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Lori Handeland is a two-time Romance Writers’ of America RITA Award winner and the New York Times bestselling author of the paranormal romance series, The Nightcreature Novels, as well as the urban fantasy series, The Phoenix Chronicles. Lori lives in Wisconsin with a husband, two sons, and a yellow Lab named Elwood.
“There Will Be Demons” takes place in the world of The Phoenix Chronicles. For more adventures with the same characters, as well as many others, start with Book #1, Any Given Doomsday.
For more information on Lori or her books, please go to: www.lorihandeland.com.
CHERRY KISSES
by ERICA HAYES
The blond vampire lounging against the mirrors had been ogling me for the past five minutes, the way a shark cruises for tasty meat. Designer jeans, diamond ear studs, dark eyes sunken with hunger. A perfect mark.
I tossed him a flirty smile, twisting a purple-dyed curl around my finger. Dark music throbbed in my blood, the raw metal of guitars and drums. Around me, dancers writhed, a snake pit of slick rainbow limbs, glowing fairy wings, the scarlet flash of vampire eyes. The sultry air coated my skin, dusted with fairy wing-glitter and thick with the scents of sweat and sex. Unseelie Court at midnight, the hottest, coolest, most dangerous nightclub in town.
Glamours clashed and sparked, electric, the glass-spun veil of magic that hid the supernatural from ordinary human eyes. I fingered the woven-wire pendant around my neck. It was warm to the touch, spells pulsing. Thanks to my pendant, I could see through glamour, and unlike most of the club’s clientele, my vampboy admirer was just what he appeared—hungry, horny, and impatient.
I touched up my cherry-cola lipstick and stalked over, sparkling a little spell-sweet seduction into my scent.
I’m not a bloodwhore, understand. If I had a card, it’d say Lena Falco, troublemaker for hire, caster of petty hexes and spells, no job too crappy. But I’d just spent my last twenty on a couple of stiff drinks—so sue me, I’d had a shitty day—and I had rent and protection to pay. When business is slow, you gotta broaden your skill set. The bloodsucking mobsters who run this town aren’t known for their patience. And neither am I.
I tossed my hair over my shoulder, letting it shimmer under glitter-smoked lights, and my mark’s gaze drilled me crimson every step of the way. Handsome brute, too, blond curls and dark lashes, muscles shining in sweat under his frayed shirt.
Good for me. Bad for him. A less confident guy will assume I’m conning him and ask how much, but the hot ones think it’s perfectly reasonable when a violet-haired vixen in a shiny blue corset and black-leather hot pants makes a pass.
This guy? Mr. Tall-blond-and-screw-me-now? Easy mark.
I stopped a foot away, cocking my hip to show off my fishnet-clad legs. The mirrors reflected us both, vamp and human—I know, boring but true—and I made sure I gave him my sultriest smile. “Looking for something tasty?”
“Found it.” The vamp grinned, fangs glinting. His cheeks glowed with feverthirst. When vampires don’t
feed, the virus slowly eats into their brains, and they get manic and greedy. This guy looked like he’d abstained a few days past his manners’ expiry date.
“Then come get it.” I traced a finger along his sweat-slick collarbone, and he wrapped my hair around his fist and pulled me in tight. His lips burned my throat, eager fangs already stinging hot. His heartbeat echoed in my blood. He pressed his tongue over my vein, making a soft spot to bite. Eww. This so better be worth it.
I laughed and twisted back. “Easy, big guy. Aren’t you gonna kiss me first?”
He didn’t need to be asked twice. His lips scorched mine, hot and hungry, the salty tequila taste of his tongue a bright shock. Hard body pressed into mine, hands and lips and swollen heat, fangs grazing my lip bloody. He was eager, this one.
Pity it’d do him no good.
I kissed him harder, full contact. His eyelids fluttered closed, and with a soft sigh, he went limp. All of him, I mean.
I eased the drowsy vamp down onto the couch. His sweaty hair smeared the mirrors, and his breath came fast and shallow.
I wiped my mouth and reapplied my lipstick. Cherry-cola, sweet, and sparkling with soporific spelljuice. I made it myself, from a vial of stolen fairy breath. Unless you were immune—like I’d made sure I was—one kiss would send you straight to la-la land.
Dirty trick? Yeah. But I don’t have much of my own mojo, see. My hex pendant is great, but it mostly just wards off curses. To cast spells properly takes time and study, and remember what I said about patience? Technically, I’m not a witch, not yet. But I’ve still got a few tricks up my corset, and I don’t mean my double-D cups.
Swiftly, I slipped the rings from his fingers, the flashy watch from his wrist, and the fat diamond studs (definitely not Swarovski, folks) from his ears. Cash in his pocket, too, a thick wad of crisp plastic notes. Thanks very much, fangboy. Glad to be of service.
Around me, the dance raved on, oblivious. He wasn’t anyone important, not a high-up gang minion or a demon’s thrall, and in a nightclub teeming with ravenous creatures of all colors and tastes, no one cared too much about this one.
Harsh? Well, that’s the world we live in. At Unseelie Court, everyone is fair game. And he’d wake in a few minutes, groggy and horny and none the wiser.
I stuffed the loot down between my breasts. I had a fence in North Melbourne, a potbellied green spriggan with toilet-brush hair and sewer breath. He had wandering hands—I’m not averse to a bit of hot fae action, don’t get me wrong, but claws and bad teeth just aren’t my thing—but he generally gave me a good price. This little lot would keep the mobsters off my throat, at least for a while. Then, I guess, I’d be back in the game.
Beside me, on the dirty velvet couch, a drooling waterfae girl blinked at me sleepily, moisture dripping from luminous green wings. Sparkle dusted her nose, that wild fairy hallucinogen that monopolized the recreational drug market these days. She wiped it off and licked her knuckles, her watery eyes swirling. “You got any peanuts?”
Fairies were crazy, mostly, and some would screw you over in a heartbeat for giggles, but I judged this one pretty harmless. “Sorry, sweetie. Ask at the bar.”
