in a hand and glided toward the back of the bar. With one more glance over her shoulder, she swung the back door open and I was able to slip in with her. The door slammed shut behind me, and both Claudette and I winced.

The room was simply decorated with black leather love seats and a couple of club chairs. In the center was a square glass table on top of a cream-colored rug. Claudette sank into one of the love seats, setting one martini glass on the table and tipping the other to her perfectly rouged lips. Svelte legs crossed at the knees, and she bounced one foot up and down.

I barely moved; didn't dare breathe or take another step for fear of a creaky floorboard. After what felt like an eternity, a
crack
sounded through the room, sizzling the air with sparking electricity.

“There you are.” Claudette took a bored sip, slowly savoring the smooth gin sliding down her throat.

Directly in front of where I stood, she materialized before me. A gasp strangled in my throat, and I clapped a hand over my mouth to stop the cry from escaping. Her long, fire-engine red hair fell in Veronica Lake waves down her back and over one eye. A tight, black dress hugged her endless curves in a way that was sexy and still classy. There directly in front of me was Mia—my Succubus Queen.

My boss.

My killer.

M
ia walked in a circle around the perimeter of the room, her three-inch heels clacking against the hardwood planks. Her hard eyes scanned the room as she rounded the back of the couch.

“Good evening, Mia.” Claudette smirked, berry lips curving on one side. “Your highness,” she added with a tilt of her head.

Mia's hand shot up, halting all conversation. As she drew nearer and nearer to me, she inhaled deeply, pausing just a few feet in front of me. Her eyes circled the general area I stood in, and she sniffed a handful more times, eyes flitting around my face. Even though I knew in all rational parts of my brain that she could neither see nor sense me, panic rose in my throat. Did I wear too much perfume tonight?

She closed her eyes and released a sigh, her ample chest deflating with the breath. “Was anybody else in here prior to your arrival, my friend?”

Claudette appeared genuinely concerned by the question. After a pause, she shook her head. “I don't believe so, Mia. Why?” Her eyes narrowed, and with a gentle touch she brushed her bangs from her curled eyelashes.

Mia's eyes narrowed, and her gaze drifted down my body before circling the surrounding areas. “No reason.”

As much as I wanted to exhale when she moved on, I stifled it, knowing my Queen would have been able to hear. And even though I was invisible, she could still reach out and touch me if she wanted.

“How is business going in your sector?” The leather groaned as she sank into one of the club chairs, lifting the martini glass without even asking whom it was for. She was the Queen—without a doubt, it was always for her.

“Business is well. The girls managed to bring down a pastor just recently.”

Mia's eyes fluttered closed as she sipped the martini, swishing the gin in her mouth before she swallowed. “Ink bruised the gin this time.”

Claudette raised an eyebrow. “Still so particular, I see.”

“You'll learn, my friend, that that's the only way to achieve greatness. If you wish to convince Saetan to promote you to ArchDemon of North America, you should
learn
to be more particular.”

We don't have an ArchDemon of North America—the regional managers run their sections and report to Saetan's VP of sorts. Unless . . . was Claudette trying to create a position? Just for herself?

Claudette curved back into her seat, seemingly deflated by the comment. “I
am
particular. Just not with gin.”

“You should be so with
everything
.” Mia paused, spearing the olives and rolling one over her tongue. “If only you weren't a silly demon . . . you could be one of my succubi. Be my number two.”

“I was never any good at seduction. Besides, angels don't become succubi—even if you were only an angel for fractions of a second. We turn into demons when we fall.”

Mia clicked her tongue. “Yes. All but one.”

Claudette was an angel first? A fallen angel—Julian
must
have known as much. How long had it been? She was an ArchDemon, so she must have been around longer than I was, for certain.

“And the stone? It is safe?”

Claudette's eye roll was accompanied by a derisive sip of gin. “Of course. Don't be ridiculous.”

“Please tell me you took it off the sales floor finally.”

“Yes. That was only for the succubus's benefit. She had to know just how easily I could smite her.” Despite Claudette's simple, professional outward appearance, I knew that bitch was twisted. She was almost too collected. Like a sociopath ready to snap.

“You and your games.” Mia's rose-colored lips curved, slicing across her smooth skin into a terrifyingly beautiful smile.

Diving her delicate fingers into her short auburn hair, Claudette fluffed the roots. “What of the human? He's seen Hell now—I'm still in shock that Saetan granted him his freedom.”

My inhalation was sharp at the mention of Drew, but I immediately held my breath when both Mia and Claudette darted a look in my general direction.

Mia slid her gaze back over to Claudette. “Don't let that concern you.”

“But it happened in
my
sector. How do you expect me to be promoted if I can't even control a damn human.” She shook her head and pushed the sleeves of her cream blazer to her elbows. “I have to find him.”

“Saetan has his reasons. You dare to question Him?” Mia snapped. Though the two were obviously friends, Mia was the boss here and she would never let Claudette forget that. With another laborious sip of her “bruised” gin, she huffed a final breath. “Very well. Go off and find the human. However, bring him to me before acting. You want to tread lightly, my friend.” Her fingers folded together in front of her full, moist lips. “What's next on the docket?”

“The sorcerer. He's finally out of my sector—in exchange for some of my girls, he moved back here to Vegas to start some ridiculous magic show. He will be Lucien's problem now.”

“I must pay a visit to him. He is far too powerful to not be on our side.”

Claudette nodded. “Powerful and filled with nothing but spite and vengeance.”

“My favorite mixture.” Mia dipped a finger into her martini, swirling it in the center. Leaning over the table, she placed the same finger on Claudette's lips, painting her with the liquor. “Tell me this is not a terrible martini.” She was truly unable to focus on anything else. Note to self—never make the Queen a bad drink.

Claudette licked her lips, swallowing the drops of gin, and nodded. “You're right. It's terrible.” She wasn't exactly convincing. Claudette looked cultured and smooth, but I doubted she could tell a cappuccino from a latte, let alone a bad gin martini from a good one.

Mia stood with a grace that came only from centuries of oozing sex. “Would you care to join me in paying a little visit to this magic show?”

Claudette shook her head. “I've seen more of that man than I care to in a lifetime.”

Mia gave no indication if she was pleased or displeased with Claudette's decline of her invitation. “Very well. Take this swill back to the bar on your way out.”

Claudette pinched the martini glass, nodding. “Next month?”

“Yes. Let's hope it will be the last.”

“Surely, with the number of demons we have on her case, this will come to an end soon?”

Mia's heels were high enough to need an elevator to reach the top and yet she glided across the room with ease, as though she were barefoot. With one last, narrowed glance around the room, she blinked before looking again at Claudette.

“Mia.” Claudette's voice was soft and willowy. “I know I am not one of your subjects. But just know—none of my girls will ever bow to her if she takes your position. No one will issue her the same respect that they do you. Monica will never be the Queen you are.”

My teeth sunk into the inside of my lip, a tiny bit of blood seeping onto my tongue. It took every ounce of willpower not to rematerialize and demand to know what they were talking about.

“Thank you, Claudette. But don't claim knowledge about that which you have no understanding. And don't make promises you cannot keep.”