I was born with Lucifer’s Sigil on the back of my neck.
Most people think that an upside-down crucifix is the sign of the Devil. They'd be wrong. Lucifer’s Sigil is much more intricate. Curling lines on a triangle.
Hell is made up of circles. Each one wound more tightly than the last. The dimension is a conical shape. The point is the First Circle. The birthplace of treachery. The ice castle of the King of the Damned.
I had never been human. I was born from Sin.
Lucifer took the wisps of the first betrayal of man and weaved them into my being. I became part of the fabric of Hell. I became an extension of the Devil.
Taking a sip of Sauvignon Blanc, I kneaded my temples with the balls of my fists. The dry white wine was to spite Luc. ‘A fuck you, you don’t know me anymore’ gesture. A childish and passive aggressive move than impacted only myself. Luc had left me red wine, so I deliberately drank the opposite.
I did not like white wine, but I had still instructed Simon to take me to The Connaught Bar in Mayfair so that I could drown my sorrows before going back to my Kensington home, alone. My metabolism ran too quickly for alcohol to influence my faculties, but the initial buzz was pleasant enough to take my mind from my trivial musings.
I thought back to the note that Luc had left on the wine bottle.
I touched my lips with the pads of my fingers and closed my eyes with a delicate sigh. If I concentrated, I could still feel the tingling sensation of Luc's kiss on the flesh under my tongue. The pressure of his fingers as he twisted my honey coloured hair around his wrist. The guiding pump of his pelvis as he fucked my mouth.
I shook my head and snorted. Somehow it always came back to sex with Luc.
We would scream and fight. Tear each other apart. Punish each other. But no one could make me feel as wanted. Even when he punished me for deceiving him, peeling off strip after strip of raw skin from my belly. Hanging the flaccid, damp flesh over my face. Watching the drops of crimson lifeforce trail across my skin like breadcrumbs. He would still touch my cheek with love. A soft touch. He was sick. Twisted. He was the Devil, after all.
His whispered words:
“Look what you’ve made me do, Pet.”
The white wine was a childish needling; going against Luc in my own immature way. I wondered if I was putting him behind me and moving on with my life, or if I was trying to get his attention.
I scoffed and brought the rim of my wine glass to my lips and paused. The skin on the back of my neck prickled with awareness. I was being watched. Taking a delicate sip, I pulled my magic inside of my body and briefly severed my connection to Hell. Not many Purebloods would attempt the action, but it made me appear human for all intents and purposes.
Whether I was being watched because of the uncomfortable sensation that my proximity caused ordinary people, or because I was being targeted, I had not a clue. If someone were searching for a creature of Hell, they would never know it by looking at me.
The sound of expensive leather shoes approached on my left, and the bar stool glided out to meet my new drinking companion. I placed my empty glass back on the edge of the bar and signalled for the bartender to bring me another.
The Connaught Bar was one of the most luxurious drinking establishments in Mayfair, a cesspool of the rich and the corrupt. I thrived when I was around betrayal and deceit. Poverty tended to bring out strong bindings of Loyalty in people. I found that money did the opposite.
“Can I buy you a drink?” A smooth melodic male voice asked. I allowed my eyes to flick over to the stranger who sat with the kind of confidence that can only come with immortality.
Auburn hair. A bit wild. But the thing that drew me to the man was the indentation of a scar than ran from the edge of his right eye until the curve of his smirk.
He had lips that I could bite.
Not that I would. Unless he asked me to.
He was an Incubus. A sex daemon.
I wanted to laugh in his face and tell him that he would not find a meal inside of my Victoria Secret knickers, but decided against it. I nodded stiffly and silently and turned back to the bar in time to see the Bartender bring over my wine.
The incubus slid over a Black Amex card, and when he caught me looking at it, he flashed a contrite grin. He must have expected me to be impressed. I might have been if my Chanel clutch did not have the exact same credit card inside of it.
“Samuel Rose,” The man introduced himself, his eyes were the colour of the forest and flashed with mischief.
I cocked my head to the side, in a movement that only Purebloods seemed to favour, I had noticed. I saw that it was akin to that of a Bird of Prey about to devour its meal. Samuel’s expression did not falter, and I quickly realised that my potential suitor had no inclination of my true power.
Samuel Rose did not know me as Luc’s Dahlia. He was not aware that I was ‘the Pet of the Devil’ or the ‘Soul Broker’. Or even 'The Queen of the First Circle’.
A smile lit up my face, a bright contrast from the cold indignation that had graced my expression earlier.
My internal turmoil had not been missed by the incubus, but his gaze was languid as he perused my body like it was for sale.
“Dahlia Clark,” I smiled demurely and held out my hand.
Samuel gripped my fingers delicately and placed a kiss on top of my knuckles. I felt the dark tendrils of his magic sift through my skin and amplify any lust that may have burned within me.
Contrary to belief, Incubi are not rapists. Samuel could enhance his natural attraction, but he could not force his will into someone’s mind and take away their ability to say no.
That was a Pureblooded trait. Although the Satanist’s Bible is very particular about consent, not many people knew that.
“Do you work in the City?” Samuel asked, taking in my fitted silk blouse and pencil skirt.
I crooked a brow and in turn surveyed his own outfit. His white shirt was form fitting but it was not formal.
“I take it that you don’t?” I quipped, allowing my gaze to hover on the way that his abdominal muscles were scantily visible through the fabric.
“What do you do?” The corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk. He was enjoying our verbal sparring it seemed.
“I’m a Broker,” I said, remaining honest. “And you?”
“I own a few bars in the city.”
“I thought so.” I took a long sip of my wine and allowed the floral notes to play across my tongue. Revelling in the silence, as I often did, to encourage people to talk beyond would they would typically share. Samuel must have been well versed in psychology because he did not seem to fall into my trap.
“What makes you say that?” Samuel cocked his head to the side, his expression was cocky. Arrogant. I guess that if you have a hundred percent success rate with the fairer sex, it would be enough to make anyone big headed.
“You look like the type.” I hedged, keeping my eyes on the mirror behind the bar. I couldn’t very well say that most Incubi that I knew had their fingers in the London Bar scene. It would have been uncouth, considering that I was pretending to be human.
“Do I? What were the clues?” Samuel laughed softly.
“Oh, I couldn’t tell you,” Was I flirting? “Just a feeling.”
“You’re an enigma, Dahlia Clark,” Samuel leant forward and tucked a strand of my honey blonde hair behind my ear. I felt his knuckles brush against the side of my cheek. His breath tickled the shell of my ear. “I would very much like to become further acquainted with that devilish mouth of yours,” Samuel’s hand slipped into mine, and before I had a chance to blink, he had slid from his bar stool and had left me alone.
I looked down to my manicured hand. Samuel Rose had given me his hotel key card.
I ordered another glass of wine and took my time to settle my bar tab. The plastic edges of the hotel key card dug into my skin as I internally debated whether to join the Incubus in his suite.
It had been a long time since I had allowed someone inside of my body. I did not feed on sex like Samuel did. I fed from Betrayal, Deceit and Treachery. Backstabbing was my source of entertainment and my most prevalent meal. If I surrounded myself with the rich and corrupt, my power would remain buoyant.
It had been a long time since I had feigned humanity and cut myself off from Hell. Even for a short while.
Maybe I could have some fun. A few hours where I would be whatever Samuel Rose saw me as instead of the obedient pet to a monster that had long since put me back on a dusty shelf. Never to be played with again.
My heels clicked against the ornate floor as I wandered to the elevator. I had never stayed at the Connaught before, and only frequented it for its immaculate bar area. What would be the point in procuring a room when I couldn’t physically sleep?
Swiping the key card, the lift automatically ascended to the top floor. Samuel Rose must have been fairly successful to have been able to pay the extortionate fees that came with the nightly hire of a room at the Connaught. Even I flinched at the price.
I loosened the fabric belt from my suede trench coat and pulled the antique jade clasp from my hair. I allowed my honey waves to fall until they reached their natural length at the middle of my back.
Licking my teeth and wiping my smallest finger under my eyes, just in case my Clinique mascara had gone for a walkabout, I sauntered to Samuel’s door.
Slowing my steps, I reached out to knock only to have the door open in my face.
Samuel’s white shirt was undone and the top of his sculpted chest was visible. I pulled my bottom lip in between my teeth.
“I don’t normally do this.” I admitted honestly.
“I do,” Samuel was brazen.
“I trust that I am in good hands then?” I smiled brightly, happy that he had told the truth even when my baser nature desired the opposite.
I reached out and allowed my fingers to touch the scar on his cheek. My caress was too tender for the situation and Samuel Rose gripped my wrist. He tugged me into the room and slammed the door behind me. He had tapered his strength and the action reminded me that he still thought that I was human.
I could live with that. I could be someone else for a little while.
My spine slammed against the door as Samuel used his knee to pry my stocking clad legs apart. He stepped in between my thighs, with his hands on my tiny waist and began to place hard and possessive kisses on the hollow of my throat. I gasped into the sensation and pulled his body flush against mine.
I allowed my hands to roam across the sculptured muscles of his back.
There was no pain. No master and slave. There was only desire.
“I plan to fuck you hard, Dahlia Clark.” Samuel breathed. “You will not be able to walk straight after I am through with you.” His confidence and the way that his smile only twitched on one side, making it crooked, reminded me of the Devil.
My hands wrapped around his neck as Samuel dipped his finger to my wetness and spread it around my clit in slow torturous circles. My head tilted back as I released a long breathy moan.
I retreated into my head, into the fantasy of Luc. Imagining the Devil above me, surrounding us with a sheet of platinum white hair as he pounded inside of me.
Jolting me from my fantasy, Samuel pinched the bundle of nerves between my thighs. I squealed as the sensation hovered on the perilous line between pleasure and pain. My eyes darted to his.
“Be with me,” Samuel hissed, he leant in and took my bottom lip between his teeth with a nip. “Don’t retreat inside of your mind.”
In a move that reminded me too much of the Devil for comfort, Samuel gripped my thigh and sheathed himself inside of me with a low groan. His eyes rolled back into his head as I felt myself stretch around his length.
For an incubus, I had expected more touching, fireworks and fancy frills. Instead, the motion of our bodies was animalistic. The sounds were guttural and low. Fierce as Samuel fucked with abandon.
My orgasm wracked through me until I saw stars. Samuel followed closely behind, his thrusts became erratic until he found sweet release inside of me.
His eyes flashed silver and the pale ice blue. I told myself it was a trick of the light, as my body succumbed to the aftershocks of my orgasm.