of the Underworld was destroying Hell piece by piece: changing our Rules, softening the boundaries between the Lands of Sin, nearly provoking the nefarious into open warfare against one another. He destroyed all who offended Him, or annoyed Him, or looked at Him the wrong way. Or, for that matter, the right way.
Bishop’s balls, I didn’t want to be a principal, let alone the Prince.
I realized that Pan was waiting for a response. “I’m…flattered, Sire.”
“As well you should be. I’ve passed over Callistus and the others to give you this honor.”
“You shouldn’t have.” He really, really shouldn’t have.
“No?” He smiled thinly as he looked at me, his goat’s eyes glinting. “You’re one of the best Seducers I’ve ever known. Who better to be my go-to guy?”
Think, incubus, think. Put your tongue to better use than licking a lover to orgasm. What could talk Pan out of this idiotic “honor”? Stalling, I said, “Cal will have a fit when he hears.”
“He did. Who gives a shit? Callistus can go fuck himself until his cock falls off. If he were half the demon you are, he’d be the one standing here now.”
I hissed a surprised breath, shattering my demonic stoicism. “He knows? You told him?”
“Of course. There’s a certain decorum to be followed.” Pan’s teeth shone wetly in the spotlight. “I’ve already made my choice known to all the elite, across the Sins and Land. All the lower-downs of Hell know that the King of Lust wants the incubus Daunuan to be his Prince, First of Principals.”
In other words, there was no way I could turn down the so-called honor. My head throbbed, and a high-pitched whine buzzed in my ears as I fought to disguise my horror. This truly sucked angel feathers. “Thank you, Sire.”
“All you have to do is prove yourself. And then the rank, and the power that goes with it, are yours.”
Knowing the answer, I still had to ask, “And if I don’t adequately prove myself?”
“Then you’ll be destroyed,” Pan said, bored. “Can’t have a mistake wandering around the Heartlands, reminding the nefarious that I’d been wrong to have selected you.”
Nothing like a little pressure.
He chuckled softly, the seams of his face creaking like old leather. “No worries, Daun. I’m confident you’ll do well. And if you screw up and don’t pass the test, I’ll make sure your death is quick.”
I bared my teeth in a false smile. “You’re too kind, Sire.”
“Don’t tell anyone. That’ll fuck up my rep.”
Not bloody likely. This fit right in with Pan being a sadistic son of a nymph. “So how am I supposed to prove my mettle, Sire?”
“All you have to do is lure a pure soul into an act of lust.”
“Terrific,” I muttered, “another game of Tempt the Nun.” Boring, boring, boring. The clergy is the one loophole about not seducing the innocent; any human who insists on flaunting his purity is fair game. It falls under the “no light without darkness” category—if people of the cloth successfully resist temptation from one of the nefarious, then Heaven can have them, with our infernal blessings. Lucky for Hell, many so-called men and women of God were easy to lure Downstairs, especially when it came to lust. Take nuns: dress yourself up like their idea of Jesus, boom, they’re putty in your claws. Amazing how quickly those brides of Christ learned to go from tight end to wide receiver. Yawn.
“Nothing like that,” Pan said. “I’ve got something special for you.”
Lucky me.
“Until now, your clients have all been marked for Hell—evil people who you killed and brought to the Abyss for damnation. Easy shit. This will be different. I want you to tempt someone meant for Heaven, a truly good person, into committing an act of lust. One big enough to damn her to Hell.”
“In other words,” I said, “she needs to fuck a Seducer.” That’s one offense Heaven would never overlook. Willingly screwing a demon was an automatic sentence to Hell.
“Think of it as just another client run,” Pan said. “With a few strings attached.”
Uh-huh. “Such as?”
“She needs to spread her legs for you, not for some possessed meat she knows. And no morphing into a familiar mortal shape, for the same reason.” He smiled toothily. “She’s got to give herself to you, Daunuan, and know what you are when she does so. She’s got to call your name knowing you’re going to suck her soul and spit it out in the Bonfire of the Heartlands.”
Just another client run, he said. Hah.
But still…Part of me hungered for the challenge. Seducing corrupt humans is always fun, but that usually requires creativity, not effort. And even the creativity gets easy after thousands of years. Pan’s assignment promised to make me work for the prize.
Thinking how sweet that would be, I nearly salivated. I hadn’t known how much I’d been hungering for such a challenge. I grinned, imagined the taste of purity on my tongue. Yes: definitely sweet. Sweet enough that I didn’t bother worrying about the possibility of failure. No human—no normal, born-to-skin human—could resist me, not when I set my mind to my job. I was better than damn good at my role; I was one of the best. I’d bet my libido on it. Hell, Pan had already bet my existence on it. If I had any doubts at all, I’d be sweating. One thing about being a creature of the Abyss: we don’t sweat easily.
Yes, this little test was just what I needed. And maybe being the Prince wouldn’t be all that nasty. Maybe being royalty had its privileges. Like concubines. I thought of green eyes, of achingly soft flesh. Yes, I bet she’d go gaga over Prince Daun. “So who’s the mark?”
Pan’s smile stretched into something obscene. “I have just the person for you.”
The city block we materialized onto glittered with people moving from place to place—some rushing, most strolling, all catching the gleam of the full moon and the illumination of streetlights reflecting their clothing, their hair, their eyes. Their desires. The mortals ignored Pan and me as they walked, laughed, lived. No surprise there; it was only the rare human who could perceive the nefarious when we chose not to be noticed. Wind brushed my hair, danced with the hem of my trench coat. Cold night, but the temperature didn’t touch me. If I was riding a mortal body, I’d be able to smell the people and their city the way they did, would feel the bite of the wind on my face. But barring possession, my senses on the mortal coil were dulled. Limited.
That would change as soon as Pan showed me my intended. Once I focused on a client and marked her (or him), no matter what form I selected, I’d sense my target, bask in the glorious aromas she took for granted, taste sweetness when our tongues met…
…sweetness spiced with hints of the soul within the mortal shell…
Mmm.
I took a shuddering breath, forced my body to relax. No sense in getting all revved up before I met the one who’d make me Prince Daun. Plenty of time for that.
“Let’s
