Bloodbath Page 2

  I advance cautiously, wary of any other presences in the apartment. I pick my way across the floor, stepping into gaps between papers and books and trash. Two of my comic books are splayed open just centimeters away from a soda spill; I snatch them both up and deposit them on my desk, which has also been knocked askew.

  “Hi honey, how was work?”

  My head snaps right, to the bedroom doorway. Lilith doesn’t even bother looking up at me, too preoccupied with the open book propped against her stomach as she lounges in my bed.

  She looks almost exactly as she did the last time I saw her. The light coming in through the window reflects golden off her deep brown skin, highlighting her rounded facial features framed in a distinct heart shape by full cheeks and a widow’s peak. Thick coils of black hair tumble over my pillows, obscuring one completely. Her usual attire—a little white shift dress, simple and thin enough that it could be a nightgown—has been replaced by one of my T-shirts, a worn gray one with a print of Snoopy and Woodstock doing a jig. It’s two sizes too big for me, but on her it clings as tightly as a nylon stocking. She has one leg stretched forward and the other bent at the knee so that the shirt bunches up, showing off the tough, black pads of her leonine feet and her equally leonine tail flicking lazily over the edge of the bed.

  My closet doors are gaping open, and the clothes inside have been relocated to the floor and bed. The bedside drawers have also been emptied, and their rather personal contents are strewn all over the rumpled sheets. Godsdammit.

  “I like your taste,” Lilith says, keeping one hand on the book as she reaches to her side, picking up an 11-inch-long, wrist-thick hunk of silicone somehow masquerading as a dildo. I feel blood rush to my face and straighten up.

  “That was a joke gift. From my sister.”

  “But you still keep it in the bedside drawer with all your other knickknacks.” She tosses the dildo and picks up one of the knickknacks in question, a pair of metal handcuffs. Its cheerful jingling seems to win her attention away from the book; she turns her head to peer at the cuffs more closely, brings them to her nose and sniffs—then she sticks out her forked tongue and licks the ring of metal. The resulting grin literally splits her face in half. “Oh wow, these have seen some action.” Her amber eyes flash wickedly in my direction. “You really gonna tell me they’re a ‘joke gift’ too?”

  “Give me that.” I stalk over to the side of the bed and snatch the handcuffs out of Lilith’s hand. The drawer of the nearby bedside table has been ejected altogether; I kneel to fit it back into its slot, then drop the cuffs in. Belatedly, I realize how fast my heart has been beating. The scar on my stomach tingles under my shirt.

  “Why’d you have to trash my apartment?” I complain as loudly as I can, forcing a scowl.

  “I didn’t trash it. I just wanted to get to know you better.”

  “Wanted to what?” I whip my head around to stare at Lilith. My incredulity is strong enough to mask my apprehension, at least for now.

  “Yeah, you humans keep the weirdest stuff around your homes. You’re actually one of the boring ones. Sure, you’ve got some good food, but your diaries are pretty lame. Really, I thought you’d have put at least a little more effort into my description.” She retrieves a black, leather-bound notebook from under the pillow behind her, then chucks it at my head. I barely manage to catch it, tripping over my own foot in the process and falling flat on my ass. She continues talking as though nothing happened, closing the book still in her hands and tapping the cover with a finger. “Good thing you’ve got some actual quality reading around.”

  I squint at the book. It’s a small but thick paperback, with an orange-red cover prominently featuring the silhouette of a pirate ship.

  “The Pirate’s Mistress? Really? Of all the books in this apartment you could have chosen, you went with the one that promotes Stockholm Syndrome?”

  Lilith reopens the book and looks at me with a quizzical expression. “You’re the one who bought it, aren’t you?”

  “Well, yeah, of course I did. Lesbian fiction is hard enough to come by as it is, at some point you start hoarding everything no matter the quality.” It takes me a moment to realize I’ve veered completely off topic. I scramble to my feet, brandishing my diary. “That was written for public consumption—this wasn’t. Damn it Lilith, stop breaking into my apartment!”

  At six feet, I like to think I cut an impressive figure. Lilith apparently disagrees. She grins up at me, showing every single one of her pointed, ivory teeth, and says, “Make me.”

  “I am making you!” I shout. My neighbors wont like it, but I’m too frustrated at the moment to care. “I’ve got wards around this entire building, you’re the one who keeps getting past them!”

  She sticks her tongue out and flicks it impishly. “Well then, looks like you’re just going to have to get used to having me around, won’t you?” She shifts her legs, letting them fall open for the briefest second. There isn’t a scrap of underwear to be seen.

  The temperature in the room skyrockets. The heat goes straight to my head, then rushes down to—other places. There’s no way Lilith missed that.

  She didn’t. She bursts into laughter, rocking back and forth and making the bed shriek along with her. “Oh, Witchy, you’re so easy!” Even Snoopy simpers in agreement from his vantage point on her chest.

  I turn and do my best to storm angrily out of the room. I slam my diary onto my desk, and the resulting whump isn’t as satisfying as I expect. This is the second time today I’ve had to deal with an attractive woman laughing obnoxiously at me. Maybe this is a sign that I need to keep better company.

  Speaking of Joy, she did tell me to “find a nice girl.” Did she predict…? No, no way. Lilith is anything but nice.

  “Mess with me all you want,” I call, “but we both know this isn’t going anywhere. Council’s got a pretty big stick up their ass about ‘personal intimacy’ with demons.”

  I hear Lilith blowing a raspberry. “Boo, the Council’s just a bunch of old pricks who want to spoil everyone else’s fun. Diddling demons isn’t even a sin.” A thoughtful pause. “…Not a damnable one, anyway.”

  Lilith goes silent after that. I glance over my shoulder to see that she’s engrossed in her book again. I sigh quietly and start picking up the books and papers on the floor.

  Something compels me to look at Lilith again. Her quiet presence in the bedroom isn’t actually that horrible—when she’s not intentionally aggravating me, that is. Every once in a while her tail flicks, or she idly curls her toes. Other than that, the apartment is so still that the rustle of her flipping a page is almost startlingly loud.

  She’s right about demon sex not being a damnable sin. Even the Council doesn’t have written laws restricting physical relations with Hell’s denizens; it’s just the principle of the thing. I raise my hand to my throat and trace the furrows of angry, raised flesh with my thumb. The Council’s labeled both necromancy and demon blood magic as unlawful for good reason, but that didn’t stop twenty-two-year-old me from attempting both at the same time.

  …It’s been a while since my last bar-bathroom hookup. And it’s been even longer since my last relationship. I’d needed time alone to recalibrate. Wean myself off the hard liquor, quit trailing dominant women from party to party like a lost puppy. I’m not like that anymore. I’m in full control of my life, even if that sometimes means lying face-down on the floor with wads of unpaid bills crumpled around my head. I’m an adult blood witch with five years of a pretty intense apprenticeship under my belt, plus another year of shaky-yet-effective freelancing that’s a bitch to put on my tax forms. I told myself I’d get my shit together, and I got my shit together.

  So, just for once… can’t I let loose?

  I take off my coat and round the desk to drape it over the back of my chair. I undo my tie as well and wind it into a loose roll, laying the smooth, crimson fabric on my desk. Strands of dark, straight hair stray from the loose ponytail at the back
of my neck; I push them out of my face and tuck them behind my ears. I pop a few buttons as I return to the bedroom doorway.

  “Okay.”

  Lilith looks up from her book. “Hmm?”

  “I said okay, let’s fuck.”

  Lilith stops blinking altogether. She stares at me, completely rigid, even her tail locked into a horizontal line extending off the side of the bed.

  Then The Pirate’s Mistress goes sailing toward the far wall. A second before it hits, Lilith has the front of my shirt in an iron grip. She spins me around like a ballroom dancer, dropping the both of us onto the bed with a chorus of screaming bedsprings. As she straddles me, her bare legs seem to scorch me even through my slacks. I rise to kiss her—she pushes me down, hard. I’m still trying to get my breath back when she crushes her lips against mine, driving me back into the pillows. I get the message: stay down.

  She does allow my hands on her thighs though. As she devours my mouth—hello, forked tongue—I slide my palms over her velvety skin. She feels hot, almost feverish by human standards. I squeeze lightly, just enough to marvel at the plush softness.

  Lilith breaks the kiss as suddenly as she started it, sits up, and tears open my white collar shirt. I shout in surprise and mild protest as she inflicts the same damage to my bra, but my voice dries up in my throat when she grazes my collarbone with the tips of her nails. She trails her fingers downward until she reaches the beginning of the sigil she left on me, just below the shallow valley between my breasts.

  She openly admires her own handiwork on my skin, wearing a smug, self-satisfied smile that makes her eyes gleam like doubloons. She traces her finger along the path of pink, shiny scar tissue, as though reliving the moments in which she inflicted it. The ghost of that past pain returns to me as well, making me shiver.

  Lilith inspects the scar with an almost loving gaze, humming her satisfaction. Then she straightens up and grabs the hem of her—my—shirt, wrinkling Snoopy’s happy mug. She pulls the whole thing up over her head.

  Gods. She’s gorgeous. My eyes trace the rolling lines of her body—the rounded slope of her shoulders, the dark peaks of her nipples surrounded by wide areolae, the generous swell of her stomach interrupted by the crease of her bellybutton. Paler, jagged stretch marks creep across the tops of her breasts and the shadowed underside of her belly, and I follow their downward path to a patch of thick, black curls. My mouth waters, and I swallow thickly.

  “See? Just like I said,” Lilith giggles, arching her back to enhance the view. “Easy.”

  “Are you complaining?” I reply hoarsely, tearing my eyes from her body to meet her gaze. My heart has stopped its jackrabbit pounding and is now beating slowly and steadily, but with more power in each THUD than a bass drum.

  “Nope.”

  She leans forward to rake her fingers through my hair, morphing her nails into sharp claws that scrape my scalp. She grips the back of my neck to half-guide, half-force me into a sitting position with my nose a centimeter from her collarbone. I drink in the scent of her, let it flood my senses and my thoughts. She smells like sidewalk flowerbeds in springtime, even sweeter for the way they surprise you when you thought the only things around were gasoline and gravel. I’m waxing poetic, aren’t I? I quit the sappy thoughts and put my lips and tongue to work, tasting a hint of salt at her throat and collarbones.

  I bend to reach her breasts with my mouth, lifting a hand at the same time. But my hand locks up, and a throb of pain reverberates down the length of my arm, starting from where Lilith has her fingers wrapped firmly around my wrist. My breath hitches in my throat. I look up to see Lilith staring down at me, her earlier smile faded into something unreadable.

  “Only your mouth. You don’t touch unless I let you.”

  I nod, still staring at her with wide eyes. Something in her voice makes my toes curl.

  She squeezes my wrist one more time. The pain travels lightning-quick down my spine to the juncture of my thighs, and suddenly my nerves are singing. My next breath escapes as a whimper; Lilith’s hips shift ever so slightly to grind against me. She drops my arm almost negligently and fists her hands in my hair, pulling me to her breast.

  Her sighs of pleasure are oddly quiet, but I know she’s enjoying herself by the halting rise and fall of her chest, her tail curling possessively around my thigh. I latch onto her nipple and suck greedily, determined to get a proper moan out of her—ah, there we go. Success is followed by a rush of endorphins more addictive than any drug, and I respond with a needy groan of my own. She writhes against me, letting me intoxicate myself with the taste of her, the smell of her, for just a little longer before she shoves me down again and shifts her weight.

  I’ve made a lot of stupid decisions in my life, and I’ve definitely got the scars to show for it. Admittedly, there’s a distinct possibility that sleeping with a demon for kicks is another horribly, terribly, monumentally, mind-bogglingly idiotic decision.

  But right now, drunk on sensation with the heavy warmth of Lilith’s thighs bracketing my ears—I’m willing to risk it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Legs Closed, Case Open

  I’ve been contorting my body in front of the bathroom mirror for twenty minutes now, and I’m still finding new bruises.

  About half an hour ago, I woke up naked and alone in my bed, surrounded by a still-trashed apartment. Feeling sticky from all the fluids smeared on my skin, I stumbled into the bathroom to rinse off. Sure, I was sore, but I didn’t realize the full meaning of that until I stepped into a steaming hot shower with a washboard pattern of scabbed scratches on my back.

  The entire building must have heard me yelp.

  After extensive inspection, I’ve concluded that only my knees and elbows are scraped up enough to need bandaging. I can make do with aloe gel for the rest of my injuries—though it’ll make my chafed nipples sting like a bitch. I poke gingerly at a series of purple, finger-shaped bruises on my waist, grunting at the dull throb that results. Then I twist around further and find the shaky imprint of a hand on my ass, along with a symmetrical duplicate on the other cheek. Sitting down is going to be Hell for a while. While the damage done to my lower body is mostly from excessive groping, I’ve got some impressive hickeys blooming across my torso and shallow scratches on my back. The juncture of my neck and shoulder is a mess of bruises and tiny puncture marks arranged in the crescent shape of Lilith’s mouth.

  Turning my head from side to side, I compare the temporary injuries Lilith’s left on me to the permanent scar I inflicted on myself. The fluorescent light slides across my high cheekbones and elongated nose. Standing at a certain angle hides the neck scar altogether, and I can almost, almost pretend it doesn’t exist.

  Ah, wishful thinking.

  I throw on sweats and a tank top and pad into the living room, only to realize the mess from last night is still very much present. I check my books for food stains and return them to the shelves. The fallen armchair and lamp have thankfully left the floor intact, and the crowbar I keep under a seat cushion appears entirely untouched. The food crumbs and spills are more of a hassle; I put a wet dishrag over them and make vague scrubbing motions with my foot.

  In the bedroom, I gather my rumpled clothes into a nice, neat pile, then slam dunk the whole thing in the closet. My scattered sex toys are cleaned with tender loving care and a ten-percent bleach solution. I’m making the bed when I realize two of my belongings are missing: my Snoopy shirt and The Pirate’s Mistress. I can live without a pajama shirt and a crappy paperback, but it’s possible that the next time Lilith shows up with sticky fingers (innuendo intended), I might lose something more valuable. I have got to figure out how Lilith’s getting past my wards.

  But first, food. A long night of demonic finger-banging and an early morning of forced housekeeping makes for a Hungry Hungry Harry. I hop over the barest remains of a soup stain as I make my way to the fridge, heartened by the thought of sustenance. I think I’ve got one or two slices of leftover pizza,
and if I’m lucky I might have a carton of—

  Oh, right. Lilith ate everything. The growl of despair coming from my stomach is as poignant as any breakup song. I gaze forlornly at the empty, pristine shelves for a second longer, then sigh and get up.

  I dress myself in jeans, sneakers, and a striped sweater, then return to my desk for a coat. “Freaking annoying demon,” I grumble to myself as I shrug it on. “Could have at least left the ramen. I’m already low on food, she didn’t have to—” I freeze, my hand pressed against the hollow inner pocket where my wallet’s supposed to be. I paw at the rest of my pockets, sweep my hand over the seat of my chair, duck under the desk, lift up a stack of books—nothing. Son of a—did she really?

  “Fuck!” I shout, kicking the trashcan. Fucking annoying, obnoxious, selfish, asshole demon stole my wallet. How can an immortal agent of evil destruction be so petty? Apparently, trashing my apartment wasn’t enough—no, she just had to steal the sixty-two dollars in my wallet. Twelve dollars, actually, since I gave fifty to Joy for that card reading. Holy shit, that’s even pettier. What kind of—

  Joy. I gave fifty dollars to Joy for the Scrabble tile reading. I took out my wallet, in Joy’s parlor, to pay Joy for the reading. And I didn’t put it back in my coat.

  I swear I can hear a breeze rush through my empty head into one ear and out the other as I stand there like the biggest idiot. Gods, I’m such a loser. No wonder Lilith thinks it’s worthwhile to make a deal that hinges entirely upon my damning myself; I’m probably stupid enough to do it one day. Sobered up and flushed as a tomato, I right the toppled trashcan and pick up my cell phone. I’ve got a missed call and a couple text messages from Joy.

  hey hairy, u left ur wallet here. if this is an elaborate ruse to give me $$ its not working, + im insulted that u’d only give me $12. u can pick it up at 10, i’ll be up by then.