A Demon And Her Scot (Welcome To Hell) (9 page)

“I promise I won’t. Scot’s honor.”

Her face scrunched up as if pained, and then she relaxed and sighed. “Okay, but keep in mind, you so much as let out one snort of amusement and you are dead.” Still, she hesitated, even peeked around before she leaned in to whisper, “We go out and do karaoke.”

He just about chuckled
, but seeing her hand reaching for her axe, choked it back, especially as he realized she was serious. “No!”

“Yes, and if you tell a soul, I’ll rip your dick off.”

“But ye don’t seem like the type.”

She drew herself straight. “And what type is that?”

“I don’t know. Ye are a hot, sexy woman. I just can’t picture ye belting out the lyrics to ‘I Will Survive.’”

“That’s because I prefer to belt out eighties songs, or remakes of. I do a particularly great version of
‘Sweet Dreams,’ the Marilyn Manson version, of course.”

“That I’ve got to see and hear. Where’s the nearest karaoke place?”

“Excuse me?”

“Ye heard me, lass. Take me to your singing bar of choice. I want to hear ye using that throat for something other than gobbling.”

Her nose wrinkled. “I do not gobble.”

“Slurp then. Either way, it feels fucking fantastic. But we’ll get to that later after ye dazzle me with your other vocal talents.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Then I’ll make you sing soprano here on the street.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”

“I’m a dirty ol’ Scot, or so ye keep telling me.” He leered and waggled his brows. “I would.” And then kill anyone who watched because she wasn’t the only one with jealousy issues. But he kept that tidbit to himself.

She relented quicker than expected. “Fine. I’ll take you. But, I warn you, it’s not your type of joint.”

“If it serves alcohol, then I’ll fit right in.”

Or not, he revised when he entered the techno-colored, disco-ball lit blast from the seventies, replete with fake leather-covered stools, red Formica tables, and waitresses on roller skates bearing huge trays of drinks.

“So this is where the cast for
Happy Days
ended up,” he muttered, feeling a little underdressed in his kilt and linen shirt, especially compared to the fellows in polyester suits with the fat lapels, ruffled shirtfronts, and shiny loafers. Not that he’d ever wear such a ridiculous getup. Perhaps he should have stuck to finding an establishment that played the bagpipes.

But then he wouldn’t have seen Aella relax, her shoulders dropping from their usual tense pose, her head bopping in time to the music. And, good fucking grief, was that a bloody smile curling her lips? It was, and his undead heart stuttered. Looking younger than her years, Aella let the hint of the girl she once was peek through. The grin on her face and the twinkle in her eyes captivated him, almost as much as her body, which jiggled as she found them a table. More like cleared one. She didn’t even need to shed any blood. Unsheathing her axe did the trick. The patrons scattered, and before he’d even sat down, a waitress on wheels had wiped the table clean and popped out her notepad.

Chewing her gum a mile a minute, her hair upswept in a ponytail, the waitress looked perfectly innocent until you noticed her black orbs with no pupils and the tail peeking from beneath her poodle skirt. Succubus, he’d guess. With all the sexual energy running through this place, it made the most logical sense. “What will y’all have?”

“A lager for him.” Aella waved in his direction. “And bring me a flaming inferno. Extra hot.”

“Coming right up.” With a snap of her gum, their waitress spun and whizzed off, weaving through the crowd on her wheels.

Leaning his elbows on the table, Niall stared at Aella, who returned his gaze without blinking. When the silence stretched too long, he finally caved and spoke first.
“This place is a nightmare of epic proportions.” He nearly died again when a giggle bubbled forth from her.

“Isn’t it though? The first time Sasha and Katie dragged me here, I threatened to kill them both.”

“I can see why.”

“But then, they ordered some shooters, and the music ended up decent. Next thing I knew, we were singing some corny tune by Debbie Gibson and laughing our asses off. It was the most fun I’d had in ages.”

“Sasha and Katie are?”

“My best friends. Sasha is a psychic, and Katie is a psycho.”

“Excuse me, but I thought I heard you call your best friend a psycho.”

“Yup, although having a boyfriend has mellowed her out and saved the bachelors who used to fuck her from an early demise.”

“Where is that drink? I think I need an alcoholic buffer before I try to figure out what you’re saying.”

The waitress returned with their drinks, and Aella ordered them a second round before he’d even taken a sip from his first.

“Why, lass, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re trying to get me drunk.”

“I am. I figure that’s the only way you’re getting on stage to sing.”

“I ain’t singing.”

Turned out that wasn’t quite true. It took a copious amount of booze, lots of coaxing, the promise of a blowjob, and her going first—singing a cock-hardening version of
‘Touch Me’ by who-the-fuck-cared because it was hot—before he made it to the microphone. But once he got that little piece of plastic and wiring in his hand, Niall turned into a crooner. He belted out his version of ‘Dead or Alive’ to cheers and stomping feet and the smiling face of Aella, who clapped along and hooted encouragement, egging him on.

And damn it, she was right. It was fucking bloody fun.

Aella couldn’t help but watch her big Scot as he sang an atrocious rendition of what he claimed was the only decent song to emerge from the eighties. He massacred it. Killed it beyond all recognition, yet she’d never heard anything more wonderful. When was the last time she’d smiled so wide or had so much fun?
And because of a man.
Not just any man, but a Niall, an old-fashioned Scot with hidden layers, each more fascinating than the next.

Thank goodness for the alcohol that muddled her thought processes or she might have questioned her decision to pull down her toga and flash her tits at him while wolf whistling. His eyes flared red, his teeth popped out from under his top lip, and with a mighty leap, he came off the stage, his kilt fluttering and giving the ladies quite an eyeful.

Not that he paid any mind to the catcalls and invitations—Aella stored them and the faces behind them for later. Some bitches needed lessons in hitting on a lamia’s man.

And he was her man. Her Scot.
Her lover.
Mine.

In all her centuries, Aella never recalled any male ever attracting, and, yes, even enchanting her like Niall did. Something about the wild vampire, with his throwback kilts and sexy brogue, didn’t just make her panties wet; it did things to her heart. Made her feel things she’d thought long lost to her human days. He made her want. Want him. Want a forever fucking after.

Lucky for him she was drunk enough to not argue it, but not too far gone that it didn’t frighten her a bit. Lust wiped the fear away when he pulled her into his arms for a deep kiss.

With the lights pulsing, the music pounding, and her heart racing, she let herself get swept up by the passion his mouth promised and allowed his hands to roam her body, raising her ardor to a fevered pitch, one that demanded instant satisfaction.

“I want ye,” he growled in her ear before biting the lobe and sucking the sensitive tip.

“We’re only a fifteen-minute walk from my place,” she replied, arching to give him better access.

“Too far. Come with me.” He gripped her hand in his and tugged her through the swaying bodies to the back of the room.

“Where are
we going?” she queried.

“
Somewhere a little more private,” was his enigmatic reply.

His idea of private and hers differed. In he stalked to the female’s washroom, his snapped, “Get out!” sending those at the sinks scurrying, most wearing knowing smirks. As for those in the stalls, a brisk pounding on the two locked doors had them flushing in a hurry.

Amusement cooling her ardor, Aella leaned back against the chipped porcelain sink and watched her Scot as he ushered the last female—a demon in heels almost as high as her legs—out the door. He slammed the portal shut and propped his frame against it. His eyes took on a smoldering intensity as he eyed her. He crooked a finger and beckoned.

She should have lopped it off for his temerity or flipped him a bird in reply
, done anything but given in to his silent command with swaying hips. There was something oddly exciting about his impatience and the taboo location. There was just something irresistible about his crude charm.

Scorching lips found
hers in a passionate kiss, which shot tingles from the tip of her head right down to her toes, and heat spread through her pussy. As his moist tongue tangled around hers, shudders wracked her body as need flared back to life even stronger than before.

Locked in a torrid embrace, they ignored the occasional pounding at the door. Their combined weight held those who attempted to enter at bay. The minor disturbances added to the moment, increasing the sense of urgency. Up came the hem of her toga as his hands roamed, caressing and igniting every nerve ending she possessed. The G-string she’d worn made him pause as his fingers skimmed over it.

“What’s this? What happened to your usual attire? Or should I say lack of?”

She laughed. “Don’t you like it?”

“Yes,” he murmured, snapping the elastic, the sharp pinch making her jump. “But, again, why?”

“Because,” she whispered in his ear, “I had a fantasy of you taking it off with your teeth.”

And she had. But even her vivid imagination couldn’t have imagined the erotic reality of it. He spun her so fast she almost lost her balance, but the door provided a steadying influence as he swapped their positions so she leaned against the portal. His hands bracketed either side of her hips to keep his weight holding it shut. Then with his lips and teeth alone, he nudged his way up her toga, the rough edge of his unshaven jaw tickling the skin of her thigh. From under the fabric, he paused then chuckled. “What’s this? A gun?”

“Shotgun,” she corrected. “For the times when just an axe won’t do.” It was a short-barreled, pump-action, acid-pellet toy, which she’d thought to bring along when she quickly hit her apartment to change before joining her Scot on his golfing lesson with Lucifer.

“Ye are just full of surprises,” he murmured, kissing the skin in between the holster straps.

“I’d rather be full of you.”

He groaned, the rumble of his reply on her flesh drawing forth an answering shudder. Up crept his lips, closer and closer to the source of her heat.

“Y
e are so fucking sexy.”

Words shouldn’t have the ability to make a woman cream herself almost to the point of coming, but Aella still found her channel clenching tight, and her erratic pulse raced even faster.
“Would you stop teasing me, Scot, and touch me already?”

Again, he laughed, a soft, low sound that quivered against the damp
crotch of her panties. She dug her nails into his shoulders. She had to because her legs trembled, threatening to collapse.

His t
eeth tugged at the fabric covering her sex, and when they didn’t budge, he tore them from her, drawing forth a small cry as the cooler air tickled her feverish flesh. Then his lips pressed against her, and heat exploded as his tongue swirled in wet circles around her engorged clit.

“Oh. Oh. Oh.” Already, she stood poised on the brink of climax, which was what made the intrusion at that crucial moment so fucking rude.

“There he is. Kill him.” The guttural command, male in origin and out of place, snapped her eyes open. Even gripped in the throes of passion, she possessed enough wits to know her orgasm would have to wait. Apparently, Niall came to that same conclusion as he pulled himself with reluctance from his enjoyable feast. Holy fuck, did he look pissed.

It seemed that, despite the threat to his person, only an idiot should get in between a vampire and his erotic dinner
.

They should have also known better than to interrupt a lamia’s climax.

As Niall stood and whipped around to face the demons who appeared in the washroom, the five portals that materialized allowing them entry, Aella straightened, and her toga fell to cover her pulsing—and none too happy at the delay—lower parts.

“Who wants to die first?” snarled her equally irritated Scot.

The five brutes facing them just grinned in reply and took a step forward as one unit. So Aella made the choice for them. Drawing her shotgun, she took aim and fired.

It didn’t decapitate her choice, not like her trusty axe, but a face full of acid pellets had the brutish-appearing thug screaming and clawing at his skin. It also got the action started. With a battle cry to rival that of Mel Gibson’s in
Braveheart
, Niall charged, his sword sheathed at his side as he relied on his bare hands and teeth to do his work. In the close confines of the bathroom, Aella found it more difficult to wield her axe, mostly because, for once, she didn’t fight alone. Usually, she would have hacked and slashed her way to victory, but given she wanted Niall intact, she needed to temper her wild swings. Not that he needed her help.

It seemed a horny vampire was more than a match for an attacking squad of goons. With a speed only vampires possessed, and a violent nature not afraid to shed some blood, break some bones, or tear off limbs, Niall made quick work of the interruption, snapping necks and ripping out pulsing, black hearts.

It was effective, yet quite messy, not to mention a mood breaker, especially since they no longer blocked the doorway and a crowd of females had pushed their way into the bathroom. Some ignored the carnage and went about their feminine business. Others, though… Others gawked at her Scot. One brazen hussy even ran a finger down his muscled arm and licked the blood off the tip. Aella gave her something to suck when she lopped off the offending digit.

Before Aella could get embroiled in a riot with the female patrons who took offense
at her jealous action, Niall snagged her around the waist and upended her over his wide shoulder, carting her out of the bar to the catcalls of the male patrons. Aella allowed it because, honestly, what else could they do? They’d lost their sex spot, she didn’t feel like singing, and she could think of better things to do than kill the females ogling her Scot.

Especially when
Niall muttered something about getting her in a shower and continuing where they’d left off.

“You can put me down now,” she said after he’d walked a few blocks.

“Why?”

“So I can walk.”

“But I like ye where ye are,” he replied, the arm banded across her thighs tightening.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere with a bed.”

“Shouldn’t we be instead reporting the attack to Lucifer?”

“Bah. That wasn’t an attack.”

“Tell that to the bodies we left behind.”

“If they were serious about taking me out, they would have sent more,” he boasted. “That was just a wee warning.”

“Which I take it hasn’t deterred you from acting as our
lord’s caddy and teacher.”

He snorted. “On the contrary. Now I want the devil to win. Anyone willing to insult me by sending less than their best to kill me deserves to get spanked by the worst golfer alive.”

She couldn’t help but snicker. “You are evil.”

“Says the lass who goes around with a shotgun strapped to her thigh and an axe on her back.”

“In my line of work, it pays to be prepared.”

It also paid to have a letter from Lucifer entitling the bearer to demand free accommodations at any establishment in Hell. Niall strode into the first hotel they came across, a ritzy place
despite its location in the fourth circle and, in short order, had them ensconced in a penthouse suite, naked, and in a shower of epic proportions.

She expected him to resume his erotic tease of before, but instead, he washed her with sure
, quick strokes. Mind, those skimming hands covered in suds still had her body humming and her pussy craving, but his lips didn’t so much as give her a single lick.

She couldn’t help but pout when he toweled her dry.

“What’s with the face?” he asked as he knelt on one knee, patting her skin with the fluffy fabric. “Ye look so disappointed.”

“What happened to taking up where we left off?” No point in beating around the bush. Coyness was for virgins and annoying bitches. Both were the type Aella liked to kill.

“Is someone feeling neglected?” he teased as he picked up her foot to dry the bottom.

“Yes.”

He laughed, a wicked rumble that shot a shiver down her spine. “Never fear, lass. I’m not done with ye. I just thought I’d get ye nice and clean first for the dirty things I have planned.”

Hmm, that sounded promising.

“Ye aren’t the only one with a fantasy,” he admitted as he stood and towered over her, his blue eyes blazing.

“What’s yours? And if you tell me it involves sheep, I’m out of here.”

His laughter boomed, and she smiled along with him. “Lass, ye are a treasure. Come with me, and I’ll show ye.”

The suite he’d booked contained a bed, a really large bed, with a soft, plushy comforter that cushioned her back when he tossed her upon it. She bounced. He pounced. And she stretched sinuously under his naked body.

“I’m clean. We found the bed. Now what?” she asked with an arched brow. “Does your fantasy involve cuffs? Syrup? I don’t see mirrors on the ceiling.”

“That’s a different fantasy, lass. This one involves your legs over my shoulders.”

“Like this?” She pointed her toes as she brought her legs up to rest on his skin. His eyes turned dark and smoldering.

“Aye. Like that.” It also apparently involved him giving her the best cunnilingus of her life until she screamed his name as she dug her heels into his back. But tonguing her wasn’t the only thing he’d dream
ed of.

He’d no sooner brought her pussy back to a fevered state, slick and trembling, than he flipped her onto her stomach, propping her ass up as he did.

Exposed to his gaze, she couldn’t help but peek over her shoulder as he rubbed the tip of his dick at the entrance of her sex. “Admiring the view?” she asked.

“Aye.”

“I’d prefer you fucked it.”

“I will.” Back and forth he teased her.

She shook her hips, but he didn’t take her up on her silent invitation. “I’m waiting.”