Dreamer (32 page)

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From Ann Mayburn’s series, The Chosen

Cursed

Chapter
One

Carmella Ramirez ran a hand over her crimson silk-covered
curves and smiled enticingly at the man following her down the alley in the
dirty heat of Rio de Janeiro. Her innocent soul slept, blissfully unaware of
the murder her body was about to commit. Sure the sinner would follow her, she
walked faster down the alley with a little wiggle in her step.

“Hold on, baby.” The portly American tourist wiped the sweat
streaming down his face out of his eyes with a red handkerchief. “You gotta
give me a chance to catch up to that fine Brazilian ass of yours.”

The succubus using Carmella's body paused and spun on her
six-inch black stiletto heel without even the slightest sway of the
icepick-thin point. A woman would have been immediately suspicious of anyone
who could skip without a wince down a dark alley in her shoes. She could easily
read the tourist’s mind, and he thought her ability to walk down the
cobblestone alley in heels high enough to give a hooker a nose bleed was merely
a reflection of the sensuality that seemed to hang about the stunning brunette
like a cloud of expensive perfume.

Dropping her voice to a soft purr, she gave him a smile that
sent a tasty wave of lust her way. “It's just a little farther.” She stalked
over to him and ran her slim, bronze fingers through his thinning hair.
Pressing her hips against his, she gave a thrusting gyration that made him
gasp. With a soft breath, she murmured, “I can't wait to show you this club. It
is going to blow your mind.”

He panted against her then popped a mint-scented antacid
into his mouth. “I'm not so sure about this. I don't even speak Mexican.”

The succubus tried to keep from rolling her eyes. He had to
come of his own free will, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t stack the odds in
her favor. “Don't worry. I'll take good care of you.” She searched the man's
mind for his hidden desires and found the right words to say in order to get
him to follow her. “I've never told anyone this…” She traced the man's lips
with the fingertips of the stolen mortal body. “But I've always wanted to dress
up like a pirate and be punished for my wicked deeds. If you come to the club
with me, we could play with their toys. Floggers, canes, maybe a strap to make
my ass burn before you fuck me.”

The pulse in his temple throbbed in a rapid beat, and the
succubus hoped he didn't keel over right here. His soul was exactly what they
needed tonight. Young and newly married, this pitiful man repeatedly defiled
his sacred covenant to his wife with whores during his business trips.

“Have you…” The man licked his lips and groped her ass like
a pillow in need of fluffing. “Have you been a naughty girl?”

He went to kiss her, tongue first, and she spun away from
him with a giggle. “Let's hurry. I don't want all the equipment to be gone by
the time we get there.”

Heels clicking against the cobble stones, she moved deeper
into the alley and stopped below a small white neon sign depicting two dice
hanging over a black-painted door. A couple enormous garbage bins piled with
boxes blocked the view to the street. His hands found her ass again as she
knocked an elaborate rhythm on the door. The magical warding on the entrance
repulsed her, but the lust and passion it protected made her want to tear the
steel down with her bare hands. She could shred the metal as easily as soft
cheese if it wasn’t for the wards embedded into the building. Fucking magicians
were always spoiling her fun.

The heavy, black metal door swung open, and desire poured
out in visible waves that the succubus bathed in with a shudder. To her lust
was a cool, delicious drink of power that she craved. She ignored the muffled
scream of the man next to her as two brawny men wearing leather masks grabbed
him and forced him into the bar. One of them immediately broke the man’s right
ring finger while the other cut his earlobe off, making the man squeal like a
pig.

The warmth of pain and pleasure made her sigh, and she held
her hands out to the doorway, absorbing the lust coming from the busy interior.
She wanted to wallow in the orgy covering the floor of the bar. She wanted to
throw this body to the pleasure of anyone who would have it, to drink in the
lust, to suck every human inside dry of their passion. It would be enough to
sustain her for months and give her the power she required to escape her
summoner.

Anger at being denied what she needed by mere humans pushed
aside what little reason the succubus had been born with. She was a creature of
pure hunger and need, and being denied the feast before her drove her mad with
rage. Starvation made her ravenous to fill the never ending void in her damned
soul and she fought the bindings securing her to the magician’s will.

She began to chant in a foul language damned by the gods of
Creation, the words falling from her lips like drops of poison rain. The
bouncer yelled in panic over his shoulder, sweat springing out on his brow and
rolling down his sunken cheeks. A tall man with dark hair and scars covering
his hands pushed a blonde with the body of a porn star off his lap. Against the
back wall, the fat American continued to beg and scream as he was shackled and
hoisted to dangle from the ceiling. Anticipation shuddered through the succubus
as a priest of the demonic god, Guaricana, selected a black leather whip with
razor blades at the tip.

The tall man shouted something, grabbing his black cane from
the top of the glass and metal bar, and sprinted to stand next to the bouncer
as the warding shuddered beneath the succubus's curse.

“I command you to stop,” he growled out and held the
succubus's gaze. An angry hiss like a hive of bees swarmed from her slender
throat. The bouncer quivered in fear, but the tall man looked bored, despite
the slight tremble to his hands. He was her summoner, and as such, his word
bound her as long as she accepted the body he offered. A sneer lifted his lip.
“The sun will be up soon. You must return the body to her bed.”

She fought against the power of his command. “Please, just
let me inside for a moment. I’ll be good.” The distress in her voice was real.
To be denied that much lust was painful for a succubus, akin to denying a
heroin addict a mixing bowl full of the drug.

The man narrowed his eyes. “Do you think I believe for a
second that you won't fuck everything that touches you?”

The succubus walked backward, fighting his order every step
of the way. “I
need
!”
She tried to explain and held her hands out in a
pleading gesture as she begged him to understand the unrelenting hunger.

“And I need you in that body.” He began to shut the door in
her face then paused and studied her. “Listen to me well, succubus. I forbid
you from taking any sexual release with this body. I forbid you from doing
anything that would endanger the virginity of your stolen form. You will return
your host to her apartment, and then you will depart the earth immediately
until I summon you again. Do you understand my orders?”

“Yes.”

He sneered at her and she wanted to rip his lips off and
make him eat them. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Master,” she whispered and turned without another
word.

Once out of sight, she fisted her
hands and allowed the command to carry her back to the limo waiting to take
this body back to its ghetto apartment. Her summoner would eventually slip up,
and when he did, she would beg her true master, Guaricana, to let her be the
one to devour his soul.

****

Sean Kalmus yawned while he scrolled through his email,
stopping when he saw a message from his patron god, Maponus. The Celtic god of
Music preferred modern technology for contacting his worshipers, and Sean
appreciated that. Nothing like a magical bird singing a message to you to put a
kink in your day while you waited in line at the grocery store. He took a gulp
of his now cold coffee and gave himself a mental shake.

Coordinating and packing for the trip to Rio had kept him up
all night, leaving him mentally and physically drained. Certainly not in the
best frame of mind for dealing with his god. With a sigh, he looked out the
window of his home in Ireland, wondering if he could sneak a nap in before
answering the email. Faint traces of dawn sent runners of pink over the dark
ocean beyond the bay windows of his study, reminding him that a new day had
already begun and his chance for rest had passed.

If he didn't read the email right away Maponus had been
known to send singing chinchilla telegrams while Sean was trying to have an
intimate moment with a pretty girl. His patron god had a weird sense of humor,
one of the reasons why they got along so well.

Running his hand through his dark auburn hair hard enough to
pull out a few strands, he clicked the email and began to read.

My Chosen,

I have work for you while you're in Brazil.
There is a young woman in need of rescue, though she does not know it. You will
be in a unique position to help her. She's the first flower of spring, hidden
by the snow. Be careful. A High Priest of Guaricana has been using her as his
stalking-horse.

Maponus

After reading the letter twice, Sean did a
search on the Internet for Guaricana
. A Brazilian devil who is worshiped by
whipping young men until the blood flows.

He spun his chair around to face an empty room and threw his
hands in the air. “Awesome. Just fucking fantastic. Not only do I have to DJ
for the Carnival parade this year, I also get to lock horns with a devil fond
of S&M.”

With a sigh, he picked up the phone and called Kell, his
best friend and crew chief.

“Hello, Sean,” Kell said in a raspy voice. “There had better
be a good reason you're calling me only…fifteen minutes after I've finally
gotten to bed.”

“I'm sorry, but I got a little love note from Maponus.”

A light clicking on and sheets rustling came over the phone
line. “What does Maponus want?” Kell asked, sounding a lot more awake now.

Leaning back into his dark leather chair, Sean looked out
the window to watch the dawn breaking over the Celtic Sea. It was a beautiful
sight, the meeting of land and water, but he barely saw it. Instead, his
sleep-deprived mind was trying to figure out Maponus’ message. He pushed
himself out of the comfortable chair and walked over to the wide bay window,
gazing into the dawn tinting the dark sky with purple and gray light.

Sean's gaze followed the roll of the ocean beyond his
cottage. “Well, besides bringing over a crew of fifteen musicians and dancers,
coordinating with twenty-four samba clubs, doing a charity DJ event, trying to
make the locals understand our heavily accented English—”

“Don't forget romancing a few of those delicious Brazilian
lasses.” He chuckled then made a harsh grunt. In the background, Sean could
hear Mary, Kell's wife, giving him an earful of what would happen to him if he
so much as bumped into one of those women.

“Tell Mary I'll keep you out of trouble.” Sean laughed. “So,
in addition to all that, I also have to find a woman who is 'the first flower
of spring' and save her from some Brazilian destruction god who likes to whip
young men until the blood flows.”

“First flower of spring. Sounds like Maponus' usual vague
description. Doesn't seem too bad, except for the demon with a whip part.” Kell
sighed tiredly. “Well, my friend, I suggest you get some sleep. Regardless of
what our god has in store for you, we still have a twelve-hour flight from
Dublin to Rio this afternoon.”

“I know, I know. Thank you, Kell. Give Mary a kiss for me.”

Sean tossed the phone onto his computer chair then strode
over to the floor-to-ceiling dark walnut shelves that dominated the north wall.
It was filled with all kinds of books, from dog-eared paperbacks to enormous
leather-bound volumes. Reaching up, he pulled down a four-foot black metal case
from the top shelf with a soft grunt. After setting it down on a small table
next to his reading chair, he briefly ran his fingertips over the scrollwork on
the case, memories of wielding this sword countless times spilling through his
head in a riot of blood and screams. Whistling a complicated tune, he removed
the protection spell from around the case and flipped it open.

Inside, a long and beautifully crafted sword shone on its
bed of dark green velvet. A simple silver ring pommel adorned the blade, and
the guard was a sinuous curve of gleaming metal. The sword itself was long and
razor-sharp, with runes and music notes etched into its length. It was a work
of art by one of the greatest bladesmiths that Ireland had ever produced,
handed down through six generations of Maponus’ Chosen and, by some twist of
fate, ending up in his care.

Sean stood there for a long time, memories of haphazardly
swinging this sword as a green youth playing out in his mind. How eager he had
been when the Celtic god of Music had picked him as his Chosen Hand on Earth.
Maponus had gifted Sean with the ability to enhance his music into magic. Sean
could bring joy to any heart with a simple melody or heal a wounded body and
spirit with a song. He could also break bones, rend flesh, and destroy souls
with his music, but he preferred to use it for positive actions.