There was more muttering about incubi as she dropped the cloth into the laundry basket. “I was born the day Julius Caesar died. That’s very old.”

“So you really were born. And on the Ides of March,” he mused. “Is that what you’re named after?” When she nodded, he settled back and gave her a sleepy, seductive look. “It’s a pretty name. Pretty, like you.”

She snorted, totally calling him out. “I’m not going to fall for any of your tricks. Especially not when they’re so obvious.”

“Give me a break. I don’t have a lot of experience seducing women.”

“Yeah, right.” She frowned when he didn’t react. “You’re serious. How can you be an incubus and not have that kind of experience?”

He shrugged, unwilling to tell her about his death touch. “Guess there are anomalies in every species.”

“Seeing how you’re a sex demon who kills, I’d say that’s true.”

“There are incubi that use sex to kill. But it’s not like I want to kill anyone,” he added, and though it was true that he was playing up to her soft side, it was also just… true. He wasn’t a killer because he wanted to be.

No, you kill for money. That’s so much better.

“Good,” she said. “Then I need you to not kill Kynan.”

“Yeah, okay. I won’t.”

Her eyelashes swept down, creating shadows under her eyes, and she suddenly looked tired. “I know how assassin masters work, Lore. You can’t just ignore your orders.”

“Then why are you asking me to not kill Kynan if you know I have to?”

“I just want your word that you won’t kill him while I’m trying to find out who hired you, and why.”

“So you think that if you take out whoever hired me, the hit will be called off and Kynan will be safe?”

“Yes.”

It was a nice thought, but it wasn’t going to happen. The Assassins’ Guild had built its rep on its vow of discretion and silence, and no one learned the identity of any party who had hired an assassin. It had happened only once, several hundred years ago, when a client had been betrayed by an assassin master, and that master had been made an example of.

His wrecked body, preserved in wax, graced the entrance to the Guild Hall, his flesh peeled like a banana away from the bone. But the worst part was that somehow his soul had been trapped with the body, and his screams could be heard by every demon who entered.

But he wasn’t going to tell Idess that. Nope. He’d play along.

“You’ll need my help,” he said.

She swiped at her brow, which glistened with a fine sheen of sweat. “I can manage on my own.”

“Really? You know who my master is? You can contact him?”

Pink mottled Idess’s cheeks, because he had her there. “Will you tell me?”

“Will you let me go?”

She wobbled on her feet, and a lightning strike of panic zinged through him. “Cookie? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She lifted her chin and straightened her back in a show of strength, but a trickle of perspiration ran down her temple.

“You want my help? You tell me what the f**k is wrong. Right. Now.”

She hesitated, and he got that. Vulnerability was not easy, especially in front of an enemy. A whimper escaped her as she sagged, catching herself on the dresser.

“Idess? What is it?”

Her jerky gaze tracked to his, a little glassy and a whole lot desperate. “It seems,” she whispered, “that I need to feed.”

Seven

I need to feed.

Had she really said that? The words were still ringing in Idess’s ears as an undying echo. It grew louder and louder, until she slapped her palms over her ears. She heard Lore calling her name, his deep voice a mere buzz.

Calm down… calm down…

Oh, this was bad. Her utter hatred of feeding had led her to ignore her body’s needs for too long, and the battle with Lore and subsequent injury hadn’t helped anything. As the nausea waned, she tentatively peeled her hands away from her head.

“Idess.” Lore’s hard tone finally penetrated the haze in her brain. “When you say feed, do you mean what I think you mean?”

“Yes.” She sank down on the bed next to him, her legs too wobbly to support her for much longer, and the last thing she wanted was to do a face-plant right in front of her captive. That would certainly go a long way toward showing him who was in charge.

“But aren’t you some sort of angel?”

“Consider me an angel in training.” She rubbed her eyes even as she swiped her tongue over the tip of a canine that had started to descend.

“Do all angels drink blood?”

She was so tired she no longer cared about keeping things from Lore. So exhausted, in fact, that she swayed, her head spinning as if she’d had one too many glasses of wine—which was the only alcohol Memitim were supposed to drink. She’d indulged a lot during her wilder days. Now she avoided it—and anything that might chip away at her control and lead her away from the path of goodness she tried so hard to follow. “No. Only my kind.”

“And what kind are you, exactly?”

“I’m Memitim.” She skimmed her hand over the hand-made royal blue and gold comforter she’d bought in the Italian countryside. Small things like this would be what she missed when she Ascended. “Unlike Cherubim and Thrones and all the other classes of angels you may have heard about, Memitim are born on Earth and we remain here until we Ascend. And because we’re tied to the earth and this plane, we must feed if we’ve depleted our energy.” Or maybe what Rami said was true; that they fed not because they were bound to this life, but because of who their father was and that Memitim were, in essence, paying for his sins. The sins of the father they all shared, as it were.

“Why are you depleted?”

“Fighting with you, for one,” she said wryly. “Being shot and losing the Primori your mate killed took a lot out of me, too.”

He was silent for a long time, leaving her alone with the throbbing in her head. “Feed from me.”

Her gaze flew up to meet his. “Ah… excuse me?”

“Take my blood.”

Already her teeth were pulsing inside her gums, eager to extend. “Why are you offering?”

“Because you look like you’re going to keel over at any second. And if you starve to death, I’m never getting out of these chains.”

Her belly was practically twisting in anticipation, her mouth was watering, and her fangs punched down. Lore noticed, his gaze going to her parted lips, and she swore she saw a flicker of hunger in his eyes, as well. She squirmed, unsure about this. She’d never taken from a demon before. In fact, she’d always sought out the gentlest, most decent human Primori she could.

When their emotions remained with you, you didn’t want a psychopath’s blood thrumming through your veins.

“I can’t,” she said. “I’ll find someone else—”

“Take it,” he said, and this time his voice was rough. Commanding. “Take whatever you need.” His eyes dropped, and she followed his gaze to his erection. “Take whatever you want.”

“Arrogant bastard,” she muttered, but there was no power behind the words. She wanted his blood, and truth be told, her treasonous body ached for everything he was so boldly offering.

She had to get out of there.

She flashed. Tried to flash. Her body flickered like a dying lightbulb. Oh, sweet Lord, she was stuck. If Kynan were to be attacked right now…

She had to do it. She had to take from Lore, if only to ensure Kynan’s safety. But the thought of drinking from him, of taking lifeblood from his powerful body… it was dangerous. What kind of emotions would stay with her if she drank from an incubus? Already, the very idea had her warming up all over, her thighs clenching and wetness blooming between her legs.

He tilted his head to the side. His muscular neck was exposed, his jugular pulsing strong and steady beneath tan skin.

Just a small taste. A sip. Enough to give her the strength to hunt down a proper host. Decision made, she mounted him, straddling his thighs. She scooted backward in an attempt to avoid intimate contact, but his wicked grin said he wasn’t going to play that way. He lifted his knees to shift her forward, and she nearly gasped at the feel of the hard ridge of his sex against hers.

Damn him. She refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, so she braced her hands on his shoulders and leaned in. His scent, earthy and bold, ignited a pleasurable hum inside her. Oh, how she needed this.

“It won’t hurt,” she whispered against his skin.

“Not worried about that,” he whispered back.

She told herself that touching him was necessary, that it meant nothing, told herself all kinds of lies as she dragged her tongue up his neck, right along the jugular. His body went taut beneath her, but with anticipation or dread, she didn’t know. She licked again, taking her time, even though she didn’t need to; her first stroke numbed the bite site. No, this second taste was for her, not him, and there was no lying about that.

“I’m starting to feel like a Tootsie Pop, here,” he rasped.

She couldn’t contain a smile. “Yes… how did that old commercial go?” She licked him. “One.” She licked him again, and he moaned. “Two.” She licked him once more, and his h*ps came off the bed.

“Three.”
* * *

Idess’s fangs slid into Lore’s throat so smoothly he felt only the slightest tingle, and then her mouth latched on.

Oh… yeah.

No one had ever bitten him before, but wow, this was amazing. He still wasn’t sure why he’d offered to play juice box, but he definitely didn’t regret it. Warmth flowed from her mouth through his body, loosening his muscles and his mind. He drifted in a happy place as she sucked on his neck, her tongue and lips caressing his skin so gently he almost asked her to suck harder, to give him even more to feel.

With the way the bed canopy bowed from his struggles, the chains had enough give in them to allow him to touch her if he strained. Stretching, he raked his fingers through the loose strands of her hair, marveling at the silky texture and curling waves. At his touch, she gave a little start, and then she sagged against him, putting them into full body contact.

It shouldn’t feel so good. She was his captor. If he didn’t get free, Sin would die. No amount of pleasure should be able to sway him, but Idess was pleasure in the flesh, and his incubus body could only respond.

And did it ever respond. Despite the earlier release, his c**k was aching inside its leather prison, his balls were tight, and his skin burned all over.

God, he wished he could touch her, really touch her. He wanted to rip off her clothes, roll her onto her back, and drive into her until she screamed. He’d show her what it was like to be held captive, helpless to feel anything but what your captor wanted you to feel.

He’d torture her, all right. He’d take her to the edge of passion and hold her there until she was insane with the need to come. Only after she begged for it long enough and good enough, would he give it to her.

She was panting, and so was he, his body out of control. Lost in his own head, he hadn’t been aware that they were grinding against each other, ha**g s*x with their clothes on. “Touch me,” he said roughly.

Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, digging in with such sweet pain. It was damn good, but he wanted her fingers to take a leisurely slide south. Far south.

“Like that. But lower.”

Her fingers dug in even more, and he hissed. How was it possible to feel both relaxed and energized at the same time?

He cocked one leg up for leverage—and to put his erection more firmly against her. But even as she arched into him, a low moan dredged up from deep in her chest and her grip on his shoulders eased. Her teeth unplugged, and he felt the warm stroke of her tongue over the skin of his neck.

Strangely, she didn’t move off him. Instead, she laid her head down on his shoulder.

“Ah… this can’t be all there is to feeding, right? I mean, we got a little below the waist action going on…”

She didn’t move. Shit.

“Angel Cake?” He rattled his chains. “Idess!” Worried that she was injured or ill or that his demon blood was poison to an angel, he tugged on her hair.

And was rewarded with a tiny squeak… followed by a series of soft snores.

She’d fallen asleep. She’d taken nourishment from him, and then, like a contented kitten, she’d nuzzled against him and fallen asleep.

Something inside him shook so hard he was surprised Idess didn’t get jiggled right off him. This was the closest he’d ever been to a female. Oh, he’d f**ked them, and he’d even cared for one he’d foolishly thought could be his. But never had any female fallen asleep on him. It was a surprising intimacy that gave him some hellacious warm fuzzies in a situation he had no right to feel good about at all.

And yet, he stroked her hair and tried to be still, because crazily, this was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to him.

Eight

Underworld General was the last place Sin wanted to be. But Lore was missing, and the fact that the chick who had interrupted Sin during her assassination attempt had tried to kill Sin with his dagger was a chilling sign that he was in trouble. The only upside was that the blade had tasted the female’s blood, which meant it wanted more.

Unfortunately, the Gargantua dagger had one serious limitation; it could only be used to track a victim during the devil’s hour in the time zone where the prey’s blood had been shed. So, since Sin had time to kill, she searched for Lore in all of the obvious places. She’d gone to the assassin den. Nothing. She’d stopped by his house. Nada. She’d called and texted and emailed. Not a goddamned thing.