Sure as Hell

By Julie Kenner

Copyright © 2007, 2014 Julie Kenner

Kindle Edition

Originally published in trade paper format by The Penguin Group

Excerpts from Hell’s Fury by Dee Davis, Copyright © 2007, 2014 by Dee Oberwetter. All rights reserved. Reprint only with permission from author. Please contact
[email protected]
.

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As the second son of Satan, Nicholas Velnias is certain he has no chance of stepping into his father’s shoes. But when his older brother fails to win the keys to hell, Nick is suddenly the favored son. And the task to prove his worth is so simple he knows that he can’t fail—all he has to do is steal the soul of a woman. How hard can that be? After all, Nick steals bits of soul every day, infusing them into canvas and pigment to add that panache to the masterpieces that have brought him fame and fortune.

But when Nick meets Delilah Burnett, the innocent daughter of a preacher who’s bad for the devil’s business, all hell breaks lose. Because while Nick may have set out to steal the girl’s soul, in the end she’s the one who steals his heart.

We began critiquing together in early 1999, back when we were young (sort of), naive (not really), and unpublished (that part’s true). Since we were both determined to do something about the unpublished part of the equation, we committed to brutally and honestly reviewing and commenting on each others’ work (the brutality and honesty softened by the presence of coffee, tea, chocolate … and often wine).

Our standard ritual was to share a chapter of an ongoing work each week by email, then take turns critiquing the pages at the weekly in-person meeting. And it wasn’t long after this process began that we realized how successful the collaboration was, both on a professional and a personal level. Not only did we soon see our books bought by publishers (and then on the shelves!), but our friendship grew as well, eventually matching and overshadowing the ritual of critiquing (cue heartwarming music).

For years, we thought it would be fun to work on a book together, but we never had the opportunity or the idea. And then, one day …

We were sitting at a table during a conference talking about bad boy heroes. And who better to be the ultimate bad boy than a son of Satan? And if there were brothers … then maybe there were sisters, too, because writing wild child women is just as fun.

Needless to say we were excited about the idea. And, so Nick, Marcus, Lucia and Jezebel were born and, as such, gave us the chance to work together on a project, just like we’d been wanting to do for years!

We hope you enjoy reading the stories as much as we enjoyed writing them.

XXOO

Julie & Dee

‡
Chapter One

S
he was off her game
.

Lucia Faucheaux sighed, and slipped the syringe back into her cleavage. Its weight was negligible, but the press of the cylinder against her skin fortified her.

And she sure as hell needed fortification at the moment.

Around her, women in ornate ball gowns swirled in the arms of men in perfectly pressed tuxedoes. The music of Strauss filled the room and the mouth-watering scent of exotic appetizers seemed to dance on the gentle breeze kicked up by the open patio doors. Across the marble dance floor, her gray-haired quarry sipped scotch and traded political stories with the ambassador to Spain.

The opportunity had been right there. They’d been alone on the side balcony. The better, he’d said, to see the view of the Rhine. She’d thought that she had engaged him, that he was taking her outside for an amorous interlude despite his new wife back home in Vienna. And why wouldn’t she think that? That was her special talent, after all. Getting close to men.

As a child, her father had taught her how to make the most of her dark, aristocratic good looks. She’d inherited her father’s midnight black hair, but her mother’s violet eyes were what really drew the men in. Under her father’s tutelage, she’d learned how to move through the world with the grace and skill of royalty. She’d always been a bit of an actress, and that had helped. She’d adapted to her environment, easily picking up manners of speech, turns of phrase, and nuances of etiquette.

Even now, she was moving gracefully, gliding through the ballroom with a smile and a nod, though her mind was anywhere but the festivities.

She had her father to thank for that skill. He had ensured that she easily mingled with kings, princes, pharaohs, and the like. She could make small talk in twenty-three languages, interpret political conversations, and insert herself into the most touchy of diplomatic situations.

All with a single goal: getting close enough for the kill.

Because from the day he’d come to claim her, her father had raised her to be his own personal assassin. An assassin who could get close to any victim. Be it a lowly country preacher or a politician having a crisis of conscience and considering doing a little good for the country.

Lucia was, quite simply, the best. And she had been for an eternity, it seemed.

Not tonight.

Frustrated, she reached out and snagged a flute of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. She swallowed it in one gulp, then turned away from the baron, unable to look at him and the failure that he represented.

It had all been so easy. So run-of-the-mill. So . . . dull.

Just another one of her father’s targets. A politically connected Austrian baron with ties to significant social welfare programs. A straightforward elimination request, complete with the perfect event for the assassination: a private party thrown by a wealthy American entrepreneur who had purchased and renovated a dilapidated German castle. All of society had been invited to
ooh
and
aah
over the excellent restoration. And Lucia’s name was, of course, at the top of the guest list. Simple. Straightforward.

Just get in, nail the guy, and get out. She’d done the same thing countless times over the centuries. So why in Hades was the job suddenly so difficult? Why had she dragged her feet preparing for this kill? Why had she not experienced that tingle of anticipation as her driver had chauffeured her to the party? Why had she lost her focus?

It was a question she hated to pose because she feared the answer. Self-analysis had never been one of her strong suits for exactly this reason: look too closely at yourself and you’ll surely find a flaw.

Flawed. She fought a shudder. The very word disgusted her. She’d been raised to be perfect, and to now find herself at such loose ends . . . well, to say the situation was unnerving would be one hell of an understatement.

She thought back over the evening with the baron. Yes, she’d been less than enthusiastic about the assignment, but she’d never doubted that she would ultimately pull it off. No doubt, that is, until they’d been on the balcony.

He’d leaned in toward her, and she’d been so certain that he’d fallen for her charms. She’d eased the cap off the syringe, planning to inject it into his thigh, then wait for the massive coronary to hit.

She’d never made it that far. Because instead of leaning in to kiss her, he was leaning in to show her his wallet and the photographs he’d tucked inside. Photos of his wife. Of his kids. Even of his dog.

Utterly pedestrian! But oh, how he loved his family.

Something had twisted in her heart, and she’d hidden the syringe away. She simply couldn’t do it.

The failure was completely humiliating and utterly inexplicable.

Was she losing her edge? Was she having a midlife crisis?

The cause of her failure was completely elusive, but one thing was certain: she needed an attitude adjustment. Desperately.

No sooner had the thought entered her head than the movement around her seemed to slow and then, suddenly, freeze. It was as if she were the only living thing in a diorama of the restored ballroom. To some, the effect might be unnerving. Lucia, however, felt only mild irritation.

“I’m not in the mood for hide-and-seek, Daddy,” she said, turning in a circle as she surveyed the room, wondering where her bombastic sire would deign to appear.

A flurry of movement by the bandstand caught her eye, and she watched as a whirlwind of black and red seemed to glide across the floor, like a cyclone that couldn’t quite touch down. Her skin warmed, and every hair on her body seemed to prickle as threads of lightning shot across the room, converging on the ephemeral column.

A crash, a smash, and then there he was. Her father. Standing in front of her in all his dark glory, looking sharp and seductive in his finely tailored tuxedo and buffed wingtips.

The room snapped back into motion, with none of the occupants being the wiser. And as far as Lucia could tell, no one had noticed her father’s unusual arrival. Or, for that matter, the smell of sulfur that still lingered in the air.

“Are the pyrotechnics really necessary?” she asked, moving into his open arms.

“Not in the least,” he said as he swept her onto the dance floor. “But they are ever so fun.”

She lifted a brow. “Are they? Even when no one knows? You froze them. What’s the point of showing off if you’re only showing off for me?”

“Perhaps I thought you needed the reminder.”

The casual remark hid a hard edge, and Lucia stumbled over it, losing her footing as she debated the best way to answer her father. He’d been stern from day one, expecting only perfection from her. She was the oldest, after all. Even when Jack had come along and—being the oldest boy—completely captivated her father, he’d never stopped demanding her best.

And she’d been more than happy to give it. Her father had needed her, and after the loss of her beloved mother, she’d jumped to the task. While her brothers and sisters followed a myriad of paths, she’d been the only one to really stay in the family business, report directly to her father, and get her hands dirty. Even Jack had played the administration game, his occasional parlor trick hardly worthy of his heritage.

She, however, had played an essential role. And up until recently, she’d been damn good at her job.

Lately, though . . .

“Lucia . . .”

She looked up and saw concern in her father’s eyes. She couldn’t help but smile. The man was an absolute devil, and yet, like every father, he was completely smitten by his daughters. Even after thousands of years, that inalienable fact still amused her.

“I’m sorry. I blew it. A momentary lapse. Nothing to worry about.”

“And I wouldn’t be worried,” he said, “if this were the first time.”

She sucked in an involuntary breath. He couldn’t possibly know that! Yes, she’d hesitated on her last four jobs. But she’d forced herself, and managed to handle the assignments, just like she’d expected to handle this one. True, on the last one, she’d been spared by the fact that her target’s private plane went down over a Florida swamp, but if he’d landed safely, she would have been right there to—

“The plane,” she said, suddenly realizing. “You did that?”

“I wasn’t confident the job would get done,” he said. “And it had to be done.”

“Oh.” She licked her lips, not at all sure what to say. Finally, she drew in a breath and tried a completely new tactic: the truth. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Damn, but she hated admitting that. This was what she did, what she’d always done. And the thought that she could be losing her edge—losing her purpose—positively terrified her.

“My dear,” he said, “it’s so simple. You simply need a change.”

“A change?” But even as she said it, she knew he was right. She’d had the same job for thousands of years. Of course she was ready for something different. After all, didn’t all the modern psychologists suggest that most people needed to do something new every ten years or so? If that were the case, then she was seriously behind the curve.