Chapter 10

10

Two hours later, packing a filled tank of aggravation, I arrived at the Talisman Casino overlooking the Mississippi River.

Much of the casino’s in-house service had closed for the night. The main floor harbored a few diehards hovering at the card tables. Otherwise, the casino was deserted. The shuttered buffet aromas lingered and wafted from the dining room on the right-hand side of the entrance, but a peek confirmed that the staff was cleaning up.

Okay. No food for Elena.

I nodded at the guy behind the front desk and shrugged. “Delivery for Thorn.”

“You’re new,” he leered, looking me over.

Giving him my best apathetic stare, I silently waited until the smile fell from his face and he broke eye contact. “I need to call up to the penthouse.”

I rolled my eyes. Penthouse. Right. Thorn’s sacking it in a cozy penthouse while I had to hoof ten or so miles here. “Go for it.”

Still ruffled, the front desk clerk turned his back to me and picked up a landline receiver. Talk about the land of the dinosaurs. Without waiting for the answer, I walked across the foyer to the elevator and pressed the call button.

After all, the demon summoned me—to his private residence in a fucking casino.

The heat low in my stomach that built at the collector’s house flowed like molten lava to the apex of my thighs. I flashed on the raw desire Thorn had hot-wired to me through our paranormal connection. What’s up with that? Why is he always switched on sexually?

Could it be that the demon was a sex addict? The whole concept was enticing and terrifying. Because, damn, with all that experience, he had to provide a thrill ride and a half. How easy would it be for me to fall into his bed?

No, it’s not gonna be like that. Even if a part of me craves it.

Though, just because we’re partners and not a couple, that doesn’t make him any less yummy. He’s attractive in a dark and broody way. It wouldn’t be hard to fall into lust with this strange demon lover.

The elevator doors slid open. I stepped inside, hit the big “P” button at the top, and tried not to think too hard about his dark curls, almond-shaped brown and gold eyes, or how nice it would be to climb him like a tree and ride his thick branch. Desire coursed through me, and my skin flushed.

The elevator glided smoothly to a stop, and the doors opened to a double door of frosted glass. As I approached, I spotted the vague silhouette of the penthouse inhabitant. My pulse bumped up a little, and I wet my now dry lips.

I rapped on the door even as I heard the lock snicked open, and the door swung inward, revealing the most beautiful goddamned woman I’ve ever seen, wearing nothing but a pair of sheer, black panties.

“Who are you?” I demanded.

The woman’s cheeks flushed as brightly as the fire racing over my skin, and her lips were cherry crimson. Her green eyes flashed with a calculating edge as her red hair fell in gorgeous waves around her face. She’s unabashedly naked and unapologetically arrested my attention.

“I’m Samara,” she said in a breathy voice. “He said you would arrive soon.” She offered her hand, and her full breasts bounced with the movement. “Nice to meet you.”

When I took her hand, the scent of pheromone-laden sex hit me, and my insides twisted with longing, followed by the sharp pang of envy.

“Would you like some coffee?” she said. The words flowed from her mouth seductively, as if she offered her body instead of a beverage.

Mutely, I nodded. I’m not into chicks. But as my head filled with images of kissing her breasts and sucking on her red nipples that jiggled with each step, I considered making an exception. I followed her into the gleaming white and stainless steel kitchen, and she operated an espresso machine worth six months of my rent. She set a frothy concoction in a tall, ceramic grande-sized mug before me.

Pressing the steaming cup between my palms, I sat at the island of the gleaming white chef’s kitchen across from Samara, who had disappeared into a room. Soon she reemerged with a silk robe on over her panties. It’s a thoughtful gesture, but considering it’s wide open, it merely frames her perfect body, not cover it.

She’s unavoidably fucking gorgeous, and I don’t hate her for it.

Thankfully, Samara can’t read my mind, so I’m saved from the embarrassment of revealing my jealousy of wanting to be the one drawing pleasure from Thorn’s caress.

Looking at her now, I know it will never happen. Thorn’s tastes are apparent.

Samara gleamed, almost literally. Her skin was porcelain, her hair gleamed the perfect shade of true red, and her eyes a bright jade—if jade ever looks cold and hard. Here I am, in my cargo pants, my pink and blonde hair, and plain brown eyes, and what I can only describe as “perfectly average” body measurements, I feel like the kid in school who tried too hard and failed at it.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard your answer. How long have you worked for Dagon?” Samara smiled. Her full lips parted to show just enough of her perfect, white teeth.

“Started a few days ago. I guess.” I stifled the urge to kick my feet while sitting on the high stool. “Although, since I’m a contractor, I don’t refer to my clients as my employers.”

She blinked reflexively like a lizard, her face revealing nothing of her thoughts. “I see. And you’re… a finder?”

“Yes, I’m a seeker. I have a talent for locating things, especially magical items.” I glanced toward where I assumed the bedroom was. Where was Thorn anyway? Why did he call me here if not to meet him?

She tipped her head to the side. “Could you find a person?”

I shrug. “I suppose I could, if that was what was asked. My clients usually want me to find their lost heirlooms, or items that augment their magic.”

“What did you bring Dagon?”

My fingers twitched, itching to pull the stone eye from my pocket for her approval.

“I’m sorry. Confidentiality is a big part of my business. But in your case— ” I paused, fighting to get the words out against what felt like a compulsion to consent to Samara’s wishes, “I’m sure Mr. Thorn will show you anything he wants you to see.”

Beads of sweat dotted my forehead, and my neck became damp. Another pang of envy hits me. Yet, this time, I’m unsure if it was because he had sex with her and not me—or because she had sex with him and not me.

What the hell are you, Samara?

In response, I felt his presence. Like before, I got a sense of longing, need, and sexual hunger that made the desire that hit me in the library an hour ago feel like light teasing.

Succubus.

Well, shit. There’s no competing with that. The real question is, why do I suddenly need to measure up to her?

We sat in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, then Thorn walked in, dressed in a Henley and a pair of lounge pants that hung from his narrow hips like they’d fall off at the slightest touch.

Not that I’d notice or anything.

Samara rose from her seat and went to him, pressing her body against him and kissing him hungrily.

“No business after midnight, remember?” she said in a breathy voice that made Marilyn Monroe sound like an amateur.

Thorn sighed and stepped around her. “I always take care of business when it needs doing, Sam. You know that.” He gives me a long look. “Did you take care of yours?”

“My business?” I blinked as I thought of risky business, frisky business, and the business end of somebody’s dick. “Yes, Mr. Thorn, I took care of my business.” I reached for my pocket.

But he shakes his head. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

I drop my hand. “Okay.” But it’s not okay. I don’t want to sit in here while he fucks her, and I suspected that would happen. Especially if Samara had anything to say about it.

He took his succubus by the arm, and she giggled, leaning into him. I don’t know if it’s my observation or his, but I got the impression she’s putting on a show, and it turned my stomach. Now that I know what she is, I can see the razor-sharp calculation behind her green eyes, and a part of me can’t wait to leave.

Still, her act appeared to have worked because right now, there was nowhere I wanted to be less than this pristine, heaven-on-earth kitchen, waiting for her to satisfy him before he claimed the prize resting in my pocket.

My ears pricked when Samara giggled loud enough to be heard from the bedroom. A rush of sensations flooded me. Shit. It filtered through the connection between Thorn and me. She’d done some trick to—well, to his dick to turn him on. It’s TMI, but another wave of lust rolled through me. Fucking A. It’s not mine, but it’s hitting me between the legs, anyway.

I shifted in my seat as Thorn’s voice rumbled across the penthouse, drawing my eyes toward the bedroom. Hellfire. The door wasn’t even closed, and Samara’s bare breasts bobbed into view. Her panties are now missing, great. I slammed my gaze to her face, and she grinned like the Cheshire cat when my eyes met hers, mortifying me.

I attempted to turn away, but I seemed stuck.

Thorn’s bare ass loomed into view, muscular and taut, and the sight of it made me slick with desire.

Finally, I wrested control of my faculties and shrunk back into the kitchen to await further instruction. They’re both moaning now, and I can hear their bodies slamming against each other. How the fuck did I get mixed up in this? It’s embarrassing as hell, and based on the impressions that filter through me, I’m not sure physically vacating the space will spare me the intimate details.

I considered sticking the pilfered artifact in the freezer and texting him its location. It was a good bet the only cooking “Sam” did for Thorn was in the sack, so there was no danger of her peeking in the ice box. Then a second thought hit me. What if this is her place?

I glanced around, trying to distract myself, peeking at the contents of the fridge, quietly skulking in the cupboards, but I didn’t know what I was searching for. Pink plates? Cans of White Claw in the beverage drawer?

Nervous that I’d get caught with my hand in the proverbial cookie jar, I took up my latte again, sat at the island, and waited.

Samara moaned twice. “Dagon,” she called, and my cheeks flamed. The tension built, and she screamed something in a language I didn’t understand. He growled, and I shoved my fingers in my ears and thought of England.

I don’t know what “thinking of England” meant, but apparently, it’s something English ladies were once advised to do when having sex with their husbands. Here, I’m faced with one demon having sex with another, and it’s a sweaty and pheromone ladened affair surrounding me with animalistic lust beyond reasoning. And as much as I tried to ignore it, I couldn’t. Sweat beaded on my forehead and under my breasts, my breath grows ragged, and fire crawled between my legs. It’s all I could do to keep my hands from wandering to give myself relief, but I refused to participate in this weird menagé a trois.

When the demon and succubus reached their crescendo, you would think that the Earth’s core would split from the kinetic energy. But finally, the tension drained, and I sat there sweating, shaking, and pissed.

It was probably only fifteen minutes, but it felt like an eternity before he returned, this time alone, wearing a black silk robe and smelling of coitus galore.

Immediately, I attempted to hand him the eye I recovered from the library, but he shook his head no. “Go home, put that somewhere safe. I’ll call you when I need you.”

This pissed me off more. Thorn brought me here, made me wait while he fucked his bimbo, and now he was sending me on my merry way?

“Are you kidding me?” I fumed, unable to restrain my ire.

“No,” he answered flatly.

“Wait, what? Did you seriously bring me over here just to have me witness sex with your—”

Thorn crooked an eyebrow.

“... to send me away? And with an item I’m sure the wolves would like to get their claws on, no less?” I huffed. “I thought at least you’d have my next objective for me. I’d like to get this thing out of me as soon as possible. Your mark too. I’d like to get that gone, too.” I point to the bedroom where Samara must be resting her feminine wiles. “For obvious reasons.”

“I’m working on your next job.” He chuckled. “Nice to see you hungry for work though. And I wouldn’t worry about the wolves. They won’t be a problem for you tonight. I’ve got someone watching your place for you, but you’re welcome to stay at the safe house if you prefer.”

I gaped at him. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m no one to be trifled with, and since you seem to have trouble remembering this part, I’m the one who keeps saving your ass.”

I cringed at that. Whenever I do something right, I open my mouth and lose any good grace I’ve earned from him. I take a breath.

“No, I mean, who are you to keep me safe from the pack? Who am I working for?”

“I told you my name. You said you like research, why don’t you take a little time to brush up on all the preternatural clans at work in Baton Rouge. You used to belong to the bayou. Now you belong to me and the Underworld.”

“Oh.”

Oh, fuck.

The pack has been fighting mysterious Syndicate preternaturals for generations. Now I’ve gone from being inconveniently exiled to working for the enemy. Somehow, I don’t think Thorn realized how much protection I would need. Not because of who I am, but because of who he is.

With a heavy sigh, I stand to leave. I’ve had enough tonight. He won’t like hearing that bringing me in was the worst mistake he could’ve made, and I don’t want to die to save him the trouble.

“Goodnight, Thorn. I’ll see you when I see you, I guess.”

“Goodnight, Elena. Don’t get yourself killed. You still owe me that artifact in your chest.”

I rode the elevator down, feeling my spirits drop along with it. I won’t be safe until this thing is out of me. At least I know I have a room in the safe house. They’re going to get to know me extremely well.