Chapter 1Ivan

1

Ivan

I van blew through the front doors of his office building, ignoring the security guard's desperate greeting, and stalked to the elevators, where he slapped the button hard enough to sting his palm.

The prize he had tucked into his suit jacket burned—was the heat real or imagined? Ivan didn't know. He didn't care. What mattered was that he needed to make use of it before others came searching for it.

Before his brothers came searching for it.

Ivan's brothers.

His betrayers, more like. Ivan scoffed as he stepped into the elevator, hitting the button for the top floor, this time with a gentler touch. Everywhere he turned—betrayal. He'd been raised to lead, they'd been raised to follow, and yet they kept fucking. It. Up.

A radiating pain alerted Ivan to the fact that he was clenching his jaw hard enough to grind his teeth down to nubs. He released the pressure with a concentrated effort, wincing as he stretched the tense muscle out.

This was what family did to people.

He stepped out of the elevator and walked quickly into the only office on the floor. His office. Because he was the leader of this business their father had built from the ground up with blood and determination, even if his brothers liked to pretend otherwise.

Once in the safety of his domain, the double doors closed and locked, Ivan threw his prize on his desk. It looked simple enough on the outside: an aged, leather-bound book. But if Ivan's baby brother was to be believed, it was a Book with a capital B , one that could summon a demon.

And why wouldn't Ivan believe Sascha? He'd seen Sascha's demon with his own eyes just a few hours before. Seven feet of pure muscle, with horns and wings and an air about him that said he wouldn't mind killing whoever—or whatever—dared get in his way.

Ivan had known something was going on with Sascha—he'd started acting strangely a few days ago, two months into his hiding out in Maine. And not strange as in his usual ditzy forgetfulness, but…cagey. When he hadn't responded to Ivan's texts and calls for a whole two days, Ivan had gone to investigate in person.

And had promptly discovered his brother with a giant, horned, winged demon he'd summoned "accidentally." Even more alarming, their other brother, Alexei—who had cost Ivan millions in a botched deal and fled the state two years ago—was there in the company of his own pet monster, a vampire he claimed to love.

But was it love, or was it a power grab?

Because as far as Ivan could tell, everyone had a monster but Ivan.

He tapped his fingers on the leather cover of the Book. All he could hear—other than the ringing in his ears—was his father's voice in his head .

If they don't fear you, you're dead. And you'll deserve it, won't you? For being weak. For being unworthy.

How could Ivan's brothers fear him when they each had a supernatural entity at their disposal? How could anyone fear him when he was losing control of the only people in the world who were supposed to have been conditioned from birth to follow his orders?

Unless…

Unless Ivan had a supernatural entity of his own.

Ivan flipped open the Book. It was filled with strange symbols, each accompanied by stanzas of writing in a language he'd never seen before. Each symbol representing a demon.

But how to choose? Sascha had shown him the symbol that had summoned his demon, Kai. It was a swirling blue number that took up most of the page.

So Ivan should choose an even bigger one, yes? Ivan had greater power and strength of will than either of his brothers, as he'd proven time and time again. He needed a demon to match.

Especially if he was to have any hope of keeping his empire from crumbling.

He flipped through the pages, stopping after a mere moment on one that caught his eye. It was a stark red symbol made up of harsh lines taking up the entire page. Ivan could even swear that page was hotter than the rest, the paper nearly burning his fingers.

This was it. Ivan could feel it.

This was his demon.

Now all he had to do was summon it.

He remembered exactly what Sascha had told him (although Sascha had meant it as explanation, not instruction)—copy the symbol, say the words, spill the blood.

Spill the blood.

Ivan didn't have a knife on him. A gun, yes, but that would no doubt be overkill for his purposes .

He hit the intercom button on his desk phone.

"Yes, Mr. Kozlov?" his secretary answered.

"I need a knife. A sharp one."

There was a brief pause, but Tara knew better than to question his demand. Some people knew how to treat the leader of a Bratva family. Some people knew the meaning of respect.

"I'll bring it right away, sir."

Ivan waited, impatience thrumming through his veins. Her desk was on the floor beneath his. Ivan hadn't wanted anyone on his floor, not since Alexei had left. Definitely no simpering receptionist to greet him each day. He'd wanted to be able to press a button and be taken to his sanctuary without seeing a soul.

While he waited, he stared at the symbol. The more he looked at it, the more Ivan felt how right it was. Some of the tension left his body, his jaw unclenching again.

Yes, his brothers had betrayed him. Yes, Ivan had a mole in his organization, one who'd conspired to cause Sascha harm in this very building. But here was a solution. A way out. A way to secure his hold in New York. His hold on his men.

As if to mock him, Ivan's cell buzzed, Sergei's name coming up on the screen. He ignored the call from his supposed right-hand man. Did Sergei know Ivan had gone to Maine? Ivan had driven himself, had ducked out without even alerting his driver.

Sergei couldn't know.

Either way, now wasn't the time.

There was the ding of the elevator and the telltale sound of Tara's heels on the floor. She appeared a moment later, sharply dressed as always, her dark hair slicked back in a bun. She approached the desk carefully and set a steak knife in front of him, the handle pointed toward him, the blade wisely pointed toward herself.

"It's from the break room. It was all I could find. "

"Fine." Ivan grabbed the knife, testing its sharpness. "That'll be all."

She left quickly. She wasn't a timid woman by any means, but it was possible Ivan was even less…welcoming than usual, at the moment.

Unhinged, perhaps? a wry voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Sascha suggested.

Ivan waved the thought away. It was fine. It was all going to be fine.

His new demon would make sure of it.

He sat in his office hair, a cushy thing he'd gotten when he'd refurbished the office. ( Weak , his father's voice told him every time he sat in it. Pampered and weak .) He took out a paper and pen from his desk drawer, painstakingly copying the symbol from the Book. He studied the words a few times over before reciting them as best he could as he cut the tip of his finger with the knife, a few drops of blood falling on the copy he'd made.

He waited.

And waited.

For a long moment, there was nothing. Ivan tapped his finger on the desk. Had he failed in his task? A new pressure built in his chest at the thought. He couldn't afford to fail. Not here, not now.

But gradually, so low he thought at first he was imagining it, a hissing filled the air. It grew steadily in volume until it was all Ivan could hear.

And then red smoke was billowing into the room, collecting into a column three feet around and nearly ten feet tall.

Massive. Just as Ivan had thought.

A deep, raspy voice rang out. "You called for me, human?"

For the first time in he didn't know how long, Ivan smiled.

Despite all his earlier hurry, Ivan hesitated, taking a moment to appreciate the size of the smoke column, the deep sound of that voice. He'd been right to choose the red symbol—this demon was going to be huge. A goddamn monster. It was going to put Sascha's warrior demon to shame.

As it should.

Ivan should have the most powerful weapon available, not his brothers. They didn't know the cost of the family business, the dangers that lurked at every corner. But Ivan knew. It was what he'd been raised for.

The only thing.

Their father had come to this country a minor player in the Russian Mafia, barely making enough to keep his family above water. He'd carved his place into the American branch by taking the dirtiest jobs offered, stabbing as many backs as he could along the way.

He'd taken his power by way of blood, until his name was as feared and respected as any other in the area.

And then he'd died suddenly, of a fucking aneurysm of all things, leaving Ivan in charge decades sooner than they'd expected. Which would have been fine, maybe. Alexei had been there as his enforcer, Sergei at his side to help smooth over the transitions, Sascha safely tucked away on the sidelines.

And then Alexei had fucked Ivan over, and all Ivan's grief and rage and pent-up aggression had led to a few…poor decisions. Enemies made where he couldn't afford them, the Carusos chief among them. If he didn't handle it correctly, he'd have a mob war on his hands. And the odds of himself and both brothers making it out alive?

Slim to none.

A rumbling from the smoke column reminded Ivan he'd yet to reply. "I wish to summon a demon," he said.

"And here I am. Fully summoned." There was a subtle hint of amusement in the demon's voice. Was it laughing at Ivan? Unacceptable.

Ivan rose from his seat, straightening his spine. There was no time for awe. No time for hesitancy. No time for reflections on his past.

They needed to start things on the right foot. This demon was to be at his beck and call. To serve him and him alone.

"I wish to form a contract," he said firmly. "I need a weapon at my disposal."

There was a long pause. Ivan barely dared to breathe. Would the demon refuse?

But the demon spoke again, and relief flooded through him. "And your terms, human?"

This part Ivan had thought through on the drive from his brother's hideout in Maine back to his own office in the city. Ivan's problems right now were threefold.

One: A rival family from the Italians, the Carusos, were making trouble.

Two: There was a mole in Ivan's organization, leaking information to them.

And three: Ivan's control over his empire was becoming…slippery, as evidenced by the prior two issues and the actions of his wayward brethren.

The Carusos Ivan had given to Sascha and his demon to deal with, assuming they took the bait he'd so generously laid out. Which left him with his mole and the bigger problem of the state of his business.

So his terms…

"A piece of my soul," he began.

The heat in the room increased noticeably.

"Yes," purred the demon from its smoky hiding place.

The spicy scent in the smoke tickled Ivan's throat. He cleared it. "And in exchange, you aid me in strengthening my hold in New York."

"Done," the demon said quickly.

"And the contract isn't complete until…" Ivan paused. He didn't want to say this part. Hated the weakness it revealed. But he didn't have a choice, did he? "Until myself and my family are safe."

"That's two demands," the demon pointed out, nothing in its voice giving away how it felt about that.

"The two are intertwined."

A husky laugh rang out. "All right, then. I, Nix of the Demon Realm, will aid Ivan Kozlov"—Ivan startled, although he kept his reaction from showing. He'd never told the demon his last name—"in strengthening his hold in New York and ensure his and his family's continued safety, in exchange for a piece of his immortal soul." The column of smoke shifted and swirled, still revealing nothing. "Place your hand inside the smoke, Ivan."

Ivan walked around his desk with careful steps and stuck his arm into the column. He hissed at a sharp pinch of his wrist.

Had he just been bitten ?

Sascha had skipped that part of his explanation.

Whatever monster lay inside the smoke held Ivan's wrist a moment longer, its thumb brushing against his skin. Ivan suppressed a shiver, wondering if another bite was coming.

And then he was released.

Ivan stepped back, trying to keep his composure as the smoke finally began to dissipate. But it was surprisingly difficult to contain the giddiness that was bubbling up inside him. What other Mafia boss in New York could claim to hold a demon under their thumb?

Not one.

Ivan would finally be allowed a moment to recoup. To act instead of react. To breathe . To —

Ivan blinked as the last of the smoke cleared. He stared at the demon it revealed.

What in the ever-loving fuck ?

This demon wasn't any bigger than Sascha's seven-foot monstrosity—he wasn't even any bigger than Ivan. He'd be shorter, in fact, if not for the red horns curving out of his head.

It was…wrong. All wrong. This demon didn't look like a warrior. He looked like…like…

He looked like a stripper .

Or whatever the demon equivalent was. All cheekbones and plush lips and miles of leg. His skin was lavender, his eyes a glowing purple. He was wearing leather pants and a sheer shirt that revealed a chest tattoo and what were clearly barbells in his nipples. He had the longest, lushest hair Ivan had ever seen on a man, wavy and red and pulled into a high ponytail, revealing pointed ears.

And was that a tail swishing out from behind his legs?

The demon grinned, flashing sharp teeth, the only appropriately vicious thing about him. "Hello, Vanya," he purred, using the diminutive of Ivan's name.

And why the fuck was the demon's voice higher? What had happened to the deep rumble in the smoke?

At Ivan's continued silence, the demon's grin grew even wider. "Cat got your tongue?" He sashayed closer, and that strange spicy scent enveloped Ivan again. "Want me to loosen it for you?"