Deal with a Demon (Kindle Serial)

Deal with a Demon

Deal with a Demon

Celeste Easton

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Text copyright © 2013 Celeste Easton

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by Montlake Romance

PO Box 400818

Las Vegas, NV 89140

ISBN: 9781477857663

This is for my support system.
Without you I am nothing.

Table of Contents

Episode One

She’d left her fucking gun in the kitchen.

Nic Wright opened her eyes and kept her breaths calm and even as if she were still sleeping. Her back was toward the bedroom door, but she knew without question someone stood there, watching her.

Your weapon can’t help you unless it’s next to you, genius.

And she’d left herself vulnerable — unarmed, asleep. An unwelcome thought of her parents ghosted through her mind.

No time for those thoughts. Some sneaky bastard had crept up on her, and the only weapon at her disposal? The stupid demon handbook she’d been reading that had lulled her to sleep. It would have to do. She wrapped her fingers around the worn edges and waited for the creeper to get closer.

If Drew had shown the smallest inkling of responsibility and returned her calls, she wouldn’t be in this situation. But no. Her brother, the meth head and constant pain in her ass, had disappeared without a trace, and his apartment looked like a satanic cult had moved in.

She couldn’t hear the footsteps on the carpet as the person moved across the room, but she could feel a shift in the air, a sense of the room getting more crowded. The mattress sank as the person knelt down. Male for sure — too big to be one of her brother’s junkie girlfriends. Not her brother either. Drew would have hopped in and smacked her in the back of the head.

She firmed her grip on the book and waited, the taste of adrenaline salty on her tongue.

When the stranger leaned in, the scent of rosemary and smoke drifted down to her, like he’d come from a gourmet bonfire. The alluring aroma wouldn’t deter her, though.

Closer, buddy. A little closer.

The bed creaked as he loomed over her, and she flashed into action, flipping over and swinging the book up in a sweeping arc. The bound edge connected beneath his chin, knocking his teeth together with a snap. She popped up into a crouch and drew back with both hands for another blow. The hardback was nothing compared to her Ruger nine millimeter, but she used it with the same intent. She dealt the next hit to the side of his head. He careened back onto the floor where he lay, motionless, his arms and legs stretched out spread-eagle.

Knocked out. She smiled for a second, then her heart stuttered and she wanted to kick herself.

She had just coldcocked the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on.

What the hell was a guy who looked like
that
doing in her brother’s shit-ass apartment? And what if she hadn’t heard him at all? She could’ve been dead by now.

And who knew how long he would be out.

She ran for the kitchen and grabbed her gun from her duty belt on the counter—

Wait. How’d he get in? She glanced at the door. The deadbolt was still locked. Drew lived on the third floor. Did the beautiful man climb up a ladder and through a window? He’d come in from the hallway, so not through the bedroom window, but maybe one of the others? The fire escape reached the kitchen windows…no. Impossible. There was no way a man his size could have climbed up the fire escape without the ancient, rusty thing crumbling into a pile of dust.

There’d be time for answers later. Right now she had bigger issues, one of which could wake up at any minute. She stopped to listen and the apartment was all quiet. He’d come alone.

She dashed back down the hall, her nine ready in her hand. Her victim didn’t stir, but she could see his chest moving with each breath he took.

Well, at least I didn’t kill him.

Out of arm’s reach, she knelt down for a closer look. His temple was split and knotted where her last hit had landed, but the rest of his face was fine. Better than fine, in fact. A smooth brow and sculpted jaw completed by a perfect mouth. For some ridiculous reason she wanted him to lift his dark lashes to see what color his eyes were.

He wore silver rings on a couple of fingers, and his black dress shirt had the sheen of expensive fabric. His jeans were snug, leaving little to the imagination, and as she wondered about their contents, he stirred. Her stare flew to his face.

Ice green. Frost-covered emeralds, her brain noted. His eyes were a glacier.

“Well, that hurt a bit.” His voice matched his appearance: wicked, rich.

Her cheeks flamed and she scuttled away from him.

He reached up and rubbed at his temple. “No need to run off quite yet. At least allow me to introduce myself.”

He sat up and Nic got stalled by the deliberate, predatory way he moved, as if he were a jaguar waking from a catnap — ready to pounce on her if she bolted. She stayed frozen in a half crouch.

“I am the help you requested.” He offered her a smug, feline grin. “You Called for me.”

She noticed the way he’d drawn out the word “called,” like it had a double meaning. The weight of her gun bolstered her shaky confidence. “Are you a friend of Drew’s?”

“I doubt it.”

He was tall with the tight, bold frame of an athlete, but the tattoos and shiny jewelry didn’t match up with the quarterback image. Neither did the shoulder-length blue-black hair. He reminded her of a rock star — not of the pop, pretty-boy variety. More like the kind associated with screaming guitars and bra-tossing women; the type who dressed in leather pants and sexed up the groupies backstage with a bottle of liquor in one hand and a death wish in the other.

Then it hit her. This guy was some big-time drug dealer’s henchman; one look at the jewelry and the pricey shirt said it all. Had her brother gotten into trafficking to support his habit? Maybe there was a chance he’d been kidnapped and they’d sent a representative to collect a ransom. No wonder Drew’s loser best friend, Jimmy, hadn’t wanted to talk over the phone when she’d called him. They were probably watching him too. “How much money do you want?”

“I’m not here for money.”

His smile made her wonder what else he might accept for payment. Could he be part of the cleanup crew there to make sure no evidence had gotten left behind? “Who do you work for?”

He laughed, flashing straight, white teeth in a crooked grin. “I don’t work for anyone except you.”

Huh?
“Why are you here?”

When he rose to his feet so did she. He was a full head and shoulders taller than she was and almost twice as wide.

He held his arms out toward her, palms up. “I am First Born of the Asmodai, eldest son of Asmodeus, and a Prince of the Nine Hells. I am the answer to your seeking. I am Helper. I am Arden.” At the end of his speech he bowed low over his knees.

Nic giggled. Then the giggling turned into laughter. Maybe it was the stress over Drew, or the fear, or the precise formality of his delivery, but she laughed until tears stood in her eyes. Her brother had gone crazy, this man in front of her too, and she was on the fast track to following them both.

“Not exactly the response I am accustomed to,” he said between his teeth.

“Sorry.” She swiped the wetness from her cheeks. “I really don’t know how you said all that with a straight face. I bet whoever you work for loves your sense of humor.”

“I work for you.”

His dry delivery was spot-on. Maybe his employer picked him for his acting ability. “OK, really, how much money?”

“Stop asking about money and explain yourself. You’re the one who Called
me
.”

“I didn’t call you.”

“You did.”

The charade didn’t amuse her. “All right, buddy, you’ve had your laugh and now it’s time to get real.” Nic aimed her Ruger at his head and marched over to search him. She’d call the cops once she knew he wasn’t armed. Of course then she’d have to listen to the local PD guys rib her about being a rent-a-cop, but oh well. Maybe they could get answers out of him.

Her hand met hard muscle as she felt around his chest and ribs. She’d frisked people before, but none had made the hair stand up on the back of her neck or warmth flood her veins. She did a quick pat down of his legs and tried not to linger on his inner thighs even if it meant she missed something. “Where’s your weapon?”

“If you’re done stroking me, I’ll explain.”

His words stopped her short and she pulled her hands back. He was very nice to feel, but she didn’t want him thinking she’d noticed. She also didn’t want to give him or the jerks who took her brother any other reasons to laugh at her. “Fine. Say whatever it is you and your buddies cooked up to spoon-feed me, and then we’ll start talking about why you’re really here.”

“I told you. I’m here to help you.”

“Sure you are.” No matter how serious his expression, she didn’t buy it. What kind of drug dealers did business this way?

“OK. Maybe we should start over.” He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “You called for help.”

“I said I didn’t call—”

“Wait.” He held up his hand to silence her. “The book you nailed me with. What was it?”

“I don’t see what the stupid book has to do with this.”

When he stepped toward her all her senses fired up and for a minute she lost focus. He looked vicious, and his dark handsomeness hid — she was sure — a deep penchant for violence. He picked the book up from the floor.

“What could a book have to do with your little game?”

“This is not a game.” He flipped the book over, and when he read the title he laughed, his emerald eyes sparkling as he looked up at her.

Nic ignored the little jump from her stomach. “What’s so funny?”

“Go figure.” He chuckled and one corner of his mouth tilted up in a smirk.

“Would you please tell me what in the fuck is so amusing?” Her thin patience was all but exhausted and she edged nearer to popping him one in the nose.

“Do you know who wrote this?” He turned the cover around to face her.

“
A Purposeful Existence
,” she read. “
A Mortal’s Guide for Demon Assistance
.” Some tiny nugget of memory tugged at her brain, but she pushed it away.

“And the author’s name?”

The name was long and foreign looking and when she tried to pronounce it, he laughed. “Az-mo-dee-us,” he said, enunciating the syllables as if he were teaching it to a toddler.

She bit at the inside of her lip. Hadn’t he mentioned the strange name when he’d given her his bullshit intro? “Is that who you work for or something?”

He laughed again. “Hardly. Asmodeus is my father.”

“Very funny.” Nic didn’t know how far his act was supposed to go, but judging by the goose bumps on her arms, it had reached the punch line. “Your father is a demon who writes books? Yeah, OK. Your joke stopped being hilarious about two minutes ago.”

“This. Isn’t. A. Joke.” His smile took on a feral look and she figured he must be tired of the game too.

She stared at the author’s name. Something about the book…

Then she remembered. The book had jumped at her. She’d been standing just inside the doorway to the bedroom, her discoveries in the apartment and her desperation brewing a toxic soup in her gut. When she’d asked out loud for some answers, it had flown across the room, end over end, and landed open at her feet.

Her gaze jumped from the cover to her visitor’s face. She remembered reading a passage about “Calling,” but it must have been right before she fell asleep because the memory was hazy.

Wait. Wait one fucking minute.
Could the book have put a spell on her or something? If it could fly across the room, what else could it have done?

But one thought stood out in her brain like a lone grave on a cemetery hill — Summoning a Helper; the last section she remembered reading. Could she have really done that? Had she summoned a demon to help her find her brother?

No. Nope. No.
No way was she going to buy any of it. Before she’d set foot in Drew’s apartment earlier she’d been sane. Now? Well…sanity was as absent as her brother.

She looked up at the man standing in front of her. The demon part fit one hundred percent. She’d never seen a mortal man his equal in the looks department. Was he what demons looked like?

Yep.

Was she completely deranged?

Yep.

“Let’s start over,” she said.

“Good idea. Wish I had suggested something like that.” Nic glowered at him, but he continued. “I am First Born of—”

“You can skip the son of Asmodeus, nine hells part. I believe
you
believe what you’re saying, but I’m not an idiot regardless of what those assholes you work for think.” His eyes grew colder and his smile thinned to a tight line as she went on. “I figure you’re their cleanup and collect crew, but I think you missed your calling. You should be out in Hollywood breaking starlet hearts and smiling for the cameras instead of running errands for some big, slimy drug—”

He yanked a dagger from his boot and she jumped away, lifting her nine and leveling it at his forehead. Why didn’t she check his goddamned boots?

“Calm down.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Yeah, that’s what all the bad guys say right before the woman’s guts end up on the floor.”

“Why are you so stubborn?”

She bridled. “You don’t even know me. How dare you call me stub—”

His eyes never left hers as he sank the blade into his palm and down into his wrist. When he pulled the knife back out, the skin on the sides of the gash lifted open. His smug expression didn’t change when dark blood ran from the wound, over his wrist, and dripped onto the carpet. He held the hand up toward her like an offering.

Time to go.
Her best option would be to ease out of the bedroom and make for the back door…

The flow of blood from the wound stopped. How did a cut so deep stop bleeding in half a second? He’d almost cut completely through his hand. That wasn’t possible—

Then the cut began to seal up, the rent skin coming together in a seam. The lines of his gray tattoos closing together in precise alignment.

Her breath was the only sound in the room, wheezing in and out of her in a stuttered rush. She couldn’t look away. The mark from the slice faded and faded until his palm appeared untouched.

“Now. Can we move on?” He slid the knife back into his boot and crossed his arms over his chest.

“How did…how did you do that?” She tried to force her brain to catch up. Doubt had wedged itself firmly in the front of her skull. Did this little prank include special effects or had she been drugged? Maybe the descent into total lunacy began with disturbingly real hallucinations. Total psychotic break.