Demon Branded (Demons of Florida) (2 page)

The cars didn’t bother him. But they put off enough gas fumes to cause an allergic reaction in the people he’d arranged to visit. Of those three awaiting him, none had as yet answered his knock.

“You know who it is. Open the door.”

No nearby passerby would’ve heard him. Speaking lowly, the sensitive ears on the other side would still hear him. He held the box his father had given him on his twenty-fifth birthday a week past. The etchings on the lid soothed his nerves while at the same time making the hair on the back of his neck stand.

“This is not the time to back out.”

The door swung open. Light from the motel’s sign lit the entry. No one was visible. He stepped in and used his heel to shove the door closed.

“Where is she?” He knew how he sounded—aloof, rich, and in charge. He could emulate his father and his father before him to perfection. It came naturally to a Montevedo nephilim, half-demons descended from the original Montevedo full-blooded demon who first stepped through the rift when it’d opened above medieval Europe.

“She’s all yours, demon.” The nasally greeting cut off with a violent sneeze. “Can’t deal with city. We’re gone.”

A grunt and a whine, followed by two shadows moving swiftly across the room, and two wolves leapt out the window.

The growl started again.

“I’ve heard you’re the only wolf able to live among cars, plastics, and petrol, without any weakening. Is that true?”

The growl went deeper, menacing and ferocious. He smiled. She made threats nearly as well as he did. She’d need that temerity. Maybe even more than he did. Shifting the box in his hand, he sought along the wall until he found the switch. “I’m turning on the light now. Time for you to meet your husband.”

The growling halted on a huff.

The light blazed on and he blinked, adjusting in only seconds. His nephilim nature had its irregularities, its inconveniences, but physically, he recovered quickly. Even from momentary blindnesses from a sudden light shift. Not that he needed to see her to know she was his, or even care what she looked like. When he’d heard of her, he’d made up his mind.

A large she-wolf, collared and chained to the end of the bed bared her teeth and snarled. Silver tipped black fur bristled, ruffling on her neck as she crouched as if ready to pounce. Bright light-blue, nearly white irises stared at him. If he were a human, he’d be frightened. With slow, purposeful steps, he approached. At seven feet tall he’d have towered over a regular wolf, but her head would come to his chest if she stood.

“You’re gorgeous.”

The growl returned at a lower pitch—more feral.

“First, let’s make sure the room is secure.” He slid the bolt closed on the door and crossed to the window. “Not that a lock or windows will keep out a demoness or a wolf like yourself, but it should give us a few seconds warning.”

The wolves who’d laid a trap and kidnapped their own kind had disappeared. They wouldn’t be back. He slid the window shut, locked it, and closed the curtains. “They were only doing what they thought necessary. Not selling you out.”

She didn’t answer, but she had a reputation of hunting down demon sympathizers. She must’ve wanted to tear out the throats of the wolves who’d left. Her continual threatening grumble didn’t worry him. Perversely, it gave him a surge of pride.

The bed was covered in a red, specially-made flame-resistant comforter he’d had sent ahead. He placed the box on the silky material and carefully opened the lid. His fingers brushed over the silver metal inside.

“This is a special tool. It only works with the blood of my line.” He slid his suit jacket off and rolled up the sleeve of his shirt. “I have the easy part.”

A knife lay in the red velvet of the box. He picked it up and with a quick strike, cut his wrist releasing steam and the scent of blood. He hissed but didn’t flinch. Grabbing the instrument, he held it beneath the wound. The rich red liquid dripped into the empty well specially made to receive the Montevedo life essence.

The growling ceased and anticipation thickened in the room to such a pitch it fell heavy across his shoulders. When the receptacle was full, he held his wrist tightly, brought it to his mouth, and licked it. The coppery taste filled his mouth and he made himself not gag. Closer than he’d realized, his she-wolf’s stomach grumbled.

He chuckled.

“I don’t prefer blood, but if you want a taste, I shall let you have it. After.” The dark thrill he tried to bury, the one that haunted him, filled his chest and made him feel stronger, taller, in charge of everything. It was part of him, instinct, that element of his natural self that his father had taught him to bury all his life.

Tonight, he let it soar.

“You’re already naked. But not quite prepared for our honeymoon. I’ll take care of that.”

The growling went crazed, loudly ferocious and feral. He didn’t worry. By the time she was in human form and on that silk covered bed, she’d be ready for him. But even If she weren’t, he was desperate enough to take her anyway. Hell, he’d even take her wolf form if he had to. The world was depending on him to succeed tonight, in this room, with this wolf.

“Enough.” He carefully put the instrument on the side table but kept near it—it was too precious to lose, filled with what amounted to the key to his life. Stepping out of his shoes, he dropped his pants and breathed easier once he held the warm, blood-filled device again.

Nude, his cock already filling, he stood just out of range of the wolf and commanded, “Shift.”

Her muzzle jerked down and her lips curled in a snarl over sharp gleaming teeth. His cock went harder and a dark thrill shocked him.

“Have it your way. I’ll do this to your wolf form. I find I have no qualms with that, my wife.” His body tensed for the fight. Ready. Lungs pulling in her wild scent, he let go the reins on his dark nature. He’d never seen her, spoken to her, or even known of her until two weeks ago, but here she was. And he’d take her.

Slowly circling, he let his senses sharpen. For years, he’d learned to mute himself. Control. It kept the base nature of the demon from creating chaos. Kept him sane. Kept him normal—as normal as a Montevedo could manage.

Nothing remained in the small motel room except a bed with the required sheets and comforter. The rooms on either side had been reserved and remained empty. His senses expanded. No noises nearby, except the passing traffic and the only scents, those of the room. The dirt, mud, and rank fur odors left by the other wolves threatened a primal need to protect his female. A growl rumbled low in his chest and the she-wolf froze. Her muscles twitched beneath her fur and she crouched, silent, staring intently into his eyes.

“This is a special device.” He held it up and dared to step toward her. He didn’t break her gaze, determined to prove his dominance. His garbled voice was rough and low, laden with lust and command. He’d never heard this kind of feral demon speech from his own mouth. It should’ve frightened him to be so close to his basest nature, but it thrilled him. Blood rushed in his ears and his chest expanded, pulling in the air turned thick, steamy.

“I will tattoo my blood onto your body in an ancient demon script only known to my family. It will act as an aphrodisiac when painted on you, or later, when stroked and aroused.”

His skin grew hot and the sizzle of steam rose around him. She growled and jerked back onto her haunches. The chain attached to her collar and locked to the foot of the bed rattled as she struggled, but she kept her glare on him. The color of her pale eyes went brittle, icy.

“Once this ritual is complete, we will be joined together for the rest of my unnaturally long life. We will be a pair to be reckoned with. Unstoppable. And we will end this demon’s war.” He halted, nude, his erection blatantly straining, and waited. She hedged backwards. Her paws scrambled against the bare floor. Her struggle to maintain superiority grew frantic. A small whimper escaped.

Then he had her.

She broke her stare and darted a glance at the tatt gun.

Muscles bunched, he crouched and shoved from the floor. His hand glanced along soft fur. Heat beckoned. Her body twisted. Teeth snapped, grazing his arm.

Iron-tinged with sulfur, sizzling with the richness of demon’s blood, the scent of his wound permeated the room. He feinted left, but she scrambled out of reach. Her head jerked to the right, hard, as the collar checked her escape. She tugged uselessly and he tackled her. They landed in a tangle of paws, limbs, and fur.

He grunted.

Rolling, he flattened her belly-up beneath him.

Drawing on his inhuman reflexes, he didn’t hesitate, but ruthlessly shoved his arm under her neck and leaned down, holding her muzzle to the floor and rendering it unusable. Her hind legs shoved at his thighs, too close to his cock which still throbbed with lust. He rolled to the side and trapped one side of her beneath his weight. One forearm and one hind leg out of the way, he grasped the other paw scrabbling at his face, as it scratched, releasing blood and steam.

“Dammit, hold still.”

Her left leg kicked and scraped a long gash on his thigh. Muffled huffs came from her and her chest lunged with each pull of breath. Heat filled the room and the scent of skin and woman and aroused demon made his mind narrow with black danger.

Feral wildness beckoned. He growled. If he waited any longer, he’d lose it. Still clutching the instrument, he flicked it on and brought it down, piercing her fur and hide at her rib cage. She bucked and growled. He didn’t move except to press down on her neck a bit more. Grinding his teeth he held on for the ride until she shuddered and went still.

He hadn’t hurt her. Couldn’t really. Not without silver.

The needles didn’t contain silver—they were made from the bones of a demon ancestor. He’d cleaned them, to be sure no stray petroleum was present just in case the rumor about her petrol immunity was false. Her oxygen supply had been suppressed by pressure on her neck, and with that one pin prick, that one dot of blood, the tattoo’s binding had already started its work. Her body went limp.

“That’s it. It’ll be all right,” he soothed.

Then she shook. Fur fell away, exposing tanned skin. He crouched over her but kept the tattoo gun poised. She changed, elongated, and he held his breath, waiting to see what she’d look like.

He blinked and shook his head. Then blinked again.

A nude, collared and leashed blonde woman lay on the ground—a woman who’d make any man stop in his tracks to take a second and third look. Tattoos covered her arms like sleeves from shoulder to wrist but didn’t seem to have marks anywhere else. Tall and muscular, she had a rangy fighter’s look to her body.

The tattoos had to have hurt like hell and back again. To keep it there, without being healed by her shifting, something had to have been mixed in the ink. Gasoline, or maybe even demon blood.

Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach.

Perhaps he’d chosen his wife poorly, but there’d be no turning back.

Light shot through the window over her breasts. They were more than a handful—but not by much—rounded, and tipped with hardened rose-colored nipples. His mouth flooded and his cock swelled again.

“My body sure agrees with my choice.” He chuckled. It was that, or put his clothes back on and leave because he had no choice at all and pretending he did was the self-delusion of a madman.

From his jacket pocket, he retrieved four specially made, steel-enforced silk ribbons. Then he knelt, flicked open the collar to free her neck, and gathered her into his arms. Her soft skin rubbed against him. Heat licked across his skin. Her weight proved her muscular build and instead of fearing that strength, he wanted to test it. Find her mettle, prod her into a ferocious passion. Gently, he laid her on the bed and she stirred. Before she could fight to consciousness, he wrapped her wrists and tied one to each corner of the bed. She had enough play to keep her shoulders from aching, but she couldn’t get away.

She wouldn’t want to, once they got started.

Groaning, she tugged and her hips jerked. Lunging, he caught a long, luscious leg and tied the red silk around it. Unable to resist, he tongued the prominent bone on her ankle.

Licking her lips, she stirred and her free leg kicked out, catching him in the chin. He rocked on his heels.

“Damn woman.” He rubbed his aching jaw.

She made a garbled sound that he couldn’t interpret but her fierce frown told him she’d cursed him.

With a ruthless tug, he opened her legs and bound the other foot as she yanked and huffed, trying to move. “If you scream, no one will hear you.”

“Fucking ass demon whore spawn.” She spat to the side and her lips turned in a cruel sneer.

“Yes, there is no doubt my mother was a demon whore.” That was a fact he longed to forget but couldn’t allow himself that luxury.

Her glare caught him and he momentarily froze, lost in her ice cold stare. For a moment, he let regret sway him. Just for a moment. But too much depended on them. “It’s too late to turn back now. Mistake or not, you’re the newest Lady Montevedo.”

He climbed onto the bed between her legs. Her eyes widened. True fear shone in them and a niggle of discomfort tried to worm its way inside him, but he ignored it, as he’d done with all weak emotions since the day his demon-spawn of a mother had died.