Agave Kiss

diabolically sexy trio.

“What the hell—” Chuch started.

The demon ignored him. “You made a bargain with our knight, Sibella. Those terms were not met.”

“Because the Hazo staged a coup,” I said incredulously. “Not through any contractual failure of mine.”

He was right; I’d made a deal with Sibella. I was supposed to take seven days to learn the lay of the land in Sheol and then return to come to terms with whatever it was Sibella had wanted of me. Instead, the demon queen living in my head broke the terms. It appeared it was time for me to pay her bill.

Fantastic.

“You did not return to our stronghold in seven days, as promised. Instead you attempted to claim the city for your own. The original bargain was not met.”

“Good luck enforcing that.”

“That’s why we’re here. Unless you’re prepared to meet Sibella’s champion, you will deal with us, here and now.”

Uh-oh. It sounded an awful lot like they intended to wreck up the place. But how much damage could sex demons do? Some of Chuch and Eva’s family were gifted, but would they fight? I didn’t like my odds, three on one, and though Butch had the heart of a lion, he still had the teeth of a Chihuahua. Still, I had to try to minimize the collateral damage. I’d cost the Ortizes enough over the course of our friendship.

“Come with me,” I invited, “and we’ll have it out.”

Mostly I wanted to get them away from the rest of the guests. Fortunately, most women had downed enough booze to react with less intensity to the Luren appeal as they would otherwise. Still, some of them were looking for their husbands, initiating long, intimate kisses without understanding why. It helped that the Luren weren’t here incarnate; the draw was lessened in possession. Still, their human hosts radiated a raw lust that unsettled me. Jesse and Shannon had stopped dancing, and were mostly just grinding on each other. His face was a taut, erotic portrait, and she looked like she wanted to climb him. In two minutes, we’d be in the middle of an orgy, or somebody would be dead.

Tense, I waited to see if the demons would take the bait. Namely me.

No such luck.

The dark-haired one was becoming alert to the potential in the situation, both for feeding and chaos. He smiled with beautiful white teeth. “I think not. Perhaps we’ll take payment from your friends and loved ones instead.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal,” I said. “Sibella made the deal with me. Any breach—and I am not admitting there was one—must be addressed with me.”

“She’s right,” a silky voice said.

Oh, gods, it only needs this.

I turned slowly, hoping I hadn’t identified the speaker correctly. Barachiel stood at my shoulder, cloaked in radiance from head to toe. No lie, he was actually glowing a little bit, and the light show hinted at great white feathery wings unfurling at his back. Then I blinked and the suggested shape blurred into the line of his jacket, but I knew better than to believe it was a trick of my tired eyes. Barachiel did everything for a reason.

“Corine has aligned herself with the host,” he told the Luren. “Should you choose to pursue this debt, it will be tantamount to an act of war. Are you content to begin the battle tonight?” He tilted his head, visibly charmed by the idea. “I am.”

“No. This is not happening. I’m not the catalyst for the end of days or whatever.”

“Are you sure?” Barachiel asked.

I wasn’t.

Inwardly, I quaked in terror. This was too much, yet another choice being forced on me. I could see if I permitted Barachiel to protect me now, he would call the balance due later. I wanted to cut free of all supernatural things and just live my life, but I had long since lost any ability to chart that course. Yet I was weary of bouncing from one catastrophe to the next, living on borrowed karma.

The blond one cocked his head, as if listening to unheard voices. “Yes. We are content to fire the opening salvo, Barachiel.”

Uh-oh. That had to mean they had some trick up their sleeves. I feared Barachiel, and I didn’t want to work for him. That didn’t mean I wanted him to end up in a cage match at my friend’s barbecue. Sometimes my life sucked so much, there were no words. So. Not. Good. I had to stop this, somehow, but my mind was an utter blank; I had no cards left to play.

The archangel whipped out a gleaming silver sword, forged of a metal sharp and preternaturally strong, like the knife Kel carried. Moonlight ran like water down the blade. In response, the three demons drew their own weapons, black as night, barbed and serrated like hungry teeth.

And that was when the screaming started.

Battle Royale

The party guests weren’t prepared for Armageddon to break out amid cheese rolls and onion dip, so I didn’t blame them for panicking.

Half of them dialed 911, but since Jesse was already here, I guessed the police were already on the way. Unfortunately, it would be too late by the time the authorities arrived, and Jesse would have some hard-core ’splaining to do. As Barachiel lunged at the white-haired Luren, I wondered if this attack would be written off as cartel-driven, ascribed to Chuch’s past unsavory associates. That being said, I understood the need for damage control. Otherwise the paranormal world would come out in a big way, as a result of a Texas BBQ. Talk about bizarre cause and effect.

For once, I wasn’t in the middle of the fight. These four were trying to kill each other, not me, but it didn’t make it better. I didn’t like being the juicy bone between four hungry dogs; things almost never worked out well for the bone. And if the Luren won, they wouldn’t wait to drag me back to Sheol for a final accounting. As if he read my thought—could alleged archangels do that?—Barachiel cut me a mordant look, laced with warning. I took it to mean he wouldn’t be distracted long . . . because these demons didn’t pose a serious threat, no matter what they thought. He also seemed a little insulted that I’d even considered the possibility he could lose.

Either way, it was no comfort. No matter who won, I lost.

The Luren were fast for all their feral beauty; they encircled Barachiel. His broad sweeps with the sword kept them back, but everywhere he turned, there was a demon, waiting for him to weaken. He didn’t seem to tire, however. They exchanged a flurry of feints and parries while people ran for their cars, yelling incomprehensibly at Chuch.

The motion of their blades made me dizzy. I couldn’t track Barachiel’s movements; he wasn’t even pretending to be human. It was like a movie fight, sped up with special effects, only the slashes and blocks were real. Barachiel slammed his sword so hard into the tall Luren’s that the demon’s blade broke, splintering into a dozen shards. The archangel didn’t pull his next blow either. He took off the creature’s head, and it bounced in a spray of blood. Demon blood was a little thicker, a little darker, and the smell was unmistakable. The stench of sulfur and brimstone permeated the air, dominating the gentler aromas of mesquite and good food.

At that, the last remaining guests who had been frozen with shock and disbelief sprang into motion. I had no idea how we would keep something like this quiet. Surely everyone on the guest list couldn’t be in on the secret, so what the hell . . . ? But that was way low on my priority list at the moment. I had so many emergencies to tackle that I didn’t even know where to start.

“My odds just got better,” Barachiel observed, holding his swordsman’s stance.

“If I die here or in Sheol, it makes no difference,” the demon responded. “You remember the price of failing the knight who commands you.” The Luren paused, smiling. “No, perhaps you don’t. You’ve rewritten your own history, after all.”