Soul Surrender

Also by Katana Collins

 

 

SOUL STRIPPER

 

SOUL SURVIVOR

A Soul Stripper Romance

 

 

 

 

 

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

For Eliza: Soul mates come in all forms, including best friends

Despite most people's concept of a writer's life (you know, alone in a dark room, the door closed, eight empty coffee cups strewn about the floor), the fact is no writer creates a book entirely on their own. There have been so many people from all walks of life who've offered their invaluable assistance, knowledge, advice, and support through this book and all others.

Thank you to my first (and only) writing professor from undergrad, Heather Dune McAdam. Without her fabulous tutelage and guidance, I may have never known all that I could achieve. It was only one class. But it changed my life forever.

Special thanks go out to Eliza Lamb—my best friend who not only came up with the series title but also lent me her surname for Monica. Thank you for your love, your support and, most important, your friendship.

To my amazing editor, Martin Biro—you never fail to turn my words into something more succinct and sensical. Thank you for deciphering my crazy brain. Also, many thanks to everyone on the Kensington team who works so hard to put these books out!

Many thanks to my agent, Louise Fury, and her fabulous team. My critique group—Krista Amigone, Derek Bishop, and Shauna O'Garro—thank you for helping mold my book into something cohesive!

Many thanks to my family, Mom, Dad, Bo, Bridget, Adam, Adelynn, and Harrison. I promise to lift my nose from my laptop long enough for a bite of turkey and some green bean casserole this year at Thanksgiving!

And to Sean. I love you. Thank you. Tonight we drink a glass of wine (. . . or, you know, a bottle) and toast to
Happily Ever After
.

T
his wasn't my first time riding a mechanical bull. But it was the first time I'd done so while in a wet tank top, cowboy boots, and a thong. I was still surprised I had talked Lucien into replacing the stripper pole with the bull for the night. Then again, my ArchDemon of Las Vegas had deep pockets and shallow morals, so perhaps it shouldn't have been such a shock.

The spotlight on center stage warmed my mostly bare flesh. With the bright lights and pulsating bull between my legs, it should have been hard to see the sea of spectators ogling the stage. But my succubus vision was sharp, and each face was clearer than high definition television.

The tank top clung to my hard nipples with a damp chill, and bills rained onto the stage. One of the greatest things about being a succubus is the fact that I can shift into any look I want: man, woman, or creature. With one hand in the air and ass cheeks slamming onto the moving leather bull, I slinked one leg over the side and did a back bend off of the moving centerpiece.

Sitting front and center, chin at stage level, was Damien. My elemental . . . friend? Boyfriend? Fuck buddy? It had been months since our first hookup in Salt Lake City, and we still couldn't define what the Hell we were to each other.

A smirk tugged my eyes, and I fell to a crouch in front of him. With a finger, I stroked the length of my sex over the gauzy cotton panty (also shapeshifted to be wet) and then plunged that same finger into his mouth. His tongue slid over my nail, nibbling the edge, and his moan vibrated through me.

Jutting my hip forward, I paused, holding his steely gaze.

His eyebrows climbed higher. “You've got to be kidding me.”

“Can't give you any special treatment, Detective Kane.” My voice had a humorous lilt to it. “You sit in the front row, you cough up the dough.”

Grumbling, he reached into his back pocket, crinkling a five in his fist. He hooked the bill into the G-string along my hip and curved his finger in as well. It slid down the length of my panty, brushing the smooth skin inside. My pulse jumped with the wicked gleam he flashed at me. “I'll see you after, then?”

The thumping bass beckoned me back to the performance to center stage. Damn this job. With a wink, I pranced back to my duties. I tore the tank top from my body, ripping it with the ease and strength of any supernatural being. The dank club air swirled around my naked breasts, and I shimmied out of my thong as well, two-stepping about. With one more spin, I stopped dead in my tracks. There, at the back of the audience—in the midst of blended bodies writhing together—was Drew. My Drew—my best friend and human boss at the coffee shop. Drew—the man I loved but could never have. Part of the succubus curse was an eternity sleeping with humans and taking some of their life to sustain my existence. It pretty much took any sort of real human relationship out of the equation.

I blinked once. Twice. Was it actually him? I couldn't tell. Not only was it weird to see Drew here, because the man wouldn't be caught dead in a strip club, he'd also been missing for almost eight months after learning that his friends, girlfriend, and ex-lover were all either angels or demons. Then add to that his leap into an abyss of Hell to save all of us from an angry elemental family—well, no wonder he didn't want to come anywhere near us.

Sea green eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment there was no one else in the room. No assholes whooping and hollering for me to shove my tits in their face. No groaning mechanical bull. No boyfriends or girlfriends, current or ex, in the front row. It was just him and me.

And then I blinked—and Drew was gone. Or the man who
looked
like Drew was gone. I felt empty and abandoned all at once. Did I just imagine him there? My eyes cruised the crowd once more.

“Mirage! Mirage!
Monica!
”

“Huh?” Someone was calling for me . . . by both my real and stage name. Stage name . . . shit, I was still onstage. It had only been seconds, but for this crowd, seconds of not shaking my succubus ass was grounds to be deported back to Hell.

My eyes found Damien's, and his were wide, concerned. “Are you all right?” he mouthed rather than said.

I didn't bother answering; instead I slid back into my routine. The chorus of assholes booing quickly morphed into whistles and hoots. It didn't take much to please the deviants that hung around Lucien's strip club, Hell's Lair. And as much as I loathed being a stripper, it provided me access to some of Vegas's worst souls. The kind of guys from whom I didn't mind stealing some life energy. Most of the losers who slipped in here every night after work had it coming.

After my set I shifted into jeans, but kept the wet tank top, and took a seat at the edge of the bar. T, our bouncer and bartender at Hell's Lair, slid me a scotch and water. My favorite after a rough night.

“Hey, kid,” he said, even though we both knew I was decades older than him. Two meaty elbows leaned against the bar, and though he didn't smile I could sense the warm grin in his eyes. T rarely smiled. I could count on one hand the number of times I'd seen his dimples. He was a massive man, easily taller than six feet. His weight was entirely made up of pie and burgers. It only took one out-of-line customer to learn that T didn't need bulging biceps to assert power. He was strength personified and acted like a bulldozer to those needing to be bounced.

“Everything all right?”

I brought a shoulder to my ear. “Oh, sure. Just another night, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” He stared wistfully at one of our other dancers and a fellow succubi, Janelle.

“What happened with you two? Things looked like they were going well.”

“They were.” His baritone voice licked my skin, rough like a cat's tongue. “Until they weren't.”

It was probably all I'd get out of T, I realized, and so I sipped my scotch and water instead of pushing him further. “Where's Lucien tonight?”

“Around. He's always around.”

Two arms curled around my waist, and I found myself lost in someone's muscular chest. “I've missed you.” My skin tingled and I gasped at the low voice.
Drew.
I sighed into the embrace, dropping my head back against his chest, and glanced down at the arms enveloping me. Only they weren't covered in blond hair; they were dark. Damien. Shit. Was I totally losing it?

“How can you miss me when you saw me onstage just a minute ago?”

He chuckled, released his hold, and slipped onto the seat next to mine. “Because you're addictive. You of all people should know just how much.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, but we both know
your
kind is immune to my poison.”

Damien dipped his finger into my scotch and let the droplets fall onto my palm. After using his finger to swirl the tiny bit of liquid like a whirlpool, he raised my palm to his lips. His tongue flattened to my hand in a tortuously slow lick. “I like my liquor stirred.” He ran a hand through his dark hair, which was trimmed in layers but still long enough to dive my fingers into.

“Show-off.”

I never knew how powerful Damien's elemental magic really was, until his mother and brother, infamous elementals from my past, came back to seek revenge.

His eyes darkened and he trailed a finger down the side of my face. “Let's go back to my place.” His voice was raw. Husky. I inhaled his scent—it was earthy, like his magic.

I curved my fingers onto his clean-shaven jaw and ran a thumb across his full bottom lip. He nipped the edge, his lips sliding into a smile. Man, that smile is hard to resist. “I can't—I wish I could, but I have to recharge first.”

The sexy smolder immediately wilted into searing anger; his darkened gaze took on a whole different tone, and he jerked away from my touch. Instead of curving those talented fingers around my body again, he gripped my glass of scotch and tipped back a loud slug.

The sudden shift lacerated my already bruised ego. This wasn't a life I chose for myself, and yet at every turn judgment slammed into me. Impatience and pain collided against my heart, but as always, I pushed my battered soul to the side. “Damien, this is part of the deal. Elementals can't give me power—and luckily in return, I can't take your life. You know that. Or would you prefer I never fuck another man again? Recede into nothing and allow my soul to fall away into a tortuous Hell?”

His jaw clenched, teeth grinding away at the top enamel. “Well, at least then you could be with your precious Drew.” His words were cold, and they speared me like an icy dart.

“Fuck you,” I spat. “And for your information, Drew's not in Hell. He's just not
here
.” My fingers twitched, and I resisted the urge to run my hand along the postcard Drew had sent me from Alaska months ago. I carried it as a constant reminder that he was out there. Somewhere.

I finished the rest of my drink with one swallow and slammed it down before pushing the stool back. His hands darted out, one grasping me behind the waist, the other behind the neck. His fingers laced into my hair, tugging it into a knot at my nape.

“Let me go, Damien.”

“Not a chance, angel.”

I gulped. “Don't call me that.” I shuddered remembering the man who instituted that nickname long ago: Lord Buckley. He, along with a vampire named Dejan, had been responsible for my fall from angel to succubus.

There was a hurricane of emotions swirling in his eyes. “Dammit, woman. Do you know what you're doing to me? I never used to give a shit about who my lovers were fucking in their off time, so long as they were safe. But you—you . . .” He hissed an exhale, sloping his lips over mine. His tongue stroked my own in soft, needy glides. Arousal flared in my body, and I hated myself for being so quick to respond.

“Damien,” I said against his lips. “Stop. This—us . . . we fight all the time,” I said on a moan as his lips trailed kisses down my neck, nipping my collarbone. “This is why I don't
do
relationships. My lifestyle is not an easy one to accept. And I don't blame you if you decide it's too hard.”

“No,” he growled. “I'm not ready to give up yet.” His hand glided to my lower back and cupped my ass. “I'm sorry,” he added.

“Why don't I finish up work tonight, then tomorrow we can pick up where we left off?” Our mouths met in unison and tongues twisted in an intensely emotional kiss that I felt in every area of my body. His erection was denim-clad steel pressed between my legs.

“I'll leave you to it, then.” He stood and tossed some bills onto the bar. With a wave at T and another smacking kiss on my lips, he slipped out the door.

The air in Damien's absence was clearer and my lungs seemed to work easier without his looming gaze on me.

“Monica!” I recognized Lucien's growl immediately. I'd already dismantled one bomb tonight—I wasn't sure I had it in me to do another.

Like a rat running from a flood, T bolted to the other end of the bar. Lucien was the only man I'd ever seen T afraid of. He was our boss not only here at the club but in the Hell-realm, too.

“Tell your boyfriend that if he doesn't back off, he won't be allowed in here anymore.”

“Back off of what?”

A string of long, black hair escaped its ponytail and fell into Lucien's equally dark eyes. “What the fuck do you think I mean?
You
.” He shoved it behind his ear, then slapped a palm down on the bar top. “He might as well lift a goddamn leg and piss all over you. No guy will dare buy a private dance if it comes with a risk of getting his ass kicked.”

“They might. The thrill-seeking sort . . .”

“You're fucking hilarious.”

My eyebrow curved into an arch. “Jeez. What's got you so grumpy?”

“I run this damn place on my own. I'm ArchDemon over the entire Southwest region. I'm investigating who the fuck is stupid enough to put a bounty on you. And on top of all that, I'm searching tirelessly for your missing human. The latter would be a lot easier if you would just tell us what you know about him.”

“I told you already—stop looking for him. He'll come back if and when he wants to.” I slid a glance over my shoulder, scanning the crowd for Drew. I could have sworn that was him in the audience. Attention back on Lucien, I opened my mouth to mention my sighting. But as Lucien's gaze narrowed, assessing my every move, I chickened out and instead grasped my glass, slugging the rest of my drink in one gulp.

“I would
love
to stop looking for him. He's clearly no longer in Hell. I know enough people down there that I would have at least had confirmation of that by now. But no one will release the information about where he is or what he is doing. Not to mention that angel of his is pretty damn insistent. She finally caved and hired Kayce to find him.”

The bags under Lucien's eyes were blue and heavy. His skin lacked its usual luster. He raked a hand down his face. Emotion knotted in my stomach. He was worried about Kayce. Of course.

“Lucien—”

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

“I didn't even say anything yet!”

“I don't care. Unless it's about where Drew is, I don't want to hear it.” His gaze slid over me, taking in everything from head to toe. “Where's your gun? And the holy water mace I gave you?”

“Oh, um”—I looked down and put a hand to my pockets, something we both knew was bullshit since these jeans may as well have been painted directly on my body—“they're back in my dressing room, I think.”

“Monica.” Lucien's face dropped with his sigh, a defeated sound that made me instantaneously regret not being more cautious. “Do you know how expensive it is to get bullets blessed in holy water for a demon? You should at least keep the mace on you at all times.”

His full eyebrows creased in the center, and he glared at me with more sorrow than anger.