Page 4 of Lure of a Demon

RAY

Finding the perfect combination, it was hard not to laugh at the fact other demons hadn’t figured it out yet. How stupid can they be?

Did I walk around the apartment I broke into last night and sing loudly about how smart I was? Maybe.

Of course, I had heard the tales of demons who had come to the surface, promptly lost control of their cover, killed one or several people, and had been returned to Hell, never to have another chance at life on the surface. There had been other stories too, the rarer ones where a demon had killed a human without consequences, when they had lost control and were worse than animals, being left to go free after they had killed.

Some thought this meant we were no more than pawns for God to use.

I wasn’t so sure.

But all that was well above my pay grade, and frankly above my care factor now, and being sent back to Hell without the chance of another surface visit wasn’t a risk I was willing to take. Besides, humans were like little pets, weren’t they? Kind of cute and helpless. Unless they were actively trying to kill me, I had no real reason to kill them first.

Pawns of God? I don’t think by any stretch of the imagination what I’m doing could be considered God’s work.

But I had figured it out, cracked it, found a way to have the best of both worlds.

If I caused all the destruction I wanted—got into fights and allowed my bloodlust the freedom to explore Earth, even in controlled circumstances—I could get away with it.

But if—and this was the key—if, and only if, I kept it directed at the right people—the criminals, the low-lifes, and the ones who hurt other humans. The pimps and gang members, the drug dealers and cooks-of-all-things-illegal, rapists, and suspected murderers—people who were the worst of humanity.

They had made their choices to do what they were doing, and if I had my fun with them, well, then there were no consequences.

As long as I didn’t kill them.

So, I’ve been tearing down their places of business where all they do is hurt other people, putting the people who work there in their place before burning their businesses to the ground. How can God be mad at that?

I’m helping but for selfish reasons.

It’s a win-win.

Like being a kid in a candy store, everything is new and fun. I’m unsupervised—there are very few rules—and I can let loose. I liked Earth more and more with every day that passed. I had even stopped going home between bouts and started sleeping here. Rather than popping up every couple of weeks, I’d been here for a few days straight now, and dammit, if I weren’t inclined to stay. They wouldn’t miss me—it’s not like family values ran strong through demons. Besides, I was replaceable—one of thousands could step in and take my place to torture the guilty in Hell.

The Silver City might have to start paying more attention, perhaps rein us in somehow as it seemed more and more demons were being enticed by the lure of life on Earth. Few stayed very long, though, but no one monitored who was here and for how long. We were basically free to roam and do as we pleased.

Something about that felt almost inherently wrong, like we should be guided by some sort of rules from the Big Man upstairs since we were in his playground of Earth. His own little science experiment.

Or however it was he viewed humanity—his children? I don’t know. I’d never spoken to him.

Much like I’d never spoken to the Devil either, and I never would. I was only a low-level demon, after all.

Back to the theory that our being present on Earth served a purpose, and in some twisted way maybe we were meant to be exactly where we were, at any given time, whether the reason was apparent or not. Demons were as much a part of the system as humans and angels, all working together and playing our part in some grand plan no one else could see but God himself.

Pawns.

I hated the idea. Some cosmic fate I had no control over? Fuck that.

But the reasoning had somewhat led me to my current path, and I can’t be punished if I’m technically not hurting anyone innocent, right?

Technicalities, my favorite.

Sometimes, like tonight, I liked to change things up. Rather than simply stroll in and turn the place upside-down, I might do a little roleplay of the non-kinky—and therefore arguably less fun—sort. I was relatively muscular but slender enough if I wasn’t flexing, I could go almost unnoticed and assumed to be non-threatening. But it didn’t take a genius to figure out if you divert people’s attention away from your fit form built for fighting and direct their eyes to your tits, they were less likely to be observant where they should be.

Less likely to see the trouble coming.

Tonight, I stumbled into the clubhouse. It was an intentional stumble, but they didn’t need to know that. Giggling as I gripped the doorframe, I allowed my body to swing back and forth with a slow, lazy momentum, casting my gaze around the room with equal leisure.

Twelve men, three women.

Easy.

If the dozen-odd bikes lined up in front of the building weren’t enough to give away this was a biker clubhouse, then the matching vests and patches of all the men in the room certainly were. Criminals, nothing more. I didn’t need to know anything more about them. It was our role in Hell to torture those who had sinned.

But why couldn’t I bring that fun to the surface?

Within reason, of course.

Most demons saw it as a waste of time to be on Earth, and I didn’t blame them. Many humans were tedious, and while it was fun to journey up and mess with them a little, those types of quick visits decreased as the novelty wore off. So, I shouldn’t draw too much blood or cause too much damage, and I certainly couldn’t kill.

Since I had found the balance, I knew very well the sort of fun I could have—and get away with—here in this room with these unsuspecting men.

When I had kicked the door open, they had turned with rage flaring in their eyes, several hands all flying to their belts, hovering over weapons at the ready. But relaxed as soon as they had seen me stumbling about with a false level of drunkenness, all wide-eyed and giggling, wearing a tank top which, while it appeared to be too small, was intentionally designed to show as much as possible without actually being naked.

I’ll give Earth credit—there was something about the night air here, the way the cool breeze licked at my skin. There was nothing like it in Hell, and while the warmth was comforting, I hadn’t ever felt as alive as I did the first time I experienced the sting of the cold evening air. Even during the summer, there was chill and calm in the night air, and it charged me.

While I had come to the surface for some fun, but now I wasn’t so sure I wanted to go back. Hence, why I needed to maintain a balance with the actions I took so I’d be allowed to stay.

So far, it had worked, apparently.

If I didn’t let loose to a certain point, I’d lose control, and then I’d really be in trouble. After all, I was still relatively new at containing my demon for more than a few hours at a time, and it was a steep learning curve.

Watching as the men eyed me, I smiled stupidly and ran my teeth over my bottom lip.

“Oopsie!” I cried, adding an extra octave to my voice which wouldn’t naturally be there. “Looks like I’m in the wrong place.”

As I turned to leave, I slipped, and, as suspected, a strong arm swung under me, catching me around the shoulders and pulling me to my feet. It would’ve been a move of gallantry if it weren’t for the way he immediately pressed me against his side, taking his free hand and running his fingers down my neck and over the tops of my breasts.

Fucking bold of him.

Also, bit of a dick move if he thought I was as drunk as I was pretending to be.

Don’t get me wrong, I had downed half a bottle of whiskey. I loved the burn of it sliding down my throat and then the slow heat as it settled in my stomach. The cheaper the bottle, the better. But I was still in complete control.

I was in complete control is what I told myself.

Even as I noticed my sight blurred slightly before it cleared again after my near fall, the rush of blood to my head obscured my vision with the assistance of the alcohol.

Okay, so maybe it was more like a full bottle, and maybe that was poor judgment on my behalf. Still, I was certain I could take everyone in this bar.

I wasn’t here for them anyway, not really. They were a means to an end to get out the lust for violence that lived within my veins.

But once I had them cleared out, whether they walked or dragged themselves by their fingers, would depend on how much of a fight they put up, then I could destroy the clubhouse. I’d developed a bit of a taste for arson—for some reason, I felt comfortable with flames, funny that—and I figured if they don’t have a place to action the crime, then crime would be reduced.

I got my kicks, bad guys lost, and I’m not being a wimp about it. Everybody wins.

“Watch your hands there, buster…” I purred as I looked at him, “… you just might lose them.”

He laughed, and I actually flinched when he grabbed my breast in his hand, palming it roughly. I cocked an eyebrow at him, but he wasn’t looking at my face. He was too busy watching the motion of my flesh under his hand, jiggling my breast obscenely. Did he really think women derived pleasure from his fumbling? I suppose he didn’t really care.

His other hand was still clamped firmly against my hip, pressing me against his side.

“Maybe you should be careful where you wander into, girly.” He snickered, slapping lightly at my breast. I frowned at him. He was taking way too many liberties with this act I was putting on, and I’m sure a vein in my neck was twitching at the effort not to break his hand.

Or his neck.

When he licked my cheek, I snapped. Fucking disgusting prick. I lost the giggling demeanor as quickly as if it had been wrenched from me when he slapped at my other breast. Moving sharply, I yanked away from him, twisting my body out of his hold. But either his grip or these damn knee-high boots caused me to trip.

It had to be one or the other because I certainly wouldn’t admit drinking that much prior had been poor judgment, and the alcohol had affected my reflexes.

Demons don’t make mistakes. We own them.

Mid-trip, before I had a chance to righten myself, he kicked my feet out from underneath me, and then he was on top of me, faster and heavier than I had anticipated.

Fuck.

“Get off me, you pig,” I spat at him as he grabbed for my hands, unable to get a grip on my wrists as I beat at his arms and shoulders. He kneeled as he covered his face with his forearms, deflecting my blows. My attack wasn’t graceful, but I didn’t like being in such a vulnerable position unless I chose to be there. I was angry.

“That fucking hurts, you bitch.”

But I kept hitting him, eventually curling my fingers into fists and punching at every inch of him I could reach. I was pissed my little act hadn’t gone to plan and I had been humiliated by this fucking human who managed to get me in such a defenseless position—on my back, on the floor.

“Steady there, gorgeous.” The other voice was deep and vibrated through me as two large hands grabbed at my forearms, attempting to stop my onslaught of punches toward the biker on top of me. With the two men working together, they managed to get my arms above my head and pressed hard against the floor, tucked under the knees of his helper, and the larger man chuckled as the first started unbuttoning my too-tight leather pants.

He had the nerve to shush me as I growled, letting the sound pulse through me and fuel my anger. “Hush hush, calm down, lovely.” When he leaned over me, I smelled beer and sweat. “Struggling will only make it worse when we take turns with you.”

I bared my teeth at him, drawing another laugh from the rotten hole he called a mouth. There was something else I could smell, and in the split second it took me to recognize the scent, I pinpointed it with my senses and drew on it, allowing it to infect me. It didn’t matter where the scent originated from, an old injury newly aggravated or someone simply accidentally cutting themselves, it tainted my senses, and enthused me.

Blood.

When I opened my eyes again, I had let them slide back into their natural glowing yellow, and it took the two men a second too long to see the change as I let my inner demon shift beneath the surface of my skin.

Leaping off me simultaneously, the first man screamed, “What the fuck?” as they both scrambled to their feet.

Crouching, I drew in deep, rattling breaths as I found the center between my human form and allowed my demon out to play.

Because I wanted to play.

Finding the center wasn’t something I had mastered yet, and these men should pray I got the balance right.

Pushing myself to my feet, I launched across the room before he opened his mouth to cry out again, landing my forehead against his nose and snarling in delight as the blood burst forth—blood he couldn’t wipe away due to my grip on his hands.

“Watch your hands there, buster,” I growled loudly. “You just might lose them.”

There was no chuckle this time, no snicker, only a whimper before he squealed like the pig he is when I twisted his hands, breaking the bones in his wrists and possibly some of the ones in his fingers as well. He dropped to the floor like a sack of shit the second I let him go, cradling his hands against his chest and sobbing.

First one down.

I turned to find the rest of the bar’s occupants on their feet, and although they appeared weary of me, unable to draw their gaze from my glowing eyes, they were primed to attack.

I sneered. Good.

Not waiting for them to come to me, I charged at the closest asshole and grabbed his vest, using my weight and speed to lift him off his feet and slam him onto the floor. He was out easy. I hadn’t planned it, but when the back of his skull collided with the hardwood, he was knocked out. Flicking my head up and sweeping hair from my face, I bared my teeth at the surrounding men, laughing when they backed off a step.

When I launched myself from the unconscious man, I leaped onto the next nearest, who immediately began screaming at a pitch I’m sure he’d deny later as I sunk my teeth into his cheek, then spitting in his face to get the fowl taste of his tainted blood from me before I swallowed any. A barstool was broken over my back, which, in itself, I could deal with, but then someone picked up the broken chair leg and drove it into my calf.

I won’t lie—it hurt like a bitch.

Thank fuck for high pain tolerance.

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