The Road To Hell. Jackie Kessler

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СКАЧАТЬ anxiety. I’d caught myself licking my lips, imagining what that fear would taste like on my tongue.

      That’s when I’d excused myself to go throw on a robe. Screw me on Salvation Day, when would I stop thinking like a succubus? I didn’t want Hell in my life anymore. All I wanted was to be human, to spend my life with Paul, and to get a pair of killer shoes that cost less than Paul’s monthly rent. Was that really so much to ask?

      Daun’s laughter echoed in my mind. You still taste like a succubus.

      Shivering, I hugged my arms. Go away, Daun. I didn’t know if we still shared the psychic connection between all creatures of Lust; maybe I was only talking to a phantom voice in my head. But just in case there still was something linking us, I said it again: Just go away.

      And maybe it was only my memory that answered me: You’ll be mine. Body and soul.

      In your dreams, incubus.

      No reply. Maybe I was only losing my mind. I could live with that.

      I darted a look at the living room floor. The smoke and sulfuric fumes had dissipated, but the symbol of the Erinyes was still branded into the wood. Paul hadn’t mentioned it yet; I assumed he was waiting until we were alone before he applied the third degree. While that could be fun under the right circumstances (handcuffs, bedposts, and a blindfold), I had a feeling Paul would be more inquisitive than amorous.

      Crap. What to do?

      What a one-time succubus did best.

      Pasting on my game face, I sauntered over to the symbol. After checking to make sure Paul wasn’t watching me, I planted my feet so that I stood in front of the brand, facing the front door. As Paul closed the door behind the super, I unknotted my belt and let the robe gape open.

      Paul, half turning, caught my pose. Ahh, bless me, he was so gorgeous—his broad face, with sculpted cheeks and a strong jaw, spoke of strength; his small, expressive sea-green eyes spoke of poetry. And his fighter’s nose, broken at least once in his life, spoke of violence. Yum. His light brown hair was growing out; it curled down around his ears and covered the nape of his neck, and a stray lock did the Superman dangle on his brow, just above his right eye.

      Ah, love, you could rescue me any time you wanted…

      “If I didn’t know better,” he said, “I’d swear you were trying to distract me from something.”

      I attempted to look innocent. Major eyelash batting ensued. “Who, me?”

      Paul’s mouth quirked into a bemused grin. “You know, other guys would be horribly suspicious if they came home to find their girlfriend wrapped in a towel, on her back, with the super on top of her.”

      “You forgot the part about the super being unconscious, and the girlfriend being pinned under his weight.”

      “The story sounds better without that part.”

      “Does the girlfriend look better without this part?” I let my robe drop to the floor, accidentally-on-purpose covering the symbol.

      He chuckled as he strode over to me. “The girlfriend always looks amazing, with or without clothes.” Closing the distance between us in three steps, Paul loomed over me for a moment and rained a magnificent smile on me before he wrapped me in his deliciously strong arms and lifted me off the floor. His mouth sealed itself to mine as he kissed me, kissed me, kissed me.

      Unholy Hell, he gave such good kiss…

      Just as I was about to melt into a puddle of ooze, he gently set me down and turned away to crouch down by my discarded robe. He lifted the material up with one finger and moved it aside, revealing the burned outline of the pierced heart.

      Oh…crap.

      Nibbling my lip, I waited while Paul assessed the damage to the floor. After a million years, he looked up at me. “So where are the scratches?”

      I blinked, trying to decide if he was being funny. “What do you mean? Don’t you see it?”

      “See what?”

      Frowning, I stalked up to the scarred floor and pointed. “Right there. In front of you.”

      He looked to where I pointed, which was directly at the charred outline. Squinting, he said, “I can sort of see something, but I think that’s just from how the light’s hitting it.” He reached down, ran his hand over the burned surface. “Don’t feel anything. If there are scratches, they’re really minor.”

      I picked my jaw up from the floor, then said, “You mean you don’t…”

      Then I shut my mouth, clicking my teeth together. Either he was blind, which wasn’t likely, or he couldn’t see the glyph. Maybe only supernatural beings could see such marks. But I wasn’t supernatural anymore. Okay, then maybe only those who were supposed to see them actually saw them. But that didn’t explain why the super could see it. Then again, he’d been possessed by a demon. George probably could have ripped up the floor with his bare hands when Daun had been riding his body; seeing the symbol of the Erinyes was probably a cakewalk.

      “So,” Paul said, “George was up here, looking at the not-so-scratched floor, and then he just passed out?”

      “Uh huh.” As if I was really going to tell him about Daun’s hands on my body, or Daun’s taunting message about Lillith.

      Paul stared at me for a moment, his eyes darkening like storms at sea.

      Crap, his bullshit detector was going off. Mental note: Lying believably didn’t count when talking to a cop. I said, “I think he may be doing drugs or something. His eyes looked red.” No lie there.

      A long pause before Paul spoke. “Must have shaken you up, have a guy collapse on you like that.”

      Actually, that, along with lying, was something I was very used to—lots of clients over the years had expired on top of me. (And below me. And next to me. The list goes on.) “It caught me off guard,” I said, shrugging. “But I’m okay. It didn’t really weird me out.”

      “Yeah, I can see that. And there’s really nothing wrong with the floor. So what’s upsetting you so much?”

      Shit. Why’d Paul have to be so intuitive? Next time I find a soulmate, I want someone with the emotional intelligence of a salmon in spawning season. With a sigh, I lowered my head and rubbed the bridge of my nose, wondering what to say. Well, sweetie, it’s like this. In the past five hours, I’ve been threatened, propositioned, and nearly seduced by three of Hell’s minions. It sort of set me on edge.

      I didn’t think that would go over very well…not the least of which was the whole seduction part. Daun had gotten to me. I’d been ready to mount him and ride like the wind. I loved Paul—unholy Hell, I’d gotten a soul because of him—so how could I even consider fucking Daun? Stupid demon mojo. I almost wished that Daun would appear again so that I could kick him in the balls.

      Strong hands pressed down on my shoulders, massaged away my tension. I closed my eyes, going with the movement. “Hon,” Paul said, “you can talk to me.”

      His deep voice made me feel all squishy inside. Paul was the only one I knew who could turn everyday words СКАЧАТЬ