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One
Mantus
I’m a demon. My purpose is to keep the balance of good and evil in check. At least, that’s what they keep telling me. I’d rather stay in my very nice New York City apartment and play video games or go out to a club and bring home a pretty human woman to seduce.
Having to find shifters, commonly known as purgs, and send them back to purgatory always annoys me. Still, it’s not as if someone calls me on the phone. It’s a genuine calling. A shifter enters my jurisdiction and my gut tells me I’ve got to go to work.
No choice. No other options. I can’t call in sick. Though, as a demon, I don’t get sick. On a normal hunt, I find the purg, stab him or her in the chest or slit his throat. That’s an effective way to send them back where they belong.
I’m finally on the trail of this creepy purg who goes by the name of Jorge. In general, I try to stay out of any human trouble. I abide by the laws of this world, but I’m engaged in a high-speed chase down Route 22 in New Jersey. Not much for prayers, I sincerely hope law enforcement doesn’t see either one of us weaving through traffic.
I stay close to the blue Honda and can’t help being impressed by his driving skills.
He turns into a parking lot of Platitudes, a fancy place that holds wedding receptions and other big events.
I have to take the next turn and circle back since I don’t want to ruin my entire week by crashing my Porsche. I park next to the Honda and run into the building.
It’s stately, with marble floors and a red-carpet runner down the center leading to a grand staircase with an enormous crystal chandelier above.
Catching a glimpse of Jorge at the top of the stairs, I take them two at a time and reach the top just as he shifts into a middle-aged man and ducks into one of the wedding receptions.
Inside, the room is dim, with a band playing dance music.
I cross the threshold and someone grabs my arm. As my temper rises, I’m about to jerk out of the grasp, her crystal-blue eyes grab my full attention.
Still holding me is the most beautiful human I’ve ever seen. Brown hair cascades in waves around her perfectly symmetrical face, and those blue eyes… She barely reaches my chest, but her grip is surprisingly strong. In a red gown that dips alluringly between her breasts and makes my mouth water, she’s perfection. “You’re not invited to this event, sir.”
Getting a hold of my emotions is not a feeling I’m familiar with, so it takes me a beat or two. “I need to speak to the man who just ran in here.”
The cutest crease forms between her eyes. “The father of the bride? You know Mr. Carmichael?” She scans me from head to toe, assessing my jeans and an ironic Meatloaf T-shirt, and twists her lips in doubt.
Oh, what I’d like to do with those lips. I’m so mesmerized by this woman, I lose the scent of Jorge. Unwilling to pull away from her touch and pleased that she’s still holding on, I scan the crowded hall. “I guess I’ve lost him for now.” I turn to face her.
She looks at her hand on my biceps, blushes, and lets go. “If you want me to have Mr. Carmichael step out and speak to you, I’ll do so, but I can’t let you go in.”
My job requires me to storm through that crowd and find Jorge. I let doubt roll through me and send it telepathically into her. I definitely don’t want to talk to the father of the bride. I need the guy who shifted tolook likeCarmichael and now that I’ve lost his scent, it could take me a week to find him again.
Human minds are weak and her bright eyes dim as I use my ability to make her doubt herself. In a moment she’ll let me through but she’ll never understand why she did it. This is the first time I’ve regretted changing someone’s mind.
Her shoulders slump slightly and her red lips turn down. She shifts from foot to foot. I’ve nearly got her.
She shakes her head and the determination is back. “Do you want me to get him for you?”
“No.” I study her. “How did you do that?”
“What?” Confusion puts that little crease back. Back straight again, she squares up to me.
I hadn’t meant to ask the question out loud. Honestly, I’m too intrigued by this human to mind about losing Jorge. Sure, it’s a setback, but maybe the night’s not a complete loss. “What’s your name?”
“Felicity Zane.” Her lips purse as if she’s daring me to kiss her.
It’s my turn to shift from foot to foot as my attraction to her grows rapidly. “Are you Platitudes security?”
Nothing could have prepared me for the way crossing her arms pushes her tits to the limit of her dress. It wouldn’t surprise me if Satan put her here to tempt mankind. Then I look at her soft kind eyes, and I know that’s not the case. She gives me a look that is pure New Jersey gumption with one eyebrow raised and her lips pushed to one side. “Do I look like security? I’m the wedding planner for this event. It’s my job to make sure everything is perfect.”
“And I don’t fit the mold?” I’ve never cared about fitting in with humanity, so I’m not sure why this bothers me.
Again, she scans me from head to toe and back up to my eyes, which sends a thrill through me. “Mr…?”
