Devil Take Me (2 page)

“I like doing things for you, baby.” Annie stood on tip-toe, planting a soft kiss on Roger’s lips as she handed him his burger and side salad. No time for fries, but she knew he would understand. Besides, she’d used the special mix of Ranch and Italian dressing he loved so much.

“You’re the best.” Roger returned the kiss before he plopped his plate down on the coffee table and picked up the remote.

Annie smiled and grabbed his keys from the dish by the door, happy they seemed to have made up so quickly. Sometimes their fights lasted for days, leaving her a mass of nervous symptoms by the time Roger finally quit brooding around the condo and slamming in and out of the door.

She took the stairs down to their garage at a trot, feeling decidedly more light hearted and even a little excited to go on her errand. Roger rarely let her drive his sporty little silver Mercedes and it was fun to roll back the top on the convertible and let the wind blow through her curls. Heck, she might even get a bottle of wine to go with Roger’s beer. It had been a long time since she’d had her favorite chardonnay and her class didn’t meet until eleven o’clock in the morning.

She could sleep in a little if she felt fuzzy, even though she had been getting up at six thirty to cook Roger breakfast. She didn’t want him to feel resentful that she got such a long summer break and lawyering stopped for no man or season. But one morning probably wouldn’t matter.

Ten minutes later, she was pulling up to the liquor store, still smiling from the feel of the summer sun on her face and the wind in her hair, when she realized she’d forgotten her purse. Again.

Roger was going to kill her. Her scatterbrained tendencies drove him crazy. She was always forgetting her purse or locking her keys in the car or leaving school without the stack of papers she was supposed to grade. Annie blamed it on an overactive imagination but Roger saw it as a sign of less-than-desirable mental health.

The last thing she needed was the “maybe you need to get on some sort of medication” talk again. She knew some people needed medicine to get by, to battle depression or stabilize their moods, but she didn’t think she was one of those people. She was happy most of the time, and she never endangered anyone with her forgetfulness.

Frantically, she searched through Roger’s ashtray and the little hidey-hole between the bucket seats. After two or three minutes and a very undignified hunt underneath the seats themselves, she managed to scrape up nearly six dollars. It was enough for the beer, but not the wine she’d been looking forward to. Still, given the choice between wine and a night free from ranting about her space cadet tendencies, she knew exactly which one she’d choose.

With a sigh of relief, she locked the car and dashed into the store. She grabbed Roger’s favorite brew and headed to the checkout, already planning her excuse as to why she hadn’t filled up the car. She would just tell Roger the gas station on the corner had been out of the Premium brand and she hadn’t wanted his beer to get hot. Then she’d pop the top on one of his bottles, discretely grab her purse and head back out to the car. A little falsehood, but nothing that would keep her up at night wallowing in her own guilt.

“ID please,” the clerk at the counter said, with a look that said she doubted Annie was old enough to buy cigarettes, let alone alcohol.

“I’m thirty, I swear to God on a stack of Bibles, cross my heart and hope to die. I know I look young but it’s just because I’ve gained weight. I promise I’ll come in and show you my ID tomorrow but I forgot my purse. See, I was even going to pay with change from the car,” Annie babbled with a laugh as she held up the three rumpled dollars and fistful of quarters she had managed to scrounge from the floorboards of the Mercedes.

“Sorry, I can’t do that.” The woman didn’t look sorry, she looked supremely disinterested, barely sparing Annie a second glance before she turned her attention back to her long, fire engine red nails. The nails even had little flames on the tips, making Annie wonder if the clerk was trying to project a she-witch-from-hell image or if it was merely a lucky coincidence her manicure reflected her personality.

“Listen, my fiancé had a really, really bad day and is dying for a beer. He’s going to be really upset if I don’t come back with a cold six-pack. Can’t you please let me pay for these so I can go?” Annie begged, imploring the clerk with her best gooey-brown-eyed stare.

“I can’t risk it, sorry.”

People who said they were sorry, but weren’t—sucked.

“Okay, fine. I’ll be back in a few minutes, after I go get my ID—which I promise is going to show that I’m thirty.” Annie managed to keep all but the slightest bit of frustration from seeping into her tone. She knew the woman was only being cautious, but a little compassion would have been welcome.

“Whatever.”

Then she had the gall to yawn, without even bothering to cover her mouth.

Annie held her tongue and stomped back to the car. No sense wasting her energy with a person like that. She’d look on the bright side instead. At least she could buy a bottle of wine if she went back and got her purse. She was really craving a glass and a little chardonnay buzz would help keep her from taking Roger’s inevitable lecture too seriously.

So it happened that Annie found herself pulling back into her condominium complex a good twenty minutes before she should have been. And so, it also happened, that she turned the corner to her garage just in time to see Carla open her door and a man in a rumpled black dress shirt and grey suit pants—a man who looked incredibly like her very own Roger—step out onto the front stoop.

And so also did she witness, with her very own eyes, Carla and Annie’s fiancé engaged in a kiss that could never be confused as friendly. Carla’s tongue was halfway down Roger’s throat and his hand was caressing Carla’s bare thigh, sliding up to disappear underneath her too short skirt.

“No.” Annie felt the world spin around her as her hands tightened on the wheel.

This couldn’t be happening. Roger couldn’t be running across the complex for quickies with Carla. Her dreams weren’t crashing and burning right in front of her eyes. The engagement ring on her finger meant something. It meant Roger loved her, wanted to marry her, wanted her and no other woman for the rest of their lives.

Or so she had thought, dreamed, counted on with every last ounce of her being. Her luck was supposed to have changed for the better. Finally, bad luck Annie was going to see that one wonderful dream she had prayed for since she was a little girl become a reality.

But it wasn’t going to happen. She’d lost out again, proving everything she touched took a turn for the worse.

Suddenly a wave of despair and anger swept over her skin with enough heat to start a fire. Her vision blurred, and she was hardly aware that her foot began to ease off the brake and back onto the gas. The only thing Annie would remember when giving her report to the police was that she had been making a wish over the sound of the screeching tires. To please let her find herself anywhere but here, anywhere but still stuck in her own body, forced to pick up the pieces of what was left of her happy ever after.

The hour of her Majesty’s Pleasure

The year of banishment 2354

The great hall was dark and silent, empty save for the blind vermin who skulked in the corners, waiting for the smell of food or flesh to once again fill the palace. If they had been reasoning creatures, Namtar might have told them that they were going to have a very, very long wait.

“She ought to do something about them. No other royal court has to deal with such pestilence,” Antonia said from her place at his side.

“We are a dark court.”

“Still, they’re repulsive.”

“They’ll be gone soon enough.” Namtar’s tone encouraged no further comment.

He’d spent thousands of years as chief advisor to his queen and never disagreed so vehemently with her choice of playmates. Antonia had been abducted through an Earth portal several hundred years ago, an Italian beauty who seemed perfect to fulfill his queen’s desire for feminine flesh. If Namtar had known his Majesty’s lust was no passing fancy, however, he would have demanded the kidnappers search for a female both bearable and beautiful.

Not to mention one without a lust for power that surpassed her passion for bed play.

“We’ll all be gone if she doesn’t come to her senses. I think she’s run mad, Namtar, and I won’t be pleased if—”

“Your pleasure doesn’t matter.” Namtar felt the shields that controlled his power slip. He was angry, but he’d never lost control in front of Antonia. His magic was deadly to mortals, the slightest touch could start a painful wasting process that ended in certain death. Antonia hadn’t been truly mortal since she came to live in their world, but there was still a chance—a slight chance—he could damage her.

She knew that. More importantly, the queen knew it. Namtar hadn’t been willing to risk her anger by harming her favorite lover. But that was before their world had started to crumble around them, before he’d begun to fear for the future of his people. Now…circumstances might have changed…

As if reading his thoughts, Antonia’s strangely yellow-green eyes widened, filling with shock and a hint of true fear. Good, he wanted her to fear him, to fear the consequences of her actions. The foolish woman had been privileged to hold the ear of the queen and done nothing but whisper poison into it from the first day she arrived.

“Namtar—”

“Come, we’re late.” Namtar drew a deep breath and took control of his magic, pulling it close to his body, spinning it around him like a cloak.

Fool or no fool, he had never harmed anyone beloved by his queen and he wouldn’t start now, even if the woman he had served since he was a reed thin boy of only fifteen seasons was no longer a ruler he could respect. Even if the mortal at his side had done more than her part to drive his magnificent queen out of her mind, manipulating her with desire until their court was divided and the queen’s own consort reduced to nothing more than a shadow of the strong man he had been.

“I’m cold. Tell the slaves they should light a fire in my chamber. And prepare a hot drink. I know I’ll need one,” Antonia said, turning from him, her troubled eyes directed at the stone floor.

“As my Queen’s Heart wishes,” Namtar said, his voice softer than it usually was when taking orders from this particular mortal. Even the temptress was becoming reluctant when it came to servicing Ereshkigal’s increasingly voracious and violent sexual appetite. Namtar had seen the marks on Antonia’s body when she emerged from the queen’s bedchamber and many of them bled far too freely to have been obtained during pleasure.

They were all suffering, every member of the court, from the lowest slave to the most valued advisor, and it wouldn’t be productive to start fighting amongst themselves. No matter how he longed to lock the woman beside him in a dungeon with some of the lesser demons and see how she enjoyed the Underworld when not a treasured plaything of the Black Queen, he had to continue to use reason. Anger and hatred were just as dangerous as love and passion. Logic, forethought and strategy had stood him well for his long lifetime. He would do well to remember that when tempted to indulge his temper.

He and Antonia kept their silence as they left the great hall and continued on through the maze of corridors that would bring them to the queen’s bedchamber. As they walked, Namtar marveled again at the silence. In years past, the court of Ereshkigal had been the most merry and decadent of all the Kingdoms of the Land Beneath. Festivals and balls and drunken feasting were the orders of the day, and no citizen ever wanted for wine, song, or pleasure. Death and bloodshed had also been a part of the festivities, but at the core of his queen’s rule had been a certain sense of dark justice.

Now there was simply darkness, and the heavy weight of a people collectively holding their breath.

“My queen, I bring your Heart, as requested,” Namtar announced as he and Antonia paused in front of the heavy stone door to the queen’s chambers. In recent seasons, she often neglected to answer his announcements, forcing him to enter her chamber without express leave, but old habits were the hardest to break. He would always try to announce himself, even if it became clear that Ereshkigal was past caring about the formalities of the court.

“Come in, Antonia.”

The swift reply, even spoken in a languid tone was more than a little surprising. Perhaps she was feeling better on this eve, and this was a sign of better seasons to come.

“And you may join us, Namtar, dearest.” Ereshkigal’s invitation was followed by a throaty laugh laced with the disease of the mind, the only malady to which the immortal were not invulnerable.

Namtar followed Antonia into the lushly furnished chamber, his gaze finding the queen’s even as his nose flared at the ripe scent of demon flesh filling the boiling hot room. Ereshkigal preferred the cold, her ancient skin having grown accustomed to the chill of the utter darkness since their sun had died hundreds of seasons past, but her newest bedmates were very sensitive to the subzero temperatures.

“I can read your thoughts on your face, Namtar.” The queen ran a lazy hand over the hairless flesh of the devil lying beside her on the wine red sheets. “You used to be so good at concealing your emotions.”

“I apologize, my queen.” Namtar fought the urge to lunge across the room and grab the smirking devil by the throat. He wanted to pull its serpentine tail from between the Queen’s legs and hurl it against the far wall with enough force to shatter its fragile skull. Devils, for such vicious creatures, were notoriously fragile. Their bones were as soft as an Earth child’s skull, their skin easy to rip and tear.

“You’re a liar, Namtar, a scheming liar and I won’t tolerate it any longer.” Ereshkigal screamed, the cords on her neck standing out from her pale skin and her wide almond eyes blazing with fire.

“My queen, I—”

“That’s right, I am your queen. Do not forget it.” She settled as abruptly as she’d angered, melting into the pillows cradling her luscious curves with a teasing smile on her lips.

She was still the most perfectly formed woman Namtar had ever seen. Her full breasts were topped by dark plum nipples, her waist small but soft with a ripe fullness that had always made her look more like a fertility goddess than a harbinger of death. Her lips were a lushly curved bow that begged to be kissed and her vulva equally pink and perfect. Perhaps that was why it seemed such a sacrilege to see the devil’s tail working in and out of those slick, pink folds, to see something so hideous allowed to penetrate the woman who had once been the most powerful goddess in the ancient world.

“Come to me, Antonia,” the queen murmured, her tone lazy. She brought her hands to her pebbled nibbles, rolling them with her fingers as she lifted her hips into the thrusts of the devil’s appendage.

“I would prefer to worship each other alone this night, my sister of the soul.” Antonia untied the sash on her black silken robe and let it fall to the floor. She then began to caress her own dusky rose nipples, teasing them to attention as moans sounded from the back of her throat. All the while she kept eye contact with Ereshkigal, communicating her desire.

“Don’t try to seduce me, my heart, I know you have no love for Azrael’s kind.” Ereshkigal laughed, the sound light and adoring even as her eyes warned Antonia tonight was not the night for manipulation.

“How could I hope to seduce the woman who owns my very flesh?” Antonia asked, dropping one hand between her legs as the other continued to pluck at her own breast. “I only long to have your mouth on me and no other, want to smell the scent of your body when you come on my fingers without anything to subtract from that pleasure.”

“Did you hear that, Azrael? Antonia thinks you stink.” This time, Ereshkigal’s laughter was joined by the high-pitched screeching of the devil’s cackle.

“Ereshkigal, please—”

“I did not give you permission to use my name,” the queen snapped, her tone far harsher than Namtar had ever heard her use with her favorite lover. Antonia must have been startled as well. Her busy little hands froze on her body and Namtar could practically hear her heart begin to race.

“I beg your forgiveness, I only—”

“Yes, you will beg this night, but not for my forgiveness. Perhaps for my mercy, perhaps for your pleasure, I have not yet decided. But I do know that I want something more to fill my womb than your tiny fingers. I have an aching that cannot be fulfilled by softness tonight.” Ereshkigal reached down and wrapped a small hand around the thick red tail buried inside her, forcing it even deeper, her eyelids fluttering with pleasure as she showed the devil the rhythm she preferred.

“Perhaps Nergal then, my queen. His shaft is still the proudest I have seen. We could both pleasure you, I would welcome the chance to taste—”

“I do not wish to bed my consort tonight, Antonia. If I had wished it, he would be here. I do not require your advice when choosing who I want to fuck.”

“My queen, of course, please—”

“Silence, Antonia, or I’ll let Azrael have you next. He enjoys mortals, they’re so delightfully breakable.”

At the queen’s words, Azrael directed his hollow black eyes to Antonia and hissed a threatening smile, baring a wealth of fangs and more tongues than Namtar could count. Not for the first time, he blessed the Goddess that the Annunaki people had been formed much like the men and women of Earth.

“Perhaps someone else then, someone you have long held as an object of curiosity?” Antonia said, her voice breathy and her pulse a racing animal trapped in her delicate throat. She must truly fear the devil beyond all reason if she continued to protest so vigorously to joining it in bed.

“That is the first interesting thing you’ve said in seasons, my heart,” Ereshkigal said, her tone quiet, thoughtful, as her hips slowly ceased their quest for release.

“I live to pleasure you, my sister of the soul.”

They were back to their sweet talk. Namtar wondered how he managed to bear their endearments without losing the bread and wine he’d consumed some hours past. It was surely only due to the scarcity of food in the court of late, not a lack of repulsion. There was no love behind their words. He had never allowed himself the luxury of love, but knew enough of the phenomenon to realize Ereshkigal and Antonia’s relationship was based on riddles of fear and domination. No amount of sweet talk could sweeten that truth.

Namtar shifted slightly on his feet, but kept his eyes on a point above the queen’s head, longing to be dismissed and spared any more of the unusual—and undesired—privilege of occupying her bedchamber.

“Leave me,” Ereshkigal commanded.

Thank the Goddess. Namtar had already begun to turn when he saw the Queen’s hands fling the devil’s tail from her body, shoving the creature from her covers with one delicate, perfectly shaped foot.

Damn them all, did she mean him or the creature? Or maybe she meant him and the creature, Goddess if he knew. Reading Ereshkigal had never been easy. In recent decades it had become a guessing game of epic proportions.

“Take your flame with you, I have no need of such warmth tonight.”

With a hiss of displeasure, the devil scuttled across the floor and scooped the roaring flame from the fireplace directly into his mouth. Immediately his thin skin glowed an even brighter red-orange, but he remained completely unharmed, reminding Namtar devils had ways of making up for their relatively defenseless skin and bones. Being invulnerable to flame was nothing to treat lightly, especially if you were an immortal being drug through the molten core of the Earth the devils called home. Being incinerated was a horrible fate, but even more unthinkable when it would take you so very long to die.

“Now, undress him, Antonia,” Ereshkigal purred as the devil loped across the room and out the door, its long, yellowed nails clicking on the stone floor and causing a chill to run the length of Namtar’s spine.

So it had come to this, after so many years, after he had been a brother to her.

“My queen,” Namtar whispered softly, his eyes searching for contact with Ereshkigal’s. But she did not look to his face, only to his body, still concealed beneath his usual simple advisor’s robe.

“You may call me by my name tonight, Namtar,” Ereshkigal said, coming to her knees at the end of the bed and running her hands over her curves. “Wrap your power away and come lay yours hands upon me. I want you to play with us, as a man would play with two women, not an advisor his queen.”