Pure & Sinful (Pure Souls) (17 page)

Fuck, he had to find her.

“Jesus!”

On the edge of hyperventilating, the hand that landed on his shoulder sent a shockwave of fret through him. Marc jolted. He all but leapt out of his skin when he turned, ready to hit something, and saw Riona looking at him disappointedly.

The music poured out from speakers directly overhead, too strong to hear anything she might have said, but as she overly-accentuated “blend in,” he got the point. Her body started a white man’s strut against the rhythm that tapped with forceful fingers on their skin. Marc had never really been the dancing type, but did his best to reflect her footing. When he stumbled, stepping on her foot after tenderizing his own, she gave him a crooked grin and moved closer. Dangerously closer. Close enough that he could smell the scent of perfume radiating from her heated skin and see that she had used three bobby pins behind her ear to hold her hair in all the right spots.

Marc backed away like she was a shot of tequila and he was in recovery. She wouldn’t accept it, only glared at him more sharply as a few curious heads turned to take in his imitation of a pine board. Riona grabbed his shirt and pulled it, circling his neck with her arm as she brought her body flush to his. When he didn’t move, but just stared at her wide-eyed and gap-mouthed, she used her other hand to reach out to his arms and draw it behind her. He tried to ignore the bliss that enveloped him as their bodies began to move in time with the bass.

The speed of the music slowed, and with it, the tempo of the crowd. Rabid bouncing diminished to a sultry fluidity. Marc could spot over Riona’s shoulder the immediate change in the environment. Distances between bodies disappeared. Hands washed over hips and mouths over necks in perfect time to the slow-driven, hypnotic beat. Marc was so enraptured with the view, his thoughts leaning dangerously erotic as visual stimuli bombarded him, that it took him a moment to realize how his sway and swing had begun mirroring every little sexy move Riona made against him like second nature.

Or primal nature, which seemed more appropriate.

Her knees bent as her body, too, began to swerve with the thick electronic chords, taking Marc along for the ride. The witch’s head kept switching out, left than right, surveying the crowd, looking for anyone suspicious. All Marc could do was look at her, and the delectable piece of flesh that his mouth could sink down over each time she stretched out her neck one way or another to get a better view.

He felt his body and his reluctance easing, and before he realized what was happening, the lead fell to him. His other hand circled around Riona’s back, and with both hands on her waist, he brought her hips in parallel with his. Riona’s head snapped back center when she felt his erection pushing against her, but she didn’t at all pull back, like he suspected she might. Instead, after the moment of surprise evaporated, she beamed at him with heavy-lidded eyes as she bit her bottom lip. Her eyes rolled back when Marc — he didn’t know if it was purposefully or instinctively — used his grasp to give an experimental grind against the area that was barely being covered by her miniskirt.

Riona’s arms circled around him as her head rested against his chest and one of her legs drew up, over his hip. He grabbed under her knee to steady her against him while using the closer proximity to move his other hand down her backside, before landing on the luscious ass he’d been blaming for his lack of resolve in confession for weeks. It was amazing how ideally tailored their bodies were for each other, as though the curve of her ass and the inside of his palm had been custom-fitted like a lid to a jar. He squeezed, and though he couldn’t hear it, he could feel Riona’s moan vibrate on his chest. They both stilled as her head pulled back just enough to look at him tenderly, expectantly.

He couldn’t deny what was now inevitable. He had to kiss her, had to taste her.

The moment their lips met, the bass kicked up and became pulsing, driving. Though the tempo stayed hypnotically languid, their movements did not. Her tongue, her lips, her breath… he was overwhelmed. And unsatisfied. And wanted more. Wanted it all. Wanted her, here, now, even with all these people around, even knowing he’d be doomed to Hell for claiming Riona as his own. He had to be near her, against her, beside her,
inside
h
er. NOW.

When he slammed her against an open spot on the wall, she didn’t complain. Her hands anchored on his shoulders as his hands slipped down to pull her legs up, letting his whistle that needed a good whetting, but burdened by a layer of denim and cotton briefs, rub against Riona’s all-too-ready wetness. Her legs wrapped around him as his hips pinned her in place.

Out from the bass of the speakers, the sound was less obstructive. He pulled back just a second to take in her expression, to make sure she wanted this too.

“Tell me no, Riona.” He didn’t know if he was commanding her or daring her. Or maybe it was his last ditch attempt to blame her for this, to leave the ball in her court and make the play hers to undertake.

Breathless and flushed, she looked at him curiously, her expression full of misunderstanding. With his eyes, he motioned to the imminent connection between them and asked permission.

Riona’s face exploded into acknowledgement. “Never,” she gasped.

Her head rolled to the side when he brought his mouth down on her neck and bit. His hand lowered to the place where they pulsed in harmony, as his fingers fumbled with his zipper before reaching out to move the slip of drenched silk from over her entrance.

How he wished he had her on his bed. He wanted to see that promised land, wanted to lay her flat on his mattress and let his kisses fall on her center, let his tongue explore her, flesh-to-flesh. Here in the club, all he had was sensation, carnal need. He longed for it all, he wanted to hear her call out his name as she gasped beneath him. Or on top of him, if that was the way she liked it. But he couldn’t stop, couldn’t slow down now. This was fate, it was destiny. He needed this. They
both
needed this. There was no point in denying that he wanted her. Oh, God, how he wanted her. If he thought she’d accept it, he’d tell her now. He’d tell her everything. Then he’d repeat it in his actions when he made love to her, over and over.

He could feel her wetness on his tip. Just one more moment, one little shift of his hips, one more sin, and he’d be inside her.

He’d be complete, and they’d both be damned.

Chapter 17

Persephone had a swagger that could choke a duck. All divinities were endowed with superhuman sexual appeal, even demigods and quarter-gods. The fourth generation out, things usually got a little more watered down. Brad Pitt made it work somehow. Still, it had been a while since Dee was in a god’s presence. The level of ogling and cat-calling his half-sister endured on the short walk from the bar, up a flight of interior stairs, and to her sound-proofed office that overlooked the swarms of clubbers below, threw him for a loop.

“What’s a matter, Dee?” Persephone asked as she closed the door behind them. “You seem uneasy in your own skin.”

He went to the picture window and perched there like a hawk on a telephone pole. The elevation provided the perfect vantage for surveillance — a feature no doubt specifically taken into consideration during construction — and he wasn’t about to be detoured from his purpose.

“You’ve been around a lot longer than me, but I wonder,” he answered without looking at her, “you ever get used to all the assholes and their comments?”

A pop and fizz was soon followed by Persephone pressing the chilled stem of a champagne flute into his hand as she joined him at the window. “It’s just another burden of the job, Dee. I just remind myself that they’re only human. Besides, up on the mountain, I’m just another pretty face among a sea of exterior perfection. That’s the down side of godly-good looks no one ever considers. After a while, we all look pretty plain to each other. But, no, I never mind being in the showcase, just as long as the glass stays up.” She took a sip before her expression turned circumspect. “So, have to say I’m surprised to see you here. What the hell you doing in a little backwater city like this?”

“Boston is hardly backwater.” He eyed her incredulously.

“Yeah, but it’s not Mumbai or Beijing. And it sure as hell isn’t Athens.” She took his chin in her hand and turned his face towards his. “I know you’re only a demigod, Dionysus, but you’re still divine and you’re still royal blood. Father would welcome you, if you ever wanted to sit on the mountain. Think of it: no more aging, no more sickness, no more struggles against demons or trying to pay the bills. No more need to regard petty human feelings and affairs.”

Taking a hard gulp of the champagne, he turned himself back to the window and pointed at the sea of people beneath, moving to music he couldn’t hear, living lives he could never live. “See, that’s the one that gets me. I like my petty human feelings and affairs. Life on the mountain sounds pretty sweet until you get to the part where you have to rip away that part of your ability to feel regret and shame. Shame reminds me that I’m not actually infallible. Something Dad, and quite frankly, a whole bunch of our family tree could do with being reminded of every so often.”

“Still not over what happened with Clare, then.”

Dee sidestepped her comment. “Listen, sis, if you’re so sold on the wonders of the mountain, what brought you down from Olympus? I thought you were a year-round resident ever since Hades lost the underworld and you didn’t have to winter in Hell anymore.”

“Just needed a change of scenery,” she answered, sighing. “You know, after a few centuries of blissful and beautiful, you need to expose yourself to the pulse of life again to remember why that all has any meaning. I’ll go back eventually. I just need to get away for a little while.”

“You and that bastard are on the outs again.” It was a conclusion, not a question.

Persephone clicked her tongue reproachfully. “That’s no way to talk about your uncle.”

“You’re right. There should have been a
fucking
before
bastard
. I
make exceptions of kindness when my asshole uncle is also my sister’s husband.” 

The Mt. Olympus family tree didn’t exactly grow up and out. Persephone sat on one of the incestuous branches that had been turned back in and wrapped around itself like a food court soft pretzel. She tried to explain to her half-brother that the ancients didn’t view these sort of intra-family pollinations the way modern folk did, but Dee didn’t buy that as an excuse for the status quo continuing to quo.

She sighed. “Hades is Hades, what can I say?”

“That you wised up and left the bastard for good. That you’re not just pulling another one of your temporary ‘I am woman, hear me roar’ shticks until he shows up with flowers and a box of candied ambrosia and sways you back,” Dee returned harshly. “But maybe that’s hoping for too much.”

Her eyes surveyed the bottom of the window pane. “You know I can’t do that. I’m obligated.”

“Yeah, everyone knows the story. Here’s the thing though, Steph. I don’t buy it. Why do you think I turned down the opportunity to rise to the mountain? Because it wasn’t worth the exchange. I loved Clare too much to give her up just so I could live forever. Because I knew that what I would be doing without her would be
dying
forever.”

Persephone’s eyes narrowed ruefully. “Well, I don’t see her here and now, so apparently that whole ‘I can’t live without her’ spiel of yours turned out to be crap.”

Dee’s head lashed from side-to-side. “I’ll be with her again someday.”

“Where?” his sister scoffed. “In Heaven? May I remind you, dead gods don’t go to Heaven.
He
h
as exclusive claims on that territory, and He doesn’t grant favors to our kind.”

“True, but I am half-human, and when I held Clare in my arms and in my heart, I was the closest thing to a man I’ll ever be. I have to just hope half-human is enough.” He tipped the last of his champagne into his mouth before concluding, “And if you had half a brain and a sliver of the heart you claim to have, you’d renounce your immortality too and beg for a conversion.”

“Never. I could never ask someone who loved me to sacrifice their own life for that to happen,” she stared down into her champagne. “I could never ask anyone to do for me what Clare did for you.”

“No, I guess you’re right. No one will ever love you like Clare loved me unless you can learn to value yourself first.” They stayed a moment in silence before Dee turned to her, getting back to the moment at hand. “Anyways, what’s going on here with your pest problem? How you so sure it’s something demonic?”

“Whatever it is doesn’t affect me, but for all the others, it gets worse as the night goes on.”

He shrugged. “Could just be all the alcohol building up.”

“No. I mean, yes, I’m sure some of it’s that. But this thing… It’s not just random people, and even the Red Bull devotees get sucked in. Dee, this is a night club on the edge of a college campus. Horny kids are just part of the package. But I have regulars who’ve been coming forever who don’t want anything, but to let off steam on the dance floor. They’re not the different-partner-every-night types. And out of nowhere they just … start screwing in every corner of the club, shooting up any drug they can lay their hands on, drinking to extremes that frighten even my liver… anything and everything. I stay on the floor for as long as I can take it, but I can barely last past ten anymore before it all becomes too much for me. It’s like being at home; everyone’s screwing everyone else and they don’t care what the ramifications are or who they hurt, even if they end up hurting themselves.”

A chord struck as Dee noticed the rhythm of the swinging bodies change below, of the way hands and arms and torsos were suddenly grinding up like the club was some sort of underworld flour mill.

“Good people have bad days, but they don’t en masse just toss their morality away like that. You’re right. Something demonic, making good ones turn bad.”

Purity torn asunder was the dark side’s ultimate high, and the purer the soul, the more fabulous the euphoria. That’s why they all had wet dreams about turning a Pure Soul. It was like hitting the MegaMillions lottery while discovering a cure for cancer.

The thought hit him like a brick.

“Wait! You say, people who don’t ordinarily…” he stumbled. “Fuck. Steph, I have to find Riona and Marc, now!”

“What… Why?”

“He’s a priest and a Pure Soul in love with the witch. You figure it out,” was all Dee had to say to make the imminent threat apparent.

Halfway down the stairs, lust wrapped itself around Dee, taking his temperature up about five degrees. In an instant, licentious instincts triggered and his radar began scanning the bar for any female needing company. Pausing and reeling from temptation, Dee tried to focus on what had changed between the time he left Persephone’s office and this moment that would have such an effect.