The Devil You Know (Hotel Heat Book 1), page 1
Early Praise
An intense, intimate, beautifully crafted story of love that surpasses circumstances, both emotional and supernatural. Exquisite sensory detail fill this romance, told from the viewpoint of a male main character who’s deeply flawed yet sympathetic and charming.
REBECCA F. KENNEY, AUTHOR OF THE DARK RULERS SERIES
Deliciously spicy, poignant, and a beautiful deep-dive into what falling in love can do to a person.
EMILY S. HURRICANE, AUTHOR OF THE BLOODLINES SERIES
The Devil You Know is a steamy, twisty, romantic treasure that teases with heat while hiding a heartfelt storyline under the surface. Supernatural romance fans will surely devour Nicole Northwood’s atmospheric writing and compelling characters in this hot-as-hell must-read!
BRINDI QUINN, AUTHOR OF COME TRUE
A wonderful fresh take on several interconnected genres and beats. It’s a story like silk sheets—cool and refreshing, refined and classy, while also being impassioned and tantalizing. Adult readers of all kinds will find something to love in this book, especially those with cats, jilted ex-lovers, or a love lost and then found again.
S.M. BERRY, AUTHOR OF HALLOWED EMANCIPATION
The Devil You Know is the best kind of paranormal romance: wickedly seductive, intense, and, at times, laugh-out-loud funny. The steamy, will-they-won’t-they relationship between Cam and Giselle will consume readers as abundantly as the main characters consume wine.
LARA BUCKHEIT, AUTHOR OF A REALM OF ASH AND SHADOW
This book is a dark red velvet. [The Devil You Know] feels steamy, smooth, and rich.
GOODREADS REVIEWER
The Devil You Know
HOTEL HEAT BOOK ONE
NICOLE NORTHWOOD
Published by Midnight Tide Publishing.
www.midnighttidepublishing.com
* * *
Editing by Heather Ellis
Cover by RFK Cover Design
* * *
The Devil You Know Hotel Heat Book One
* * *
Copyright © 2022 by Nicole Northwood
* * *
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
* * *
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
* * *
Content warnings: explicit sexual encounters, smoking, drinking, blood, stabbing, assault, mentions of murder.
Contents
Prologue
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
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also By Nicole Northwood
Also from Midnight Tide Publishing
Frost Claim by Elle Beaumont & Candace Robinson
Come True by Brindi Quinn
Despite any shadows, may you always find your way home.
Prologue
The ceiling fan’s blades spin around and around, rotating on medium speed in some vain attempt to circulate the non-existent breeze in Lucifer’s bedroom. In the center of the fixture is a small chandelier made of bleached bones and wrought iron; a peculiar lighting element on Earth, but certainly not out of place here in Hell. As I lie there on Lucifer’s bed atop the luxurious black furs—because only Luci would need furs in the Underworld—I notice that the tiny crystals hanging from the twirled metal wobble back and forth with the fan’s motion, making the tiniest jingle.
I’m used to the sound now, the recurrent nature grating on my nerves in the sense that everything is the same as it always has been. Even still, I still can’t fall asleep; maybe it’s the monotony finally getting to me. I can’t rest during the same, same, same. However, there’s a prickle of irritation that sticks in the back of my head while watching Lucifer sleeping so soundly amid the stifling heat and the everlasting gray. It seems to relax him; calm him into a slumber. For me? The repetition does anything but.
The colorlessness is undying, but this place is filled with death.
While I stare up at the stony ceiling, a ceiling I’ve looked at many times, my mind wanders away from the exposed ass of the stark-naked demon in his human form next to me. It wanders so far away that I’m remembering being back on Earth, years before I became the Prince of the Second Circle of Hell. I really shouldn’t reminisce, but something about the chandelier’s crystals reminds me of earrings; more specifically, the earrings of the woman I loved before I died. I don’t love her anymore.
A demon can’t love.
I haven’t thought about her in what feels like an eternity—a concept non-existent here in the Underworld as time is a human construct. When I roll over to stare at the ludicrous white-gauze curtains in Lucifer’s bedroom, fabric billowing in the dead air, she’s on my mind. That dark-eyed woman from so many eons ago.
A pang flutters in my dearly departed heart, devoid of any semblance of life until now. I notice it immediately because it’s a change from the way I always feel. While I am regularly numb to nostalgia, the tiny, wistful flame that sparks right then has me creeping out of bed and shrugging on my robe that was tossed on one of Lucifer’s black velvet armchairs. I only pause when I hear him rustling the blankets, holding my breath until he sighs, indicating that the King of the Underworld is still asleep.
The bedroom door is open, something Lucifer always insists on when we fuck, and I pad down the hall to fetch my clothes from the library where we had started kissing in between the stacks of books. I don’t know what he finds so erotic about a room filled with old tomes and ancient wares, but something there always gets him riled up. Meanwhile, as the Sin of Lust, I’m always horny for something or someone.
I find my clothes spread on the floor around the closest stack of books, blending in with the dark fabrics of Luci’s usual wardrobe. A few coins and a ruby ring that must have spilled from his pockets are scattered along the floor of the Infernal Library, and I prod them with a toe so they rest under the piles of black cloth before dressing amid the flickering candlelight. I don’t remember hearing anything fall onto the stone floor, but then again, both Lucifer and I have growling voices, thick bodies, and an insatiable appetite that presides over any tiny sound that might occur when we’re in the mood.
Except for the crystals on the fucking chandelier. Today I can’t stop listening to them, can’t stop picturing them, even though I’m in a completely different room. Something about that image makes my heart jump again, even though I didn’t think I still had a heart to feel with.
Lucifer’s cat, Satin, twirls her small black body around my legs while I tug on my shirt. At first, the gentle touch startles me because I don’t expect her to be in the library—she typically finds a place to rest next to one of Hell’s many fires while gnawing on something that’s decaying. However, it seems today that her place of choice is near the second stack of disorganized books, right where Lucifer and I started our tryst some time ago.
“Hello, little demon.” I lean over and run my hands along the cat’s long, dark fur, and she provides me with a small, delicate meow that doesn’t fit in this existence. She’s like the gauze curtains: a sign of Lucifer’s occasional gentleness and a window into his angelic side. To be fair, Luci always said he had a soft spot for two beings in this Underworld: Satin, and me.
Satin must know that I’m a cat person, though as soon as I rise from my crouched position, she bounds out the doorway and toward Lucifer’s open bedroom door. She’ll probably make herself a spot on the furs, taking up the space still warm from my body. The ruby ring on the floor skitters away under Satin’s paws as she runs over the pile of clothing, the band pirouetting underneath one of the tables before whirling over and over like the ceiling fan, red stone gleaming in the low light.
Fucking predictable cat.
That’s the thing I think I miss the most about being alive. Not cats, but the unpredictability of it all. The change in the seasons, the fickleness of the weather, the volatility of one’s own life and day to day existence. Hell is nothing but thick gray fog and smoke and burning embers, and there’s no true worry about danger or injury or death. I’m already dead, as are all the others here. Even Satin. She died long before me, which I think means she technically has seniority.
Kneeling, I reach underneath the desk for Lucifer’s ruby ring, my arm stretching as far as it can to collect the jewelry. My fingers graze the edge of the metal band, just close enough that I’m able to grasp the ring and pull it out from beneath the wooden table. It weighs more than I expected, and the fiery stone sits heavy in my hand. I can only imagine how much it is worth on Earth because surely everything that’s been kept down here is an antique.
Drawing in a deep breath, my gaze flickers over to the coins that have spilled from the pockets of Luci’s dark slacks. Their insignia indicates they’re of a high value, but I’m not sure why Luci keeps them here. Probably because Ryker, the Sin of Greed, brings them back to try to earn his trust, but I don’t see that happening any time soon since he was caught stealing from the Infernal Library before I descended and his indiscretion has not yet been forgotten.
But as the Sin of Greed, what else could be expected from him? A predictable cause and effect.
That certainty reminds me of her, the crystal chandelier, and what it would be like to see a change in seasons again, instead of the perpetual gray- an alternative to the continuous unfeeling fucking between Lucifer and me, as opposed to the enduring emptiness inside of my empty soul.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve shoved the ring in my pocket. Then, as if in a daze, I cross the library and swipe up all the scattered coins from the stone floor. That’s when my vision turns red, and I begin to frantically collect the smallest and most expensive Hell wares from the Infernal Library—gemstones, cursed rings, wishing rocks. They all get nestled inside my dark pants’ deep pockets, weighing me down. However, I’m no longer weighed down in my mind, because I’ve decided I’m not staying here. I’m going to see a winter, I’m going to find human temptation, I’m going to seek out unpredictability and everything I lost by making a deal with the devil and coming here to reign. But I don’t want to reign. I want to live.
I’m just shoving a round gold stone in my pocket when I look up to see Satin sitting in the library’s doorway.
“What do you want, little demon?”
Silence encapsulates us for a moment before Satin responds, her tone low and vibrating with a purr. “I want to be amused.”
I furrow my brow, taking a step back from the library door and putting space between me and Lucifer’s pet. Am I hallucinating? Can a demon even hallucinate? I don’t know the answer to either of those questions, so instead, I decide to entertain the idea that Satin’s learned to speak. “And do I amuse you in some way?”
Satin offers me a crooked and toothy smile, the kind of smile a cat would give if it was fully capable of grinning. “You’re quite literally stealing from the devil. That’s an excellent source of entertainment.” She rises from her seated position and walks across the library’s atrium, hopping onto the desk that was previously between us, winding her tail along my forearm. “Are you planning on going somewhere with those artifacts? Earth, maybe?”
“How’d you—”
There’s a sparkle in Satin’s green eyes as she looks up at me again, slowly extends her claws, and rips a black hole through the fabric of Hell. Little sparks shoot from the edges of the split, crackling like a wicked candle, as blood-red roses bloom along the threshold. My breath catches in my throat in surprise, and I find myself looking back and forth between the void and the cat until she speaks again. “Well, what are you waiting for, little demon?”
Chapter
One
New York never looked so beautiful.
The club music pumps twenty decibels too loud, but nobody seems to care. Slick bodies rub together while drinks flow from a fountain next to the mahogany bar, the ice statue housing the reservoir somehow still a solid block reading HEDONISM in the late August heat. The hotel’s rooftop bar blasts indulgence into an otherwise deep black night absorbed by the light pollution of Times Square. The sounds of New York City are washed out up here, and I sit on the railing of the truss, wind at my back and attractive women and men dancing to the latest club music in front of me, unaware that I’m watching them.
I can almost feel my wings breaking through as I lean into the dead air. If I fall, I won’t hit the ground. Instead, I’ll fly and it will tell everyone in this sinful city that I’m something they’re not. And they wouldn’t be able to handle that. Nobody’s been able to handle it since I distanced myself from God and left my realm of Hell, and my lover, Lucifer.
There’s a pressure in my spine that resonates between my shoulder blades, like a prickling of a knife ready to penetrate the skin. If I lean a little bit farther, the celestial wings will pierce the scars on my back, their feathers black as embers now that I’m forsaken. But before they do, there will be a cruel descent, and I’ll plunge past the recently cleaned windows of the Hedonism Hotel like a skydiver without a parachute. Someone will scream. Then, everyone will scream. The alcohol won’t numb the sensation of the wings slicing through my skin, because alcohol doesn’t numb anything nowadays.
I slide off the railing and slip into the crowd, moving my body to the sound of the usual club music. It feels good to dance, better than having wings slice through my shoulders, and when a young, pretty woman with long blonde hair approaches me, I can’t help the little smile that crosses my face. She has the distinct walk of someone who has had a couple of drinks to loosen up, trying to go in and get whatever it is she’s looking for tonight. I guess I’m on her list, which amuses me a bit. If only she knew.
“Hi.” She yells the greeting over the bass beat, offering a grin that has the faint aroma of vodka and cinnamon. “Want to dance with me? You looked a little lonely over there.”
A small chuckle escapes me, and I look away to peer up at the stars along the skyline before returning my gaze to hers. She can’t be older than her early twenties, probably just old enough to drink. For someone like me who has been in the Underworld for hundreds of years, that’s sort of a big difference in age. However, this woman doesn’t seem to have any intention of leaving me alone here on the roof in the midst of the swaying crowd, which sends a tingling of lust through the tips of my fingers.
“What’s your name?” I ask her, trying to raise my voice over the music’s changing beat.
The pretty woman furrows her eyebrows as if she’s curious why that question could possibly matter. I suppose it doesn’t. “Briar. What’s yours?”
Just then, I spot Giselle—the Hedonism Hotel’s night manager—blocking the club’s doorway where three other figures are standing amid spreading whispers. My thoughts explode and break into a thousand shattered pieces as it strikes me the people standing in the open doorway are cops. I switch my gaze from Briar over to Giselle, a tight and sparkling, long-sleeved ebony cocktail dress showing off her body, her small curves accentuated under a plunging neckline and short hem. For a second my body reacts before my brain does, a twitching in my stomach that reminds me of the things we’ve done in bed because of dresses like that one.
The worried look on Giselle’s face, however, immediately concerns me. Something’s wrong, and the tablet from the first-floor desk in her hand confirms it. The business brain turns back on, and I shove away the desires to dance and move and be close to someone, anyone else.
“Sorry, Briar. Work calls.”
Without a backward glance, I make my way through the packed crowd. Drunken hands grope my dress shirt, the periwinkle blue picking up all the colors of the lights that spring out from the floor and canopy to form multicolored strands along the skyline. I recognize most of the faces in the crowd tonight. It’s a Sunday and we have our usuals, including a raven-haired man with a stubbled face who looks at me in such a way I feel an uncontrolled hammering in my chest. I saw him here last week, dancing with a redhead while I danced with a dark-haired woman. The lines and shadows of his brawn that were seared into my memory. A memory that reminds me I want something in particular tonight—okay, most every night, but particularly the nights where I’m in this club and humans have their hands all over me and remind me that I am who I am.
