Demon Inside

“I know. But I’d rather you have someone to help. The floors are rather uneven where we’re going.” He looked pointedly at her heels.

“Grey!” The woman’s shiny red lips stretched in a needle-sharp smile as she undulated across the floor, the sequins on her formfitting black gown catching the light and throwing it back so she seemed to glow. She looked like a particularly festive Morticia Addams, with bright red hair flowing down her back.

“Grey,” the woman said again, holding out her hand so Greyson had no choice but to kiss it. She totally ignored Megan. “You look splendid in that robe. But then I knew you would, remember? I’m so glad you decided—”

“Thank you, Justine. You remember Megan Chase, right?”

Justine didn’t even glance at her. “Of course I do.” She stroked her scarlet-tipped hand up Greyson’s arm. Her impressive cleavage shifted with the movement. “Have you thought any more about my request?”

“I think of nothing else, my dear.”

“Who is she?” Roc whispered. “Wow!”

“Go away, Roc.”

“But I want to—”

“Go.”

Roc obeyed. Justine stroked Greyson’s cheek and Megan stood still and resisted the urge to slap her. Justine was head of Meegra Concumbia. Starting a fight with a Gretneg was never a good idea, even if that Gretneg was staring at Greyson as though he was the only glass pipe in the crack den and it had been hours since her last hit.

“You let me know when you decide,” she said. “I can be a very powerful ally.” The reverse implication hung heavy in the air. Powerful allies could be powerful enemies as well.

“I would never doubt it,” Greyson replied. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get one last drink before the ceremony. Come on, Meg.”

Megan forced herself not to look back toward Justine as they walked away, but she felt the woman’s eyes on them just the same. “What was that all about?”

He shrugged. “Justine did me a favor.”

“And what does she want in return?”

“She’s a succubus. What do you think she wants?”

“But—” She snapped her mouth shut. What was she supposed to say? “You can’t?” “Please don’t?” For all she knew, he was banging half the city on the nights he wasn’t with her.

He glanced at her as if waiting for her to continue, but when she didn’t he turned away and got drinks for them both. “Here’s the plan. After the funeral everyone comes back up here for a drink. Then they leave. You can go if you want, but I’d like you to stay and wait for me. The ceremony doesn’t take long. An hour and a half, maybe.”

“And what’s in it for me?”

He leaned a little closer. “Ever been made love to by the most powerful vregonis demon in the country?”

“I thought I had been.” She let the sharp pang of desire his words invoked sink into every nerve ending in her body.

“Hmm. I suppose you have, at that. Want to do it again?”

“If you’re lucky,” she said. “What happens at the ceremony, anyway?”

“No, no. No telling.”

“Greyson.”

“Yes?”

She put her hand on his arm, drawing his gaze. “This is a big deal for you, isn’t it? Not just for the prestige, but for you.”

He stopped smiling when his eyes met hers. The rest of the room seemed to fade away. “It’s what I’ve worked for all my life.”

Even with her heels on, she had to stand on tiptoe to kiss him. Just a quick press of her lips, nothing inappropriate for the somber occasion, but enough to send tingles all the way down her spine. It was like kissing a live wire.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” His fingertips brushed her cheek. “Now, where is—ah.”

Nick Xao-teng’s skin glowed in the firelight. He looked like a warrior, like a samurai. Although samurai were Japanese, weren’t they? What were warriors called in imperial China? Why was she focusing on dumb trivia in an effort not to meet his eyes?

He looked less uncomfortable than she did, but only slightly. “Hi, Megan. Nice to see you again.”

“You too.” Even a few feet away from him she could feel the low-level sexual energy emanating from his muscular frame. What was Greyson thinking, sticking her with this man he knew embarrassed her?

“Okay,” Greyson said. “I have to go find Lytha. See you guys later.”

He squeezed her shoulder and was gone, leaving her to glare after him.

“It’s because he trusts me,” Nick said. She started; she hadn’t realized he’d be able to read her expression so easily. “Everyone in the family has to walk with the body. I’m the only one outside it he’d let near you. Can I get you a drink?”

She lifted her glass. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Look, Megan…I really am sorry. About what I did to you the other night. I didn’t realize—I mean, I didn’t know who you were.”

“What did he do?” whispered Roc, slipping back onto her shoulder.

She ignored him. “Would it have been okay if I wasn’t who I am?”

She wasn’t sure what she expected his response to be, but she knew she didn’t anticipate the smile that broke across his face. Nick did not need whatever supersexy mojo he had by virtue of being an incubus. Women would have fallen at his feet without it.

Although it certainly didn’t hurt. She would never forget their first meeting.

“No, I guess it wouldn’t have been,” he said finally. “But most women aren’t as susceptible as you are.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Because you’re psychic.” He shifted on his feet, while she enjoyed watching him sweat. He deserved it, after what he’d done to her. In front of a restaurant full of people. “Can’t we just forget it? Greyson’s my friend.”

The murmuring of the crowd grew louder. They were about to start.

“I promise, I’ll never do it again.”

He was still smiling, still charming. But Megan knew she’d gotten to him. He wasn’t lying when he’d said Greyson was his friend, and that touched her. She decided to let Nick off the hook.

“Okay. Apology accepted.”

“Thanks.”

“So, which Meegra are you in? Concumbia, or—”

He looked surprised. “I’m not.”

“But I thought—”

“Not me, despite Grey’s efforts.” He shook his head, a ghost of a smile flitting over his handsome face. “There are lots of us who aren’t full members—a sizable minority, at least. We go to them for protection or help if we need it, but we don’t get involved. Some demons disapprove of them entirely.”

“So what do you do?”

The smile became fixed. “All sorts of things. I’m an independent, let’s say.”

Megan nodded. That ended that line of questioning. She should have known better than to ask.

“How long have you known—” she started, but she was interrupted by the ringing of a bell, a gloomy, mournful deep chime. A funeral bell.

Nick offered his arm. “They’re ready.”

The torches went out, as if a sudden wind had blown them out en masse. In the perfect blackness of the room Megan heard rustlings, a few footsteps loud on the marble floor, then nothing.

Dead silence.

The bell gonged again. Megan jumped, suddenly glad Nick was there. He put his hand over hers, sending a short but thankfully minor shiver through her. He must be shielding awfully hard. She knew she was.

A voice in the darkness, deep and raw. “Templeton Horatius Black ga chrino.”

“Alri neshden Templeton Black,” the crowd responded.

A single light flared in the darkness. A tall, thin man, taller than anyone Megan had ever seen, held his hand high above his head, cupping the tiny flame in his palm. Its faint glow made his face a mask, with nothing but deep shadows for eyes and long grooves down his cheeks that would be wrinkles in ordinary light.

He glared into the crowd. “Cha krishien.”

Beside her Nick bowed, the movement of his body pulling her down as well. When they came back up, Megan had the sense that something loomed behind the gaunt man. He was the priest, she supposed, or whatever they called them. The spiritual leader, maybe.