Not all of us were invited to posh clubs to recharge.
Mages contained an inner core of magic in them that always connected us to the extraordinary side of this world. But this translated to a relatively small amount of usable power. Our gifts were meant to be combined with others. One mage alone had modest powers, but a whole coven devoted to a particular type of magic was pretty damn strong.
So, while I always had magic in me, that didn’t mean I could alwaysdomagic effectively. Low on allies, resources, and self-confidence, my powers were at an all-time low.
My magic only had enough juice to grab onto the flimsy desk I was touching and create a barrier of the same cheap, shitty plastic. Shit, that wouldn’t hold for long.
How the hell would I get out of this? I needed a miracle.
“What’s going on here?” A deep, quiet voice spoke from beyond the doorway.
The thin incubus wavered between me and the voice before he growled and spun to deal with the new arrival. They exchanged whispered words right outside the office while I waited, trying to catch my breath. My shitty ass shield gave out.
The gothic incubus sent me a withering parting glare as he left, sent away by… by the sexiest man ever.
His hair was cropped so short the color remained a mystery, not nearly enough to grab and yank. Tall and broad shouldered, the man was packed with hard muscle, no hiding it even in his expensive tailored suit. He had a strong jaw, sharp cheekbones, and mysteriously dark eyes.
Confident and in charge, he was elegantly handsome in designer clothes yet still carried a rugged sex appeal with his amazingly strong figure. Okay, mouth-wateringly hot with enough solid muscle to sink my teeth into? Much more my type.
But on second thought…
“I’d rather take my chances with the other guy.” I cast my vote for an easier target.
“You’re hardly in a position to make requests.”
Shit. I was even more screwed than a moment ago. Instead of an underling, it looked like the big boss himself was going to deal with me.
2.(Arguably) Indecent Proposals
Orion
Sex demons have come so far since the old days. My kind were once solitary hunters who lived in the shadows and never stayed in one place too long, on the fringes of both human and supernatural society.
Past cultures who found sex sinful and perverse meant that those who freely acted on sexual urges were shamed, shunned, or worse. Too often our kind hid and fed too sparingly, until hungry and half feral, they eventually reached a breaking point and charmed another to indulge in a night of sin.
In a weakened state, they were unable to hide their silver eyes when feeding, which, naturally, did not help matters.
This old system benefited no one and was marred by fear and confusion for all involved. Modern times changed things.
Sex demons joined together to form dens, all of which ran their own supernatural bars and clubs. Consenting adults volunteered, so no one was ever tricked into giving us the energy we needed. Instead the participants gift-wrapped themselves in their most enticing outfits and begged to be devoured.
Volunteers would get amazing sexual experiences. We would get the energy we needed. Both sides benefited from today’s arrangement.
Our clubs only succeeded because volunteers trusted us to keep them safe when under the influence of our magic. Recent disappearances, and the discarded bodies that followed, threatened everything we’d become.
So, locking onto the trail of my prime suspect early in the night seemed like a much-needed stroke of good luck. I found someone carrying his energy and followed him into Bliss, expecting a poor bewitched soul, either a compelled patsy or a future victim.
Instead, I found… him.
“Yeah, stay out!” the twitchy stranger yelled after the other incubus already retreated, raising a fist at the closed door. “If the room’s rocking, don’t come a-knocking.”
Was he really who I’d been chasing tonight? Rob Walters, he’d told the other incubus. A sketchy black-haired man with constantly jumping hands and roving eyes. On the short side and too skinny, he was thin enough that I could pick him up and throw him across the room… or hold him up while we—never mind, we weren’t going to dothat.
Most importantly, this Rob Walters was caught red-handed in the private area of a respected den’s club. He must be brave or stupid.
He eyed me as suspiciously as I did to him. “If-if you’re about to torture me, can you at least make it sexual torture?”
One point in the idiot column. His half come-on allowed him to venture closer, trying to skirt past me towards the door.
