eyes, the fear that made her hands tremble as she touched me. People will try to kill you, she'd said.
I slide the pistol into the back of my jeans—cute, I know, but holsters are trés uncool, and at least I'm not sticking it down the front—and pull my shirt down to cover it.
Try to kill me, will they? Good luck with that. I'm already headed for hell if this doesn't work out. Bring 'em on.
***
Chapter Eleven
Delilah stretches in the shiny white bathtub, her slick brown arms emerging from a blanket of bubbles, and her wicked lips curve into a smile. "It's all right, children. You can let him go."
The trolls grunt and do as they're told, and Gavain tumbles to the tiles.
He lands awkwardly on all fours, still clutching the precious brass lamp. Bugs drop from his hair to clatter across the slate and disappear down the drain, leaving little wet footprints like salt grains. The door clicks shut, and he's alone, with Delilah and the earthy scent of her triumph.
Delilah laughs, and snakes from the bath, soap sliding over her curves in candlelight. "No, don't get up. I believe I'll come to you."
Gavain stays still, poised, his knuckles curled around the lamp handle. This is the old DiLuca house in Albert Park. He's been here before, but only to the ballroom, with bright windows reflecting glassy chandeliers, and some dim blood-rich hallway where a sharp-eyed vampire sank ripe fangs into his spine. Never upstairs. He expected to find her as a visitor, at best a guest. Not naked and dribbling hot soap in the master bathroom, alone.
She sashays up to him, brown hips glistening in the flickering orange light, soap slipping over swelling breasts, deep purple hair sticking in slutty hanks to well-formed shoulders. She's beautiful—hell, she's a demon, she's perfect—but the soap thing's a better look on Tam.
Everything looks best on Tam. Gavain's blood whispers hotly, the dark flavor of Tam's skin fresh in his mouth. He swallows hard to keep it safe, unwilling to look up lest she steal that precious memory.
The best part? For a moment, Tam looked at him like he mattered.
He only hopes Delilah won't renege on the deal, ask him for more. He twitches the lamp towards her, averting his gaze. "Now give me what you promised."
She lifts his chin with one finger, her nail digging in, and reluctantly he meets her gaze. She flicks green eyes to the left, towards a fluffy white towel on a golden rail. "Dry me."
Blood sweetens his teeth, and he snaps at her, snarling. "Why?"
"Because I say so, mongrel. Do it."
Sour disgust rinses his stomach. Stupid, to expect her to keep her word. He knows what happens now. He sits the lamp carefully on the wet floor and reaches for the towel, and shame scalds his heart, because he knows he'll do it. Fuck her, eat her, scream for her, whatever dark and bloody thing she wants. He'll do anything, just to have Tam look at him that way again.
Anything, except tell Tam the truth.
The white towel catches on his palms, soaking up a faint scarlet stain. He stands and wraps it around her, blotting off soapy pine-scented blobs. Her soft nipples pucker at the feathery touch, and she sighs, pressing forward, but he swiftly pulls the towel away. If she wants it, she can bloody well ask for it.
She sniffs his hair as he leans over her to slide the towel under her bottom, and she grins. "I can smell him on you, Gavain. Did you get laid? Or did you just whore for him and scamper off before you had to actually say anything?"
Gavain swallows bitter regret, and bends to wipe her long legs one by one. Her skin smells like hot coals. A hint of pearly wetness, slicker than the rest, shows on the soft plum-red hair between her legs. His fairy senses dazzle him, colors swirling. He can't help but wonder what she'd taste like there, a demon lady, all bright with hate and hellfire, and his sharp tongue flickers restlessly on his lips before he can stop it.
Her laugh crackles like crushed
I slide the pistol into the back of my jeans—cute, I know, but holsters are trés uncool, and at least I'm not sticking it down the front—and pull my shirt down to cover it.
Try to kill me, will they? Good luck with that. I'm already headed for hell if this doesn't work out. Bring 'em on.
***
Chapter Eleven
Delilah stretches in the shiny white bathtub, her slick brown arms emerging from a blanket of bubbles, and her wicked lips curve into a smile. "It's all right, children. You can let him go."
The trolls grunt and do as they're told, and Gavain tumbles to the tiles.
He lands awkwardly on all fours, still clutching the precious brass lamp. Bugs drop from his hair to clatter across the slate and disappear down the drain, leaving little wet footprints like salt grains. The door clicks shut, and he's alone, with Delilah and the earthy scent of her triumph.
Delilah laughs, and snakes from the bath, soap sliding over her curves in candlelight. "No, don't get up. I believe I'll come to you."
Gavain stays still, poised, his knuckles curled around the lamp handle. This is the old DiLuca house in Albert Park. He's been here before, but only to the ballroom, with bright windows reflecting glassy chandeliers, and some dim blood-rich hallway where a sharp-eyed vampire sank ripe fangs into his spine. Never upstairs. He expected to find her as a visitor, at best a guest. Not naked and dribbling hot soap in the master bathroom, alone.
She sashays up to him, brown hips glistening in the flickering orange light, soap slipping over swelling breasts, deep purple hair sticking in slutty hanks to well-formed shoulders. She's beautiful—hell, she's a demon, she's perfect—but the soap thing's a better look on Tam.
Everything looks best on Tam. Gavain's blood whispers hotly, the dark flavor of Tam's skin fresh in his mouth. He swallows hard to keep it safe, unwilling to look up lest she steal that precious memory.
The best part? For a moment, Tam looked at him like he mattered.
He only hopes Delilah won't renege on the deal, ask him for more. He twitches the lamp towards her, averting his gaze. "Now give me what you promised."
She lifts his chin with one finger, her nail digging in, and reluctantly he meets her gaze. She flicks green eyes to the left, towards a fluffy white towel on a golden rail. "Dry me."
Blood sweetens his teeth, and he snaps at her, snarling. "Why?"
"Because I say so, mongrel. Do it."
Sour disgust rinses his stomach. Stupid, to expect her to keep her word. He knows what happens now. He sits the lamp carefully on the wet floor and reaches for the towel, and shame scalds his heart, because he knows he'll do it. Fuck her, eat her, scream for her, whatever dark and bloody thing she wants. He'll do anything, just to have Tam look at him that way again.
Anything, except tell Tam the truth.
The white towel catches on his palms, soaking up a faint scarlet stain. He stands and wraps it around her, blotting off soapy pine-scented blobs. Her soft nipples pucker at the feathery touch, and she sighs, pressing forward, but he swiftly pulls the towel away. If she wants it, she can bloody well ask for it.
She sniffs his hair as he leans over her to slide the towel under her bottom, and she grins. "I can smell him on you, Gavain. Did you get laid? Or did you just whore for him and scamper off before you had to actually say anything?"
Gavain swallows bitter regret, and bends to wipe her long legs one by one. Her skin smells like hot coals. A hint of pearly wetness, slicker than the rest, shows on the soft plum-red hair between her legs. His fairy senses dazzle him, colors swirling. He can't help but wonder what she'd taste like there, a demon lady, all bright with hate and hellfire, and his sharp tongue flickers restlessly on his lips before he can stop it.
Her laugh crackles like crushed
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