In Pursuit of Prey: Of Gods and Consorts, Book 1 (3 page)

She reaches one hand up, hooks her fingers under my chin and guides my face forward.

Message received.
 

I nuzzle her neck, lips and a little teeth. Every nip elicits a quiver from her and a rise in the pressure against my fly. I groan and feel my breath slipping beneath her skimpy shirt. She grinds urgently against me, rocks her body until her breast is cupped in my hand.

She’s so hot, rocking in just the right rhythm to drive me mad, and I’m prey to it all. I couldn’t stop now, unless she wanted me to, and I know she won’t stop till she gets what she wants. Much more of this and I’m going to come and need a clean pair of jeans.

But, she’s not done, and neither is the song. One hand works free of my hair where she’d buried it, then she slides it between us. The need grows, and my cock hardens to an almost-painful insistence. She fondles me, a quick-slow grind with the music, and I ease my hand to the apex of her thighs and return the favor.

I’m so into her, I could drown in the moment. The high is better than any night onstage, any other tryst.
 

The music builds, her hand working my cock until the pressure has to blow or I’m going to lose my mind. Fighting it, I bite her shoulder, feeling her energy and heat rise. Her body twitches, muscles clench around my hand and by her moans, she’s getting what she’s giving when I come. Pleasure pumps through me in savage blasts, hot and sudden, and I groan against her shoulder.

The music fades, and I can’t untie myself from the knot I’ve made around her, despite the need for a change in the wardrobe room. She’s not ready to let go, either. We pull our hands from where they shouldn’t be in public, and she laces our fingers together when I turn her to face me. Cheeks pink, hair even more wild, eyes sparkling in the afterglow of what we’ve done—she’s sexier now, and I’m sure I look rumpled and spent. I cup her flushed cheek, trace my thumb along the full line of her bottom lip.

Her voice is a maddening mix of smoky sex and naughty-girl precocious when she whispers, “Sorry, but I never got your name…”

I can’t fight the grin curling my lips. Hand still on her cheek, I answer, “I’m Mace. And you are…?”

A laugh as gold as her eyes escapes her. “You can call me Goddess.”

I arch an eyebrow and use our twined fingers to lead her toward the dressing room.
 

“After a dance like that I think I can.” What kind of goddess, though? Her off-the-charts energy is beyond mortal. “But really, what’s your name?”

“If Goddess is unsuited to your mouth,” she quips, “you may call me whatever you wish.”

”These curves,” I say, sliding my fingers from her cheek to her collarbone, “are well suited to my mouth.” She bares her shoulder and the slight teeth marks I left there, and then winks. Damn if my mouth doesn’t water a little. “How about I call you ‘mine for the night’?”
 

I shouldn’t have said it, but something about this woman brings alive every lusty gene in my body. On a deeper level, I know the feeling isn’t anything Naami has ever brought to my bed or hers. The succubus takes, this “goddess” gives—herself, her power. I feel physically better, like I never took that damn deal with Naami and she never took weeks of my life.
 

“You would call me yours without knowing me?”

“Any woman who can make me feel like this…” I sigh and take the last couple steps down the little back hall, “is worthy of my every devotion… My goddess.”

“That,” she purrs, “is a good answer.”

Hand on the door handle, I say, “Can you gimme a minute? Then join me for a drink?”

She inclines her head. “Of course.”

Exhaling a breath, I duck into the dressing room. Part of me is screaming I’m a fucking idiot to leave a woman like that alone for a second. The rest of me can’t stand the feel of my pants anymore. My boots smack the cement floor as I hustle to my locked cabinet of clothes. Then, in the bathroom I clean up, pull on a clean pair of jeans and stuff today’s pair in my bag. I stow the bag in the bottom of the open-faced closet.

Her sexual energy smashes into me the minute I open the door. Even when I’m not touching her, I feel the flow cycling between us, bounced back and forth by our heartbeats.

Taking a play from her book, I offer her my hand. Heat builds between us, weaves us closer together when she threads her fingers through mine. I’m so tempted to stay in the hall, kiss her neck and see how far she’s willing to go. But if I don’t get back to the table, Jazz and crew will hound me to death.

She eases close, her curves brushing mine. We make our way through the dance floor and back to the table. The expression on Jazz’s face is enough to rile my Neanderthal side and tempt me to cuff the look off his face. One part shit-eating grin, one part absolute shock. I’m sure he’s floored I’m with a woman so gorgeous. He’s also proud as hell I did that on the dance floor. After years with him playing in my band, I know how the horndog thinks.

I pull out a stool for her, thinking somehow it’s a pathetic offer. Everything about her really screams “goddess”. Her stunner looks, the way she carries herself, the energy she puts off. I’ve learned very few people can feel that energy, but it licks up and down my skin, nibbles on my tattoos.

She eyes the stool and shrugs. “I’d rather stand.”

I nod and slide onto the seat instead. Turns out well for me—she sidles up, slides an arm around my back and presses her curves to me. Unable to resist the immense draw between us, I guide my hand down her spine and cup the gorgeous curve of her ass, fingers beneath the edge, close to her heat.

A knowing smile crooks Jazz’s smartass mouth. He had a perfect view of our dance. I stifle the desire to punch him in the face for thoughts I know he must be entertaining. My companion gracefully ignores Jazz, though—which of course will only makes him more interested in stirring something up.

Before I can even try to introduce them, Jeneva, skinny waitress and acolyte of Naami, inserts her negative energy into our little group. She eyes my companion like a cat unsheathing its claws.
 

“What can I getcha, hon?” never sounded more like
who the fuck is she?

A tick feathers the muscle of my jaw. I’m tempted to clench my teeth, but the “goddess” at my side mellows everything, even smothers the knowledge that I’ll face Naami’s reckoning for this. The lady with her hand on my thigh turns from the waitress and looks at me. “You may order me a beer.”

“A girl after my own heart,” I say, and give her a wink. Then I pass the order on to Jeneva, whose mouth falls open and painted eyes narrow before she leaves in a serious huff to fill it.

“I’m no girl,” my companion says softly, voice heavy with meaning. “And I’m after more than your heart.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” I warn. “You may not like what you get.”

Jazz laughs darkly. He knows what a broken string of relationships I’ve left in my wake. The urge to punch him rises again. Instead, I kick his chair underneath the table. The longest relationship I’ve had is with a succubus who’s draining the life out of me.
 

“So who’s the babe?” he asks, then gulps the rest of the beer in his bottle. “Another groupie?”

“Ha ha. I’m tempted to say ‘fuck you’, but you’d take it as an invitation.” I slide my hand up to her hip and curl her tighter to me. “We crashed past the name exchange stage.”

“I’d say.” His grin turns wolfy. “Wanna share, Mace?”

“Hell no.”
 

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” Jazz mutters.

Yes, I can
, I think.
 

Jeneva returns with two beers and a shot of tequila for Jazz. She never takes her eyes off the “goddess” at my side, even when she takes my money.
 

“Keep the change,” I tell her. Polite way of saying to get to stepping. Instead she leans closer, shifting her gaze to me, then back to the bombshell on my arm.
 

“You from outta town?”

“Yes.” One word, in a tone that says Jeneva isn’t worthy of more.

“Well.” The waitress turns so she’s not looking at me when she says, “Watch that one. He’s not good dating material.” Her way of trying to protect the claim Naami has staked on me.

The curvy blonde loses some of her humanness when she curls her lips into a smile and growls, exactly like a lion only somehow feminine. “Your opinion is of no consequence,” she says in a dead-even, threatening tone.

Huffing something about last call, Jeneva flees the table. The “goddess” turns in my arm, and says, “Is she attached to you? I won’t trifle with an attached man.”
 

“No. She’s just the friend of a woman I used to…date.”

“Good. Because I do not share, and I will not compete.”

“There is no competition,” I promise.

I cup her face in my hands. Heat and electricity thrum in her touch when she covers my hands with hers. How could this gorgeous woman think any common mortal could ever be competition for me? She gives me back what Naami took, she sets my soul spinning.

“We are quite a pair,” I say, voice just above a whisper.

“We are.” From her mouth, the words have the power of a binding, a proclamation, and I see in her eyes she believes it.

“Look,” I blurt, “it’s closing time, and I still don’t know your name. How am I gonna find you again?”

“You won’t.”

My eyebrows drop, I feel the weight of a frown suddenly very there over my eyes. I let it form. Screw Jazz, he can ride my ass for it later. “What do you mean, I won’t?”

“Just that,” she purrs. “You won’t. I will find you.”

She has. Now that we’ve forged such a hot burning bond, I doubt she could lose me. Still, the thought of not seeing her again, not tasting her sweat, cupping her curves… Torture.
 

“I’ve got something for you, then,” I say. “Something that might help you to find me.”

 
I stand on the supports of the barstool to rummage in my pocket. I know I had a pair in my other jeans, which are balled up and wanting a wash in the bag in the dressing room. Then in the back pocket I find what I’m looking for.

“Here.” I hand the slightly battered slip of paper to the “goddess”.

She scans it, her gaze running over the band’s name and information printed there.

“It’s a concert ticket,” I say. She’s more than human, ripping into this plane from somewhere else. Maybe she hasn’t been to a show. “Do they have concerts…where you’re from? I know it’s a small venue, but I thought maybe you could come and see me…”
 

“No,” she replies. “But I would love to come.”

“Awesome.” That stupid smile’s back, crinkling my cheeks, I can feel it. “The show will be right here. So, no searching if you’re new to the area.”

The night’s winding down and the clock on the wall confirms it. Then, right on cue, the DJ teases into the mic, “This is what she really looks like, guys.”

Normally, it’s a real eye-opener to see the woman you thought was a goddess and find you’ve been seeing her through beer goggles.

The house lights come on, as if the “goddess” brought them up with the power of her sexy smile. No alcohol clouding my vision or impairing my judgment. She’s the single most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
 

Bouncers start herding the patrons out the door. She laces her fingers in mine and follows a step behind. Her energies swirl, tickling across my tattoos, itching on my nerves. She’s so much more than these people see. I pause in the doorway, tug her back to me hard enough that her soft curves crash into my body, and my cock expresses interest in crashing back into her.
 

I can’t fight the husky, eager tone out of my voice when I say, “Do you have a place to go for the night?”

“Of course,” she purrs, fingers tracing my bottom lip. “Do not worry about me. I shall return to my Temple.”

“The Temple?” I decide to play along. We both know she cut time and space to be here. “Is that the new hotel on Third Street?”

“I didn’t pay attention to a street name,” she evades.

Of course not, I think. Besides, they don’t name back alleys around here.

“Okay, cool. Keeps me from stalking you and calling your room all night.” Which I’m sure I would do. I laugh, and so does Jazz, standing just outside the door, leaning on the wall beneath the neon Seduction sign.
 

She leans in, gazes locked as the shock of her lips brush mine. The jolt hits my heart, and I inhale her breath, taking her head in my hands and kissing her back. There’s no getting-acquainted moment—we’re way past that. She parts my lips, licks across my tongue. I bite her bottom lip. Then, she’s pulling away and taking her heat, leaving the connection.

That feline essence rolls through every step she takes, makes her ass rock in her jeans, a physical beckon to chase her.

Instead, when I reach my cocaine-white Chevy Nova, I wolf-whistle. She turns around, and I shout, “Nice ass!”

Her smile is feral.

And I like it.

Chapter Five

The Goddess

I know magick, and there’s something about Mace.