Devil Take Me Read online

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Infernal Affairs

  Collared

  Counterfeit Viscount

  11:59

  Wonderland City

  Dark Favors

  Visit DSP Publications

  Copyright

  Devil Take Me

  Edited by Tricia Kristufek

  Temptation lurks around every corner in worlds sometimes dark, sometimes lurid. Giving in is both dangerous and satisfying, though never in the ways one expects. While these enticements offer a vast range of benefits and boons, the cost is a soul and the devil expects his due. Sometimes suave and charming or calculating and cruel, these devils have schemes and desires of their own. They can be creatures to run away from… or toward.

  Join the most unique and celebrated authors of LGBT urban fantasy and paranormal fiction for a fast-paced and unpredictable ride, from a city on the other side of reality, to a world suspended in dusk, to a twisted version of the 1960s and 70s.

  Meet devils in top hats and waistcoats, a defrocked motorcycle-riding priest, and a genderfluid antihero—among many more. Full of humor, romance, horror, action, intrigue, and magic, these stories have one common element….

  They’re one hell of a good time.

  Infernal Affairs

  By Jordan L. Hawk

  Ralgath wants nothing more than to work as a crossroads demon. Too bad he botched his first assignment when a very sexy mortal turned the tables on him. Now he has one chance to get his job back: find two demons who vanished in the human realm. Unfortunately, doing so means teaming up with Chess—the very mortal who cost Ralgath his job in the first place.

  Chess has spent the last three years using their infernally granted powers to do good. But now Ralgath has a new offer for them: help him find the missing demons, and he’ll return Chess’s soul.

  After their last encounter, Chess is the last person Ralgath should be interested in. But the passion that initially drew them together still burns hotter than the flames of the Underworld. Chess claims they never meant to hurt Ralgath, but can Ralgath afford to trust them? Because while Ralgath may have Chess’s soul, he’s increasingly certain Chess owns his heart.

  I.

  RALGATH APPEARED in a perfectly timed flash of smoke and flame, accompanied by just a hint of brimstone. Not too much—the stink of sulfur would never come out of his hair otherwise. He’d learned that the hard way during his apprenticeship.

  He manifested with his back to the mortal who’d called him to the crossroads—purely for dramatic effect, of course. Let the human see him framed by the sinister light of the moon as it rose over the swamp. It would establish the mood and give Ralgath a chance to take a deep breath or two.

  His first day on the job as a crossroads demon. His first solo contract. It was going to be a memory he’d cherish forever.

  “You have summoned me, mortal,” he said. He put a bit of infernal power into his voice, so it echoed ominously through the trees. Perfect. “I will give you whatever you seek… in return for your immortal soul.”

  Ralgath spun on the last words, and his cape swirled around him. He intended to fix the mortal with a dangerous-yet-sexy look that would further establish his dominance. Getting the upper hand to begin with was critical to these sorts of negotiations.

  Instead he found himself gaping.

  The human looked as wildly out of place as possible on the dirt roads that bisected the swamp. Their car was all wrong, to start with. Ralgath didn’t know enough about human vehicles to guess any details, only that it certainly looked big and powerful. Convertible.

  And screaming, shocking pink.

  Not powder-puff, not even blush. It was a pink that grabbed you by the eyeballs and demanded you pay attention.

  The vanity plate read NBINARY, beside a THEY/THEM bumper sticker.

  As for the mortal themself….

  Ralgath wasn’t certain where to rest his eyes. On the flowing hair twisted into a braid? The light brown skin? The spaghetti-strap top with a glitter rainbow on the front?

  Definitely not on the tight, tight pants that didn’t leave much to the imagination.

  A slow grin settled over the mortal’s firm lips. “Nice to meet you.” Their southern accent softened the edges of the words into a languid drawl: Nice ta meet ya. “Name’s Chesapeake Richards. But you can call me Chess, sugar.”

  Ralgath realized he was staring. He swallowed against the sudden dryness in his mouth and tried to ignore the fact that his neatly pressed slacks were starting to feel tight. “Chess,” he repeated. Damn, he’d forgotten to use his ominous voice already. He cleared his throat and tried to sound more impressive. “Tell me what dark desire you have summoned me to fulfill.”

  Oh, gods below. That sounded… not at all how he intended it.

  Ralgath’s face burned, and he hoped his dark cheeks didn’t show enough of a blush for anyone without heat vision to notice.

  The grin on Chess’s mouth widened, and they ran their gaze up and down Ralgath’s form far too deliberately to miss. Ralgath knew he looked good—style was part of what being a crossroads demon was all about. An old-fashioned suit of cream linen, expertly tailored to his body, and a red tie chosen to match the color of both his eyes and of the diminutive horns peeking out of his thick black hair. The cape was lined with the same red, just to make sure his silhouette stood out. He wasn’t the tallest crossroads demon, but his broad shoulders and trim hips had caught the eye of more than one Underworld denizen.

  Still, he never expected to be so blatantly admired. He wasn’t an incubus, after all.

  “Well,” Chess said. They leaned back against the trunk of their car, showing off those long legs as they did so. “I can think of several desires I’d like fulfilled, now that you mention it.”

  This wasn’t going according to the training scenarios.

  Training. Yes. He needed to fall back on his training, that was all. With a flash of fire, Ralgath produced a scroll and a quill. Absurdly out of date, but it would never do to ask a mortal to use their finger to sign a digital screen. Where would the blood go?

  “I can offer you much,” he said. “Riches. Fame.” There was already a bit too much heat in the air between them, so he left out the usual offer of sex. “Whatever you want. All you have to do is ask.”

  A sultry smile played over Chess’s lips. “Oh, I mean to ask,” they murmured. “But you were talking about the contract.” They cocked their head. “I want to hunt monsters—to track them, fight them, and kill them.”

  Ralgath blinked. He’d expected Chess to ask to be a supermodel, or maybe a world-famous actor. “You… why?”

  He shut his mouth with a snap. Why was one of the questions his trainers had cautioned him against asking. Infernal Affairs conducted its business with a strict nondiscrimination hiring policy. It didn’t matter why some mortal wanted to sign over their soul, only that they did.

  Chess gave him a long, searching look. Lords of Hell, they had thick eyelashes. “I want to make a difference,” they said at last, all the flirtatiousness stripped from their voice. “Protect those who can’t protect themselves.”

  Oh. Oh dear. Had there been some sort of mix-up? Ralgath looked around quickly, but no, this was definitely right—two roads stretching off into the lonely swamp, midnight, new moon, graveyard dirt, black candle, and a picture of Chess grinning while flashing the peace sign.

  They had definitely meant to summon a crossroads demon.

  “What?” Chess straightened. “Is something wrong?”

  “Not… exactly.” Ralgath coughed. “Umm. It’s just that my department doesn’t usually handle this sort of request.” He shuffled his feet, feeling unaccountably embarrassed. “If you want to be a
supermodel, I can do that.”

  Chess looked at him for a long moment and then patted the trunk beside them. “Come over here, sugar.”

  “I… umm… all right.” Even though part of Ralgath wasn’t sure it was a good idea at all, the rest of him didn’t want to pass up an opportunity to get closer to the gorgeous mortal.

  He leaned against the trunk beside Chess in what he hoped was a nonchalant pose. So near, the scent of sandalwood and musk teased his senses as it rose from Chess’s warm skin.

  Chess turned to face him, plump lips curved into a small pout. “I have to say, I wasn’t expecting to be turned down. Are you sure you can’t help me out?”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to,” Ralgath said quickly. “It’s just that this sort of request is more the thing Celestial Affairs handles. They’re in charge of superheroes, Chosen Ones, that sort of thing.”

  Of course, Celestial Affairs didn’t take requests. They did all the picking, and the ones they chose just had to live with it… which didn’t sound fair at all, now that Ralgath thought about it. At least Infernal Affairs offered mortals an option to say no.

  Chess ran their hand up Ralgath’s arm. Even through the layers of his suit, the touch went right to Ralgath’s cock. A light sweat broke out over his brow.

  “So it isn’t so much that you can’t…,” Chess prompted.

  “Er, no. I mean, I could.” Ralgath swallowed heavily. “I just… I might get into trouble.”

  Chess’s lips drew closer and closer to his own. “Maybe you ought to let trouble get into you.”

  RALGATH SPRAWLED over the trunk of the car, his cheek pressed into the metal and his nails peeling strips out of the bright pink paint. His pants lay on the side of the road somewhere, and Chess pressed their fingers tightly into his hips.

  “Oh gods,” Ralgath gasped. “Yes, yes, right there!”

  “Uh. Yeah, baby,” Chess grunted into his ear. “How about superstrength?”

  “Y-yes,” Ralgath gasped. His demonic quill obediently scratched the terms into the scroll on the trunk beside them. “I’m so close.”

  “Same.” Chess pressed their lips into the back of his neck. “Fuck. Okay. Accelerated healing.”

  “Yes, anything, please!”

  The quill added another line. Ralgath writhed beneath Chess. “I can’t… I can’t….”

  “I’ve got you, sugar,” Chess murmured. Their hand closed over Ralgath’s cock and barely had time to stroke it before their touch sent him over the edge. A moment later Chess tensed and let out a groan of their own.

  “Mmm.” Chess sighed happily into Ralgath’s hair. Then they pulled free, flicked out a knife, and cut the tip of their index finger. Humming, they signed their name to the contract.

  Ralgath’s mind began to piece itself back together from the mind-blowing orgasm he’d just had. He stood, though his legs weren’t entirely certain about the process. “Umm….”

  Chess pressed the contract and quill into his hand and leaned in for a kiss. “Thanks, sweetie.”

  A few seconds later, the pink car took off in a spray of dust. Ralgath stood alone in the crossroads, his pants in the bushes someplace, the contract in his hands, and a sinking feeling in his stomach.

  “Oh, dear,” he said. “Mr. Gizrun is not going to be happy about this.”

  II.

  Three years later.

  “HELLO, AND welcome to the Underworld,” Ralgath said tonelessly, for what was probably the five-thousandth time that day.

  “About damned time!” The old man outside the ticket booth window glared furiously.

  At first glance the Underworld’s reception area appeared to be an old-fashioned train station of truly cyclopean proportions, complete with ticket windows. As all of them except Ralgath’s were closed, the line of souls waiting to be sent to their appropriate place in the Underworld was several days long.

  “The Underworld apologizes for the delay, sir,” Ralgath said automatically for the 5,001st time. He leaned forward and examined the heavy book in front of him.

  In theory they could get in computers and streamline the process. No lack of IT guys down here, that was for sure. Most of them had wasted their time on earth as trolls, and no self-respecting demon wanted to work with them. Besides, Ralgath’s boss, Ezon, was adamant that the old ways were the best ways. Tradition was the watchword of the Underworld.

  Ralgath eyed the line again. Sometimes tradition sucked.

  Three years he’d been doing this job. Three years behind this desk, thanks to that stupid contract with Chess.

  He’d been right about his former boss reacting badly to the contract. Mr. Gizrun called Ralgath into his office and yelled for a solid hour about the responsibilities of crossroads demons, about how Celestial Affairs had already filed a complaint, and that Ralgath had better hope Chess turned out to be easily corrupted by their new powers.

  And then he booted Ralgath right out of Infernal Affairs and into Customer Service. Specifically, working the Intake desk for new souls.

  Bad as Intake was, the worst part of his demotion had been Mom and Dad’s disappointment. Ralgath’s parents were legends—Mom for hunting down souls who thought they could escape their fate, and Dad for getting more contracts in a single year than any other demon since the thirteenth century. Everyone had expected Ralgath to live up to the family name.

  Instead, he’d lost his job in record time, all thanks to tight pants and a pair of sultry lips.

  He still thought about those lips sometimes. He shouldn’t—Chess had screwed him in more ways than one. But it hadn’t kept him from fantasizing about what he’d do if Chess ever came begging again.

  The old man banged his cane against Ralgath’s window. “What’s taking so long, boy? I’ll have a word with your manager! Have him fire your shiftless, no-good ass.”

  Ralgath pressed his lips together tightly. “It will just be a minute. Sir.”

  The man glowered even more, if that were possible. “You don’t look right. Are you some kind of foreigner? That explains it.”

  Never mind. The worst part of his disgrace wasn’t Mom and Dad’s disappointment after all. It was dealing with entitled pricks like the man in front of him.

  Ralgath leaned further forward and forced a smile over his face. The grin was just a little too wide, though, and revealed the sharp tips of his canines. Inner light suffused his scarlet irises. “So impatient to receive your just reward, little man?” he asked in his most ominous voice.

  The man blinked. “D-do you know who I am?” he demanded, but it was nothing but bluster.

  “Oh, I know very well.” Ralgath caressed the book in front of him. The man’s name lit up, and the smell of scorching paper filled the air. “And I know what you did.”

  All the color drained from the man’s already-pale face. “I didn’t do anything. I lived a good life. I went to church every week—”

  “Ah, yes. I believe the pastor of that church lived in a ten-thousand-square-foot house with three swimming pools and was caught embezzling from several charities. Don’t worry. You’ll be seeing him soon.” Ralgath leaned over the counter and was pleased when the man drew back in alarm. “As for you, you climbed to wealth on the backs of others and then claimed to have earned it yourself so you could justify indulging your greed. You gave nothing, contributed nothing, only took and took and took some more. It’s the Hungry Place for you, shriveled soul. And you’d best hope you learn something before your next turn on the wheel.”

  He snapped his fingers, and the old man’s shriek was cut off when he vanished in a puff of smoke.

  With a sigh Ralgath dropped back into his chair. “Next.”

  As a cowed-looking soul stepped up to the window, a hand settled on Ralgath’s shoulder. “Not bad, Ral.”

  Ralgath gritted his teeth. He hated the nickname. “Your shift isn’t until tonight, Izzy.”

  Izael reached past him and flipped the Open sign to Back in 5 Minutes. Groans and grumbles r
ose from the line, but Izzy ignored them. “They called me in early. Apparently Infernal Affairs wants to talk to you.”

  Ralgath looked up quickly in surprise. Izzy was a tall demon with lovely blue wings and a short, curling tail. Handsome, but after the debacle with Chess, Ralgath had learned the hazards of sleeping with someone on the job and kept his interactions professional. “IA wants to talk to me? Why?”

  “I’ll be damned if I know. Wait.” Izzy laughed at his own humor. “Nah, I don’t have any idea. Just that you’re to report to some guy named Gizrun ASAP.”

  RALGATH KNOCKED hesitantly on Gizrun’s door. The director of the Mortal Employee Outreach Division—crossroads demons, in other words—hadn’t changed at all in the last three years. He was still enormous, covered in spikes, and stuck behind a ludicrously small desk.

  Eyes yellow as moonrise fixed on Ralgath. “Well, come in,” Gizrun barked. “I don’t have all day.”

  So there hadn’t been a mistake. Ralgath’s heart sank as he crossed the room to stand in front of the desk. The memory of Gizrun waving Chess’s contract and howling in the voices of the damned still stung. At least Ralgath didn’t have his pants on inside out this time.

  “You wanted to see me?” he asked.

  “Wanted is a strong word.” Gizrun’s chair groaned as he settled back into it. Bone chairs weren’t very ergonomic, but as always, tradition trumped comfort in the Underworld. “I’d just as soon have never laid a single one of my six eyes on you again. But I have a problem, and one of the higher-ups thought you might be able to fix it.” Gizrun snorted a cloud of steam. “I tried to talk them out of it, but your mother’s reputation preceded you.”

  “Mother?” Ralgath repeated, even more confused than ever. “What does she have to do with it?”

  “In her day she was the best Enforcer.” Gizrun’s eyes grew misty. “She and that hellhound could track an escaped soul to the four corners of the earth.” His eyes hardened again. “Unfortunately, she retired.”