Sly by J. Hali Steele

Sly by J. Hali Steele

Sly

Hellacious, Book 1

by J. Hali Steele

Changeling Press

[ Demon Romance, MF ]

Waverly Malkuth has a premonition no human should be privy to — she witnessed her own death. It’s tearing her apart, filling her with anger and thoughts of vengeance that go against the grain of everything she knows. Giving in to the malevolence growing in her heart carries her into the arms of a man who can only hurry her journey down the deadly path she follows.

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Chapter One


Momma had a sense of humor. Said she named us after three of Daddy’s better traits — Sly, Slick, and Wicked. She called us hellacious sons-of-bitches and Sathariel was the demonic surname she tagged us with in his honor. We were the sons of Lucifer himself, and since mother had been human, we were permitted above, as were other unimportant demons who wreaked havoc on Earth and its inhabitants. It was in our blood to take absolute advantage of every glorious moment, even though a blast furnace of heat followed us everywhere. Still, nothing rivaled the fires of Hell. And unbeknownst to humans, cold was just as bad because Hell froze over each time some asshole muttered the fateful words, “’till Hell freezes over.” Never lasted long but it would be so fucking cold a demon’s nuts could crack.

Guess God had a sense of humor too.

* * *

Raucous music blared in the club, glasses clinked and people shouted over the din. Desire railed against Sly’s rib cage. Desire to unleash what he truly was, strip himself bare of the make-believe human image he wore and let loose the beast that ruled him. The hellish creature wanted nothing more than to crawl between big thighs and screw the brains out of the vision of loveliness dancing alone not far from where he stood. Pale, thin women didn’t excite Sly. He liked deep tanned, soft, curvaceous bodies with wide hips and ample breasts.

This one had it all.

Sly could barely contain himself as he watched her swivel and gyrate her ass in front of the stage where the DJ did his thing. Her raw scent, the smell of sweat and womanhood permeated the air, teasing his dick to a stiffness he couldn’t control — didn’t want to control. Horns and hooves wanted to burst through his skin, fingers wanted to reach into the pussy he’d sniffed for far too long now. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen her. She had been here each night he came to this particular club for the last month, and something about the woman kept drawing him back.

Oh, man, I want some.

Looking across the crowded bar, he caught his younger brother smiling.

Stay the fuck out of my head, Slick. This one’s mine.

Sly, born minutes before Slick, could best him most of the time, run circles around him when need be. But the firstborn triplet wouldn’t be so easily caught off guard. Sharpening his vision, careful not to let the red flames of Hell lick from his eyes, Sly searched the room for Wicked. He couldn’t feel him, no telltale smell of fire and brimstone that often preceded the eldest. Wick took anything he wanted when they walked on Earth, and it usually turned out to be something or someone his younger siblings had their eye on. Wicked skated on thin ice with the power below each time he used humans then tossed them aside as if they were old shoes never to be worn again.

Except with their father’s express permission, they didn’t kill.

Disturbing the balance between good and evil wasn’t allowed. What Wick left behind bordered on dead. Mere shells of men and women, afraid of their own shadows, bereft of the spark of life in their sad, vacant eyes. In that broken condition they held no appeal for Sly or others like him who slipped from below to cavort in their very own human playground. Wick was off somewhere, and if Sly knew his father, he’d concentrate all his energy in the older brother’s direction. Thank God, because he wanted this woman for as long as she could take his heated passion.

The club floor rolled as the earth rumbled beneath his feet, electricity blinked out, and the music came to a grinding halt. Shit. A few screams from those scared of the dark, shuffling feet, and cries of dismay from patrons trying to find the door. Lights blinked before flashing bright, music churned slowly to life, drawing sighs and hesitant laughter from the crowd as most returned to their tables, and others back to the dance floor.

Humans didn’t discern the small quake as a powerful warning to Sly.

“They don’t know where you come from or what a jackass you are.”

Sly spun around to see Wick’s glare of menace. No smell, not a sound, he was just there. “Hey, I was only thanking…”

“Say it again.” Wick’s lips pulled into a sardonic grin, his eyes became red molten pools. “You know Daddy hates that.”

“Shit! I was glad as hell you weren’t here.” Sly tilted his head as he stared at his older brother. “Since when doesn’t the smell of brimstone precede you?”

“Since Pops thinks I deserve more freedom.” Wicked winked. “He loosened his grip a little.”

“Until the next time you fuck up.”

His older brother shrugged. “You should try dipping your dick in something exciting now and then.”

“You’re a sick motherfucker.”

Wick laughed. “I know.”

Slick strode over and leaned toward Sly. “You want her that bad?” Three identical-looking men turned to watch the woman weave through tables on her way to the bar.

Short, dark waves hugged her scalp, darkly tanned mounds strained against the top of the little black dress. Brown eyes appeared unfazed by the mini quake Sly’s father had rattled through the club in anger at his thanking…

“Sly!” Slick pulled him from his reverie.

“Sorry.”

“Hmm, she is a pretty little thing.” Wick’s eyes no longer blared red.

“She’s not little.” Each brother stood close to six-feet-five with coal-black hair, broad shoulders and lean, rippling muscles. There wasn’t a woman on earth who could resist them when they turned on the charm. Their biggest attraction seemed to be their eyes. When they weren’t roiling with red heat, they were icy blue — totally out of sync with what they were.

“Mother had blue eyes,” whispered Slick.

“Shut up.” They didn’t move as she stopped a few tables short of where they stood to talk to a young man. Sly wanted to rip the dude’s heart out.

I can almost taste that pussy.

Sly’s chest swelled with air. He knew better than to start a fight with Wick, but he couldn’t help himself. “Don’t turn her into another of your playthings.”

“Why not? Her pain is flagrant.” He rubbed the front of his trousers. “Makes my cock hard.”

Sly didn’t have the elder triplet’s power but he could hold his own. Combing minds in the room for happy thoughts, he bundled them into an icy arrow, and blasted his brother’s heart. “Not this one.” Sly sent enough joyful noise into the devil’s firstborn to attract an avalanche of ice to the godly bliss he deposited there. Cold scorched any demon, but it carried deadly pain to Satan’s sons who survived on daddy’s heat. Wicked’s red eyes flashed blue for an instant.

As if nothing had happened, Wick slouched back against the bar. You’re growing stronger. He twisted toward the bartender and ordered a drink. “Shot of Rare Breed.” The bartender returned and placed the bourbon in front of Wick, who lifted the glass and drained every drop before speaking. “Do that again, Sly, I’ll rip your cock and balls off and send them to the frozen tundra of Neptune.” Twisting back to face the woman who continued to move in their direction, he added, “She’s damn short.”

“Fuck you.”

“You mean fuck her, right?”

“Are you talking to me?” Her voice was low, void of feeling.

“My brother, Sly, wants to fuck your brains out.”

“For hell’s sake, Wick.” Sly jerked toward the woman. “Forgive my brother, he’s rude.”

“Am I lying?”

Damn, Wick’s right, her ache is palpable. Makes me hungry. Slick pawed his genitals.

Enough! He didn’t need his younger brother’s two cents.

Her brown eyes carried a wretchedness humans would miss. Sly and his brothers didn’t. Her breasts rose up and down with each breath, and he couldn’t decide if it was anger or excitement. Something else rested deep in her dark pupils. Pain, utter loneliness… and fear. All three attracted creatures like him; it empowered them. Sly had no wish to draw on her emotions. Damnation. He swore silently at his thought of foregoing the use of any powers or magic on the woman.

Wick leaned over and whispered, “Sly, you’re a pussy.”

Identical triplets, the brothers were best friends and practically inseparable. Someone always had your back. The downside, someone always fucked around in your head. “Go to hell, Wicked.” Sly peered at her and wanted nothing more than to erase those shadows from her eyes, see the true woman beneath the hard veneer she presented to the world. “He’s not lying, but I would have come to that in a much different manner.” He extended his hand. “I’m Sly Sathariel.” Pointing out his brothers, he added, “Slick’s the youngest, Wicked, the oldest.”

Her small hand was cold, and empty laughter followed the smile curving full red lips as she stared at him. “Your brother is right, why not cut to the chase? Life is far too short, right?”

Who, or what, had caused such immense anguish, left her so damn wounded? A demon would have thrived on anger, sucked it from her, leaving her broken and without memory of ever feeling good or alive. Sly envisioned tearing the motherfucker limb from limb because the bastard who did this had not at least given her the solace of forgetfulness.

It wasn’t one of us. Wick’s words concerned him, but his brother should know, as he’d left far too many shells of life in his wake. Who or what else could make a human feel so… so lost and hopeless?

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“I’ve had enough, but you can take me to your place.”

Slick pushed into his thoughts. She’s afraid to go home. If his younger brother felt it, the power must be really great. Slick possessed his brother’s abilities, but not to their degree. And the bastard was just too damn good.

Sly couldn’t take the cacophony battering his mind. Stop, both of you. Monitoring Slick and Wicked took too much energy to concentrate, and everything they said he already knew. Her soul swirled with anger. She wanted to strike out, hurt someone.

He’d be her whipping boy. “You’re sure?” Sly sniffed the air. She didn’t notice because her brown gaze was glued to the front of his slacks. His swollen dick throbbed in anticipation of filling her pussy. The blatant fury, the anger blazing toward him, excited the demon inside, pulling it damn close to the surface.

Licking her lips, she swept a stray lock of hair from her face. “No strings?”

“No strings, no bullshit.” Without turning to his brothers, Sly said, “Catch you guys later.” He took her arm and guided her to the front door.

Mom would be proud.

Go fuck yourself, Wick.

Think I’ll pay Pops a visit.

Sly went weak in the knees but caught himself by grabbing the doorjamb.

She asked, “Are you okay?”

Never had he experienced Wick this afraid of anything, and he no longer felt his brothers’ essence, nor could he enter their minds. They’d already reached the bowels of Hell.

“Yeah, just tripped.” She’d shone a glimpse of genuine emotion and the air grew cold around Sly. “You never told me your name.”

“Waverly… Waverly Malkuth.”

Beautiful brown eyes gazed at him, touched his very soul. Sly exercised every ounce of control he could muster to remain still. Did she hear air expel from his lungs? If her surname was to be believed, he was exiting the bar with an integral part of the Tree of Life — and somehow, she didn’t know.

Son-of-a-fucking-bitch!

* * *

The loft had its own elevator, and it encompassed the entire thirteenth floor. Waverly stood in a spacious living room containing pricey antiques, four other doors, and another larger elevator that made a whirring noise before bumping to a stop. She waited, but the doors never opened. Sly ignored the sound, so Wave continued to examine her surroundings. Somewhat at odds with the old-world décor was a very modern entertainment center, topped by the biggest television she’d ever laid eyes on. A very large, dark red leather sofa facing the wall of windows looked comfortable. Maybe he’d allow her to crash there tonight.

Waverly Malkuth was afraid to go home.

Every night, for the last month, scenes of her death played out on the wall as though it were a moving picture show. Blood seeped through paint, stained her beautiful old wood when it dripped to the floor.

Each morning, it was gone.

The only time she’d shared her horror, the man she’d brought to her apartment after a date laughed, swore he saw no stains even when Waverly pointed them out by tracing the dried brown stripes with trembling fingers. He had his drink and left, calling her a crazy, whacked bitch for wasting his time. Wave saw them but no one else could. She believed the man who had picked her up in the bar would hear screams of death, see the blood if they went to her place for sex. But tonight Waverly was in his home, and a hard driving fuck was what she planned to use him for.

It was the only way to forget for a little while.

“Would you like a drink?”

Wave walked to where he stood in front of a half moon-shaped bar separating the kitchen and main room. “Later.”

Never had she been this anxious to be with a man.

She stroked the engorged cock she’d eyed earlier, trembling at the warmth beneath her hand. Usually, she settled for what amounted to a quickie, and spent the rest of the night conning her conquest into allowing her to spend the evening at his place. If she took him to hers, Waverly did whatever necessary to keep him there because it staved off the bloody picture show.

The gorgeous specimen in front of her bleeped on her radar weeks ago. Something about him, how he looked and carried himself as though he owned the world. Sly Sathariel had the same chiseled, dark, good looks and black, styled hair his brothers did. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, and long, muscular legs completed the finest packaging of manhood she’d ever seen. Funny, they had the same eyes, but, in the end, Sly’s captured her.

Ice-blue — and burning with the fires of Hell.

If any sense at all remained in her head, Wave would run as if chased by the devil himself. However, she understood beyond any doubt, she needed Sly Sathariel, not his brothers, to end the grisly picture show forever.

Never had Waverly been so afraid.

“You don’t waste time.” The sexy grin stirred an unfamiliar feeling in her heart.

She shook her head to clear it, to jog her mind into remembering why she stood where she did. “I don’t have much time.” Unzipping his pants, breath hitched in her throat when his cock dropped into view. “Uhh… umm…” Words couldn’t describe the length and thickness of Sly’s erection, or the heat it generated in her hand.

“Don’t stop now, sweetheart.” He used his hands to push Wave to her knees. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

No. Her mind said stop, walk away. Yet, listening to the logical voice in her head meant the horror would never end. “Yes.” Wave’s heart clamored for her to stay, to take what he offered.

Cum spurted enticingly from the tip, slipping over the broad crown. Swiping it with her tongue, she savored the taste. Sweet. Wave stopped after drawing just the cap into her mouth, licked, sucked, and nibbled the ridge surrounding his cock’s head. Deep throating Sly’s dick, making him come, became her greatest desire.

“Damn, honey, you know how to suck cock.”

He’d never know his was the only one she’d enjoyed this damn much.

Continuing to move her head back and forth, Waverly took inch after inch, in, out, constricting throat muscles to squeeze the cap. She released him and murmured, “I didn’t think you’d taste so fucking good.”

“You’ll taste a lot if you keep doing that.” She gripped his ass, the other hand she moved to tug his balls from his pants. He helped by easing his slacks down a little. “Squeeze my nuts. Do it hard.” Massaging, scratching his sac with her fingernails made him bump another inch of cock into Waverly’s mouth. Grabbing a handful of hair, he manipulated her head back and forth on his length, fed her more and more hard cock. “Shit, I’m gonna come in your mouth.”

Waverly quickened her pulls on his dick. Bobbing up and down, twisting her head, she mouthed all of him as she fondled his balls.

“Aww, shit, take it,” he roared as a stream of warm, musky cream splashed her throat. “Swallow it, baby, taste all of me.” He pumped his hips, driving his cock deep as he got off in her mouth. “Fuck!” Finished, Sly reached down, gripped her shoulders, and brought Wave to her feet. “Damn, you’re really something.”

When he hugged her close, his heart beat an erratic rhythm. It shook Waverly to her core when she felt her heart match his as it pounded against her rib cage.

Too late to end it now.

Gathering herself, Waverly said, “I drink gin, straight up.”

“The lady doesn’t play when she drinks.” He eased her from his arms and Sly’s smile sent her into a tailspin. His eyes, those cool ice-blue eyes, seemed to look straight into her soul. The way his expensive silk tee molded itself around lean muscles covering his abdomen sent a twinge of desire to the apex of her thighs, causing her to suck in a draft of air. Wave hadn’t felt anything like that in a long time, and she didn’t like it. Her purpose here required maintaining total control of her mind and body.

The latter had become a lost cause — he had taken control of her body.

Waverly decided on bluntness to regain ground. “Sly, right? Look, I don’t play. I drink hard, and party hard.” He stared into her eyes as she spoke. “And I fuck hard. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

The man gazed at her another moment. Zipping his pants, he rounded the counter. Sly didn’t make eye contact as he opened a bottle of gin and poured two drinks. As if to relieve tension, he rolled wide shoulders before he twisted and walked from behind the bar.

Using the time to check him out, Wave took in charcoal slacks that hung from slender hips, caressing his thighs like a second skin. Damn, without a wasted movement, he prowled like a lion, silent, and with deadly intent.

He reached her, handed a drink over, and then shrugged. “I wanted you. Whatever else comes with the package, I’m okay with it.” He sat his glass down.

“You don’t expect much, do you?”

“Not when I pick someone up in a bar.”

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