Angie Fox - The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers

“Something important enough for him to go flying down Route 95. Good thing them nonmagical folks can’t see that. It’d be pan-de-monium. Like my new word? Pan-de-monium.” Pirate circled twice before curling up on the carpet, his chin resting on his paws.

“Lovely,” I said.

What kind of business could Dimitri possibly have with a succubus? Much less a whole army of them?

We were making a big mistake. I could feel it. I paced between Dimitri’s room and my own a few dozen times. Naturally, he hadn’t returned. He wasn’t answering his cell phone, and whatever he was doing certainly wasn’t worth risking his life. Jerk.

Pirate followed me, two steps behind. Luckily, he’d given up on offering solutions.

My leather bustier itched with sweat, and I wondered for the twentieth time why I even bothered with it since I seemed incapable of wearing it without a T-shirt to make it more modest—or dumpy, depending on your opinion and my mood, which was pretty rotten right now.

When I’d had enough of stomping, I decided to do something a little more constructive. I planted myself at the writing desk by the window.

Forcing down my frustration, I tried to work on The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers with a half-dead hotel pen and a few sheets of Paradise Hotel notepaper, but gave up almost as soon as I started. Number one—I was done half-assing anything. Number two—I was too mad to think straight. I yanked off my Don’t Mess with Texas T-shirt and hurled it into the corner near the bathroom. Then because, okay, yes it was driving me crazy, I stalked back over, yanked it up and, hands jerking, folded it neatly.

Grandma snorted and rolled in her sleep. She’d taken the bed closest to the door, her face smashed into the down pillow.

Instead of smothering her with it, I ripped open the curtains and stared out at the lights of The Strip.

If I really wanted to think about it—which I didn’t—I knew I should have taken charge before this happened. We should have cut Phil’s ties to Serena immediately. Then I should have taken Phil with me and gone after Dimitri myself. I’d had my suspicions about the wards protecting this place. I could blame Grandma for making a bad decision, but I hadn’t trusted my gut and pushed for anything else. I stood by, like most people do when there’s trouble around, thinking Grandma knew what she was doing. But I was a demon slayer now, and, yeah I might be on a permit, but I couldn’t afford to hold back.

It wouldn’t happen again.

I wound my fingers into the cool leather belt at my waist. Grandma couldn’t help. The magical bureaucracy wouldn’t help. I had to start trusting myself. It might not make life easier, but then again, I doubted demon slaying was supposed to be a cakewalk.

A voice trilled from the hallway, dragging me out of my thoughts. “Miss Lizzie!” A warm glow shone under the door before a bright orange Skeep wriggled underneath.

He burned like a miniature fireball. “Meko at your service. Forgive the intrusion,” the mystical concierge said, hovering under the knob, “but you did tell me to fetch you the minute the griffin in 1302 entered his room.”

I nodded, edging past the dead-tired dog curled at my feet, saying a quick prayer of thanks that Dimitri made it back okay.

Meko glowed with pride. “I assume it has been a minute and a half, roughly, since I had to fly down the hall and summon you.”

“Thanks,” I said, wondering how to tip an orb.

He tittered and shot back under the door. I stuffed my key card into the back pocket of my kick-ass demon-slayer pants and hurried down the hall.

The splish-splash of the water in the hall felt cool and eerily dry against my naked toes. And even though it was half past two in the morning, someone had ordered pizza.

I’d barely knocked on Dimitri’s door when he yanked me inside.

“Quickly,” he said, closing the door behind him with the swish of something that sounded like Velcro. Had he been expecting me? Knowing him, I wouldn’t doubt it.

Thick, dark hair tumbled onto his forehead, setting off his angled features and giving him a deceptively GQ look. I knew better. The man was 100 percent raw power.

I gasped as soon as I got a good look at him. Red cuts marred the taut olive skin of his chest. “You’re hurt!” He looked pale, almost gaunt, which was impossible considering I’d given the man a thorough inspection the night before and found him in amazing health. My body warmed at the thought.

Square jaw clenched, he turned from me, but not before I saw the crimson stains on his jeans. He’d bled heavily, or someone else had.

“We need to talk.” I followed him past the bed. “I can’t believe you ran off like that,” I said to the angry purple bruises on his back as he dug through his traveling case. “I was half out of my mind. I didn’t know if we’d find you dead or sucked dry or possessed or—” I captured his arm. “Are you even okay? Look at me.”

He whipped his head around, and I nearly fell over backward. His eyes burned yellow like a cat’s, and the skin around them had turned ashen.

Fear shot through me, and I instinctively yanked my hand away. “What in Hades?”

I saw a flash of something vulnerable in him. Hurt?

Dimitri gripped my wrists. “Let’s say succubi have an unpleasant effect on me,” he said, his voice strained.

I found myself wanting to break his grip. It’s not that his grip was painful. No, it was worse. He made me feel weak. I was powerless to move, powerless to stop what corrupted him. He was in danger because I’d needed to come here and there wasn’t a darned thing I could do about it.

My heart sped up as pulled me toward him, slowly—deliberately.

I gasped. “When were you going to tell me?”

The side of his mouth tugged into a wry grin. “I think I just did.”

I scraped my hand down the rough stubble on his cheek. His skin felt different, rougher almost. Part of me wanted to drag him out of Vegas and handcuff him to the pool table at the Hairy Hog biker bar. I’d have tried it if it had any shot of working. The other part of me was glad to have him with me however I could.

Power radiated from him, not the warm, steady energy of the sun he usually exuded. Something else entirely had a handle on my noble griffin. Dread settled in my stomach. We had to break him free of the evil that was draining him of his very self.

I dragged my thumb over his lower lip. “We’ll get you out of here, babe. Soon.”

He smelled like smoke and seasoned leather. Before I knew it, he was kissing me, hard and fast and with everything he had. He kissed me with his entire body, his arms crushing me into him. He moved one hand up to caress the curve of my neck, sending heat searing down my spine.

More. I let him push my head back while his other hand gripped the curve of my butt. He showered me with hot, open, wet kisses while he forced me even tighter against him. His chest, his legs, his thighs—everything felt tight, warm and delicious.

And—my body chilled. Different.

I dragged my mouth away from his. “Wait,” I said, refusing to give in as he trailed scorching kisses up my neck. I squeaked as he nipped the tender spot behind my ear. “Stop.” I brought my fingers to the spot and my heart quickened when I saw he’d drawn blood.

“I need to know. What’s happening to you?”

He dragged the bustier down, exposing my breasts. “Do you like it?” He flicked a tongue across my nipple.

“Yes,” I gasped. “I mean, no.”

Desire swamped my body to the point where I never felt so free, or exposed. Like I stood on the edge of an immense chasm, teetering on the verge of discovery—if only I had the courage to let go.