The Whorehouse Oracle (12 page)

Tyron leaned in and kissed a trail
from Khal’s shoulder to his ear. “I’d sensed you out there, never
knowing I was racing toward our own happiness. You’re right where
you belong, a male of worth, to be protected and loved, to the ends
of his days. I’ll love you until the day I perish from this world,
and then on into eternity.”

Khal held them all close for a moment,
never wanting the moment to end.

Eventually, he did and they slept off
the fatigue their coupling had caused, only to awaken several times
in the night to repeat the performance, the roles changing slightly
with each incarnation.

Khal awoke the following morning,
sorely used and well loved. And he knew it was just the
beginning.

The End

Please enjoy the first
chapter of

Betting on His Demon
by Kelex,

now available at all online
booksellers

Chapter One

Julian glanced at the cards in his
hands, trying to keep his cool. Being the second ranked poker
player in the country usually afforded him the luxury of being in
the cat-bird seat when it came to tournaments like this. Big stakes
excited Julian, the higher the risk, the greater the reward. He
usually won round after round, collecting huge purse after purse.
He lived a lifestyle others were jealous of, held parties where he
blew more money than his old man had made in a year.

But that had been before.

Before his life was forever
altered.

Now, focus wasn’t on his side. The
knowledge he had to win or else made the game go from fun to work.
The stakes had never been higher. He needed to win this tournament.
His very life depended on it. He could see the doctor in his mind’s
eye, repeating the words that had cut Julian like a katana, slicing
in so fast he’d barely had time to feel the thrust of the
blade.

“
Cancer. An aggressive
form. It’s already spread farther and faster than any case I’ve
ever seen, Mr. McNamara. We can try chemo and radiation, but I’m
afraid it’s too far for even that. It will extend your life, but
not by much. It may be time to get your holdings in
order.”

Sweat beaded on Julian’s forehead.
Twenty-six and he would more than likely never make it to
twenty-seven and he was told to get his holdings in order to pass
on to whomever because you can’t take it with you, eh? When he’d
gone to his accountant after the diagnosis, he’d gotten a rude
awakening. He’d bought, partied, and wasted most of the money he’d
earned over the past four years, instead of saving, investing, and
being careful like his father had suggested. He didn’t have the
cash he’d need for treatments, second opinions, or anything that
could save his life.

He was young. Tomorrow was supposed to
be a given. Julian was too young to die.

“
I call and raise
fifty-thousand,” said the Texan across from Julian, pulling him out
of his stupor. A slow, wicked smile crossed the man’s face, almost
as wide as the stupid ten gallon hat that was too big for his head.
The Texan seemed to know Julian was struggling, and he was going in
for the kill.

Fifty-thousand?
Julian glanced at his meager pile of chips and
swallowed, knowing he was facing a pivotal moment. If he didn’t win
this tournament, he wasn’t sure how he’d afford the treatments he
desperately needed.

Julian stared at his cards, the sweat
beading more heavily on his brow. No way to have a poker face when
you looked like a sopping damned pig.

Damned.

Yeah, that was more than likely the
case. The flames of Hell beckoned Julian, welcoming him to burn
forever.

Julian hadn’t been the best person in
the world. He’d been too prideful, too sinful, and just an asshole
at times. He’d had too much money at a young age, and he’d been
tempted by what he could buy. Amazing how one simple word could
reduce an ego and make a man take a hard look at his life. There
were so many things he’d do differently if he had a second chance.
He’d be a better son, a better friend, and he’d use his winnings
wisely, planning for tomorrow instead of wasting it all away. Hell,
he’d even do charity work if it got him out of this
mess.

I’d sell my soul to win
this game.

Julian looked over his cards one last
time, seconds away from folding. He glanced up at the smirking
Texan before he made his decision.

The big guy had a drink
halfway to his lips, his smirking smile still plastered over his
face. Julian frowned. The Texan was frozen, that drink never making
it to his lips.
What the hell?

Julian looked around, realizing the
room had suddenly become deathly quiet. Of the dozen players at the
table, all of them but Julian were locked into a frozen position,
their limbs hanging in odd poses. The player on Julian’s side had
been tossing chips into the center of the table, and those chips
hovered in the air, suspended on thin air.

Julian jumped from his seat, his heart
beating madly. Was he being pranked? But even so, how did poker
chips hover?

A roar sounded in his ears, like a
mighty wind coming to knock them all down, but there wasn’t even
the slightest of breezes. Julian turned, taking in the crowd on the
stands surrounding their table. Everyone was stuck, stationary just
like those at the table.

What the hell is
this?

“
Excuse me,” said a
clipped British accent as Julian felt a tap on his
shoulder.

Julian spun on his heel and saw an
incredibly handsome man standing before him in a tailored
three-piece suit and a bowler hat. At least half a foot over
Julian’s six feet, the man was imposing to say the least. Julian
swallowed and looked the guy over.

“
What’s going on here?”
Julian asked the man.

“
You made an offer, and I
accept,” the man said briskly.

“
An offer? What’re you
talking about?” Julian asked before looking around the room again.
No one moved an inch. “Is this some kind of weird joke?”

“
Joke? Not hardly. I don’t
take offers such as these as a laughing matter,” the man answered.
“I’m prepared to give you what you require.”

Offers?
“What are you talking about?”

The man sighed and took off his bowler
hat, tucking it under his arm. He extended a hand to Julian.
“Pardon my manners. I forget myself sometimes. My name is Olivier.
Second prince of Gehenna and son of Amon. And you are Julian
McNamara, cancer-ridden poker aficionado.”

Julian’s mouth dropped open. He’d been
fairly certain the man was insane until the last bit popped out. No
one but Julian’s doctor knew he had the big C. Who was this
guy?

“
Nice joke. I don’t know
what your game is, but I’m not interested.” Julian turned to sit
back at the table and shake his head until everything went back to
normal.

“
Not interested? But you
said you’d be willing to sell your soul to win this game,” Olivier
said.

Julian turned back to the man, shock
filling him again. “I didn’t say anything. I thought
it.”

“
Tomato, tomatoe. It’s all
the same for me, since I read minds,” Olivier said as he walked
closer, bridging the gap Julian had made. “And since you offered
the soul up, I decided to accept your pledge.”

Julian laughed, disbelief still
filling him. “Where were you ten years ago when I wanted to get
into Debbie Monroe’s pants? I recall offering it up then,
too.”

Olivier walked past Julian and lowered
his hat to the table before turning back to Julian. “You didn’t
have something I wanted then. Now, you do. You don’t actually think
we pop up each and every time someone was willing to sign on the
dotted line, do you? There has to be something a particular demon
wants from the human coupled with a desperation level that would
imply the human would be actually willing to part with their soul.
Impending death has that certain smell of desolation like none
other.” Olivier sniffed the air. “This room is rather pungent with
the odor, thanks to you.”

Julian stared at the man
openly.
He has to be insane.

“
Not insane, not by a long
shot, Julian,” Olivier said as he waved his hand and a set of
papers magically appeared in his grasp. “And I have a contract
right here. All I need is your signature and you can have exactly
what you want. You can win this tournament and get the medical care
you need.”

Julian moved to the edge of the table
as Olivier laid the paper on the felted top, the bright white of
the sheets standing out starkly against the green. He looked over
it without actually seeing it, his stunned mind not working as
quickly as he’d like it. “Wait, you want me to sign away my life
when I’ll probably die within the next few months? That doesn’t
seem worth it to me at all.”

Olivier clenched his teeth. “You
wanted to win the tournament. It’s what you asked for,” he spat in
clipped tones.

“
So I could extend my life
a month or two. If the fires of hell await, I’d want more than just
an extra month or two to live.” Always the capitalist, Julian tried
to consider what he’d truly be willing to get in order to hand over
his soul. He still wasn’t completely sure this wasn’t a joke, or
some kind of bad dream, but why not have fun with it? He’d just
said he wanted to be a better man, a better son. What did he need
to do those things?

Olivier stood up straighter and lifted
the contract. It erupted in flames and disappeared, a small amount
of ash falling to the table beside Julian’s discarded cards. “What
is it you’d want, then?”

Julian smiled. “I want to win this
tournament and the next nine big ones. And I want at least twenty
more years.”

“
Twenty? Now you’re just
being greedy, but then that seems to be the case with you, doesn’t
it, Julian? I’ll give you a decade and not a moment
more.”

Ten years?
It was better than ten months, and that was
stretching his current actuality since he probably didn’t even have
that long. “Deal. Where do I sign?”

Olivier pulled a pen from his breast
pocket and grasped Julian’s hand. He jabbed the metal tip into one
of Julian’s fingers, the sting making Julian flinch.

“
What the
hell?”

“
Signed in blood, my boy.
All contracts with the underworld are signed in blood. I just
needed some to fill the pen.”

Julian looked at the glass barrel of
the pen filling with his blood, and he swallowed. The reality of
his situation suddenly hit him. “Am I dreaming all this? I’m
dreaming all this, right?”

Olivier looked at Julian blankly and
raised an eyebrow without answering. Instead, he lifted a hand and
waved his fingers, another set of documents appearing out of thin
air. Olivier dropped them on the table and lifted to the back page
as he drew the pen away from Julian’s finger. The man handed Julian
the pen and then pointed to a line on the back page. “I just need
your signature here, and we’ve got a deal.”

Julian looked at the pen. Ten big
tournaments and ten years. He could make plenty of money and right
some of the wrongs in his life. He would donate to charity. He’d
take his dad on an around the world trip. He’d change for the
better, he promised himself. He hadn’t always been the asshole he’d
recently become. He could do better and be the man his father had
raised him to be.

Ten years was more than enough time
for a do-over.

Julian signed his name with a flourish
and handed Olivier the pen. The man smiled widely and placed the
instrument back inside his coat pocket. He lifted the contract into
his arms and popped the bowler hat back on his head. “Good luck,
Julian. Not that you’re going to need it.”

Julian sank back into his seat and
lifted his cards in hand. As soon as he did, everything unstuck.
The Texan gulped from his whiskey glass. The chips flung by the
other player landed on the table. Julian looked over his shoulder
and everyone was back to life. He sighed and snuggled in his chair.
He must have dozed off for a second and dreamed the whole damned
thing. But then he looked at his hand and saw the bead of blood on
his forefinger. His gaze then drifted to the small pile of ash
beside his chips.

Julian swallowed. It had been a dream,
right? Could the tumor cause hallucinations? Yeah, that sounded
much more likely than his situation being real.

It was his turn. He had just enough to
call, but not to raise. He looked over his cards, knowing full well
there was no way he could win the hand, but if he folded, he lost
too much in the pot and he would lose the next round. Taking in a
deep breath, he pushed his chips in. “I call.”

He dropped his shitty hand on the
table and sat back, knowing they’d all think him insane for not
folding. One by one, the other men at the table groaned and tossed
their cards to the felt.

“
I don’t know how you get
so danged lucky, McNamara,” the Texan said as he started munching
on the end of a big cigar. “I knew I had you beat!”