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Deliver Us From Evil
My husband and his colleagues label me a witch and try to burn me to death.
I should be dead, but I'm not.
Why?
Because a pack of hellhound shifters decides to skip the death part and drag me straight to hell.
There, I learn that the sultry voice from my dreams is their demon lord, and I'm now his prisoner.
Lord Daemon's physical body is trapped in a spell my ancestors cast on him, and I have to break it if I want my freedom back.
Between the hellhounds using me as their new plaything, and the equally sinful demon lord haunting my wettest of dreams, I'm being led into temptations.
And I may not want to be delivered from evil.
Deliver Us from Evil is the first installment in a dark reverse harem monster romance trilogy. This book contains dark elements and medium-burn spice not suitable for people under 18. This book contains MM content. For mature readers only!
Read on to preview the first chapter…
ANTONIA
If I was a witch like everyone in town believed me to be, why couldn't I just hex my asshole husband out of existence and find myself a real man? That was the question I contemplated tonight as I sat at our dining room table, plates of the delicious dinner I cooked up for our five-year anniversary left untouched, candles lit with red wax dripping off to the sides, and sucking down my third flute glass of red wine.
Be home by eight, my ass.
I sighed as I lit the screen on my phone to look at the time. Quarter past ten. No calls, no texts, no nothing. This wasn't the first time he’d flaked out on dinner, but I was foolish enough to think tonight would be different, considering it was a special occasion. This was what I got for believing in love.
Love, what a useless concept. Where has love gotten me? Stuck in a marriage with a man who pays more attention to his equally wealthy business partners than he does his wife who tries everything to get him to pay attention to her when he comes home. No matter how nice I make my hair look, how well I do my makeup, or the type of lingerie I wear, he never looks at me the way he used to. If I had friends, they'd probably assume he was cheating on me. Maybe he was. It wasn't as if I was ignorant to how many mindless skanks gave him the fuck-me eyes, even when I was at his side.
Nope, nobody cares about the supposed witch's feelings.
Maybe they thought they can offer themselves in hopes of saving Bal from my sinful self. It didn't matter how much of a good person I was. To the good people of Salem, I was born unholy. My family heritage marked me as the devil, despite how little I knew of my family. Apparently, the women in my family were all witches, and were part of the burnings that took place here. My great-great-grandmother being the last of my kin to exist here before my great-grandmother took her newborn child and ran.
At least that was what the stories said. I was adopted, and after going through a Genealogy website, I found out my family were from here and took it upon myself to find out more. That was over six years ago, when I was young and incredibly stupid for doing such a thing. Now I was unhappily married and ridiculed constantly.
Another ten minutes passed before I figured that Bal wouldn't show up. Finishing my glass and stopping myself before I got too wasted, I cleared off the table, and blew out the candles. Once I had the food put away, the dishes cleaned up, and the kitchen spotless, I carried myself up the stairs where a bath and my bed were calling my name. I hauled myself into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. As I filled up the bathtub, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Hidden beneath all the makeup was a young woman I couldn't recognize anymore. I was only a shell of the Antonia I used to be. I was never one for glitz and glamour, yet here I was, the wife of a rich tycoon wearing a red designer gown that felt like cool water against my skin. My raven black hair was vibrant and shimmering, and my skin flawless like a marble statue. My chocolate brown eyes, however, couldn't mask the despair I felt internally. Outside I looked like a million dollars, but the reality was that I felt dead. Cold, lifeless, baron. A wilted flower in a garden of roses.
"How much more are you willing to take before you finally decide to leave Bal and Salem all together?" I asked the woman in the mirror as if she could respond. It would be some magic trick if it could. If it did, maybe it could convince me to do just that, ask Bal for a divorce and get the fuck out of Salem. Why did I bother to stick around for five years? Why do I stay now? Maybe it’s because I was foolishly hoping that things would get better. All I needed was to be patient, and soon enough Bal would start acting like a loving husband should. The way he was when we first started dating.
Unzipping the dress from behind, I let it fall and pool over my feet as I thought back to the day I met Balthazar St. Peters, and how I fell for his shaggy blond hair, baby blue eyes, and a smile that had me yearning to be underneath him. I turned the water off, running my manicured fingers through the steaming pool in the bathtub. I quickly discarded all my jewelry before slowly stepping into the hot water and sank down. The heat bit into my flesh in the most relaxing of ways. When I was neck deep in the water, I huffed out a long sigh and rested my head back with my eyes closed. My thoughts drifted to the courting stage of mine and Bal's relationship. He was so dazzling and ambitious while I was a college dropout with lots of student debt, and a thirst to learn the history of my people.
I didn't know why I was obsessed with learning about where my family came from, but I think anybody who grew up in foster care would be curious about their background. Maybe what got to me was the history behind the Salem Witch Trials, and the fact my ancestors were a part of it. Admittedly, I’ve always had a love for all things magic, monsters, and horror, so coming to Salem seemed like an obvious choice. What I wasn't expecting was how many people roamed the streets accusing people of witchcraft as if we were still in the sixteen-hundreds.
Grabbing the loofah, I lathered it with soap and began coating my body while I continued to soak. My eyes remained shut, clearing my mind of all thoughts and disappointment. I wanted to relax, to forget all my troubles, just for a few moments. Suddenly, I felt a strange tingling sensation running through my body. It almost felt like a caress. I didn't know what it was, and my heart thrummed with nerves but for some reason, it didn't feel threatening. Quite the opposite, actually. My hands dropped to my sides and my plump lips slightly parted as I felt my body go lax. My mind felt foggy.
The tingling sensations didn't end. It continued roaming through my body; up my thighs, around my hips, all the way to my breasts where my nipples began to tingle and harden. I let out a moan, feeling myself getting turned out without even touching myself. This sensation felt so foreign, and I wanted more of it. As if sensing my needs, the phantom touches slid down my stomach at a snail's pace, over to where my legs were closed and my knees were above the water. Instinctively, my legs opened of their own accord, and I felt the slight brush of something against my pussy.
"Fuck," I breathed out, my back slightly arching, but my eyes never opened. A part of me worried that whatever was happening to me would vanish if they opened. I didn't want that to happen, not while it felt so good to be lost in my head.
"Antonia," a whispered voice spoke my name while the touches—so light and airy that I almost missed in the euphoric sensations running through me—continued to tease my folds without breaching me. Whoever, or whatever, it was kept repeating my name as if it were its own personal mantra.
My body froze in terror thinking that somebody was in the house with me, or that Balthazar came home, but it didn't feel like someone else was in the bathroom with me. I didn't have much time to think about it before that ghostly touch slowly began to push through my folds. I sucked in a breath, my cries of pleasure mute as I arched back feeling something invading my channel. When I reached down to touch whatever was pushing inside me, nothing was there. All I felt was my inner thighs and my sensitive entrance. If nothing was there, then what was filling my insides? Whatever it was sure felt fucking amazing. I hadn't been this filled in... well, ever.
"Relax, my little witch," the whispered voice spoke. "Relax and feel what I can provide you."
I had to be dreaming, that was what was happening to me. I fell asleep in the bathtub and was currently having some strange dream; a strange, sensual, erotic dream that a part of me never wanted to wake from. Well, if it was all in my head, I may as well make the most of it, right? Forcing myself to relax, I slowly sank back into the water and leaned my head back against the wall. In response, my dream lover pushed whatever he was using further into me, filling me to the brim. He then started pulling out, but not completely, then jutted back inside with full force. My right hand had a death grip on the edge of the bathtub as my phantom lover began a steady rhythm of sliding in and out of me.
