a woman’s voice chirped. “You’re it!”
I sensed the next swing before it connected. Down! I dropped into a crouch, and the tote bag whistled over the space where my head had just been.
Looming over me, the Amazon grinned like a madwoman. Had to be insane; that was the only way she could see me in this form.
“Crazy bitch, what do you think you’re doing?”
“Beating a dog.” She dropped her bag, plucked something out of her long blond hair. “Bad dog. Got a bone to pick with you.”
“Doll,” I said, coming to stand full height, “you just made a serious mistake.” I didn’t like killing women (unless they were my clients), but if one of them attacked me, all bets were off. Still, I didn’t want to call too much attention my way; Virginia was getting into her car, and other mortals could enter the parking lot at any time. Last thing I needed was having to entrance humans and screw with their memories. That always gave me a migraine.
Backing up a step, I decided I’d do it quietly. Make the Amazon’s body erupt with pleasure so strong, she’d fall to the ground, helpless, a puddle of limbs and vaginal fluid. And then I’d rip out her soul.
“That’s right, doggy,” the Amazon said, and that’s when I saw her red-rimmed eyes. “Dance with Uvall. Let’s do this the right way.”
Shit. One of the Arrogant elite, possessing a Brigitte Nielsen lookalike.
Couldn’t fault the taste in mortal bodies, but the timing really sucked. To say nothing of the circumstances. “You’re strutting on thin ice, Haughty bitch. Attacking me without cause’ll get you years of red tape.”
“So you think.”
“You even try to tap into your power, the lower-downs’ll be all over you.”
“Don’t need magic to put down a dog.”
Uvall lunged forward, something gleaming in her fist. I blocked her swing, but not enough to keep her weapon from grazing my arm. Minor scrape. Her other fist connected with my neck, and I grunted as something pierced my skin. A sting, and then a long scratch of pain. I hissed through clenched teeth, and my invisibility blinked off.
She grinned. “Burns, doesn’t it?”
I grabbed her hand and pulled it away from my throat. The weapon—a silver comb—was bloody, and one of the tines had snapped off. Probably still in my neck. But that wasn’t why it felt like fire ants were searing me with tiny bites. In my palm, her fist trembled; the large diamond ring on her finger sliced between my knuckles. I growled, deep and low, as rage tore through me.
With her free hand, Uvall plunged the teeth of another silver comb deep into my chest. I barely noticed the new hole in my body; my neck stung, and my fucking hand was on fire.
She smiled, a triumphant look etched onto her human host’s face. Then I grabbed her other wrist, and her triumph was replaced with confusion. And a hint of fear.
“I got your heart,” she said. “You should be on the ground, in agony. Dying slow.”
“Want me on the ground, bitch? You bet.” I slammed my forehead into hers, then shoved her to the ground. She landed flat on her back, stunned. I pounced on her—straddled her hips and pinned her arms.
Bishop’s balls, I was hurting. My cheek and nose throbbed; if I were mortal, the bones would have been fractured, the flesh swollen. A flash of heat aura evaporated the pieces of comb stuck in my neck and chest, replacing that pressure with an unpleasant numbness. The scratch on my throat burned, but that was already fading. Worst of all was my left hand—it was bleeding steadily, made the woman’s wrist slick beneath my grasp.
“Silver,” she said, her voice slow, thick. Uvall clearly wasn’t long for the human body. “Combs…are silver.”
“I noticed.”
“Should be dying.”
I leaned over her, whispered: “Newsflash, Haughty: silver isn’t my weakness.”
She let out a sound, half-growl, half-whimper.
“You know,” I said, “after attacking me without cause, I could lay claim on this human, steal her soul away from Pride. And when all the paperwork comes in, the story would spread how Uvall, Duke of Hell, had attacked the incubus Daunuan…and lost. Bet that would bite you on the ass, wouldn’t it?”
She bucked beneath me, tried to shake me off. But I wasn’t going anywhere. Neither was she. I blew her a kiss. “You’ll be a laughingstock.”
“Kill you!”
“Why? What’d I do to you?”
Her eyes gleamed with malice and secrets. “You’ll never know.”
Screw me, what was it with demons wanting to kill me tonight?
In my mind, the Berserker’s taunting voice: Would be telling.
Shit. My stomach clenched as I realized there was something brewing, something big. “You were told to attack me. You and the Berserker both.”
She said nothing, watched me as I tried to piece it together.
“What’s going on, Uvall?”
“Piss off, dog. I don’t answer to you.”
“Tell me, or I’ll let the Pridelands know about your failure.” I made sure to drawl the word. The only thing worse than an eternity of agony to one of the Proud was owning up to failure.
The demon grinned. “I know something you don’t know.”
Fuck this.
I released one of her arms to grab her by the top of her head, tangling her blond hair in my fingers. With a growl, I raised her head up, then slammed it down. A delicious crunch as the back of her head connected hard with the ground. Her eyes rolled up, and her body went limp beneath mine. Lights out, doll. She was still breathing; I’d pulled back at the last second to keep from shattering her skull. If I can’t kill a woman with lust, it’s not worth my time.
In a pop of burning sulfur, Uvall exited the host body.
Silver. I shook my head, snorted my disgust. Where’d the Haughty get such shoddy information? I practically flossed with silver.
The fading roar of a car’s motor told me Virginia had just left. And I had no idea where she was going—where she lived, what her last name was. Nothing.
Bloody fucking Hell.
Maybe her friends were still at the bar; one of them would have information on my intended. Information that I needed. Badly. But the way tonight was going, they’d be long gone before I got back to the pub.
The Amazon lay on the ground, dead to the world. Lucky bitch. If I didn’t loathe paperwork, she’d be dead, period. I stared at her face, debated whether I should slice off her nose, just for spite. The air crackled with the stink of spent
