Shadow's Seduction, Page 3

  "We'll figure something out. . . ." Mirceo trailed off when feminine laughter sounded from inside the villa. "For now let's enjoy the present. Our entertainment has arrived."

  _______

  The night's becoming a blur.

  Mirceo's surprise was a trio of ravishing nymphs--a pale redhead, an olive-skinned brunette, and a curvaceous blonde--who made their home in Dacia. After flirting, teasing, and drinking, the five had ended up on Mirceo's mammoth bed.

  But Cas's mind was wandering. He hadn't resigned himself to never seeing the outside world again. Just don't do anything rash until then, Tina.

  Not as Cas had done. Yes, he'd taken a night to contemplate his decision to come here, but he'd spent it imagining a future with Kosmina. . . .

  Mirceo's banter with one of the nymphs roused him from his thoughts. As usual, the prince had focused his attentions on a redhead. When Mirceo laughed at the female's playful teasing, Cas grew distracted, scarcely noticing as the other two removed their tops.

  For weeks, Cas had watched Mirceo bed any available beauty--they'd even shared females--but Mirceo's enjoyment of that redhead irritated Cas for some reason.

  Like claws down a chalkboard. Was it because Cas had drunk too much tonight?

  The prince caught him frowning, so Cas averted his gaze, reaching for the busty brunette to knead a plump breast. That delight should have filled his shaft with blood, but he . . . flagged. She even stroked his horns--which demons loved. So why did he wish this night was already over? As he dropped his hand, he found Mirceo's attention on him.

  The air between them seemed taut. Awareness prickled. Why had Mirceo's addictive scent--sandalwood with a hint of blood--never registered with him before? Why had Cas never noticed the heat his vampiric body gave off?

  The redhead noticed them staring at each other. "You two should kiss."

  With a smile in his tone, Mirceo said, "What an intriguing idea, tulip." The vampire traced to sit beside him at the foot of the bed.

  "Hardly," Cas said. "I only pleasure females."

  The brunette stood, crossing her arms over her chest. "Nothing would pleasure us more than seeing you two masculine specimens lock lips."

  The blonde stood as well, leaving Cas and Mirceo on the bed. She joined the other two--nymphs in solidarity.

  Mirceo laughed again, treating Cas to that rich, throaty sound. "It's just a lark, sweetheart. Something to titillate our ladies. I can scent them growing wet in anticipation."

  The redhead said, "Perhaps the demon hunter isn't as secure in his tastes as we thought."

  Cas raised his brows. "I'm very secure." He knew two things about his sexuality. I've always been attracted to females, and I've never been attracted to males. So why did Mirceo's vampire charisma seem to get stronger every day?

  Maybe Cas should press his lips to Mirceo's--to cure himself of this growing obsession with the prince.

  Clasping her hands in front of her chest, the redhead said, "Pleeeeease. Something to remember for the rest of our eternal lives."

  Cas turned toward Mirceo to crack a joke. "I've done a lot of things to get laid, but--"

  The vampire's mouth met his.

  Sensation flooded Cas, electricity crackling up and down his spine. Too much, too . . . He tensed to jerk away, but Mirceo darted his tongue between Cas's parted lips.

  Fuuuck. Their tongues touched. Cas's head swam.

  Stop. What the hell are you doing? STOP.

  The vampire threaded his fingers through Cas's hair to draw him even closer. Breaking away from Mirceo's carnal mouth felt impossible. Some kind of madness was overtaking him! He found himself . . . giving a tentative flick of his pointed tongue. Then another. Why can't I stop?

  The prince submitted, letting him delve. Tasting Mirceo. Exploring this. The vampire's lips yielded beneath his own.

  Curiosity goaded Cas to take another lick. A nip. One more taste, then he'd end this. One more dip into this unfamiliar well.

  Yet soon raw lust overwhelmed curiosity. He slanted his mouth over the vampire's, demanding more. Their tongues twined, their breaths gone ragged. My gods, this feels so fucking good.

  Dimly, Cas realized the giggling females were closing the bedroom door behind them.

  He roused, his mind struggling to come back online. Mirceo's moan slammed him right back into this kiss.

  Just one last taste. . . .

  FIVE

  Cas collapsed at the vampire's side. They lay sprawled on the bed, heaving breaths, both still dressed.

  Cas threw an arm over his face. What the hell just happened? Sweat coated his body. Shock consumed him.

  He shifted his arm to glance at Mirceo. When the prince stretched with a smug grin and a sound of satisfaction, one word blasted through Cas's head.

  ESCAPE.

  He shot upright. I just got off with Mirceo.

  The prince's smile faded. "This isn't so monumental a thing, Caspion. Just a lark. Just pleasure." Of course it was just pleasure to him.

  While Cas felt scalded and exposed--as if his entire body were a new wound--Mirceo remained unchanged, offering nothing else of himself.

  "We still have our pants on." With a hint of amusement in his eyes, the vampire said, "Though mine are filled with semen."

  The intoxicating scent of it made Cas' cock stir for more. What godsdamned power did Mirceo wield over him?

  Whatever the vampire saw in his expression made him sit up. "Be at ease, friend."

  "At ease?" Cas had never felt more lust for another. How had he gone from desiring only females to desiring Mirceo? Wait . . . Cas's eyes narrowed. "You fucking mesmerized me." Taking away my choice!

  Mirceo's brows drew together. "Caspion, I did not. I don't possess that ability."

  "You must have. I'm straight. Why would I want another male?"

  "Because our minds are synced. Because we care for each other. Our friendship has grown into more."

  "No, that doesn't explain . . ." My explosive lust. For Cas, a male who required control in all things, this situation was terrifying. He tried to say more but his throat felt too constricted.

  Can't breathe. His gaze darted. ESCAPE.

  "Calm yourself, demon, and think about this. You can't leave. My uncle Trehan will find you, and he will kill you. He carries death in his pocket."

  Trehan Daciano. Cas had met the centuries-old Prince of Shadow this week. The grim, unsmiling assassin always carried his weapon--a sword with a crossguard in the shape of a crescent moon--and he was notoriously skilled with it.

  But if Mirceo didn't reveal details, how could that soulless bastard find a single demon of no importance? Cas could return home and try to regain some semblance of his life.

  ESCAPE NOW.

  Mirceo raised his palms. "I can help you. Just give me time to figure this out. Let me help you."

  "Don't tell Trehan where I live, Mirceo." Cas tensed to trace. "You owe me this after what you've done." You made me a mindless slave. You took away my choice, my control.

  Sadness filled Mirceo's gray eyes. "They know when someone leaves. Trehan will find and kill you before dawn--"

  Cas teleported away. An instant later, he materialized into his small loft in Abaddon. What have I done? Sweat covering him, he leaned against his door, about to vomit. Paranoia gripped him by the throat. Kill me before dawn?

  No, no. Mirceo would never tell his uncle where to find Cas. Hell, Mirceo never listened to him, probably didn't even know Cas hailed from a backwater dimension like Abaddon.

  Claws digging into the door, he struggled to process this night. He'd come with Mirceo, harder than he knew was possible. And I'd still craved more of him--

  Commotion sounded from a nearby thoroughfare. He crossed to a window and cautiously peeked out. The swampy hamlet he'd left a month ago was packed with various Loreans.

  They milled about like tourists. Why would anyone visit this place?

  He traced out to the street and addressed a ferine demon gnaw
ing on a pheasant leg. "What's the occasion that brings so many here?"

  "Death-match tournaments in the old Iron Ring," the male said with excitement. The notorious cage arena of Abaddon hadn't been used in ages. The demon took another bite, saying, "Competitors--demons, trolls, Lykae, you name it--are teleporting in from all over the Lore. Understandable, considering the prize."

  "Which is?" Cas asked, but he had a sinking suspicion in his gut. There were only two things in Abaddon that others might fight for.

  "Whoever wins gets the crown of this entire demonarchy! Oh, and the hand of the princess." The male spat out a bone and walked on.

  Bettina, no. A godsdamned troll could win her hand! Her guardians must have browbeaten her until she'd agreed to this.

  I could enter the tournament. Could save her. A sense of being watched lifted the tiny hairs on the back of his neck. Was a killer already loose in Abaddon? I could enter, if I live till morning. . . .

  SIX

  Last outpost before the Plane of Lost Years Several months--or centuries?--later . . .

  Mirceo was on the hunt.

  As he moved through the smoky, rough-neck tavern, he grinned to himself. I, Mirceo Daciano, am chasing my fated one.

  But he had good reason. Unlike most vampires, he knew his mate's identity in advance of his blooding, and he was overjoyed with fate's choice for him.

  Weeks ago, when his heart had gone still in his chest for good, Mirceo had visited Balery, the new king's fey oracle, and asked her when he would meet his mate. After rolling her bones, she'd blinked up at him and said four words that would change Mirceo's life forever: You've already met him.

  Him. There'd been no question to whom Balery had referred.

  Most often a male's mate would be a female. But not always.

  His pairing with Caspion struck him as bloody brilliant. Nothing had ever made so much sense to Mirceo--which meant his reservations about monogamy and matehood had subsided.

  His grin deepened. I'm now a believer in the system.

  Caspion had once asked him, "What male wouldn't rush headlong to meet his beautiful mate?" Indeed, demon. Indeed. Mirceo was ready to commit.

  Now he just needed to find Caspion. Blocking out the excruciating sound of a tinny violin, Mirceo scanned the crowded tavern. Where are you . . . ?

  He'd heard Caspion planned to head to the Plane of Lost Years--a savage, war-torn dimension where time moved differently--for some kind of self-exile.

  Over my walking-dead body.

  Their separation had gone on long enough. He wanted his best friend back--while expanding a few . . . parameters of their relationship.

  Ignoring all the looks of interest he received from myriad immortals--I'm quite taken--he squared his shoulders, scarcely believing he'd soon be blooded. Once he spotted his mate, his heart would thud back to life. His lungs would fill with breath, and he would get hard as rock. . . .

  But as he surveyed the crowd, a rare whisper of doubt arose. What if Caspion wasn't the male Balery had referred to?

  No, no. Mirceo wanted Caspion to be his mate. Ergo, fate would comply. Such was how things worked for him.

  Yet what if the demon stubbornly resisted the bond between them? And Trehan might have damaged Mirceo's chances with Caspion beyond repair. Both the demon and Trehan had entered the infamous Iron Ring of Abaddon--only one had been able to walk out.

  Mirceo didn't see the demon among all the beings here. Strange. The locating crystal he'd used had indicated Caspion was inside this structure. Though Mirceo's senses weren't as keen as a demon's, he inhaled. . . .

  He picked up the subtle thread of Caspion's unforgettable scent--

  There! The demon was sitting alone at a table in the shadows, lost in thought.

  Mirceo's brows drew together. Caspion seemed much changed. His careless, tousled hair was longer, and his normally clean-shaven face now had a golden shadow beard. His midnight-blue eyes seemed more . . . knowing. His body appeared to have grown, his shell-colored horns as well.

  His appearance was edgier.

  Darker.

  That tournament in Abaddon had done something to Caspion, changing him.

  Mirceo stared down at his chest. He wanted to change too, but his heart was still. His lungs took no breath. His cock was as hard as pudding.

  No. It must be Caspion. He knocked a fist against his chest. Come on, heart . . . awaken!

  Nothing.

  Despite the patrons all around, Mirceo rubbed his member. Get stiff, you traitorous thing.

  Not a twitch.

  A buxom brunette demoness joined Caspion then, perching on his knee. Mirceo scowled. The female was all over him, peering up at the blond Adonis with an expression Mirceo had often received himself: I wore my pretty panties tonight, so let's fuck.

  A last lay before the demon left for the Plane of Lost Years?

  Mirceo choked back a surge of jealousy. He'd never known this strangling emotion before he'd met Caspion--

  A massive, behorned tavern-goer lurched near Caspion's table, sloshing brew from a tankard the size of a vat.

  Drawing the brunette out of the way, Caspion shot to his feet, saving her from a good dousing. "Watch what you're about," he grated to the giant.

  Unbelievably, that male was at least a foot taller than Caspion. "Or what?" he snapped.

  The horns of each demon breed differed. Was that giant a stone demon?

  Caspion's own horns straightened with aggression. "You need to back away." Surely he wouldn't brawl with a stone demon. That breed could tense their muscles until their bodies became like stone. If Caspion threw a punch against that male, he'd break his hand. "You do not want to do this with me tonight."

  "Do what? Kick your ass and steal your whore? Maybe that's just what I want to do."

  Conversations dimmed, the violin going quiet. Sensing a fight, tavern-goers jockeyed for a better view.

  When the giant's towering companions lined up behind him, Mirceo wended through the crowd to back his own friend.

  In a menacing tone, Caspion told the giant, "I know your type. Though you've got no hope of getting laid, you need to assert your dominance. You need to yell, to heave your breaths, to feel anything. But this fight will not give you what you seek."

  The stone demon's brows drew together. Seeming to see reason, he held up his free hand and backed away.

  Sounds of disappointment rippled through the tavern.

  Caspion turned to the female--

  The giant tossed his tankard, soaking Caspion's chest in cheap brew, then he tensed for a fight.

  Caspion still attacked, his fist flashing out with uncanny speed. It connected with the giant's jaw.

  Mirceo's lips parted when that demon's face fractured like stone.

  The giant collapsed to his back--unconscious and broken. His companions cast shocked looks at Caspion, then scattered like rats.

  Glorious male! Caspion's damp shirt clung to his flexing muscles, his eyes gone black with ferocity.

  Look at me, demon. Surely Mirceo's heart would start once he met gazes with such a warrior!

  Though Caspion had won the fight, even more tension stole over him as he turned toward Mirceo. His tousled hair tumbled over one of his eyes, and he impatiently raked it back. Their eyes met. . . .

  Nothing.

  Mirceo's dormant heart sank.

  SEVEN

  Cas had scented Mirceo just as that stone demon hit the floor.

  After so long, the mere sight of his former friend sent Cas reeling.

  The vampire stood in the middle of the tavern, his bearing an equal mix of arrogance and elegance. He wore leather breeches and a trench coat--with no shirt. Only a prince like Mirceo could pull off that look. Among the rabble here, he looked like an angel, too perfect to be real.

  A fallen angel; as he ogled Cas, Mirceo rubbed his tongue over one fang.

  Cas had wondered if their . . . encounter would cool Mirceo's attraction or make it burn even hotter. The v
ampire's smoldering expression left no doubt in his mind.

  Even after all this time, that look affected Cas. He could kill this smirking prince for what he'd done. For what he was still doing. Mirceo's needy moans and abandoned words from that last night in Dacia forever rang in Cas's ears: I've dreamed about this, beautiful. Ride me! Use me, demon. Use me to come.

  Gritting his demon fangs, Cas strode through the tavern toward the exit, beings darting out of his way. He passed the vampire without another look, then shoved open the door, taking it off the hinges.

  Outside, he crossed to a rickety fence that edged a viewing platform. In the valley below was the portal to the Plane of Lost Years, a.k.a. Poly. The large rift between dimensions shimmered with welcome, giving no hint of the hellhole that lay beyond--sweltering during the day, bone-chilling at night, and rife with violence.

  As he watched, Loreans stepped through the portal to the other side. Gods help you all.

  Sucking in the cold night air, Cas struggled to control his thundering heart. He caught the scent of sandalwood just before he heard a raspy voice: "You won't spare a word for your friend?"

  Cas's shoulders tensed. Friend? More like betrayer. He'd believed Mirceo would intercede with his uncle. Instead, the spoiled prince must've told the assassin how to find Cas.

  Trehan had descended upon Abaddon the same night Cas had fled Dacia.

  Mirceo joined him at the fence, gazing out over the portal. "I can't believe you fractured a stone demon. I always loved to watch you fight--when I wasn't battling by your side--but what you just did was spectacular."

  Before the fight, Cas had been lost in thought, wondering why he felt no satisfaction with his life. He'd had coin in his pocket, a drink in hand, and a buxom brunette ready to go back to his lodgings here at the outpost. Life was good.

  So why wouldn't this emptiness in his chest ease?

  The female had been just his type--a comely demoness with generous curves and a submissive disposition, who'd be all too happy to let him dominate her. Yet Cas had felt zero anticipation for what he'd thought to experience.

  Life was good indeed--he'd worked his ass off to change his entire existence--so when would it feel good?

  Maybe when he'd reclaimed the honor he'd lost in the Iron Ring? Cas turned to Mirceo. "How did you find me here?"

  "I heard you were heading to the Plane of Lost Years--for some kind of self-inflicted punishment--and figured you'd stop at this outpost for a last lay."