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“Not to worry though. I happen to have some coming in soon, but until then I can still offer you a part of one to tide you over. I don’t know how you’d eat it though. I’ve never heard of anyone doing that. Not even a vampire or a demon . . .” His curious tone invited her to share, but her lips remained locked as those secrets were definitely not for his ears.
“I’ll just need you to sign a standard indemnity and liability form. It is common practice with the sale of souls, even if I give them away,” he said with a flirty wink. “Let me just grab one and something to sign with.”
He strode behind the bar, and she suddenly noticed that the place was completely empty, save for a few demons cleaning up the open area. Picking up glasses, wiping down tables, righting tipped chairs and sweeping floors. They paid her no heed. Upon his return, she found a mug placed into her hands as he gently held his over hers, holding her shaking, weak ones steady.
“My finest house beverage, luv. It’ll put hairs on your pretty chest, no doubt, but it should give you enough of a boost to get through the legal formalities. Especially since this soul will be a gift, rather than a sale. I do have to cover my ass, especially since no one, to the best of my knowledge, has ever eaten one before.” He coaxed it to her lips, but she leaned back a fraction, her reaction stopping him.
“What is it?” she asked, suspicion lacing her words. “What’s in it, exactly?” Her words were forced, taking all of her breath and energy to utter.
“This is what I call McGinty’s Lost Bet, it’s my special moonshine. So named because a lass I once knew, quite well, made a bet with me. Of course, she hadn’t stood a chance of winning. A lovely lass, she was. A story for another time perhaps,” his chuckle was quite infectious, she almost felt her brittle lips tilt up.
“It’s made from mashed maize, luv, corn. Not as common as most moonshine, but this one has a kick that most non-humans can handle. Humans though, not so much. Come, drink up and let’s get this done. You’re fading faster than I like.” A midsize demon approached and placed a small locked chest on the table next to the man, and it occurred to her she didn’t know his name. Or maybe she did, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember what it was.
“Name?” was all she could get out in a last ditch effort for control of her decisions.
“Balthazar Morrigan, at your service. Please forgive my lack of prior introduction. I’m sure it must have been off-putting. Now, drink up. Time’s nearly up.”
And drink she did. It burned like the fires of Hell and coiled into every recess of her body, loosening her tight muscles, and easing the strain in her chest. Her lungs inhaled deeply and her heart thundered in her ears. He was right, she felt no pain, and oh my, did it feel good.
“It won’t last long, luv, so let’s get this done and give you what you need, shall we?” His gentle reminder grounded her somewhat. She took another sip at his insistence, she figured it couldn’t hurt, she’d already had one after all, right? Mmm, after the burning disappeared it kind of left the taste of popcorn on her tongue, the nice buttered kind you found at the cinema. Her thoughts drifted off slightly on a few different tangents . . .
The damned Moonshine he’d said would take the edge off and help her focus had been laced with a sedative, and something else, some rare drug that’d allowed him to control her to some degree. Something strong enough to have worked on a half-angel hybrid like her. Years later the chatty Cathy, otherwise known as Ballzy, had admitted it was strong enough to work on full-blooded angels, and even some demigods.
It hadn’t made her tell the truth, or even offer up her secrets, as much as he’d wanted it to. He’d seemed surprised she hadn’t answered any of his questions about what she was. What it had done though, was open her up to his control through the power of his directions. A tether that didn’t exactly make her trust him completely, but it did leave her compliant and open to suggestion. Her mind almost pushed to the back as if it, and her body, were no longer hers. If he’d told her to dance naked on the nearest table, she would have had no choice but to comply like a puppet on strings. If he’d told her to admit to some heinous crime? She totally would have.
Because of the sedative, she barely remembered anything until the next day, apart from taking a knife to her palm. The scar still graced her skin and wouldn’t fade completely until she was finally free. Not that she remembered ever reading the blasted form. He’d told her to sign and sign she had. Stupid assed idiot that she was.
Even after that shit had worn off, she’d fallen for his charming act and into his bed. Thankfully only once, and even then, the image of the dark stranger from the alley had superimposed himself over Ballzy to get her over the line. Boy, when she’d realized what he’d truly done, she’d hit the fucking roof.
Eight years bound to him. Leaving her stuck in this stupid place. He fed her half souls, or less, once or twice a year. Souls he’d dissected personally, ready for sale, a precious commodity for the practitioners of the darker arts. Ballzy had turned it into a very lucrative business. He’d certainly cornered the market. But that wasn’t the only reason he fed her so little, so rarely. He knew better than to allow her to reach her full strength.
The one and only time he’d made the mistake of giving her a full soul, he’d lost two thirds of his little demon minions in less than a minute. If she hadn’t already signed that damned piece of leathery hide with her blood, she would’ve been free and clear soon after. Alas, once she did, she couldn’t escape him until the contract that bound her was either voided by him, or had fulfilled its obligations down to the letter. It protected even his soul from her. She could barely sense the thing, let alone sample a small sip, almost like it was locked in a vault inside his chest, hidden from her. A mystery she wanted to unravel. She couldn’t take it due to the terms that bound her, so why hide it?
Unfortunately, well fortunately for them, demon souls were filled with poison. Yeah . . . she’d found that out the hard way. One of Ballzy’s first fucked up little experiments. Spending four weeks writhing on a hard as rock floor throwing up what felt like all of her internal organs, burning up with an uncontrollable fever, then diving into the freezing depths of hypothermia, before flat lining multiple times. Only to wake up to her body flooded with white-hot, raging inferno of pain and demons licking at her poison tainted, sweat slicked skin. Which honestly, if anything had remained in her stomach, it definitely wouldn’t have remained there after that experience.
Ballzy had really kicked into gear with his fun and games after that. Thankfully she’d managed to hide her need to feed on the emotions of others, or that she could sense them around her. There was no way in any realm he’d ever get that information out of her. His obsession with trying to figure out what her fire-like shadows and soul eating ability meant was dangerous enough. Sure, they’d had their moments. Sometimes she won, mostly he did. It was his domain after all, and she wasn’t exactly at full strength. Nor did she have as many years of experience behind her as he did, yet. Technically she was still a baby in the supernatural world, she wasn’t going to admit that though, not to him, the asshat.
He seemed to delight in her torment. Torturing her with kindness, though, it was something which appeared to be a new concept to him, before he switched to stringing her up and allowing his demons to sniff around her, just so he could see her shadows and watch as they lashed out at his minions as they tried to touch her. Their seemingly insubstantial, oily hands had reached out to caress her, three-inch long, scalpel-sharp claws sliced through her flesh, arms long enough and reflexes far quicker than hers in her disoriented state, as their tongues lengthened and curled toward her from what they assumed was a safe distance. Their grotesque cocks thickened and bobbed in her direction.
Only when they lay slashed and broken against the rough rock walls of his dungeon, and her shadows had subsided, retracted back into her body, would he release her. He’d taken her to his quarters. Quarters he insisted she share. Quarters he’d locked her inside of, like the prisoner she truly was. Her emotional hunger was sated, yet wrath burned in the pit of her stomach.
Thankfully she could hurt him too, so long as she didn’t go too far. If she killed him it was game over for both of them, apparently. Not that she was willing to test the validity of his claims. But she’d pissed him off so much that eventually he’d placed her in this fucking cell, with its clear windows. Meaning he could watch her whenever he wanted, so could his little minions. And she couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Not in her half starved state.
Speak of the Devil . . . At this point she’d probably welcome that male over the one crossing the threshold of her lavishly decorated prison cell with open arms. His almost black eyes skated to the tray she’d left untouched. Her stomach flipped and growled with urgent hunger, the scent of rich and well-prepared food teased her overly sensitive nose. Too bad her shadows had refused to let her touch it, not to mention she’d felt his excitement as he’d placed it there, letting her know about the drugs he’d tainted it with. His lips quirked up at the corners, his amusement plain to see. His eyes sparkled with a mixture of admiration and rage as she gave him a double middle finger salute from her perch on the bed. Not every meal was drugged, but he’d ramped it up this month with only one in six meals being clean. Pretty sure he realized she’d given up trying to pretend she’d eaten any of it, and he was now just enjoying the show.
He eyed her long legs, taking in her forcibly relaxed pose as she watched him for any sign of what the play of the day would be. If it weren’t for his constant ultimate bastard behavior, she’d have considered him classically handsome; he certainly thought he was a hit with the ladies. Smooth and charming was his surface polish, too bad he tarnished so easily. Funnily enough for someone who claimed to love the ladies and that they loved him, they never came back for seconds. One taste of Ballzy was more than any woman could stomach. Thankfully, Jez hadn’t even been able to stomach that. Her stomach had revolted the minute he was done. Not that he’d taken the hint, unfortunately.
“What, not hungry, luv?” he taunted.
She was torn between laughing in his face or telling him to ‘shove off’ in her own parody of his bloody accent. As a teenager, naive and innocent, she’d thought that character the epitome of sexy British sin. Until she’d met Balthazar. He’d crushed that secret fantasy under his soft Italian leather loafers, and he didn’t stand a chance of reigniting it. Well, to be fair, none of her old secret fantasies did it for her anymore either, not the sexual ones anyway. Not since her encounter with the Shadow Hound had led her to this ongoing predicament. That wall of muscle, those eyes which screamed hot, hard, unrelenting sex, and barely restrained violence. His shadows had even called to her own. Utter craziness, because that way could only lead to her destruction and pain. She’d never see him again anyway. Especially not any time soon.
Huh, what do you know, Ballzy had used her momentary distraction to crouch beside her and was currently stroking her hair with gentle fingers. A smug look of burning desire lit his features and his lips formed words her ears hadn’t caught up with yet.
“That’s right, my little bird, sing for me. Moan for me again. I knew you’d come around. We are going to have so much fun.” His lips pressed against her ear, his freakishly cold breath caused shivers of disgust through her body. Of course, the dipshit misconstrued them as shivers of desire. Jez closed her eyes and tilted her head closer to him. His body relaxed, his arms moving to gather her closer.
Her shadows warmed beneath her skin in a way only she could feel. They were so in tune with her, some would say an extension of herself, but they were just her, a part of her being that reacted like any other body part her brain sent signals to. Even as they protected her when she couldn’t think to do so herself, without conscious thought, they were so ingrained in her psyche that they seemed to have a life of their own. So, when he stroked his palm down over her hip and along her thigh, before trying to slip his fingers beneath her short green skirt, fiery shadows seeped from beneath her in a coiled rope. Reaching down until his semi-hard cock and balls were trapped in a gallows knot. Tighter, tighter, and tighter still . . .
The moment he realized what was happening, he froze, his breath stalling in his inhuman chest. Still, she increased the pressure until his eyes just about bugged out of his overly manscaped face, his jaw popping. Leaning forward, she touched her nose to his, her gaze drilling into him with flames flashing in her eyes, like the biblical fires of Hell.
