Hi all,
Since we’re just past Halloween, I’m going to go for a little extra “treat” today, but with a “trick.” My newest M/M paranormal erotica just released. Chapter 1 is available on the Liquid Silver Books website here. The trick is, you’ll have to go to the publisher’s site to read Chapter 1. But the treat is that I’m putting the first part of Chapter 2 below as a little extra preview. So, read and enjoy a little bit of Angel in the Middle.
Chapter Two
Franco sat in a corner of the Heretic Bar with his chair tipped back and a bottle of Corona in his hand. He’d changed in the Hummer to make sure he met the “leather night” dress requirements. His chest was bare under a leather vest, and he’d left his dark hair loose to fall to his shoulders. He expected to attract attention, and he wanted the action to come to him. He raised the beer bottle and flexed a muscle.
A wide-eyed twink paused by his chair. “Wow, dude, you must have some workout routine.”
“I wrestle demons for a living.” Franco let his gaze dismiss the boy. He wasn’t in the mood for wide-eyed innocence, even fake innocence. Not tonight. The twink danced away with a shrug.
A bit of wannabe rough trade swung near. “Wanna wrestle me?”
Franco snorted. Another twink, but with spiky blue hair and nipple rings twinkling on his bare chest. The wannabe turned, revealing tribal tattoos shaped like wings on his shoulders, and shimmied his hips down to the floor and back up. Tight jeans cupped a perfect ass. The short, spiky hair wasn’t Franco’s preference, but the kid moved like a professional. He looked over his shoulder and winked. “Come on, Big Guy, you know you want me.” He raised his arms and humped back and forth to the beat. Franco considered the offer.
And cursed when a fog settled over the scene, blocking out the music and hiding the tribal tattooed kid behind a white veil. He took a swig of his Corona and waited. When Raguel strode out of the mist, the hint of a sneer tweaked lips so perfect they could have been chiseled by an Italian master. Franco sneered back. Raguel hadn’t approved of Da Vinci or Michelangelo.
“Why do I always find you in places like this?” The angel held his white robe up off the scuffed concrete floor and positioned himself so that he didn’t touch anything.
Franco dropped the chair down to four legs. He couldn’t tell Raguel that he frequented these places in hopes of being left in peace with his mortal lust. He’d spent seven hundred years doing both Heaven and Hell’s bidding, and Raguel’s sneers made the opposition look appealing. “Just finished a job. Another one of the fallen claw his way out of the pit?”
Raguel pointed a finger, and a figure took form in the air. Tall. Slim. Blond hair down to his waist. Franco’s gaze moved down the fall of hair. He’d always been a sucker for long hair. White mist covered the figure like a robe. The chest was flat and smooth. Male. It was always hard to tell from the facial features. Raguel and his type didn’t grow beards. Franco doubted they grew hair around their balls either. Not that he’d ever figured out why they needed balls. Raguel certainly never put his to use. Prick wouldn’t even show him a beauty like this unclothed. Franco studied the fading figure, drinking in the unique light of his soul. “Doesn’t feel like one of the pit dwellers to me.”
“He fell.”
“Looks like he missed the target.” A demon who could mimic a human was dangerous. One that still looked like the angel he’d once been was the worst sort. “What’d he do to get kicked out?”
“Questioning is not your job. Hunting is. His name is Darius. Find him. Banish him.”
“Like I said, I just finished a job. You’re interrupting my rest period so this one will be twice the agreed-upon rate.” Raguel paid in something more valuable than coin, forgiveness for transgressions.
Raguel chuckled, surprising Franco. He’d never heard the Archangel laugh. “I find you here, and you still think to redeem your soul? Twice, three times, what difference will it make?” Raguel leaned over and put his hands on the table. “I lose patience with you, Franco. You were a bad bargain then, and you still are. How long do you think to hover between salvation and the pit?” He stood and wiped his hands with a look of disgust. “Find the fallen one and banish him.”
Bastard wasn’t even going to tell him what he was up against. Raguel would be just as happy if one of the damned dragged him down to Hell. He’d learned to gamble with his soul long ago. “Twice the rate.”
“When I have confirmed the job is done.”
Ah, so he’d read him right. Something about this one had caught in Raguel’s craw. Maybe he should have demanded three times the rate.
“And done quickly.”
“I hear and obey, oh master.” Raguel waited, staring at him. Franco raised his Corona and gestured toward the dance floor. “I have plans for tonight.”
“Finish them.” Raguel gave him a final disapproving sneer before he turned and vanished into the mist. At least the bar didn’t burst into flames. Franco often suspected that Raguel had been involved in the fiasco at Sodom. Everyone was more liberal these days.
He closed his eyes. Damn Raguel and his kind. They were so perfectly formed that he couldn’t keep his body from reacting, but this time he pulsed with need for the blond. Even that one’s soul light felt wrong for a demon. A dangerous hunt, but he didn’t plan to begin with his cock pointing the way.
He opened his eyes. With a sensuous twist of his hips, the dancer with the tattoo caught his attention again. “Whadaya say, Big Guy? Want some tribal action?”
Franco slapped a fifty on the table. “I don’t want to look at you. I don’t want to hear you talk.”
Tribal tattoo opened his mouth, and Franco pulled back the fifty. Tribal shrugged and closed his mouth. Franco dropped the fifty again. Tribal crossed his arms over his pierced nipples and looked up at the ceiling. Franco slapped another fifty beside the first. Tribal’s gaze flicked down at it.
Franco picked up the bills and held them out. “Look, you’re not the only talent here tonight.”
Tribal pulled his lips into a pout. Franco didn’t move. With a sigh, the other took the money, folded it, and tucked it into his jeans. Franco rose, grabbed him by the chain he wore as a belt and headed to the back door of the bar. Tribal wove through the tables with practiced ease that told Franco he shouldn’t have bothered with the second fifty. This one liked being bossed around. Hell, he could have had him without any money at all. But money kept the encounters from becoming personal.
Filed under: Erotica, Fiction, Marie Dees, Paranormal, Romance
