Hold Me If You Can (3 page)

“Hedonism is about making your own happiness your number one priority in life.”

“Oh.” Natalie set her assault weapon on the counter beside the paints and paper Nigel had left by her room one morning. She’d never used them, but she’d been comforted by their presence when she’d been here trying to get the place back in shape. It almost made her feel like he was there with her, keeping her safe.

But Ella seemed innocuous enough. Natalie doubted too many people had been murdered by geeky women who were devoted to self-pleasuring.

“My thesis is on practitioners who work in the field of bringing extreme and utter joy and exhilaration, and complete, selfish, pleasure to everyone around them,” Ella said. “The Ripper fan club is completely deluded about what constitutes pleasure, I’ll tell you that right now.” Ella dropped the knife into a nearby trash can and headed toward the sink to wash her hands. “But since your business is to enable clients to enhance their sexual pleasure to limitless extremes, you’re the perfect subject for my thesis.”

“I don’t advocate selfish pleasure,” Natalie protested. “I give people the chance to follow their dreams, and the more sensual side of human nature is what I tend to be most successful at…” Her protest faded as Nigel’s image appeared in her mind. The way he watched her, the sensual way he held his markers, as if he were caressing them. She picked up one of the paintbrushes Nigel had left her. It was fiery red with sparkles, so smooth to the touch. Passion and fire, just like Nigel. She imagined his fingers running down the wood, a featherlight caress of—

“Oh, come on. Hedonism is good. It’s where we should all be headed.” Ella interrupted Natalie’s thought, jerking her back to the present. “Or do you believe in suffering, misery, and denying joy to your own heart?”

“God, no.” A cold shudder went through Natalie at the thought of how she’d spent her whole life, haunted by the deadly curse of the deedub who’d bitten her when she was a child. Even since she’d shed the curse and had a second chance at life, she’d still been on edge and unsettled. Not quite able to focus. The only time she’d felt calm was when Nigel had been nearby. It didn’t matter if he was in the other room talking to Jarvis. The deep resonance of his voice always eased her tension, made her feel safe.

But, of course, now that Jarvis and her sister were out of town, there had been no reason for Nigel to stop by, and she’d felt that absence. Until today, when he’d appeared so unexpectedly, almost as if he’d been drawn to her in her moment of need. It was sort of cool that he’d arrived in that moment. A coincidence? Or was he always watching, making sure she was safe?

She glanced out at the street, but of course he wasn’t leaning against a lamppost playing guardian. She sighed and set the paintbrush back on the counter, carefully placing it beside the paper. “But it’s not that easy to let go of the fear—”

“Of course it’s not easy. That’s why they need good professors, and I’m the best.” Ella pulled out an iPad and began typing. “So, tell me how it feels when you use your chocolate-enhanced power of suggestion and tell a flaccid-impaired man that he can get a boner, and then you see his pants swell?”

“You want to know about erections in men?” A creak sounded from the freezer, and Natalie glanced sharply at it. Was that ice settling, or was there something in there? In the thirty seconds she’d been at the front of the store flipping the sign to open, a deedub could have snuck in. What if there was a lawbreaker in there right now?

Ella made a noise of exasperation. “I explained all this in the email.”

“Hello? Is anyone in here?” The door opened and in strode a construction worker in a white hard hat with a bunch of tools hanging from his belt. “I’ve been by here every day for three weeks and you’re finally open!”

Her first client in weeks! Natalie hurried over to him as Ella rushed back to her computer and began typing again. “Hi, I’m Natalie—”

“I’m getting married tonight, by God, and I haven’t had an erection in six years.” The man grabbed her shoulders, his grip desperate. “The Good Catholic Boy shtick won’t help me after tonight. You
have
to help me!”

Excitement raced through her. This was what she was here for! This is what Scrumptious was all about! “Hang on.” She raced to the newly cleansed freezer and yanked out the drawer for the Chocolate Virility Balls she’d launched just before she went insane and nearly died. Only ten left.

She grabbed two of them and hurried back. She set them in his hand. “What’s your name?”

“Richard Small. You can call me Dick, though.”

She blinked, resisting the urge to tell him that maybe his first step should be to start going by Rich instead. “Okay, well, Dick, eat the balls.”

He tossed them in his mouth, and she leaned forward, staring intently at him. “The moment you think of your fiancée, you will get an erection that will last until she has orgasmed, at which point you will experience your own magnificent pleasure that rocks both your worlds.” The words, the magic words, that had always sounded so beautiful, almost stuck in her throat. Her stomach clenched as she recalled with vivid clarity how she’d almost died at the hands of the Godfather, a man who killed women by sex.

Caught in the deedub thrall, she’d been irresistibly drawn to him, even though she’d known that to succumb to his allure meant certain death. Oh, she knew, but she’d been completely unable to resist the call of the orgasm. A nightmare, a horrific terrifying experience that had brought her own demise.

Never had she felt that kind of sexual longing before, and she would never allow herself to get out of control like that again. Not ever. Even saying the suggestion to Dick made her stomach turn. It was too close to the memories of being compelled to places she didn’t want to go.

Which was why her reaction to Nigel earlier had been so unsettling. Her awareness of him as a man… it felt so good to feel the heat of his gaze on her. Too good. She couldn’t trust herself. Not anymore. Not ever again.

Dick stared at her. “That’s it?”

“I’m good. That’s all that’s needed.” Sexual baggage or not, it did feel fantastic to be back in her place. Helping men who needed her. Bringing order to the world of sex. This wasn’t sexual chaos and uncontrolled, deadly passion. This was precision and order, a systematic alignment of sexual balance in the universe. This was what her soul lived for. “What’s your fiancée’s name?” she asked, a question designed to force him to think of his fiancée and trigger his erection, just so he could know it was all going to be okay.

He frowned. “Lucille DeLuca.”

Natalie waited expectantly for the blood to go south and the dough to begin to rise.

He stared at her blankly.

Ella watched.

And then an awkward silence grew. Finally, Natalie cleared her throat. “Aren’t you getting an erection?”

He narrowed his eyes. “No.”

Um… hello? He should be hard as a steel shaft right now. On his way to redemption and happiness. “But you’re thinking of your fiancée?”

“Yeah.”

Uh oh. Why wasn’t he getting a boner? No man had ever failed to respond to her suggestions, at least not when they’d had their sexual resistance lowered with some of her specialty chocolate. She always helped every man who came to her, except, of course, those who had some Otherworld powers, because she could only influence those with no magical ability whatsoever, as evidenced by her utter failure with the deedub. “Are you Magick?”

He blinked. “Magic? Are you shitting me?” His face turned a brilliant shade of embarrassment. “This is all a hoax, isn’t it? You got a hidden camera in here or something? The boys put me up to this, didn’t they?”

“No, no!” Shoot! He
was
human, but she hadn’t been able to help him. What had gone wrong? How could she have failed to help him? “I’m not sure what happened. Let me try again—”

“No chance, bitch! I won’t be humiliated by yet another woman!” He yanked himself free and stormed out the door, disappearing in a furious rant down the street.

“I don’t understand. I always help men like him.” Natalie gripped the counter as she stared after him in disbelief. “I can help anyone.” He’d been so receptive to her assistance that she should have been able to influence him even without the chocolate, yet she’d failed utterly.

“My word, girlfriend. You can’t even influence an ordinary human?” Ella whistled. “That’s bad news, girl. Really, really bad.”

“I know.” She didn’t need an aspiring hedonism expert to tell her that something was wrong. Helping men with their sexual inadequacies was the core of who she was. It was her calling in life. It was her soul’s mission.

Yeah, she was still alive and had a second chance at life, but something really, really important was still dying inside her. But what?

A blade erupted from Nigel’s palm, and Christian leapt to his feet. Christian’s arm shimmered with metal, and he pulled a sword out of the scabbard that was his arm. The two warriors whirled around, armed and ready—

Pascal was laughing hysterically. “You should’ve seen your faces! I’ve never seen old guys move so fast.”

Nigel sighed and lowered his sword. “Causing trouble again, newbie?”

But Christian didn’t seem to realize that Pascal had worked them over. “Where are they?” The skin on Christian’s shoulders shifted into metal scales, and the air began to hum. His blue eyes were flashing, and the skin on his jaw shifted briefly into chain-link metal before taking on flesh form again.

“Behind you,” Pascal said. “Watch out. Big scary kitty.”

Christian spun around, and Nigel slowly turned. Perched on top of the flat-screen TV was a fluffy white Persian kitty. Not a whole herd of the beasts, too numerous to handle. Just one, solitary kitty. It was crouched in assault mode, its tail flicking as it readied to pounce. “Angelica’s found us. She’s back.” Christian raised his sword, and purple sweat streamed down his brow. His reaction was far too intense given that the enemy numbered only one. “She’s coming to get us—”

“Is she now?” Nigel pointed his blade at Pascal. “What did you do?”

Still laughing, Pascal held up a tube of glittery pink lip gloss. “Fairy Tale Rose.”

Nigel’s veins burned at the sight of the polycarbonate container inside which Angelica stored her most demonic spells. How many times had Nigel been chained to a wall as Angelica had pulled out a tube of pink, bracing himself for whatever hell emerged? Might be demons, acid-laced candy canes, killer bees, or some combination thereof. You never knew what hell on earth was going to emerge when that sucker was opened.

“Thought it might help Christian if I gave him something to play with,” Pascal said. “We all miss the battles we used to have in the Den, dig?”

Nigel glanced over at Christian, who looked like he was about to go into full assault mode over one kitty. The warrior had been off like milk left in the Sahara Desert at high noon, and Nigel wasn’t sure his buddy was up to a little disco dancing with pink spells.

Nigel strode over to Pascal and swiped the tube out of his hand. “How many did you let out?”

“Just one.” Pascal grinned. “Shit, man, I’m not crazy. We’d get our asses kicked if I let out a bunch. This is just for fun. Better than beating each other up—”

Before Nigel could answer, the purr deepened ominously, a loud boom filled the room, cat hair showered down over them, and then the real beast burst through the white cloud of fur.

It wasn’t the cat. Not anymore.

It was a bronze-skinned demon of metal, with spiked skin and teeth the size of Blaine’s number two knitting needles. Its claws were longer than the ones Angelica’s enhanced wolverines had used to rip out Nigel’s spleen during the summer of the Beasts from Beyond Hell, as he and his boys affectionately referred to dog days when Angelica had tapped into a new level of brutality that she hadn’t previously accessed.

Except for the pink bows, peach lipstick, and the pompoms around its ankles, this creature was all wire, with no flesh, no body parts, just spiked coils sharp enough to cut through metal.

Nigel envisioned thousands of microscopic blades forming in his palms beneath his skin, and he instantly felt the sharp pricks in his palm as the blades began to rise to the surface.

“Wait.” Pascal held up his hand to stay him and nodded at Christian. “Let him. He needs the therapy.”

Christian’s skin was shimmering as he slipped out of his human form into his attack mode. Skin cells shifted into microscopic chain links worthy of a deep-sea fight with a great white shark. The transformation continued, until Christian was nothing but one oversexed shark suit. When in that form, Christian was toxic to anything that touched him, unless it was protected by nylon.

Nigel hadn’t seen Christian in full armor since they’d escaped. Maybe Pascal’s plan had merit after all. They all needed some good battles from time to time to keep the juices flowing.

Christian was actually smiling. “Hallelujah!” He let out a whoop of delight, charged the demon, and cleaved it in half with one stroke. “Hot damn! I forgot how much fun that is!” Christian beckoned at Nigel. “Give me another one!”

“You got it.” As Nigel dipped the applicator into the tube, he could practically see Angelica’s eyes gleaming in anticipation. Her boys were playing with her toys, and she hadn’t even forced them. Success, even from the prison she was locked away inside.

But not really, because they were in control now. He grinned, thrilled as hell to see Christian looking so cheerful.

“That lip gloss is a nice shade for your swarthy skin.” Pascal cocked an eyebrow. “You might consider trying it on those lips of yours. Almost matches that pretty rose tattoo on your cheek.”

“Nah, I’m holding out for a peach tone. I think it goes more with my lips.” Wearing makeup was something that even Angelica hadn’t dared force upon them. Thank the gods for small victories.

The applicator began to smoke, rosy pink billows puffing off it, and Nigel flicked it so two drops landed near Christian.

The warrior’s metal skin shimmered as two more kitties appeared. “Bring it on, baby.”

“This is better than football.” Nigel leaned against the wall, relaxing as his buddy battled the two demons. “That’s a sight I thought I’d never see again. Christian kicking ass—”

Pascal coughed, and his skin turned soot-colored as he suddenly fought for breath.

“Shit!” Nigel ditched the lip gloss and set his hands on Pascal’s chest. Dark poison was circulating inside. Where had that come from? He immediately began to shove healing light into the warrior.

Christian swore. “What happened to him?”

“I don’t know. He seemed fine.” The dark energy inside Pascal was resisting Nigel’s healing. “Something new has come to the party.”

Draw.

Nigel jerked his head up. “Did you just tell me to draw, Slayer?”

“Hell, no.” Christian was heavily engaged mano a mano with a set of twin demon-kitties, unable to assist Nigel until he dispatched them. “But if you think it’ll help, go for it.”

Draw
the
warrior.

It wasn’t a command. It was his own instincts telling him how to focus his healing energy. Of course drawing made sense. Art was how he pulled himself together.

Nigel whipped out the pad he always kept with him, sat cross-legged on Pascal’s bed, and began to sketch the young warrior. The moment he began to work, rightness filled his soul. This was what he was supposed to be doing.

“Do it fast,” Christian said. “Pascal doesn’t look good.”

“I know.” Nigel sensed Pascal’s energy fading, his body rigid as it fought to hang on. Nigel’s pencil flew across the page, driven by the adrenaline, by the torment on Pascal’s face, the moan of agony deep in his throat.

Nigel transcribed the tension on Pascal’s face, the way his skin was stretched by his battle with death, the desperation of his soul’s fight to hang on. Pascal’s fierce passion filled Nigel, bringing his energy into alignment. By the time Nigel had finished drawing the warrior’s face, powerful healing energy was pulsing through Nigel. He set down the drawing and rubbed his hands together. “Okay, Pascal, I’m going to clean this up—”

Finish
the
drawing.

Nigel ignored the command. He didn’t need to draw anymore. He’d gotten what he needed. He placed his hands on Pascal’s chest and a rosy glow filled Pascal. The kid coughed, and then his chest heaved as air rushed back into his lungs.

“And we have liftoff,” Nigel announced.

“Nigel,” Christian shouted. “The lip gloss is leaking.”

Nigel saw the tube lying on the floor, pink liquid oozing out of the end. “Shit!” He grabbed it and shoved the lid on, but there were already a dozen kitties perched on cabinets. “This is why men should never play with makeup.”

“No shit. You’re on your own now,” Christian said as the room filled with the screams of demons coming to life. “Take care of our boy, and I’ll handle these guys.”

“I’m on it.” Leaving Christian to play, Nigel forced more energy into Pascal, and he found an insidious black taint inside the warrior’s body. “There’s some kind of poison inside him.”

“Clear it,” Christian ordered as he took down three demons with one swipe.

“I’m on it.” But he’d never seen it before. He needed to figure out how to clear it—

Finish
the
drawing.

Nigel lunged for the sketchpad. He
had
to finish the drawing. The answer lay within the picture. He sketched until Pascal’s form was complete, and peace and rightness surged through him. Nigel tossed the pad aside and palmed Pascal’s chest. Power poured from his hands into the warrior. Nigel’s energy plunged into the poison, shredded it easily, and well-being rushed back into Pascal’s body.

Pascal’s green eyes snapped open.

Nigel grinned. “Welcome back, buddy—”

“Oh, man!” Pascal paled, looking past Nigel. “Tell me I’m hallucinating.”

“Holy mother of hell,” Christian muttered. “This isn’t good.”

Nigel turned. A glittering, diamond-shaped hole was forming in the wall. A portal to the Den. In his house! Nigel leapt to his feet as the woman who’d been Angelica’s all-star apprentice for the last hundred years appeared in the doorway.

Mari’s brown hair was still streaked with blond highlights, but gone were tight jeans and stack-’em-high T-shirts. Instead, she was wearing a navy blue suit and all-business heels, and there was a confident set to her shoulders that hadn’t been there before she’d taken over after Angelica’s incarceration.

This was not the needy, weak apprentice who had manipulated Christian and betrayed them all. This was a woman who would fight from the front lines, and she had taken control in Angelica’s absence.

Excellent. Because the chicks had been altogether too boring before.

“Mari. What do you want?” Nigel allowed daggers to ease from his fingertips as Mari waved cheerfully at him, holding a piece of paper in her hand. On it was his drawing of Pascal.

Nigel grabbed his sketchpad off the ground and saw that the picture of Pascal was still there. But Mari was holding the exact same image in her hand.

“Get her!” Christian charged the hologram, sword blazing, but when he tried to tackle her, he went right through Mari’s image without doing anything more than causing her image to flicker.

“It’s a hologram,” Nigel called out. “She’s not real!” Which was good. Murdering the woman in cold blood wouldn’t be the best therapy Christian could find. You know, given that they were all pretty much hardwired not to harm women in any way, even those decidedly lacking a reciprocal set of morals.

Christian whirled around. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not her. It’s just her image.”

Christian swore and slammed his sword through the image in frustration. Yeah, old girlfriends were a real drain on a man’s ability to get up and go. But Nigel sensed that something else was bothering Christian, something that ran a whole lot deeper. Because Christian was, quite simply, not the type to harm a woman. Even Mari. Even a hologram of her. Not once. Not ever. No matter what.

“Hey, dudes. A little help, maybe?” Pascal called out.

Nigel glanced over at him and was surprised to see he was apparently being dragged by some unseen force straight toward Mari, who was gripping the drawing tightly in her hand. “Whoa. She’s trying to take you through the portal?” Damn. That just wasn’t acceptable. Invading his digs and stealing his peeps? He shot a hard look at her. “No chance, Mari. You don’t get to have us anymore.”

She didn’t respond. She just kept watching Pascal, who’d grabbed onto the footboard of his bed, hanging on with impressive strength for someone who’d been almost dead a few minutes ago. But they were warriors. They did shit like that.

Nigel stiffened, not liking the intensity of Mari’s stare. How had she opened the portal in his place anyway?

“She shouldn’t be here.”

“Unfortunately, she’s not.” Christian leaned on his sword, still looking overly disgruntled that he couldn’t grab Mari by the hair and drag her out of the portal. “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen anyone get sucked into a portal through a drawing.”

“Impressive,” Pascal agreed, still hanging on tightly. “Maybe we should sell tickets?” His voice grew more strained. “I gotta say, though, going back to party with Mari isn’t my first choice. I mean, she’s hot and all that, but she is my buddy’s ex-girlfriend and all. Violates man code to do her.”

Christian barked with strained laughter. “She’s all yours, newbie.”

“Don’t really want her, actually.” Pascal gasped as one hand slipped off the footboard.

“Fight it, man. I’m coming.” Nigel loped across the room and grabbed Pascal’s wrist. “I’ve got you—”

Pascal was ripped out of his grasp. “Hey!” Nigel lunged after his comrade as Pascal tumbled across the room toward Mari and the hell that they’d all suffered for so long. Crap! What was going on?

Christian swore, and both warriors lunged for Pascal’s outstretched hands. “Hang on,” Nigel ordered. His fingers brushed against Pascal’s. “Got him!”

Pascal met his eyes, a stricken look on his face. “First time ever that I didn’t get pleasure over you being wrong.” Then he was torn away from Nigel and sucked through the portal.

“Pascal!” Christian dove into the portal, but it shut too quickly, and Christian crashed to the floor, empty-handed. Except, of course, for his sword. He swore and whirled toward Nigel. “You trapped him.” His skin was even tighter across his face, his eyes sunken. “You sent him back!”

“I know.” A hundred and fifty years of sensitivity training had made Nigel able to admit when he’d screwed up. He had no clue how that could have happened, but it had. He swore and slammed his fist into the wall. “She had to have tainted the paper. Or the markers. Or maybe it was my healing.” Christian had nearly been broken when he’d been yanked back. Not another one. Not Pascal. “I’m going in after him.”