Closing my eyes, I did what the person asked. All things considered, I didn’t feel like a soulless creature. I didn’t feel like a demon. Too many emotions ran rampant for me to be a mere corpse. Dead people didn’t feel, and I felt so many things. Not only did the shit-storm of emotions hit me all at once, but they were intensified tenfold. Nothing I felt as a mortal compared to what I felt when I opened my eyes and saw El standing over me with a rifle pointed at my head.

  Hans was on the floor. He was the someone who had tackled me. I scrambled away from him. My back hit the wall. I hated this thing that I had become. Hate. That was the feeling of which I’d become greatly aware.

  Hans pulled out his phone and dialed. “Stilts, I know you two are connected. I know you sired Piper. So let’s get that the feck over with. If you want to come back and find her alive, you need to feed.”

  I couldn’t bear to look at him or El, so I closed my eyes, brought my knees up, and curled into the corner. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I was horribly lost. Not even because I lost control, but because it hadn’t felt like my demonic side had taken control of my body. Instead, it was my choice, my doing. I wanted to consume their lives and freely chose to. It felt like me. The real me. The me that had been hiding inside my soul when I was a human. It was always there. Declan just unleashed it when he ceremoniously kissed me and…I shook away the bittersweet memory.

  “Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing if you found a way to kill me,” I whispered.

  I didn’t know if they were still in the room with me or if they’d left. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t bring myself to open my eyes.

  When I was a human, I never thought that I was filled with so much abhorrence, so hungry, so out of control. I was wrong—oh-so very wrong. Buried deep within the dark places of my soul hid the vicarious emotion.

  I cried myself to sleep. I was trapped in a nightmare in which there was no escape, not even in my dreams. When I woke, I lay on the cold tile floor with a chipped teacup beside me.

  Underneath the cup was a two-day old newspaper. A brown tea stain encircled the front page photo. Hameln Berkley was missing with a reward being offered for information regarding his alleged kidnapping. Reading the article about a grief-stricken family, I sipped on the now cold drink of tea.

  Chapter Nineteen: Declan Stilts

  I wanted to T-bone the idiots who couldn’t park. They pissed me the hell off! It wasn’t difficult. Use one—one—parking space for your vehicle, and then there would be enough room for everyone to park. But no, some morons felt the need to take up two spaces for their precious Escalades.

  I had half a mind to key their car.

  Pulling into the Bellagio parking garage, I was met with a delightful horde of heartless cameramen. Fucking lovely. If I wanted to have a hundred pictures of me driving around in a beater car, I would have used valet. The only reason they would have known I used the garage was if an ex-PR rep tipped them off.

  At least Amelia didn’t know about the additional body in the car. After Hans informed me that Piper was getting famished, I thought it would be best not to give them an excuse to torture her until I returned and killed them. If one of them laid a finger on her, I would certainly take pleasure in sucking the life from their bodies. However, Hans assured me that she was savoring a cup of tea while I enjoyed some time in one of my casinos.

  Concentrating on the here and now, I wished that I had something more suitable to wear. But, alas, I didn’t. I smoothed out my shirt, noticing blood on the sleeve. I couldn’t catch a break. Well, I couldn’t very well exit this piece of shit vehicle and still look distinguished. There was no point in trying.

  I had two options. Option one: If they saw the blood I would have to admit to even more detrimental activities, like killing off one of their comrades. Perhaps then they’d leave me alone. Or, option two: I could distract them and hopefully undermine those who’d taken advantage of me. After all, I was going to make tomorrow’s news anyway. I might as well make it good.

  Playing my public role of a derailed celebrity, I parked sideways and then stumbled out of the vehicle.

  Squinting at the dozens of flashes that were going off, I smirked like a drunken fool. “And the party keeps on going!”

  “Our sources say that this wasn’t the first time you’ve paid the hooker, Candy, a visit. Can you confirm or deny it?”

  I laughed, “What moron would confirm that?”

  “You are wearing the same outfit as the photograph published in Snake Eyes. Are you denying your involvement with the prostitute?”

  Fuck! “Well, you’ve got me there!”

  “What did the hooker charge?”

  “Too damn much.”

  “Why are you no longer parking in valet, Mr. Stilts? What financial problems are you in that you are no longer driving around in your Audi?”

  “What? This baby cost me a fortune,” I laughed. Then I added that I wrecked the transmission in my Audi and that there was something quite liberating about driving a car that you could beat to shit and not have to concern yourself with the financial consequences.

  “Any word on the mayor’s son? Hameln has been missing for days. His father claims he was kidnapped.”

  “We’ve reviewed the tapes and haven’t been able to locate him on film,” I said. At least Amelia had done that for me before she quit.

  “Does Piper know about your precarious activities?”

  I punched that guy in the face. I couldn’t help enjoyed it.

  That paparazzo was going to sue me. I knew it the moment my fist broke his nose. Blood sprayed everywhere, blending in with the smudges on my shirt. Good. One problem down, a million more left to solve. Paying him off would be cheaper than explaining away blood stains on a shirt. I didn’t need the Boys in Blue investigating me, especially since I didn’t have anyone on the inside I could trust.

  “What the hell!” the reporter yelled, clenching his noise.

  I tossed him a dollar and stomped on his camera. “For your troubles.”

  Flashes erupted. Shit eatin’ grin, disheveled hair, bruised hands, and a shit T-shirt. The press ate it up. Good. That would give them enough to talk about for quite some time.

  I scanned the crowd, looking for the best opportunity to escape the madhouse when I saw her. Standing on the other side of the camera crew, Amelia waved her fingers and smiled at the mayhem she created by revealing my location.

  Distracted by her presence, I was caught off guard when the reporter with the broken nose charged me. I fell face first into an SUV. My jaw crunched. That was enough to piss me off. I pushed off of the vehicle, causing us to fall backwards into a puddle of oil. Rolling around, the guy got in a few lucky shots before I gave him a black eye. That one hit knocked him out cold.

  The bonus was that it was all documented. Aside from my injuries, surely the owner of the SUV would press charges as well.

  Sitting on the ground with my arms resting on my knees, I dialed my lawyer. I spit out some blood as the phone rang. When he picked up, I rolled onto my back and stared up at the security cameras.

  “Jim, it was self-defense. That’s all I’m going to say,” I said, slurring my words.

  “What exactly was self-defense?”

  “The pop attacked me,” I answered and then hung up.

  Jim would read about it in the news. It was all a show, but I had to give the paparazzi something good enough to forgo any name-dropping. Piper’s didn’t need to be spelled out in fresh ink. And this scene was much more exciting than a few pictures of me talking to a lady of the night.

  Pushing up off of the ground, I marched over to Amelia. She knew what vehicle I had taken, and that I wouldn’t be seen pulling up to valet service in it.

  “Amelia, darling,” I said joyfully, outstretching my arms to her and waited. I held my ground, watching her, baiting her to join me. It would give her a false sense of security.

  Embracing me, she gave me a pat on the back. “Miss me?” she whispered in my ear.

  “Not even a little. I know what I’m doing,” I snarled. When she started to pull away, I tightened my grip. “Where is that old hag?”

  “Around,” she said and pushed away from me. She held up her car keys and asked. “Care to take a drive?”

  Chapter Twenty: Piper Miller

  Stir-crazy. I needed to get out of the house and go for a drive, or something. Anything. My day consisted of walking around in circles and trying not to think about what Declan was doing at that very moment.

  Standing here now with the puppet clenched tight in my hand, I tried to figure out why Declan hadn’t told me more details about Hameln’s “kidnapping.” To be fair, I hadn’t asked. Was Declan betting on me not asking too many details? He promised me that Hameln was alive, so I believed him. Undoubtedly. What was poor Hameln supposed to do? Even if he stood in the middle of the Strip, he no longer looked like himself. He was in his fifties, no longer a young adult. Even if he did come forward, no one would believe he was the real deal.

  “I ruined his life,” I said, looking down at the puppet.

  And then there was the other problem: the hunger that never seemed to be satisfied. It was at bay, never getting too strong. But that only meant that Declan was feasting in Sin City. He was consuming the essence of others to sustain us. Their livelihood—or lack thereof—was my fault, too.

  I knew in the depths of my heart that he was consuming enough to fend off both our hunger. But it didn’t warrant my innocence. I was to blame for any deaths Declan may cause to keep me satisfied. I may not have been killing them myself, but I was to blame. I was standing back, safe in the shadows while he did my dirty work.

  I was a monster by proxy.

  “Care for a walk?” Hans asked, leaning against the living room wall, watching me like he’d been for several minutes.

  Outside? It felt like ages since I felt the sun on my face. Instead of speaking, I nodded my head and went to grab my hoodie. Hans made an awkward movement, like he was thinking about giving me a hug or something as ridiculous, but then changed his mind when I flinched.

  “You look so lost,” he shrugged, like he wasn’t sure what to think or do around me.

  I had never seen so clearly. But I didn’t say anything. Not anymore. I needed to pay attention and listen for once. Talking was not my friend. I reached for my hoodie hanging by the front door.

  “It’s okay to talk,” he said, blocking me.

  I licked my lips. The faint aroma of his attraction was like a new flavor I couldn’t get enough of. He tasted incredible, but I needed to restrain myself. There had to be a way to break this horrid consequence of the Incubus Curse.

  “I don’t mind when we’re alone,” he admitted.

  I spoke. It came out as a whisper. “Promise me something?”

  He relaxed a bit. “What, Pip?”

  “Don’t hesitate to put me down if I harm another human being. Your sister…Hans…I can’t stand the thought of hurting you.”

  He stared at me for a long time. Finally, he nodded. It was almost nonexistent, but it happened nevertheless.

  “I won’t hesitate,” he promised.

  I pulled my hoodie over my head. Then Hans opened the door and we went outside for a walk.

  I stared at the chipped sidewalk for a good part of the time. But I kept walking, falling into step with Hans.

  “El really does care for you,” he said, walking passed a farmer’s market.

  I nodded. “She left me a cup of tea.”

  As soon as I spoke, I could I could feel the others’ eyes gravitate toward me. They were suspicious of me—a stranger in their tight-knit world. Hans gave me a warning glare. I pressed my lips together and pulled on my hoodie strings so that more of my facial features would be hidden.

  I tapped on Hans’ shoulder. He paused as I stepped up onto my tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

  Speaking so quiet that I could hardly hear myself, I said, “Perhaps I should invest in one of Jericho’s cloaks. I don’t make for a very good boy in this.”

  He smirked. “Aye, you do make a terrible one.”

  As we rounded the corner, the scent of fresh baked bread filled the air. It smelled like heaven. A multitude of people were gathered around, eating at a bakery. Hans’ jaw snapped shut. Opie waved her fingers when she noticed him. I cringed. My imagination ran wild thinking about what she put inside her recipes. The O’Briens claimed she had a nasty habit of cannibalism. She fed on others. It was sick and disturbing. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

  I was no better.

  A woman who could have been my mother bumped into me. I caught drift of her scent. I could taste it on my lips. I dug my fingernails into the palms of my hands, trying to think clearly.

  “I’m sorry, miss,” she said full of concern for me.

  Star clusters assaulted my sight. With my demonic side full-blown, her envious thoughts trickled into my mind. I knew that she hated feeling so old—that everyone around her seemed to be more beautiful and youthful than she. It made my heart ache. Every cell felt like it was on fire as I understood that even when she looked upon me all she saw was my polished skin, my freckles as a sign of youth, and that I had so many more years of life ahead of me. And she had so little.

  “I could shorten the years so that you don’t have to suffer another moment,” I whispered in her ear.

  “What?” she gasped, stumbling away.

  I let out a soft whistle as I looked her over. The second the sound left my lips, she stopped backing up. The sound mesmerized her. Good. I didn’t need a chase. I could make her come to me. She would do nicely to curb this craving deep within me. Besides, she was not wrong. She’d lived many years, almost twice as long as me. If she wanted to be put out of her misery, I could assist her in the matter.

  “Pip, get it together,” Hans said through clenched teeth. “You are drawing attention to yourself.”

  I pinched my eyes tight and tried to find the humanity buried under all my own desires. I breathed through my nose and tried not to lick my lips as it seemed to intensify her aroma. I found myself clinging to Hans’ jacket. I breathed in his scent, distracting myself from her.

  When I trusted myself, I opened my eyes and locked my gaze with the woman. “What is your name?”

  “Selma,” she said in monotone.

  “What a pretty name for a pretty face,” I said, hating how difficult it was to speak so calmly. “Selma, you will not worry about what you cannot change. Beauty is aging. Please look upon those wrinkles around your mouth as reminders of every time you laughed. The blemishes on your skin will no longer be a marker of ugliness, but rather a sign of how many beautiful years you’ve lived.”

  Selma nodded. The strangest smile spread across her face when she took me in. “Have a good day, miss.”

  “Mister,” I said in a strained voice.

  “My apologies,” she said and walked away.

  Hans pulled me away from her before I bumped into another person on the crowded sidewalks. He pointed to a diner down the road. There weren’t very many people around, which was a good indication that the food couldn’t have been all that great. But the farther we got from others, the easier it was to breathe.

  “Let’s get out of the crowd. You look starved. Let’s get something to eat in the back.”

  Chapter Twenty-One: Declan Stilts

  Backstage at the convention center, Amelia and I waited for Gepetta to make her appearance. All around us models, acrobats, and other performers prepared for their shows. I commandeered a vanity that belonged to someone who was already onstage. Looking at the lighted mirror, I wiped the oil off of my face with what used to be a leotard. I looked like I had been run over. My pants had a tear in them. My hands were scuffed. My hair was covered in some kind of grime. And there was a cut on my chin and a bruise along my cheekbone.

  I inspected the cut. It would probably scar if I didn’t use the energy from consumption to heal myself. The kicker: There was enough documentation of me getting into the fight that if I was suddenly healed, people would really have something to talk about. So, it would appear that I was getting another fucking scar. Perfect.

  Standing next to a rolling wardrobe rack, Amelia chuckled. “Even I would have told you to take the heat of hooking up with—what was her name? Candy? You are going to lose a lot of money in lawsuits. Not even your fancy-pants lawyer is going to be able to talk you out of a guilty conviction.”

  I slammed the leotard down. “You are making it wildly difficult for me to feel sorry for you.”

  “Sorry for me?”

  I laughed, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Amelia. Gepetta is a psychopath. This is not going to end well for you.”

  She touched her heart and sarcastically replied, “Aww. You care about me? How sweet.”

  “Who said I didn’t? Believe it or not, I do have your best interests in mind.”

  Her face fell. Her glare returned. “I don’t believe it.”

  Show after show, people were moving in and out like the dressing room was a revolving door. I kept looking at the clock. As the evening melted into midnight, Amelia finally found a vacant chair to sit down. After I dirtied the vanity bench, the performers happily gave it up to me. At a quarter past two, one of the circus performers approached me.

  “Can you sign this? It’s the first Benjamin I made in Vegas,” he said.

  I grinned and nodded. There were just enough people lingering about that I couldn’t breathe in his life’s essence. He would have been a good one, too. He reeked of greed.

  Three a.m. blended into four in the blink of an eye. There was no one—no one—in this dressing room. I didn’t plan to be gone this long. Then it dawned on me. Amelia was the bait. Gepetta never planned to make her appearance here. Whatever that blasted witch had planned was already set in motion.

  “Damn it!” I yelled and turned to leave when I heard her voice.

  Gepetta said, “Your temper always got the best of you.”

 

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