Base Instincts (15 page)

“So that’s a no.” Gunther shoved past Slake and threw open the front door. “Good luck with that, then. This saint of yours might be less understanding of your choice than I was.”

Slake watched Gunther go, a sick feeling settling in his gut. What if he was right?

His phone buzzed again, and with a harsh curse, he looked down. Abruptly, his heart skidded to a stop so hard his chest hurt.

The message, from Dyre, flashed on the screen like a lightning bolt, shocking Slake through the device. He yelped and dropped it, but the words, two hours early, were seared into his mind.

Time’s up. Your soul is now mine.

Raze wasn’t looking forward to walking into an empty apartment. He’d lived with Fayle for over thirty years, and it was going to be weird to be there without her.

It would be good to be there without her. He still couldn’t believe she’d attached herself to him through a bond he hadn’t known about. The violation sat in his gut like an oil spill, making him feel . . . dirty.

Had Raze meant nothing to her? They’d never had a romantic relationship, but he’d thought their friendship had been based on respect and mutual need. Apparently, he’d been wrong about the respect part.

And now, after so many years of relying on her for survival, he was going to have to do what every normal, unmated Seminus demon had to do and dedicate a large portion of his time to finding females to fulfill his needs.

He dreaded the idea. He was so tired of being forced into survival mode. Slake had made him feel alive for the first time since he’d gone through his transition so many years ago, and if Raze could truly be with the guy . . .

He shook his head as he climbed the stairs to his apartment, trying to clear it of thoughts he shouldn’t be having. Of hopes he shouldn’t be having. What if finding sexual release with Slake had been an anomaly that couldn’t be repeated? What if Slake didn’t want Raze?

Nope, he wasn’t going to get his hopes up.

He reached his apartment, but as he dug in his pocket for the keys Slake had included with the clothes he’d brought to the hospital, he went on high alert. There was sound coming from inside.

And the door was unlocked.

Stepping to the side and putting his back against the wall, he pushed the door open slowly, and noise from the TV grew louder. His first thought was that Fayle had returned, but almost instantly, he did a turnaround on that. She would rather pluck out her own eyes than watch
The Bachelor
.

Assuming that no burglar would break in to watch a mind-numbing TV show, he stepped inside . . . and sucked in a startled breath. Gods, he’d forgotten how damned gorgeous Slake was, the way his dark hair framed his deeply tanned face and curled around ears Raze had traced with his tongue.

His hands got clammy and his heart started doing a crazy flip, and he wondered if this was what a crush felt like. Was this rush of excitement and anxiety normal when the person you most wanted to see in the world was right in front of you?

He stared for a moment, taking in the magnificent sight of Slake as he sat on the couch, his leather-clad legs sprawled out in front of him as if he didn’t have a care in the world. But the dark shadows around his eyes and the grim set of his mouth told another story, and Raze’s excitement turned to concern.

Slake’s leather jacket creaked against the couch as he hit a button on the remote, muting some girl who was wailing about being cheated out of some highly desirable activity with the bachelor.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Slake said quietly. That voice. Raze had missed that deep, confident rumble.

He shut the door behind him. “Thanks to you.” An awkward silence stretched, until he finally added, “We need to talk.”

“I know.” Slake scrubbed his hand over his face. He looked exhausted. Pale. As if he was in pain. “What happened the other night? What happened to you?”

Raze’s stomach churned at the memory of what he’d done. “I’m sorry, Slake. You didn’t deserve—”

“Not that,” Slake said, sounding like a military drill instructor. Raze might have taken exception to being spoken to like that if he hadn’t found it so . . . sexy. “Don’t apologize again for what happened between us. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” His tone softened now, but it was no less sexy. “I’m talking about afterward. Why did you lose consciousness? Was it because of me? Because you aren’t supposed to be with males?”

Raze stared. Slake thought what happened was
his
fault? “No. I mean, Eidolon has a theory about that, but being with you shouldn’t have caused me to go into a coma.”

Slake glanced away but looked back up so fast Raze thought he might have imagined it. “What’s the theory?”

Raze kicked off his boots and padded into the living room, but he didn’t sit. He’d been in bed for three fucking days, and his body felt tight and wired, like he could run a triathlon and still have enough energy leftover to scale a mountain.

“Eidolon said that every member of your species is born female. Is that true?”

Slake went as rigid as the support beams in the apartment. He averted his gaze to stare at the TV as if hoping for advice from the current bachelor.

“Slake?”

Slake remained in his statue-like state, gazing at the TV with a faint hopelessness in his eyes that punched Raze in the heart. “Do you know my name?”

“Ah . . . I thought it was Slake.”

“That’s my last name. The one all my people use when they deal with outsiders. My first name is Damon.” He inhaled. Exhaled. “It used to be Damonia.”

Raze didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until his lungs started to burn. He let it out slowly, sensing this was a big deal to Slake. “Okay.”

Slake cut him a look, as if he expected more of a reaction. Or a worse one. Criminy, what kind of people did he usually hang around with?

“Eidolon is right. Mostly,” Slake said, almost tentatively. “Every once in a while, a Duosos is born male. He is celebrated and revered, believed to be kissed by the gods, and he’s inducted into the ruling royal class. All of our leaders are males who were born that way.”

“I’m guessing you . . . weren’t born male?”

There was a long silence, but Raze wasn’t going to push. He’d dealt with a lot of trauma during the years he’d worked at the hospital, and he knew it was always best to coax. It was safer to lure a hellhound into a trap than it was to push one in, as the saying went.

Finally, Slake said, “No. But it’s complicated. Females are . . .”

Slake trailed off, unable to believe he was about to discuss his species’s biggest secrets, and not because he’d held on to loyalty for his people . . . but because he hated thinking about them. Hated who his people were, hated how they lived, hated everything about them. He hadn’t thought about his past in decades, and now he was about to blow the lid off years of shame, humiliation, and hatred.

But this was just the beginning of his confession. When he was done, Raze would probably hate him. Not that it mattered. He’d lost ownership to his soul, and even now he could feel it growing dark, as Dyre’s influence began to infect it. He felt sick, as if he’d eaten something very, very wrong, and every now and then his organs seemed to twist together in an excruciating knot.

This could go on for days, and if he was one of the fortunate few, it could kill him.

But maybe Raze would do it first.

Raze stood a few feet away, the very model of patience. He was a good guy, a rarity in Slake’s world, and suddenly it felt wrong to contaminate him with his presence.

“I should go,” Slake said, but Raze moved to block his path before he could even stand.

“You came here for a reason. You’re safe here. You can tell me about your people.” Raze’s voice was deep. Smooth. Encouraging.

Gods, how long had it been since anyone had spoken to him like that?

“Females are . . .?” Raze prompted, and Slake hesitated for a moment before he figured he had nothing left to lose and relented.

“Females are raised to give males pleasure and be breeders,” he growled. His days as a female had been little more than a waiting game as he counted the days until he could choose to change his sex. “Somewhere between the age of twenty and thirty, females reach maturity and develop the Mark of Tiresias. At that point, we have a choice. Ignore the mark until it fades in about a year, or go on a long, dangerous journey into what loosely translates into the Plains of Carnage, drive a bone shard into our chests, and wake up male. That’s assuming you wake up at all. About half don’t.”

“Damn.” Raze whistled. “Life must really have sucked if you’d rather risk death than remain a female.”

Actually, life hadn’t sucked . . . yet. Females had a lot of freedom until they gained the mark. As Damonia, he’d been allowed to leave the community for short periods, to experience the outside world. Getting out into the normal demon and human worlds had been an eye-opening experience that showed him how backwards and cruel his people were.

It was also how he’d met Gunther.

Gunther had shown Damonia the beauty of mountains. The wonder of luxury ocean liners. The pleasure of sex. He’d treated Damonia like a queen.

But there had always been something missing. As a female, Slake had never felt overly feminine, had preferred sparring with weapons over spinning the wool of his people’s sharp-fanged demon sheep. It was said that females who humans called tomboys fared the best during the transition, so when he—as a she—had gained the Mark of Tiresias, he hadn’t hesitated to take the journey to the Plains of Carnage.

Well, he’d had one moment of doubt. He knew he’d lose Gunther. As a transitioned male, he’d be attracted to females. It had always been that way, and there was no reason to think he’d come out of his change any different. Besides, his relationship with Gunther would have been doomed anyway. No post-Mark of Tiresias female was ever allowed to leave the community.

Ever. Runaways were hunted down and executed in the public square.

“Slake?” Raze said softly, and he realized he’d been lost in the past. Which was a shitty place to be.

“Right.” He clenched his teeth as a series of cramps threatened to make him double over, and he swore he could hear Dyre cackle. When it passed, he hurried on, hoping Raze hadn’t noticed the slight pause. Or the fact that his hands were shaking. “Yeah, life kinda sucked. My species is extremely nonsocial. The only contact we have with the outside world is when we trade goods.”

“What kind of goods?” Raze frowned. “And are you okay? You look flushed.”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “To answer your question, the blood of post-Mark of Tiresias females can be used to create and enchant weapons to make them far more powerful than they would be otherwise. It’s part of why Duosos are isolationists; inside the clan, females give their blood willingly. But if a female fell into the wrong hands . . .”

“Yeah, I see the problem. But obviously, they let males out.”

He shook his head. “Males have a little more freedom. They can leave for business or supplies, but they have to live in the compound.”

“You don’t.”

“That’s because I burned down half the village and escaped.”

“Subtle,” Raze said, and Slake laughed. He loved how Raze’s laid-back demeanor put him at ease.

“Yeah, subtle. But I had to get away, and I needed a distraction. Once I realized that my gender had changed but my sexual preference hadn’t . . .” He shook his head, remembering how he’d been thrilled at first, because he’d still wanted Gunther. Unfortunately, the feeling hadn’t been mutual. “I had to go.”