Larissa Ione - Pleasure Unbound

“Croucher demon,” she shouted back to her partner, who cursed and surged next to her.

“What, you can’t find a house to terrorize, you ugly piece of shit?” In one smooth motion, Janet drew an air claw from her belt pouch and launched it.

The demon shrieked, clutched the throwing star buried deep in one eye, hatred burning in the remaining two. Tay worked her stang into a spin that would sever the Croucher’s head, but motion in her peripheral vision brought her around. Janet tumbled awkwardly through the air and landed in a crumpled heap. In the space where she’d stood, the Cruentus demon growled deep in its skeletal chest.

“Not. Nice.” Tay hurled her spiked blade backward even as she lunged forward with the stang. She didn’t need to look to know the spike had buried itself in the Croucher’s throat.

One down, one to go.

The gold razor edge of her stang found its target and sliced a thin line across the Cruentus’s stomach. The thing stumbled back, one hand covering its belly like it expected its guts to fall out. She spun, struck it in the pelvis with a roundhouse kick.

The creature slammed into an access ladder. Tay moved in, stang whirling. The Cruentus’s claws lashed out, catching Janet in the shoulder.

“Ow! Bastard.” Janet brought her favorite weapon, a hatchet, from beneath her jacket. The demon sidestepped her attack, and the blade landed only a glancing blow to its shin.

“Hey, asshole!” Tay charged, but she drew short with a cry. Her right leg tingled, the muscles turned to water. Her hand went numb, and her stang clattered to the ground just before her body landed in the slime.

Not again. Not now!

“Tayla!” Janet screamed as the demon’s thorny fingers closed around her throat.

Gnashing her teeth, Tay dragged herself toward the demon, which was shaking her partner like a terrier with a rat.

“Hey!” Tayla’s fingers closed around a jagged chunk of brick. “You disgusting sonofabitch, look at me.”

She hurled the brick with her good arm, and a sharp edge crunched into the back of its head. Black fluid spurted from the wound. Snarling, it released Janet and turned, its eyes little more than orange balls of rage.

“Whore,” it rasped. “Filthy human whore. I’ll feast on your organs, suck them out through your cunt while you scream.” It slipped its narrow tongue between its fangs and slurped obscenely at the air.

“Men,” she muttered, stretching for the stang she’d dropped. “Doesn’t matter what species, you always make everything about sex.”

Baring its teeth in a smile that wrinkled its blunt, hairless snout, it picked up Janet’s hatchet. “Not sex. Death.”

It swung. The sound, the dull thud of a blade sinking into flesh tore through Tayla like a werewolf’s claws. Janet’s head, nearly separated from her body by her own hatchet, lolled to one side, caught against her shoulder only by a strip of sinewy muscle and skin. Surprise flashed in Janet’s blue eyes, and then the cloudy mist of death settled in them.

“Janet! No!”

“No!”

Tayla’s eyes flew open. Terror swept through her in a series of quakes. Sweat dripped down her forehead and into her hair as she took in the hospital equipment, the darkened, cool room. She was safe.

No, not safe. After the Cruentus killed Janet, it had attacked her, landed her in some sort of facility run by demons. She’d been patched up. Bathed. And, oh, God.

She’d had sex with a demon.

Tayla swallowed bile and tried to keep her stomach from heaving. She needed to shower. And douche. Maybe sterilize her skin by burning it off.

Not that she could do any of those things, seeing how she was chained to a bed and could have been for days as far as she knew.

She made a fist, wiggled her toes. At least function had returned. But for how long? The episodes had been occurring more frequently, had gotten Janet killed and had nearly done the same for Tayla.

Next time, she might not be so lucky.

“Good evening.” A petite blonde woman in godawful fuchsia scrubs stood next to the bed. How she got there without Tayla hearing, she had no clue. “You look better than you did when you came in, what with all the blood and bite marks and Cruentus bits splattered all over. And you really should rethink the red leather. It clashes with your hair.”

“The red hides the bloodstains, and who the hell are you? The fashion police?” Her voice sounded scratchy, unused.

The air-headed twit shook her head as if Tay had been serious. “Nurse Allen. I brought food, but you can’t eat until Dr. Eidolon removes the restraints.” She smiled, revealing shiny fangs. “Obviously, the restraints are necessary, seeing how your kind are merciless murderers and all.”

Tayla stared. “Pot, meet kettle.”

“Thanks, Nancy. I’ve got it. Go home. We’ll see you tomorrow.” The masculine voice shivered through Tayla like a forbidden pleasure. Vodka for the alcoholic. Cheesecake for the dieter. Orgasm for the monk. “Hello, Tayla.”

“Hey, Dr. Evil.” She didn’t look. What if she’d dreamed up his good looks? What if he had horns, hooves, and porcupine quills?

Nancy’s bubbly laughter followed her out the door, and what kind of vampire chatted and giggled like a brain-dead cheerleader? Didn’t really matter, though. The vamp would die in a rain of embers and ashes just like any other bloodsucking fiend. Tay just wished the remains weren’t so greasy. Washing that crap out of clothes was a bitch.

But then, such was the life of a member of The Aegis, the unsung protectors of the world. The secret guardians of humanity. The slayers of demons and things that went bump in the night.

And all the other bullshit that was supposed to make Tay feel warm and fuzzy, but that only reminded her how she had nothing better to do with her life than hang out in monster-infested alleys that smelled like rancid piss.

After all, it was hard to find a legitimate job when you had an arrest warrant for murder hanging over your head.

Then again, even if she had a perfect record and a freakin’ doctorate to her name, nothing would change. She’d still spend her nights patrolling the New York City underground she knew more intimately than anyone should, searching for evil filth to squash.

Evil filth like the doctor whose footsteps grew louder as he approached. She closed her eyes, still unable to face him. It wasn’t until she felt the head of the bed jack up that she dared to peek.

Chills shivered over her skin. Dressed in green scrubs, he was just as she’d remembered, all muscle and angular features and brown eyes that flashed with intelligence and confidence. That wicked tattoo on his right arm shimmered, its sharp, curved lines blurring when she looked too closely.

She’d fought demons for eight of her twenty-four years, but never had she encountered one whose devastatingly powerful presence filled her with a sense of awe. It was as though he was pure sexual energy contained in a wrapper of smooth, bronze skin, and damn, it wasn’t fair that a demon should be so cover-model handsome.

Too bad she’d have to ruin his looks with the bruising end of her right hook.

“I’m going to release your wrist restraints so you can eat. Don’t try to fight me. The hospital is under the protection of an antiviolence spell.”

Sure. She waited until he’d freed her hands. Then she smiled. And took a swing at his jaw.

Pain nearly sheared off the top of her skull. She fell back, clutching her head with both hands.

“I warned you.”

“My ass,” she groaned. “You wanted me to try something.”