Текст книги "The demons queen"

Автор книги: Katee Robert

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THE DEMON’S QUEEN

DEAL WITH A DEMON

KATEE ROBERT

TRINKETS & TALES LLC

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Copyright © 2024 by Katee Robert

Cover art by Anna Moshak

Cover design by Elizabeth Turner Stokes

Editing by Manu Velasco

Copyediting by Tara Rayers

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Created with Vellum

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CONTENTS

Content Notes

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

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CONTENT NOTES

Tropes: Captor/Captive

Tags: demon bargains, midsized heroine, size difference, it’s too big no for real, magical castle, sex worker heroine, the slightest whiff of Beauty and the Beast, Daddy/baby girl, I just want someone to CHOOSE ME, yes I lied and tricked you into signing a contract but I had reasons! Were those reasons good? MAYBE , magic sex balm makes everything better

CWs: stalking (not the hero), threat of abuse (not the hero), abuse in the form of neglect (historical, off-page), elements of self harm, violence, breeding, panic attack (on page)

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CHAPTER 1

EVE

Seven missed messages. On my personal phone, the one I most certainly don’t give out to anyone but a select few friends. It’s not a number I recognize, which all but confirms my suspicion that one of my clients has decided to ignore the rules of our arrangement and try to go around Pope to get to me. Again. Pope goes above and beyond to vet the people they send my way, but despite them being damn near prophetic when it comes to bad apples, sometimes people slip through.

I stare at my notifications, exhaustion seeming to increase the force of gravity against my bones. I already know what I’ll hear when I check the voicemail, but I make myself do it anyways.

“Ginger, why did you cancel on me? I⁠—”

Fuck. It’s Tanner. He’s been one of mine for years now and has shown every evidence of being a relatively nice guy, if on the selfish side. He likes only the lightest of the girlfriend experience, preferring to play like we’re sneaking away together. Not one of my favorites—even though I know Pope would lecture me for getting attached enough to have favorites—but he’s consistent and he tips absurdly well.

I delete the voicemail and click on the next one.

“Ginger, what the fuck? Answer the fucking phone. I swear to god⁠—”

Delete.

“Baby, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Please⁠—”

Delete.

I delete the last four without listening. I’ve heard enough. I type out a quick message to Pope.

Tanner Lockeye has become an issue. He found my personal number and is making a nuisance of himself.

Pope

Another one? That’s unlucky, even by your standards.

Can you not make jokes right now? I just lost one of my best-paying clients.

Pope

Sorry, doll. I’ll take care of it. He won’t bother you anymore.

I barely breathe a sigh of relief when another text pops up.

Pope

Assuming this means you’re free tonight. Azazel is on the waitlist if you’re up for it.

Even though I know better, I can’t help the little fizz of excitement reading his name brings me. Azazel is my favorite client. He shouldn’t be, because every sign points to him becoming a problem at some point, but to date, he hasn’t done anything to overstep my very stringent rules. So I ignore the potential future problems because I enjoy my time with him.

And he tips even better than Tanner.

Set it up. Let me know the time and place.

A few minutes later, Pope sends over the information, and I start the process of getting ready. It’s a soothing ritual to set down Eve for the night and drape Ginger around me. It’s a small distinction, but a necessary one. I pin my long blond hair into an updo so that Azazel can run his fingers through and send my pins flying. He likes that a lot. He also likes me in jewel tones, so I pull out a deep-purple dress that clings to my body and doesn’t quite look like it’s offering up my breasts, but it’s a close thing. He’s over six feet, so I pull on my highest heels. For makeup, I keep it subtle and sultry: a light smokey eye and lips a couple of shades darker than my natural pink.

I leave my apartment and take the elevator down to the ground floor. There’s a small corridor here with a doorman ensuring no one comes in without permission. That and a few other security features increased the cost of my rent dramatically, but it’s worth it. I take great pains to ensure my clients aren’t aware of my real name or where I live, because of cases like Tanner, where they get confused about our “relationship.”

The doorman on shift right now is Rahul, an older man with the sweetest smile and warm medium-brown skin. I found out last year that he’s an artist. The way he paints the city is abstract and so lovely, it makes my heart ache. Rahul gifts me with that smile as I step out. “Going to be a late night, Miss Eve?”

“Yes, sir.” I stop next to him as an understated black town car pulls up. “Keep the lights on for me?”

“I always do.” He opens the car door for me. “I’m off at six, but Fred will be on shift after me. He’s a good one, so he’ll take care of you.”

I don’t like Fred nearly as much as Rahul, but I can’t deny that he’s good at his job. “Thank you.” I sink into the back seat. “Have a good night, Rahul.”

“You too, Miss Eve.” He shuts the door, careful not to catch the hem of my dress in the process, and then we’re speeding away from the curb toward the high-end hotel I always meet Azazel at.

His preferences vary, but tonight he requested we have a drink in the hotel bar before going up to the room. I don’t mind in the least. He’s a great conversationalist, and while he very carefully doesn’t share much of his past—no more than I do—he has no end of stories to entertain with. I’m not certain if they’re lies or the truth, but they makes for a pleasant time either way. And I don’t particularly care whether he’s lying; I’m not his girlfriend, for all that I offer a similar experience for the right price.

The hotel bar is crowded for a weekday, but that’s fine. It will give me a chance to people watch before Azazel arrives. I find a high-top table in the corner and arrange my chair so I can see the entirety of the room.

In the fifteen minutes I wait, I pick up more than one person doing their best to covertly slide a wedding ring into their pocket before approaching a prospective one-night stand. There’s a person on the opposite side of the bar who I’m nearly certain shares my profession. They watch me closely before realizing I’m not looking to pick up a new client here, then they lose interest. It’s all deeply entertaining.

Until a familiar man walks through the door—and not the one I’m expecting.

“Shit.”

Tanner cases the room in a single sweep and starts toward me. How the fuck did he know I was here? Finding my phone number is difficult but not impossible. Finding my location? That offers up a number of problems that I don’t have time to deal with, because he’s closing the distance between us. Fast.

I try to catch the bartender’s eye, but he’s busy flirting with an exasperated businessperson who may or may not be interested. No help there. I bypass my phone and go for my Taser. Even if I could get a text off to Pope, it won’t make a difference. I know they have someone in the building because it’s standard practice, but it will take them too long to get here.

Tanner reaches me in seconds. He’s a tall white guy with the kind of good old boy looks that are a generic sort of handsome. Or they are usually. Right now, he’s nearly purple with rage. “You cheating bitch.”

“Tanner.” I keep my voice low and even. De-escalating. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

“Because you cancelled on me!” He’s yelling, not seeming to care in the least that he’s making a scene. The bartender finally lifts his head and narrows his eyes. Too damn late.

“I have rules. You broke them.” I am not going to apologize for holding the boundaries that keep me safe, but fuck if I like this kind of mess. Azazel will be here any moment, and the last thing I want is to force him to deal with this. “And I’m not your girlfriend, your partner, or your wife. You are my client.”

“Whore!”

I roll my eyes. I can’t help it. “Yes, yes, that’s very original. Please leave before the nice bartender calls the police.” Pope will do worse; they do not like people fucking with those under their protection.

“I’m not leaving without you.” Then the fool lifts his clenched fist to strike me.

I have my Taser halfway to his balls when a hand appears and grabs his wrist. Tanner grunts with the slowed effort, though I can tell by his eyes that he’s waiting for the moment he can try to hit me again. We both look over at the same time to see Azazel standing there as if he appeared out of thin air. Azazel’s got a bored look on his face . . . until you get to his dark eyes. They’re filled with so much rage, I panic and Taser Tanner in the balls just to do something other than embarrass myself by cowering.

His legs give out and he collapses. Except he doesn’t hit the floor, because Azazel still has a hold of his wrist. It leaves him dangling like a toddler throwing a fit. The absurd urge to laugh nearly overwhelms me. This cannot be happening.

I clear my throat. “Azazel. Lovely to see you.” He doesn’t respond, doesn’t so much as glance at me, all his murderous rage narrowed entirely on Tanner. Fuck. If I don’t do something—and fast—he may go straight from protecting me to an assault charge. Or murder, for that matter.

I shove my Taser into my purse and rise to press my hand on Azazel’s chest. “Leave him. He’s not worth it.”

“I think you’d be surprised on how I measure that worth.” But he releases Tanner. Azazel turns smoothly, putting himself between me and the other man, and presses his hand to the center of my back. “Let’s go.”

Relief makes me a little dizzy, but I manage to walk out of the bar with my head held high, ignoring Tanner’s increasing volume of curses behind us. It’s only when we reach the lobby that Azazel hesitates. “I know we had a night arranged, but if you’re too rattled, I completely understand.”

If only he knew. It takes so much more than a mess like this to rattle me. Tanner is proving to be a nightmare, but he’s not the worst I’ve dealt with. I smile up at Azazel, and I don’t even have to fake it. He’s as beautiful as a model: sun-kissed skin, dark eyes, and stylishly cut dark hair. But it’s more than that. He’s courteous, he seems to listen, and he eats my pussy like he never needs to breathe. If the bed play gets a little possessive, that’s a red flag I’m happy to ignore until I can’t do so any longer, because everything else with him is pure pleasure.

“Ginger?”

I laugh a little. “Sorry, just a little off from that encounter. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” I slip my hand into the crook of his arm. “As long as you’re not turned off, I’d love to still spend the night with you, Azazel.”

He’s already turning toward the elevator. “There’s nothing related to you that could turn me off.” But as we step into the elevator and the doors start to close, I catch him watching the space as if expecting a threat to burst through the shrinking gap. Before I can comment on it, he smiles down at me. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you. You always do, and you know it.”

He chuckles. “You can’t blame me for trying to impress you.” He slides his hand down my spine before stopping at the small of my back. Azazel never gropes, never fumbles a single step of the dance we engage in from the moment we meet to the morning when he sees me to the waiting car.

I have the whole mess with Tanner to deal with tomorrow, but I’m not about to let it distract me from the pleasure of Azazel’s company. I press him back against the wall of the elevator as it ascends and stroke my hands down his chest. I stop at the band of his pants, and his hips jerk before he can get himself under control. There’s no lie in the wicked smile I give him. “You never fail to impress me. I highly doubt tonight will be the exception.”

There’s a flash in his dark eyes, there and gone in a moment, and then he sweeps me out of the elevator and down the hall to the hotel room. Once we’re inside, I don’t care about the luxuriousness of the room, because he’s here with me and I can almost feel his hands against my bare skin.

Azazel is a classy motherfucker. He wants me enough that he’s practically ripping my clothes off with his gaze, but he walks to the table and the waiting bottle of wine there. “Let’s have a drink, and then we can talk about what I want from you tonight.”

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CHAPTER 2

EVE

Azazel is big on seduction. He doesn’t get into role-playing or the various kinky stuff that other clients favor. The man truly leans into the girlfriend experience.

So I know my role. I take a seat on the luxurious couch in the suite and allow him to bring an unopened bottle of wine. I never have more than one drink while working, a rule I also apply to my clients. Alcohol changes people in sometimes unexpected ways, and I have no desire to put myself in a dangerous position. Or a messy one. I don’t have a particular drive for children, and taking care of drunk adult ones is a task I avoid whenever possible.

Azazel expertly pours two glasses of red wine before setting the bottle aside. He brings them both to the couch, but instead of sitting close, he carefully eases down into the other side. Since he’s over six feet tall, he has no problem passing my glass to me. “I would like something different tonight.”

I almost sigh before I catch myself. Different doesn’t have to default to a red flag, but with how my luck is currently running, I don’t like my odds of making it out tonight with Azazel still as my client.

Still, I smile at him. That’s Future Me’s problem. “What did you have in mind?”

He takes a sip of his wine, almost as if he’s nervous. But that can’t be it. I just watched him remove Tanner as a threat without the slightest bit of effort. What could he possibly be nervous about?

I slide a little closer to him and press my free hand to his chest. “No matter what it is, honey, I promise I won’t think less of you for it. Just talk to me.”

He takes another too-large sip of his wine. “I would like to . . . role-play.”

I keep my features carefully schooled in interest. What kind of role-play is he asking for that makes him this jumpy? Yes, it’s a new ask, but it’s hardly taboo . . . “You know I’m happy to do whatever you like, as long as you talk me through it first.”

“I want . . .” He finally looks at me, his brown eyes so dark that they’re nearly black. “I would like you to sign a contract.”

I blink. “A contract.” My mind whirls, but no matter which angle I come at this from, I can’t see what would make him act like this. Contracts for bedroom games have existed long before a certain franchise made them popular a decade ago. They can sweeten the spice, can lay out the terms in a way that makes everyone feel safe. With that said . . . “Not a legally binding one.”

He huffs out a faint laugh. “It won’t hold up in any court in the country.”

Some of my nerves ease, but I haven’t survived this long by being a complete fool. “I’d like to read it before agreeing.”

“Of course.” He reaches into his designer suit jacket and produces a surprisingly small stack of papers. “Take your time.”

I sip my wine and then set the glass on the coffee table so I have both my hands free. He may say this contract isn’t meant to hold up in court, but Pope would flog me bloody if I signed anything without reading it first.

It’s three pages, hardly the densest reading, but detailed enough that I have to go back to the beginning and parse through it more slowly. When I reach the end for the third time, I look at Azazel and arch my brows. “You want me to be yours for the rest of my life? Darling, I didn’t know you had a marriage kink.”

His smile is tighter than normal, his charm flickering in a way that truly does worry me. I hate to admit it, but this is one red flag too many. The best client may pretend that I’m theirs and theirs alone, but the moment our session ends, they don’t fight the reality that this is just business. This contract may be pretend, but it represents a problem.

Worse, though, is the little warmth in my chest of wanting. I know better than to truly fall for my clients, though I’m human—I care for my favorites well beyond what they do for my bank account. They may fancy themselves in love with me, but they’re in love with the fantasy of Ginger, with the experience I provide.

“It’s a new development. Something I’m . . . trying out.”

Understanding dawns, bringing with it an unforgivable sting. “This is a sample contract. You’re going to do the real thing on some lucky partner?” I smack him lightly with the pages, trying to cover up my conflicted emotions with humor. “Why didn’t you just say so?” I read through one last time. It’s honestly thorough for how short it is. A lifetime commitment. An assurance that the safe word will be honored above all else. There’s even a clause about what happens if children result from the union—something I will not be worrying about with my IUD and contractual use of protection with my partners.

Azazel, normally the very picture of cool and composed, actually blushes. “It’s tacky.”

I don’t comment on that. “I’ll sign this for the night if that’s your fantasy. But I am curious about how you want to spend the rest of the time before dawn.”

His eyes heat. “I have a few ideas.”

I don’t try to fight the pulse of pure need that goes through me in response to his lust. This, at least, is a known and acceptable emotion. I can fake it with the best of my peers, but Azazel is too damn perceptive. From the very first session, he read my body as if he possessed a map and set out to make me come as many times as possible before seeking his own completion. After the day I’ve had, a dozen orgasms sounds like just what the doctor ordered. Even so . . . “Indulge me and be specific.”

He produces a pen and presses it into my palm. “I want to spoil you, Ginger. I want to treat you as if you were mine in truth.”

“That’s not specific.” I wave the pen at him, even as my heart leaps. I know better than to believe pretty lies. Truly, I do. But sometimes the unloved orphan I spent my childhood being gets the best of me. Even though the world has proven itself cruel and selfish, in my heart of hearts, I simply want someone to choose me, to love me above all others. I’m too old for fairy tales—I have been since I was a child—but some fantasies persist even when you know better.

He grins almost ruefully. “Mostly, I want to shove up that dress and taste your cunt.” He’s achingly familiar like this, self-possessed and confident. “Once I get my fill, I’ll fuck you. Again and again, until our time together is at an end.”

I can’t stop myself from squeezing my thighs together. “In that case . . .” I sign with a flourish.

It’s not until I lift the pen that I realize my mistake. In my distraction, I haven’t signed the name Ginger. Why would I? She’s real only in these moments with my clients. I’ve never had to sign anything as her.

No, I sign it as Eve.

I press the papers to my chest. “I need a moment.”

“It won’t matter.” Azazel drains his wine and sets the glass down on the table. “I’m sorry, Eve. You may never forgive me for this, but at least you’ll be alive to hate me.”

Fear slices through my lust, shredding it. “What did you say?” Even as I tell myself that I heard wrong, I know I haven’t. He said Eve. My name. My real name. And it’s not because he saw me scrawl it on the paper.

I stand abruptly. “I have to go. I’ll issue you a full refund.”

“It’s too late for that.” He still sounds regretful, which scares me more than anything else. I’ve ignored red flag after red flag, and now I’m in trouble I can’t get myself out of. There will be no interruption to save me, not with a locked hotel door between me and the rest of the world. Damn it.

Azazel hasn’t moved, so I take the opportunity to skirt the coffee table and dig my phone out of my purse. I shoot him a look, not sure if I should be more scared or less that he seems intent to let me do this.

Almost as if it really doesn’t matter.

I don’t bother texting Pope. I have to get the fuck out of here, and my hands are shaking so much, it’s difficult to type out my passcode.

They pick up immediately. “What’s wrong?” Of course they’d know something is wrong. I would never call them in the middle of a session without cause.

“I need an escort to the car.” There’s no need to get into the weirdness of this whole thing. Even as I think it, I’m struck by the fact that some fool part of my head is still sure Azazel won’t hurt me. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. I’ve witnessed far too many instances where a “good” person turns feral and violent to those closest to them. Afterward, everyone wrings their hands and wonders how they didn’t realize the danger.

In reality, the signs were there all along. They just chose to turn away from them. To continue in their happy little lives, sure that nothing bad could happen in their nice neighborhood. To believe that this client won’t be the one who lashes out. I’m a fool.

Pope doesn’t hesitate. “My man will be there in three minutes. Lock yourself in the bathroom if you need to. He has a key to the hotel room.”

With anyone else, that would be a huge breach of trust. With Pope, it’s the standard of doing business. They don’t fuck around with their people’s safety.

Azazel rises slowly to his feet, and I skitter back a few steps.

“Right. I’m going to do that.” I hang up. There’s no point in keeping Pope on the phone, and I’d prefer both my hands free if it comes to a fight.

He raises his hands, palms out. “I’m not going to hurt you, Eve.”

“Stop saying that name.” I edge back a few more steps. I know the layout of this suite well enough. The bathroom is just down the hall and to the left. Azazel is obviously strong, but surely not even he can break down a door in three minutes? Or two minutes now.

“Please calm down.”

“No one in the history of the universe has ever calmed down when someone said to calm down.” I back up another few steps. “Please don’t come any closer. Pope’s man is liable to shoot you.”

“I didn’t want things to go like this. I wanted to find another way.” He drags a hand through his dark hair. “I’m sorry.”

Now it’s my turn to hold up my hands. I’m well into the hallway now, only about ten feet from the bathroom. “There’s nothing to apologize for. Just . . . stay there.”

“E—” He cuts himself off and sighs. “You’re in danger.”

“No shit.” The words come out too high and tight. Despite my best efforts, my fear leaks in through the cracks. “Please don’t come any closer.”

“I’m not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you.” He glances at the door, and his expression goes stony. “One day, you’ll understand and forgive me for this.”

Between one blink and the next, he’s before me. I can’t stop the scream that tears from my lungs as he wraps an arm around my back and hauls me against his chest. It doesn’t hurt, but no one moves that fast. It’s almost like he teleported. “I’m sorry.”

“Please . . .” The room fades out around me. For a moment, I’m sure he drugged me, but my head feels clear despite the fear shrieking at me that I’m in danger.

I shove against his chest, but there’s nowhere to go. I hear the hotel room burst open as everything goes black.

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