Nana's Little Black Book [Anthology]

NANA’ S LITTLE BLACK BOOK

…Catrina let out a long sigh, then stood. Until she could figure out the best way to contain Nana’s secrets, she supposed keeping them buried in the floor vault would have to suffice. She started toward the exposed chamber, intent on replacing all the items she’d removed. Scarcely three steps from the bed, she dropped the little black book. It landed on the floor with a firm smack! Of course, dropped was probably an understatement, the book practically leapt from her hand. “Well that’s strange,” she declared. It was almost as if the book didn’t want to go back in the vault. Normally, that would seem like a strange notion, but at this point she was willing to accept anything. Bending over, she reached for the book. Just as her fingers brushed the cover, it raced across the floor away from her. “Hey!” Catrina protested, running after the estranged volume. It sped toward the door, across the threshold, and into the living room. Catrina hurried after it, praying the darn thing didn’t slip through the gap under the front door and head down the street. While there were few neighbors in the cul-de-sac, she imagined the ones she did have would think she was nuts, running after a renegade black book. “Come back—oh!” Catrina stopped dead in her tracks. Standing within her living room, between the coffee table and sofa, and wearing nothing but a carpenter’s tool belt, was the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on. “Hello, Cat. You looking for this?”

ALSO BY SHANNON LEIGH Chinatown Buffet Greenwood Manor More Than Prophecy Stairway To Heaven

NANA’S LITTLE BLACK BOOK BY SHANNON LEIGH

AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC http://www.amberquill.com

NANA ’S LITTLE BLACK BOOK AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.amberquill.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2005 by Shannon Leigh ISBN 1-59279-441-6 Cover Art © 2005 Trace Edward Zaber

Layout and Formatting provided by: ElementalAlchemy.com

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

For my friends and family, who always encourage me to keep moving forward.

NANA’S LITTLE BLACK BOOK

CHAPTER 1

Catrina swept the pile of dust, paper, and other unrecognizable debris from one end of the hardwood floor to the other, delaying the inevitable. She’d spent over an hour chasing dust bunnies from beneath the furniture and scraping the broom’s stiff bristles along each nook and cranny, determined to get every last particle of dirt, or at least, put off the next dreaded task as long as possible. With a heavy sigh, she reached for the pan. Two weeks had passed since Nana’s death. While she’d succeeded in staying out of her grandmother’s bedroom, Catrina knew she couldn’t avoid it forever. It was time. She’d cleaned every other room in the house, some more than once. But her spirited and spunky Nana was dead. Life had to go on. Catrina stared at the old pictures lining the mantle, all of which contained images of her at some point in time along her development. Catrina as a toddler. Catrina in elementary school, middle school, high 1

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school. And finally, Catrina the grown woman she was now. She often wondered how Nana had done it. She’d never worked outside the home, as far as Catrina could remember. There was no evidence that a man had once been there. There was always just Nana, with her home-cooked meals, warm heart, and unconditional love. Catrina couldn’t remember her parents. They had died when she was very young. Nor did she have any brothers or sisters. No aunts or uncles. No cousins. No one. Only Nana. Her vision blurred as moisture collected at the corner of her lashes. What was she to do? She had no money, no job, nothing to sustain herself, or Nana’s house. It was the only home she’d ever known. “I have to get a job,” she whispered to the quiet room. The mustard-colored curtains with their ghastly print of cranberry and green flowers billowed softly in response as a breeze swept through the open window. The antique couch with its faded burgundy cushions, scarred wooden arms, and buttonless pillows merely sat motionless, as a sofa should do. And her grandmother’s favorite rocker with its spindled back and worn seat, remained frozen in a partial lean, its curled legs and aged frame pulled back by the weight of Nana’s afghan. She looked fondly upon the old throw. Every evening, after building a fire in the stone hearth between the two tall windows on the outside wall, Nana would sit in her rocker with her blanket draped around her frail shoulders and work on her knitting or crochet, while Catrina would curl up on the worn sofa and study her latest courses. Only two more semesters to go and she would have her degree. Nana had always used herbs and varying flowers to treat every ailment. Whether it was a sore throat or a bout of insomnia, her grandmother had a cure. Even before she’d graduated from high school, Catrina had known she’d pursue her education in alternative medicine. Her plans had been to open a small herbal shop in town, where customers could come and purchase whatever tincture or tea they 2

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needed. Catrina closed her eyes as a painful memory clenched her heart. Nana and she had spent countless lazy afternoons discussing the possibilities. She knew Nana would want her to continue the dream. But right now, Catrina felt too depressed to do much else but piddle-paddle through each day until night came and she could escape heartache with sleep. The house seemed so lonely now. Catrina carried the dustpan into the kitchen and deposited her swept up load into the trash. She looked about the small room, taking in each minute detail that reminded her so much of Nana—the faded cornflower blue window valance dotted with white daisies, the oldfashioned metal table with its yellowed ivory top and silver legs, the Whirlpool stove with its dated black dials and gas burners, and the matching fridge with its obscenely old-fashioned, latch-type handles. A strange question popped in her head. How had Nana managed to keep this stuff running? She knew the appliances had to be at least as old as she was, but she could never recall anyone coming to fix anything. It was as if nothing in Nana’s home had ever broken. Catrina walked back to the living room. Her gaze went directly to the television. It was one of those old floor models with the wooden shell and false handles, making it look as though it held two small drawers. She pulled out the “on” knob. A commercial for a local car dealership instantly sprang to life on the old screen, perfect in color and detail. “This thing has to be at least thirty years old.” And yet, its picture was as sharp and clear as any brand new model’s would be. She pushed in the button. The screen immediately turned black. Catrina’s brows furrowed. Maybe Nana just had really good luck when it came to appliances. 3

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Her thoughts shifted to the turquoise Chevy parked in the garage. The white leather seats were still as smooth and perfect as the day they were manufactured. The paint still glistened in the sunlight without a hint of rust or wear. The damned thing looked brand new! Who changed the oil? Who waxed the paint? Who checked the engine? Catrina’s shoulders slumped and she let out a long sigh of despair. What does it matter? However she did it, Nana is gone. Now it’s up to me to keep things together. Not only did she need a job, it looked as though she needed a man as well. She made her way across the room and stopped before Nana’s door. Her hand hesitated above the knob. Nearly fourteen days had passed since she’d last crossed this threshold—fourteen days since she’d found her grandmother’s small frame collapsed on the floor. Taking a deep breath, Catrina opened the door. Her nostrils were immediately assaulted by a waft of staleness—the smell often found within a room that’s been closed off for a long period of time. She gagged and ran to the window. After throwing open the sheers and lifting the pane, she leaned out and gulped in large drafts of fresh air. Catrina wasn’t sure what turned her stomach the most, the horrible smell or the memory of Nana’s body sprawled across the braided rug next to her bed. Perhaps if she lit some candles… Sucking in another deep breath, she closed her eyes and counted to ten, willing her nerves to calm. Feeling a little more at ease, Catrina approached the small dresser in the corner—Nana always kept some incense handy. She poured some emersion oil into Nana’s stainless steel bowl, then added a small pinch of dried lavender leaves. Next, she placed a tea light candle in the base beneath the bowl and lit the waxed wick. Almost instantly, the calming aroma drifted upward. 4

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Catrina turned around to face the rest of the room. Her gaze first went to the empty cast iron bed. Its quilted coverlet was pulled neatly back to the foot, folded in an accordion-type manner. Its rectangular pillow lay fluffed and centered, waiting for Nana’s coarse gray curls to grace its comforting down. And its ivory sheets were smooth and flat, all indicators of the bed’s recent state of loneliness. She bit her bottom lip as a fresh tear trailed down her cheek, leaving a wet path for others to follow. Swiping the renegade drop away with her fingertips, she forbid herself from crying. She had to be strong— Nana wouldn’t want it any other way. “Oh who am I kidding?” she wailed, letting loose a whole floodtide of sorrow. She needed something to calm her nerves and give her strength. Maté tea…

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CHAPTER 2

Catrina entered Nana’s room for the second time that afternoon, only now she felt rejuvenated and ready to tackle the long overdue task. The potent herbs had definitely helped. First, she went to the bed and stripped off the blanket and sheets, then tossed them into a pile near the doorway—she’d wash them later. Next, she retrieved her broom and dustpan. While Nana’s room was certainly left neat and in order, it was obvious the hardwood floor hadn’t been touched by a straw bristle in quite some time. Dust bunnies raced in all directions as she swiped the angled edge under the bed. She gathered the renegade puffs into a small pile, then herded them onto her pan for deposit into the nearest trash. As she leaned over to scoop up her booty, a small wad of paper caught her attention. It was lodged between the nightstand and bed frame, trapped in mid fall on its way to the floor. Catrina propped her broom against the wall, then went to retrieve the hidden article. 6

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Once unfurled, the discolored beige parchment was about the size of her hand. It looked to have been torn from a small book or notepad, its jagged edge a tale-tell sign. There were seven numbers scrawled across the surface—three, six, three, two, two, five, five—and the words “end call.” Catrina’s brows furrowed. “What the heck does that mean?” She picked up the phone by Nana’s bed and dialed the specified digits. Before she’d even punched in the final one, a three-tone chime cut in, then a recorded woman’s voice said, “We’re sorry, you must first dial a one or a zero before calling this number.” She hung up the phone and placed it back on its base. Then she looked at the paper again. End call? Apparently, Nana had forgotten to write some of the numbers. Perhaps there was an address book in one of her drawers that might shed light on this mystery—she’d check them out later. Setting the parchment aside, Catrina reclaimed her broom and started for the dresser, where a whole community of dust bunnies had likely accumulated. *

*

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Once she’d swept behind and under every article of furniture— avoiding the one area of floor she dreaded touching—Catrina knew there was just one spot left to clean. The old braided rug. Once just a floor covering, now it seemed strangely daunting. It was where she’d found her Nana. The local physician had claimed her grandmother’s death was attributed to heart failure. For a woman eighty-five years of age, Catrina supposed it was a reasonable diagnosis. Yet, her Nana had been in good health—at least as far as she could tell. There were only a few times over the years that Catrina could remember her grandmother being seriously ill—in a manner which required therapy beyond her Nana’s own tinctures and concoctions. 7

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Other than an occasional sniffle or cough due to seasonal changes, the little woman always appeared as strong as an ox. While an autopsy might have pinpointed an exact cause, Catrina knew her Nana wouldn’t have wanted one. “We all go when we’re called,” her grandmother had declared on countless occasions. “And no amount of flim-flam is gonna stop it.” Flim-flam. Catrina couldn’t help but chuckle. That’s what Nana referred to as modern medicine. Her smile faded as her gaze dropped back to the rug. If she closed her eyes, she could still see Nana’s small form lying in the center. Several questions haunted her soul—ones she’d never have answers for. Had Nana been trying to get to her bed? Or had she purposely curled up on the floor? Did she feel any pain? Any fear? Catrina shuddered. She knew entertaining such thoughts would bring herself more pain and heartache. The only consolation she had was that her grandmother’s final expression had been one of peace. She inhaled deeply, then let the air slip noisily through her parted lips. This was the last obstacle to healing. Time to put her final fear to rest. Getting on her knees, she grasped the rounded edge and began rolling the heavy carpet toward the center. Once she got it into a neat coil, she’d drag it into the living room and out the front door. Hopefully, any dust on its surface would be contained until she could clean it outside. But as she exposed more of the floor, something else was revealed. Spotting a two-foot wide crevice, she paused in mid roll. What the? At first, she thought perhaps the hardwood had been damaged, and that’s why Nana had kept it covered with the rug. But as she continued to roll the carpet away, it became apparent that this wasn’t an inadvertent cut in the wood, but rather a hidden panel. 8

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When the carpet was completely coiled, she quickly pulled it out of the way. Then turned her attention back to the trap door. It was a perfect square with a small hole cut midway along one side—just large enough for someone’s finger. Catrina’s stomach was a jumble of unease. What could Nana possibly be hiding in there? She cautiously approached the panel, then kneeled by the edge with the hole. Only one way to find out… Slipping an index finger into the opening, she pressed the tip on the underside and carefully pulled the plank free. A surprised gasp caught in her throat as the contents within the hidden vault came into view. Glass vials of varying colors, aged scrolls tied with discolored ribbon, loose parchments turned brown with time, books in varying degrees of decay, an assortment of amulets, beads, and pewter statues—and that was only what she could see. Who knew how deep this chamber went, or what lay beneath this covering of mystical artifacts. To say she was befuddled would be an understatement. Catrina truly didn’t know what to think. What secrets had died with her mysterious Nana? And what ones would she discover within this strange treasure trove? Leaning forward, she tentatively reached into the hole and began removing the objects, one at a time. She really wasn’t sure what her plan was so she started by putting the items in categories—all the books together, all the parchments together, all the amulets together, and so forth. By the time she was done, Catrina had several piles of stuff. Before choosing which grouping to peruse first, she merely sat back on her hunches and stared at each one. A strange prickle worked its way down her spine. Apparently, Nana had been in to more than just herbal remedies—a lot more. 9

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Catrina fingered the edge of a purple satin scarf embroidered with what looked to be thread made of gold. Surely it’s not r— As though suddenly alive, the fabric roiled in response, then latched itself onto her arm. She screamed and frantically shook her hand, trying to dislodge the slithering material that had wrapped around her wrist like a snake. “Let go!” she squealed, horrified. The scarf instantly fell to the floor, lifeless and unmoving, as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Using the handle of her broom, Catrina swept the material aside, moving it to the back of her piles where it was out of reach, but not out of sight. Her stomach twisted with knots of uncertainly as she turned her attention to the stack of weathered tomes. God only knew what might happen next. She glanced back at the motionless scarf to assure herself that it hadn’t started slinking toward her. A picture of the gossamer material wrapping itself around her throat in an unbreakable hold popped into her mind. Thankfully, it was still in place without a hint of animation, not even a twitch. Her thoughts turned to all those early evenings Nana had retired to her room, claiming fatigue. Catrina had believed her grandmother without question, even when she’d slip away before the sun had set. Now, she wasn’t so sure. She remembered strange sounds coming from Nana’s room—a soft moan, a gentle sigh, a man’s deep voiced chuckle—things that ought not come from an old woman’s bedchamber. When she was younger, Catrina had dismissed them, choosing to believe instead that her grandmother was merely having a pleasant dream. But when she got older, she often wondered if Nana didn’t have a late night rendezvous with some handsome young man who, in the still of the night, crept through her grandmother’s window to make 10

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passionate love to her, then slipped back out before the rising sun. She couldn’t help but giggle at the thought of her elderly Nana getting it on with a hot stud-muffin, while she herself had been without sex for several months. Lord, between medical school and everyday chores, who had time for romance? But there had been other sounds as well. Ones that were a bit more disturbing—the thud of something or someone hitting the floor, breaking glass, strained whispers. Catrina shivered, her previous humor suddenly gone. If she remembered correctly, it was just the night before her grandmother’s death when she’d last heard some of those strange sounds. She swallowed hard, wondering if perhaps her Nana had been in trouble. But what kind of trouble could an eighty-five-year-old woman get into to? Then an even more unsettling thought came to mind as she stared at the piles of ancient-looking tomes. Had her grandmother conjured up something? Something evil that was still loose within the world? Perhaps even within the house? “Oh, Nana,” she whispered, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck bristle in silent warning. “What dark secrets were you hiding within this room while I slept only a few walls away?” Whatever it was, Catrina knew she had to find out. And if her grandmother had indeed unleashed something horrible, she would figure out a way to send it back. That was, if it didn’t kill her as well.

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CHAPTER 3

Catrina began thumbing though each book, quickly scanning the pages for content. Merely three volumes into the task and her worst fear was confirmed—they were hex books. There were spells for love, spells for riches, spells for making your enemy suffer—or perhaps those were curses—either way, Nana had some pretty serious mojo in her possession. An unsettling thought entered her mind. Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, Catrina set the book aside. Had Nana ever hurt anyone? The question seemed wildly ridiculous, even laughable. And yet, she had to admit it was plausible. There were times when…noises that… She swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump that had formed in the back of her throat. What really happened to your parents? The accusation sang through her ears as though someone else had spoken it. 12

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“Stop it!” Catrina jumped to her feet, knocking over her neat stack. Books spilled across the floor in a wave of worn covers and tattered spines. She refused to entertain such an absurd notion. Her parents had died in a car wreck, plain and simple. She started to turn away from the disheveled pile when the little toe on her right foot stubbed against something. “Ouch!” Catrina glowered at the little black book next to her injured digit. Her first instinct was to kick it away, inflict some sort of injury equivalent to what she’d endured. But something about the cover drew her attention. It wasn’t worn like the other tomes, but rather appeared to have been well preserved, almost lovingly so. She bent to retrieve it. At first glance, one would think this small book seemed out of place amongst its mystical constituents. But when her fingertips grazed the textured black cover, a spark of electricity shot through her arm. “Oh!” Catrina straightened instantly. The skin of her palm tingled, like her hand had fallen asleep and was attempting to awaken. She rubbed it with her other thumb, while she circled the offending object, trying to determine her next course of action. So far, she’d been attacked by a scarf and what looked to be an address book. Suddenly, snooping through Nana’s things didn’t seem so safe. Thank God her grandmother didn’t have a collection of daggers. She could just picture herself screaming through the house with several steely blades flying through the air behind her. The distasteful image gave her a shudder. As she pondered the little black book, the strange parchment she’d found lodged beside the bed came to mind. “I wonder…” She made a large loop around the piles of Nana’s stuff, eyeballing 13

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the dormant scarf for any signs of movement as she made her way over to the nightstand. “Don’t even think about it,” she warned, pointing a shaking index finger at the shimmering fabric. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the understanding that her actions were absurd hovered just beyond the realm of rationalization. But nothing about this situation was normal. Up until now, material didn’t come to life and books weren’t electrified. Up until now, her sweet, herb-rendering Nana wasn’t a witch, either. Not wanting to turn her gaze from her grandmother’s ominous stash of supernatural toys, she backed up to the nightstand. Fishing around behind her with her hand, she located the piece of paper and picked it up. Then she retraced her steps and made her way back to where the little black book lay on the floor, waiting for her return. Catrina held the paper out before her, visually measuring its size to the book’s—they looked comparable. But there was only one way to know for sure. Taking a deep breath, while praying she didn’t get her brains fried, she stooped and reached for the book. She tentatively brushed her fingertips across its cover, then jerked back her arm, just in case. Nothing happened. No blue sparks, no shock. Nothing. “Okay, here goes,” Catrina whispered to herself. Before she could reconsider, she snatched the book from the floor. To her relief, there was no jolt of electricity. Nor did she experience that strange feeling one gets when they’ve touched a shorted appliance—that heavy sensation accompanied by tingling in your fingertips, which then gives way to the painful numbing that slowly creeps up your arm, leaving your hand paralyzed in its wake. As though she’d imagined the previous occurrence, the book merely lay within her palm, cold and inanimate, like any other normal book would do. While she was certainly relieved, Catrina couldn’t help but feel a slight measure of annoyance as well. Had the book really shocked her 14

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before? Or had she simply imagined it? Her gaze shifted to the scarf. Had it really entwined itself around her arm? Or had static caused it to jump onto her skin like a shimmering purple leach? Catrina’s eyes narrowed with skepticism. Perhaps she’d grabbed the wrong tea. It was very likely Nana had mistakenly put a hallucinogenic in the Maté container—she’d have to check on it later. But one thing was for certain, the piles of spell books, amulets, and vials of God-only-knew-what lying by her feet weren’t illusions. And neither was the little black book or ivory parchment clutched within her palm. Something unnatural was definitely going on here. Catrina stepped over to Nana’s bed, then perched lightly on the edge of the mattress. For some strange reason, she innately sensed that she’d need to be seated for the next clue to this mystery. Even before opening the book’s unblemished black cover, she knew the slip of paper had come from within—their matched size was more than coincidence. Setting the parchment beside her on the bed, she focused her full attention on the book lying on her lap. With hesitant fingertips, she pinched the top right corner between her thumb and index finger and slowly pulled it open. The first thing she noticed was that the inside of the cover was much the same as the exterior—no markings or flaws. Then her gaze shifted to the top page and her brows furrowed with puzzlement. Imprinted on what looked to be a scrap of flesh-colored leather was a telephone’s number pad. The shapes appeared to have been burned on the material, perhaps by a soldering iron. Each numeral was outlined with a perfect square. And beneath every digit was a symbol. “I wonder what these mean…” Catrina brushed her fingertip down a row of numbers. Almost 15

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instantly, the numbers she touched were illuminated in a grotesquely crimson glow—two, five, eight, zero. With a strangled yelp, she jumped to her feet, knocking the book to the floor. Her hand covered her mouth, smothering the scream lodged in the back of her throat. She’d been around enough cured leather and animal skins to know the material in that book was not normal. No, it was something else. Something…aberrant. Human flesh? A shudder wracked her frame. “Surely not,” she said aloud, as though voicing her denial would preclude it from being so. While the fabric’s strange texture certainly made her skin crawl with unease, the glowing numbers were equally ominous. Aside from her education in herbs and tinctures, she had very little knowledge concerning magic. But she did know the color red almost always symbolized death. Combined with her suspicion concerning the book’s page, she had to wonder if perhaps she shouldn’t shove everything back into that hole and nail the damn lid shut. Maybe even put another layer of flooring over top of it, seal it in concrete, whatever it took to prevent anyone from finding Nana’s little black book. She felt panic rising within her like the acrid sensation of bitter bile that comes just before vomiting. What if Nana had killed someone? What if they were buried beneath her very feet? What if— “Stop it, Catrina! You’re getting carried away!” She rubbed her temples with her fingertips, willing herself to calm down. She thought about the tea once again. No more Maté for her. “Okay, there has to be a logical explanation for all of this,” she announced, reaching for the book. She hesitated only briefly, her hand hovering above it as the memory of being electrocuted resurfaced. She had accidentally kicked it the last time it attacked her. She’d just dropped it, and none too gently. What if it was really pissed this time? 16

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With an indignant snort, she snatched the book from the floor before changing her mind. She didn’t care if it shocked the hell out of her. She had to know what those numbers meant as well as what else was in there.

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CHAPTER 4

Catrina plopped back down on the bed, holding the little black book within trembling hands. She opened the cover as before. This time, the sight of the flesh-colored swatch with its eerie numbers seemingly burned into the hide made her flinch—its unusual texture now holding a whole new meaning. Cringing, she chanced to brush her fingertip along the center row of numbers. Just as before, they responded with a blood-red glow—four, five, six. Catrina pulled her hand back, watching as the highlighted digits slowly faded back to their previous state. Gritting her teeth, she slipped her index finger behind the hide, then slowly folded it over, exposing the next page. She let out a pent up breath of relief. Albeit some discoloring, which closely resembled the parchment she’d found wedged beside the bed, it was clearly made from paper. There were symbols scrawled across the top—none of which were 18

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recognizable. Beneath them were the words, “Calling forth an incubus.” Catrina’s mouth dropped to her chin. “No way,” she mused aloud. Surely this wasn’t what it looked like. Wasn’t an incubus a male demon? She scanned the remainder of the page, starting with step one— choosing your slave. Step two explained the procedure for summoning, which involved using the horrid first page. And finally, step three described the procedure for sending him back, or ending the call. According to the instructions, the man should be chosen based on need, or needs. Catrina winced. She’d rather not contemplate what her grandmother’s needs might have been. Once his task was complete, he was to be sent back to await the bookkeeper’s next summoning. Bookkeeper? Was Nana the bookkeeper? And if so, now that she was dead, to whom did that responsibility fall? Surely not me. I don’t want— A warning at the bottom of the page caught her attention. The calling of multiple slaves is prohibited except under limited circumstances. An explanation followed below, briefly describing the nature of the incubi. Apparently, these entities were hard to control. They were also very jealous of each another. Setting more than one loose at any given time could prove disastrous for the bookkeeper. Catrina snorted with amusement. “No need to worry about that,” she mused aloud. “I don’t plan on conjuring anyone.” The last thing she needed to deal with right now was an unruly, egotistical, power-hungry man. Let alone a whole group of them. Besides, these obviously weren’t your typical males—they were demons. Catrina carefully turned the page, only to discover that the next one 19

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had been torn out. She picked up the parchment she’d found earlier and placed its frayed side next to the tattered edge, close to the book’s spine—it was a perfect fit. I knew it! The words on the paper suddenly made sense. End Call. When the bookkeeper was ready to send back her man, this was the number she dialed. But why had it been torn from the book? Better yet, how had it gotten between Nana’s bed and the nightstand? Catrina’s gaze slipped down to the exposed vault. Had Nana dropped the page and was in the process of retrieving it when she died? That would explain her grandmother’s position on the floor. Yet, it still didn’t clarify why the page had been ripped out in the first place. It was likely she’d never know the full circumstances surrounding Nana’s death or this mysterious little black book. Not unless she ventured to call forth one of these demons herself. Catrina’s blood turned to ice in her veins—did she dare? She turned her attention back to the book. “I wonder if there’s a way to tell who Nana called last…” Catrina began flipping through the pages. Like any other phone book, the names were in alphabetical order. Each contained a brief description of the demon and his calling number. There was Amon the Marquis, or journalist, of Hell, who controlled forty legions of spirits. He would appear as a fire-breathing wolf with a serpent’s tail, or as a man with the head of a raven and teeth like a dog. Or maybe as a man with a raven’s head, depending upon his mood. He could tell of things past and future, and reconcile feuds and controversies between friends. “Okay, so if Nana was in the mood for a bedtime story, she would call upon Amon,” Catrina mumbled with sarcasm. She turned the page. Next was Apollyon the Destroyer, who would lead a swarm of locust-like demons released on Earth in the end times. 20

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Catrina snorted. “He doesn’t sound too appealing. Geez, one wrong number and you could bring about the destruction of the world!” She thumbed through some more pages. Balen, Camio, Danyul, Elathan, Forneus… The list went on and on. By the end of the book, her head swam with a multitude of names, none of which she ever wished to utter out loud. While a few of the demons’ descriptions had indicated they weren’t completely diabolical in nature, most of them—as expected—were nothing short of angels from hell who would think nothing of bringing about the end of the world. Catrina shook her head with disbelief. “What was Nana doing with this thing anyway?” While she’d certainly gained more knowledge than she’d ever wanted about summoning demons, she hadn’t found a means of determining who Nana had last called, or any indications as to why the End Call page had been removed. She just hoped that whatever her grandmother had summoned wasn’t out somewhere wreaking havoc. Perhaps she should turn on the news. Since Nana’s death, she’d had little time or care for watching television. And while it would be easy to continue on in her current state of ostracizing herself from the world and wallowing in depression over her grandmother’s demise, Catrina knew it was time to move forward. Besides, it was apparent she had just inherited the responsibility of Nana’s magic fetish, including the unwanted duty of insuring the secrecy and safety of this little black book. Catrina closed the tome’s cover. What should I do with this? The thought of burying it out back came to mind. But she realized, while it might be kept secret during her lifetime, it was likely that in the future this land would be excavated for development. Someone would find it—eventually. “Perhaps I should burn it,” she said aloud. But something inside 21

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warned against that option. She wasn’t sure why, but she sensed immersing such a powerful book within a realm of fire would only unleash the creatures bound within its pages, all at one time. Catrina let out a long sigh, then stood. Until she could figure out the best way to contain Nana’s secrets, she supposed keeping them buried in the floor vault would have to suffice. She started toward the exposed chamber, intent on replacing all the items she’d removed. Scarcely three steps from the bed, she dropped the little black book. It landed on the floor with a firm smack! Of course, dropped was probably an understatement, the book practically leapt from her hand. “Well that’s strange,” she declared. It was almost as if the book didn’t want to go back in the vault. Normally, that would seem like a strange notion, but at this point she was willing to accept anything. Bending over, she reached for the book. Just as her fingers brushed the cover, it raced across the floor away from her. “Hey!” Catrina protested, running after the estranged volume. It sped toward the door, across the threshold, and into the living room. Catrina hurried after it, praying the darn thing didn’t slip through the gap under the front door and head down the street—she’d been meaning to have a new piece of weather-stripping placed along the bottom edge. While there were few neighbors in the cul-de-sac, she imagined the ones she did have would think she was nuts, running after a renegade black book. “Come back—oh!” Catrina stopped dead in her tracks. Standing within her living room, between the coffee table and sofa, and wearing nothing but a carpenter’s tool belt, was the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on. “Hello, Cat. You looking for this?”

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CHAPTER 5

Catrina nearly choked on her own shock. His deep melodious voice was rich and powerful. It sung through her veins, striking each nerve within her body with an intense chord, like the feel of a taut bow being pulled along the strings of a well-tuned instrument. No one called her Cat except her grandmother. “How…how did you get in here?” she choked out, backing toward the bedroom door. He smiled. And were it not for his human appearance, she would have sworn he was the devil himself. For surely it was a sin for a man to be so appealing. “Did you not call for me?” he asked with a seductive purr. The skin on Catrina’s backside tingled in response, like she’d been stroked with a feather along her spine. She shook her head in denial. “I didn’t call anybody,” she refuted. One of his dark brows cocked in amusement. “Oh, but you did.” He moved toward her, his motion seemingly effortless as though his 23

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presence overpowered the very air around him. “Hey! Now you just stay where you are, buddy. I don’t know who you are or how—” His form nearly doubled in size, bringing the top of his head to rest just below the living room ceiling. “I am Malthus, the Earl of Hell.” His voiced boomed through the house, causing the windows and walls to shudder in its wake. Catrina let out a horrified scream and turned to flee. But before she could escape through the bedroom door, it slammed in her face. Undaunted by the impediment, she changed direction and started for kitchen, getting away the only thought in her mind. She’d scarcely made it a few feet before she found herself unable to move. Her arms became useless at her sides, her legs and feet frozen and unresponsive to her mind’s command to run. In the next instant, she found herself pressed against the wall near the bedroom door, glued to the hard surface like one her grandmother’s inanimate picture frames. She watched in silent terror as Malthus approached. “I have in my command, twenty-six legions of demons. Warriors, who build towers to fill with ammunition and weapons. Soldiers prepared to battle wherever it is requested of us.” By the time he stood directly before her, his form had shrunk to its original size—that of a six-foot-seven, strongly built man. His hair, first the color of a raven’s wing, had faded into a chestnut brown highlighted with streaks of amber fire. And his eyes, before as black as night, like two onyx orbs of eternity, had now become pure and translucent, blue ice ringed and flecked with shards of sapphire that glowed with a strange phosphorescent shine like they were fueled by electricity. Catrina held her breath when he brought his handsome face mere inches from hers. Her eyes instantly took in the chiseled line of his 24

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square jaw, the sharp ridge of his aquiline nose, the flesh-colored tint of his sensual mouth. In a matter of seconds, he’d gone from terrifying to tantalizing. Dear, God. He must be a demon for sure. “What…what did you do for Nana?” she stammered, her own voice seemingly lodged within her windpipe. His lips curled into a mischievous grin. “Well now, that all depended on what it was she was in need for. But you can bet, when I was done, I left her begging for more.” His words were almost confusing, purposely twisted, and rhythmic in nature. Be careful, Catrina, she warned herself. He’s a sly one. As though reading her mind, he began to chuckle. “Indeed.” The word was drawn out. It swirled in the air around her face, fanning her cheeks like a gentle caress. She felt a heated thrill race through her insides. It centered in her pelvis before radiating down to her apex. Were her legs not frozen, held slightly apart by an invisible force, she would have squeezed them closed to still the maddening tingle at the juncture of her thighs. Catrina gasped as his gaze raked her form, the look in his eyes clearly carnal. His tongue darted out to slide suggestively along his full bottom lip. It wasn’t forked or barbed, as she would have expected, but rather thick with a rounded tip, and looked capable of providing more exquisite pleasure than she cared to dwell on. “And what is it, my dear, that you’re in need of?” His pupils sparkled like two-carat diamonds, blindingly white with unmatchable cut and clarity. Catrina turned her head aside, fearing her ability to resist his seductive charm. “I don’t need—” He clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “Don’t lie to me, Cat. I already know what you desire. Just give me some time, and I’m sure to light your fire.” 25

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Catrina squeezed her eyes shut. “If…” She bit her bottom lip to still its trembling. Seeming to sense her unease, he asked, “Would you feel less intimidated, were I in my natural form?” Her gaze met his. A multitude of horrific beasts popped into her head. While his current shape certainly clouded her judgment, she wasn’t too sure she wanted to see his true appearance. “I…I don’t know. It depends on what—” Before she could finish, he’d taken a few steps back and his body instantly transformed into that of a massive Marabou Stork. The heavy tool belt clattered to the floor near his taloned feet, along with Nana’s little black book. As though being cooped within the body of a human had cramped his wings, he stretched them wide. Catrina gasped with a mixture of astonishment and awe. From wingtip to wingtip, the span was nearly nine feet. His bare head and neck reminded her of a vulture’s—peachy-red in color and textured with warty nodules. The long feathers on his back and wings glistened like black oil with an iridescent green gloss, a stark contrast to the short down on his white belly and under-parts. His huge bill was long and sharp—ostensibly deadly. While the pink gular sack at his throat looked as harmless as a plastic sack. With his white fluffy neck ruff and long black legs, she couldn’t help but find this creature strikingly regal, albeit equally terrifying. He clacked his pointed beak a few times before tilting it toward the ceiling. Then he swayed back and forth—wings stretched wide, neck arched—issuing a loud hollow bellow, which vibrated from deep within his throat. When he’d finished with the strange song, he pierced her with solid ebony eyes. There were no pupils within their bottomless depths, no white pinhole gleam from the overhead light. Just two black beads, 26

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much like those you’d find on a lifeless doll, yet they seemed to stare straight through to her soul. As the Marabou approached, Catrina pressed herself more firmly against the wall. It was true she’d been intimidated by the overwhelming maleness of the human form of this demon. But the idea of being pecked to death or torn to shreds by his razor-sharp bill was nearly more than she could stomach. Fear rose in the back of her throat, burning her tongue. “I think I prefer your former shape,” she squeaked, trying not to focus on the daunting point of his beak. Malthus tilted his head back and let out what resembled a clucking titter. Then he spread his wings once again. “As you wish, my dear.” The change from bird to man occurred a little more slowly than before. Catrina watched, no less amazed this time, as the feathers on his wingtips pulled back to reveal strong fingers beneath, then hands. Next came his thick forearms, bulging biceps, and broad shoulders. It was almost like peeling a banana from its skin as his bird-like form slowly stripped away to expose the male human-likeness inside. Muscled pectorals rippled and flexed as he stretched his elongating spine. White downy feathers turned to washboard abs as his stomach and waist took shape. His black, stick legs and taloned feet split down the center, then parted, as thick thighs and strong calves exploded through, brawny and tanned, like tree-trunks. Strangely enough, the final transformation to occur was his face. For a brief instance, he was a strapping, viral man with the head of a stork, like some sort of living Egyptian hieroglyphic. Then the mask lifted and he was human once again. “Is this better?” he asked with an air of innocence that made her insides quiver with primordial need. Malthus gave her a knowing smile. His teeth were so perfect and 27

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white—a stark contrast in his bronzed face—that Catrina almost forgot he’d had a beak merely seconds before. Her eyes locked on his lips as they parted and his thick tongue darted out to moisten the bottom one as he’d done before. Unable to find her voice, she merely nodded. Tearing her attention from that sensual mouth, so full, so luscious that she yearned to feel it pressed upon hers, she slid her gaze downward. Her hands itched to follow along, touch each glorious inch of this demon-man to find out if he felt as real as he seemed. But until he released her from her state of prostration, she was fated to merely complete her inspection visually. All the while, she struggled with the unwanted desire to have something she knew would surely bring her damnation. Then her gaze dropped to his naked groin. The tool belt no longer hid the massive male pleasure device he possessed. Her eyes grew round with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation. “Holy shit,” she whispered. Malthus chuckled in response. “There’s nothing holy about this.” A delicious shudder wracked her pelvis when his erect shaft bobbed toward her center like a divining rod to water. Catrina bit her bottom lip as moisture seeped through the crotch of her panties. When she met his searing gaze, she realized his statement rang true, in more ways than one.

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CHAPTER 6

Malthus pressed his rock hard form against her lower belly. “How about we take care of this need before we fix that front door?” “The front door?” Catrina squeaked, trying not to focus on the growing throb between her legs. “Yes,” he replied, nuzzling her neck. “It needs fixing.” He inhaled deeply. “Your scent is very arousing, Cat. Have any males of your species told you this?” Catrina tilted her chin up, giving him better access to the sensitive area of skin between her collarbone and jaw, to which he deftly took advantage of. “N…n…no,” she stuttered, her mind beginning to whirl. She wanted to protest. Tell him to take his wonderfully muscled body and enormous erection and get the hell out. Her mind screamed against letting him seduce her. He was a demon, after all. Surely no good could come of it. But her body seemed bent on impiety. Even now, she could scarcely 29

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focus on anything beyond him burying that hard cock deep inside her. After all, Nana had used this incubus for more than mere carpentry. Why shouldn’t she? End Call. The little black book lay only a few feet away. If only she could get to it… As though reading her thoughts, Malthus snapped his fingers and the book disappeared. “Now then, there’s no more distractions,” he said with a sultry purr. His eyes had blackened with desire. “Hey! That’s not fair. Aren’t you supposed to do what I say?” Catrina struggled against her invisible shackles, desperately trying to loose herself from the wall. While her hips and torso moved freely, her wrists and ankles remained frozen in place. Malthus clucked his tongue and shook a thick index finger beneath her nose. “You’ve broken the rules. Only one at a time. You’ve let loose two.” Catrina’s eyes widened with fear. “But how? I don’t even know how I called you!” Malthus smiled. “Did you touch any of the numbers on the calling page?” Catrina stared at the floor as she tried to remember how many numbers she’d inadvertently dialed. Four down the center…three across. Her gaze snapped back to his. “I only hit seven. I couldn’t have called two. The first one must have been—” “Nana didn’t end her call,” he interjected. Then gave her another wicked smile. “Not to worry, my dear. I’ll play nice. I’ve no desire to wreak havoc, not when there’s more enjoyable things to occupy myself with.” His finger traced a line from the pulse at the side of her neck down to the swell of her breast. Her heart rate quickened and her mind began to cloud once again. “But what if the other one returns?” she asked, closing her eyes when 30

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his lips found the pulsing hollow at the base of her throat. “Then you will simply send one of us back.” His mouth pressed lightly against hers in a surprisingly gentle kiss. The feathering touch was a delicious sensation, which sent tingles racing along her skin. Catrina knew that to resist was futile—she wanted him, there was no denying. Parting her lips, she granted him access to the moist haven inside. Her mind began to spin as his skilled tongue worked magic with hers. Swirling, caressing, teasing. It soon became easy to forget it was no man who possessed her tingling lips, for his mastery became all encompassing. His large palm encircled her breast, squeezing it lightly. Then his thumb found her braless nipple through the thin fabric of her gray Tshirt, rubbing the soft peak until it became a taut bead. Catrina’s eyes flutter closed and she moaned in response as she arched her spine. “You have looked upon my nakedness,” Malthus began. “Now I shall feast upon yours.” Catrina began to tremble, part of her excited by his vivid declaration, the other uncertain of its ambiguous meaning. She prayed to God he didn’t literally intend on eating her. Grasping the collar of her shirt between his index fingers and thumbs, he split it down to the bottom hem as easy as if he were merely tearing a sheet of paper. Then he slipped his hands between the jagged edges of material and slowly folded them apart. Strangely, Catrina envisioned him likened to Moses and the parting of the Red Sea as the fabric peeled back, revealing her naked breasts to his heated assessment. Sapphire sparks of excitement flared in his eyes when his gaze fell upon the heaving peaks of her tea rose colored nipples. There was no denying the desire portrayed in his approving stare. Catrina felt an aroused flush creep along her exposed flesh as Malthus regarded her 31

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with nothing less than feral hunger. His hands cupped both her pert breasts, gently lifting them as though testing their weight. A pleased smile pulled at the corner of his sensual mouth. “I had nearly forgotten the beauty of a young woman’s skin—the smooth softness of her flesh.” Catrina choked back a cry of alarm when her body suddenly moved upward along the wall, stopping only when her stiff peaks were level with his lips. “There,” he purred. “Exactly where I want them.” He dipped his head forward a bit as his tongue darted out to lave one nipple. As though purposely trying to torment her, he drew lazy circles around the puckered skin of her areola, not only teasing her throbbing buds, but the sensitive flesh around them as well. Then he took her into his mouth, suckling hard and deep, like a newborn babe drawing milk from its mother’s bounty. Catrina gasped at the erotic sensation. While his ministration bordered on the verge of pain, it strangely caused such a powerful reaction within her apex that she panted in growing need. “That’s it, my dear. Let me drink from your bosom, for I am like a starving infant in need of nourishment.” His words served only to stoke an already raging inferno. Pure lust, carnal and fierce, surged through her veins like lava down a mountain slope, searing every nerve, every cell within its wake. She yearned for him to move his attention lower, down to the juncture of her thighs where her body screamed to be touched. And yet, she feared for that moment to come, for she knew she would surely burst into flames at his touch. “All in good time,” he growled. “All in good time.” The words were an inhuman rumble from deep within his chest, like the grumble of some hellish beast. Catrina shuddered and closed her eyes, lest she glimpse the restrained creature he kept hidden within his penetrating stare. Ignoring her sudden uncertainty, he took hold of her 32

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other breast, possessing it even more thoroughly than the first. By the time he’d finished, Catrina felt as weak and helpless as a kitten. Her mind swam, dizzy from lack of oxygen caused from panting. And her mouth had gone dry, another unfortunate side effect of heavy breathing. But Malthus was far from finished. Satisfied with the havoc he’d wreaked thus far, he moved on toward his next area of interest, the obvious intent of molestation clearly portrayed on his smirking face. His fingertips trailed down her bare abdomen, sending goose bumps jutting along her skin. Catrina sucked in a large gulp of air when he reached a ticklish area around her navel. Unable to control them, a few giggles escaped her pursed lips. Malthus glanced up at her and smiled, clearly amused by the childish sound of her laughter. “Your mirth…warms me,” he said. Catrina’s felt a pang of sympathy. She knew she’d just witnessed the briefest flicker of mortal emotion cross his features before he’d successfully hidden it behind a stony façade. And were she not already aware of his demonic makeup, at that moment, Malthus could have passed for a real man. Before she could ponder the possibility of secret wretchedness cloaked beneath his tantalizing exterior, Malthus was unbuttoning her shorts, eradicating all rational thoughts beyond the imminent need to have his face buried where the sun don’t shine, and that wonderful tongue of his slithering deep within her throbbing center.

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CHAPTER 7

Malthus watched her, his eyes never leaving hers, as he slowly unzipped her fly, then eased the denim over her hips and down her thighs. He momentarily released her ankles from their invisible bonds, removing her shorts, then pinned them once again, only this time, a little farther apart. Her salmon-colored panties were all that remained between his skilled fingers and her aching flesh. Rip ’em off! her mind screamed, nearly delirious with wanting. “Your wish is my command,” he replied, then grasped the spaghetti thin straps along her outer thighs and snapped them free. Her mangled underwear fluttered to the floor by his feet. Malthus brushed his fingertips across her golden curls. “Hmm…” he purred, the sound once again unequivocally inhuman. “I wondered if your woman’s down would match the lovely locks on your head.” Catrina felt the air leave her lungs in one fierce whoosh! His words 34

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stroked her pussy as proficiently as his hands surely could. Her pelvis rocked forward of its own accord. She vaguely registered her body sliding along the wall once again, this time bringing her thighs parallel to his more than eager lips. And as his fingers gently pulled back her outer feminine lips, exposing the shy sex pearl hidden beneath its protective hood, she couldn’t help but think it was a good thing her old fashioned house had tall ceilings. “There you are, my precious little gem.” His warm breath was like fire against her exposed bud. The muscles in her legs tensed, her instinct warning of what was to come. The first flick of his tongue against her sensitive clit was like a bolt of lighting shooting through her insides. Catrina cried out, pressing her spine against the wall in an attempt to pull away. Suddenly, she wasn’t too sure she could take the degree of pleasure Malthus was likely to give. “Shh…” he crooned, lightly stroking around her outer folds with a tender fingertip. “I’d forgotten how responsive is the tender flesh of a young woman’s sex. I shall soften my touch, slowly bringing you to the brink of release until you cry out my name and beg me to cease.” Catrina could only whimper in protest as the muscles inside her vaginal walls tightened with eager anticipation. A few more stimulating promises like that, and she’d be coming all over the place. And— probably to his great delight—all over his face. It was the second time he’d made reference to a young woman’s body. She dared not ponder the underlying meaning. Imagining her dear sweet Nana in a similar position, possibly even in that very place, with her thighs spread wide and her aged pussy in his face, was not something she cared to dwell upon. Oh, Lord. Now I’m rhyming, too! “Why, Cat!” he exclaimed, feigned abhorrence contorting his features. “You should be ashamed to think of your grandmother in such 35

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a sight.” Then a wicked smile curled his lips and his eyes sparkled with mischief. “But if it’s any consolation, this position was one in which she found the most delight.” Catrina gasped. “Stop with the verse! You’re driving me insane!” Malthus grinned. “Certainly, my dear. I agree, they’ve grown quite lame.” Catrina scowled at him in warning. “Don’t you have something to finish?” she snapped. He responded with an impish wag of his brow. Carefully spreading her outer lips once again, Malthus proceeded to lick her from the top of her opening to the bottom, exploring each crevice and fold. But as promised, he avoided her pulsating clit, which felt as though it had swelled to three times its normal size. Tremors wracked her extremities. Her whole being seemed to vibrate with expectancy. And yet, he was content just to tease, taking great pleasure in prolonging her torment. “Malthus,” she ground out, her own voice no longer sounding so human, but rather like that of a ravenous animal with a tantalizing meal dangling just beyond its grasp. He chuckled in response. Then he glanced up at her, his blue eyes glowing like two Christmas bulbs, as his tongue darted out to flick her nub. Catrina’s hips bucked against his face. “Malthus!” she cried, wanting, no, needing for him to give her release. “What is it you wish of me, Cat? Tell me, for I am here only to do your bidding.” “You know what I want.” She angled her hips. Drops of moisture slipped from her pussy down the crack of her ass. He spread his tongue flat against her slit and slowly moved upward, pressing its width between her inner lips and licking her feminine juices away. “You must tell me,” he persisted, giving her another tormenting 36

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flick. A bolt of pleasure shot through her core, causing her bottom to bounce off the wall. “Oh! Oh, please,” she begged, feeling herself edging closer to culmination. “I need…” She opened her thighs as wide as she could, offering herself more fully to his wonderful tongue. Malthus slid a thick forefinger inside her dripping sheath. The muscles along her inner wall instantly clamped down on it. Catrina bucked again. “Oh, yes! That’s it. Use your tongue as well.” Malthus was more than eager to comply. While his mouth sucked and pulled at her pulsating clit, he moved the tip of his finger in a circular pattern against her inner wall so quickly it was like having a vibrator poised directly on top of her G-spot. No longer concerned with the fact she was falling under the spell of a demon, or that she’d likely burn in hell for committing what had to be the worst imaginable sin, she thrust her hips forward and back, all the while racing toward her looming goal. “Oh, please don’t stop! Oh, yes. Oh. Oh.” Her thighs gyrated of their own will. Around and around in a circles, like the heady motion of some skilled belly dancer. Her limbs stiffened, her body pulling away from the wall in a rigid arch as though she suffered a grand mal seizure. Every nerve, every cell vibrated together in one harmonious beat, all working together to reach that desired culmination of utter joy. The throb in her lower belly grew fierce, much like the overwhelming sensation of having to urinate so badly that any further movement will have you peeing your pants. And yet, Malthus seemingly knew just how to keep her teetering on the craterous edge of bliss, refusing to let her plunge into that final stage of release. Her head thrashed from side to side. “Malthus, please!” she cried, feeling as though she were on the brink of madness, for to prolong such ecstasy was sure to be detrimental to one’s sanity. 37

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His amused chuckled seared her ears. “Mal—” A shriek of pure ecstasy tore from her lips as her insides suddenly convulsed in an Earth-shattering orgasm. Her body shuddered almost as violently, as volts of electrical pleasure shot from her clit through her groin and outward, radiating as far as the ends of her fingers and the tips of her toes. But even as she thrashed and writhed against her invisible restraints, Malthus continued her torture, hungrily lapping away her honey as it poured from her slit in wave after wave of sticky sweetness. By the time he relented, stilling his maddening ministrations to lazy circles around her swollen flesh, Catrina was nothing more than a sniveling rag doll, his magical manacles the only things keeping her upright. She looked down at Malthus through a blurred vision. The skin along his lower jaw glistened with her cum. Suddenly, those strange noises coming from Nana’s room she’d heard as a child made perfect sense—a mortal man couldn’t possibly provide the vitality of pleasure that a demon one can. “That was good,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “The best I’ve ever had.” “Glad to be of service,” he replied, wiping her gloss from his chin. “And now if you don’t mind, I’ve given you your pleasure, I like to have mine.”

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CHAPTER 8

Catrina bit her bottom lip as uncertainty resurfaced. Her gaze dropped down to his erect cock and her eyes nearly bugged out of her head—it looked to have swelled to twice its previous size. Oh, dear Lord. Without waiting for her reply, Malthus took hold of her hips and pulled her frame down the wall, inch by tantalizing inch, until he’d positioned her just right. She watched in stunned silence, a useless protest dying on her lips, as he stroked the purple head of his penis against her swollen clit. Feeling the aftermath of her recent orgasm instantly spring to life, she let out a sigh of permission and contentedly closed her eyes. Malthus rubbed the mushroom-shaped tip along her folds, coating himself with her natural lubricant. Then, before she could change her mind, he plunged himself forward in one forceful drive. Catrina’s eyes flew open in shock as his girth stretched her slim 39

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canal beyond its normal size. Pain seared between her legs. She managed a choked sob, tears clinging to her lashes. It had been some time since she’d had a man in there, but none had ever been this endowed. “Shh…Cat. Do not cry,” he cooed, licking the moisture from her cheeks. “The discomfort will pass.” With her wrists and ankles still bound she was powerless to fight back, so she merely nodded a mute reply and prayed he spoke the truth. Sure enough, within seconds the ache was all but gone. Now, as he pounded away, his hard shaft piercing her tender flesh like a merciless blade, a building throb had taken its place. Were her ankles not restrained, Catrina would have wrapped them around his waist. But limited as she was, she could only arch her hips in response, meeting each of his fevered thrusts with one of her own. Her head tilted back against the wall and a deep moan escaped her throat when the muscles inside her sheath tightened, gripping his large cock within her woman’s vise. There was no more pain, only pleasure that radiated through her insides like a starburst, heating every inch in a fervent glow. Malthus gripped her buttocks, his fingertips bruising. After each vigorous thrust, he withdrew his glistening penis to the ridged head, then he’d pulled her thighs forward, driving his length home once again. Catrina gladly joined in the motion, bucking her hips as she raced toward culmination. Sweat beaded her brow and upper lip. Her breaths became pants of exertion. One moment she felt the impending explosion—the tightening of her pelvis, the pressure in her lower belly, the pounding of her clit— in the next, her legs began to shudder. Catrina threw back her head, letting out a cry of elation as her orgasm hit. It was like an explosion within her insides, sending resounding tremors coursing through her veins. She felt tears sting her 40

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eyes as she reached such euphoria that it brought with it an emotion so intense it made her cry. It was only the sound of Malthus’s inhuman bellow that brought her crashing back to reality. His deep voiced roar shook the wall behind her, sending pictures clattering to the floor. Then liquid fire shot through her insides as he poured his demonic seed deep into her womb. Catrina inhaled sharply, feeling as though she’d surely roast alive as his essence invaded her bloodstream. And yet, the sensation was not all that unpleasant. Rather, she felt as though every cell within her body had been invigorated, leaving her tingling from head to foot. His large frame convulsed once more, then fell still. His head dropped to her shoulder as he let out an exhausted sigh. Then he whispered something in a foreign tongue before pulling himself free. Catrina held her breath as his hardened form left her body. Strangely, she felt empty. She couldn’t help but wonder if that wasn’t part of the lure—the more you had him, the more you’d wanted. Reading her thoughts, Malthus gave her an impish smile. Then he shrugged and started to turn away, dismissing their recent intimate contact as though it were just part of the job. Catrina’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. What an egotistical… She wasn’t too sure who had just used whom, but she sure as hell didn’t like being left hanging on the wall like some cheap pinup poster, legs sprawled and all. “Hey! Aren’t you going to let me down from here?” she complained when he walked over to his tool belt, then stooped to pick it up. Without turning around, he simply snapped his fingers and she was suddenly released. Catrina fell to the floor with a disgruntled oomph! “Why didn’t you let me go earlier?” she demanded. “It would have been nice to be able to join in…to have my—” “You didn’t ask it of me,” came his arrogant reply. Malthus turned to face her, his tool belt hanging neatly about his 41

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waist, expertly hiding his tool. “Besides, you seemed to be enjoying yourself,” he went on, adding further insult to injury. “You conceited son-of-a-bitch!” Now she was pissed. Where had that book gone? She was ready to send this supercilious demon back to where he’d come from. As far as she was concerned, she could care less if she never saw his muscled chest, round buttocks, or big di— “Oh,” was all she could say when her gaze fell to the man propped against the kitchen doorjamb. “Well now, that was certainly entertaining.” The warm cello-like voice warmed her skin like a ray of sunshine. Where did he come from? She knew she hadn’t summoned anyone else. Unless…Nana. That’s who her grandmother had released before her death. Malthus’s form stiffened. His haughty expression suddenly turned enraged. “Ramuel,” he snarled, whipping around to face his adversary. “Ramuel the Watcher,” the man said with a bow. “How may I be of service, my lady?” Malthus snorted. “He’s a Grigori.” His tone dripped with venom. Catrina took in the man’s appealing form. His shoulder length, golden locks were swept neatly back from his Grecian face. The chiseled lines of his square chin and jaw were firm. And the shadow of dark stubble only lent to his manly air. His green eyes suddenly flared like one of the neon bar signs at the tavern in town, then settled back into a luring green the hue of a pricey emerald. He gave her a wink, and Catrina’s heart lurched in her chest. A confident smile tugged at the corners of his smooth beige lips as he read her response. From his broad shoulders to his blue jean clad hips, this man exuded an essence of confidence. While not overly pompous, she could tell he was assured of his sexual prowess. 42

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“Send him back,” Malthus demanded. “Where’s the book?” Catrina merely shrugged, her eyes never leaving the gorgeous creature standing in her doorway. “You had it last,” she snapped in annoyance. “Oh, you mean this?” Ramuel taunted, producing the little black book. Malthus took a threatening step toward him. “Give it to me,” he growled. Ramuel clicked his tongue with disapproval. “Hold on there, big fella. There’s no need to get all huffy. You know as well as I that only the bookkeeper can invoke the spell.” His gaze shifted back to Catrina. A spark of mischief flashed in his eyes. Then, he was gone in a puff, leaving behind a glittering mist of golden sparkles. Malthus balled his fists at his sides and let out an incensed roar. “Coward!” Catrina yelped when she felt strong arms encircle her from behind. “Here you go, beautiful.” Ramuel held the book at her waist. “The choice is yours on who you send back. Just dial the numbers for ending a call, then say the name.” Ramuel pressed his blue jean clad groin against her naked backside. She could feel the hardened form restrained inside. An excited thrill shot through her belly. “I’d never dream of treating you like that,” he whispered against her ear. His warm breath stirred a few tendrils of hair against her sensitive nape. Catrina gasped as a delicious shudder worked its way down her spine. Fresh moisture pooled between her legs. As though realizing he might be losing some brownie points, Malthus purred, “Come on, Cat. Did I not just give you the best you’d ever had?” 43

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One of Ramuel’s hands moved down to the juncture of her thighs. His finger parted the curls there, expertly finding her already swollen nub. Then he stroked it gently, sending currents of electricity shooting through her insides. “I’ll be even better,” he promised. Catrina shuddered as the muscles in her pussy contracted. Oh, Lord. Was it possible? “Do you know what a Grigori is?” he asked, before delivering a playful nibble to her lobe. “A fallen angel. One who mates with mortal women.” She bit her bottom lip, trying to stifle a moan of pleasure as Ramuel slipped his finger inside. Her hand trembled while she slowly dialed the numbers, one excruciating digit at a time—three, six, three, two, two, five, five. “Sorry…Malthus,” she breathed heavily, her orgasm starting to peak. “Maybe…next time.” Then he was gone, his angry bellow fading away like a fleeting dream. Ramuel swept her into his arms and started for the bedroom. “I shall make love to you properly, a pleasure befitting a queen.” His beautiful eyes flared as he met her gaze and gave her a melting smile. Catrina’s pulse raced with anticipation. I could get used to this, she thought wickedly. The weather-stripping for the front door suddenly came to mind. She’d forgotten to have Malthus fix it. Glancing up at Ramuel, she asked, “How are you at fixing doors?” He gave her a dazzling smile that made her pulse race even faster. “Well now,” he started with a mesmerizing drawl. “I’m sure that door will be no trouble at all.” Catrina silently thanked her Nana for all the years of love she’d given her. For the emotional support and encouragement when times were tough. For the knowledge only her grandmother could offer. And 44

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especially, for her little black book.

45

SHANNON LEIGH

Shannon Leigh is a practicing registered nurse who graduated with a BSN, RN from the Indiana University School of nursing in May of 1996. She is happily married and lives in Indiana with her husband, four sons, two cats, and a spoiled chow chow named Aysia. When she’s not chasing after her four rambunctious boys, Shannon enjoys tole painting, drawing, reading, writing, and watching vampire flicks. Coincidentally, one of her favorite movies, Dracula 2000, which stars Gerard Butler, was released on her birthday, December 22. Shannon tries to dedicate a couple of hours every day to writing and finds that the best time for her is usually sometime between the hours of 9 p.m. and 3 a.m., after everyone else is in bed. Her favorite time to write is when the house is pitch black, lighted only by her laptop screen, and she can curl up on the couch with a cup of tea and become engrossed in her characters. Along with other romance genres, Shannon enjoys reading suspense, fantasy and horror, but paranormal fiction remains her favorite. Her second novel, More Than Prophecy, is a paranormal romance involving interplanetary travel to a world known as Zandar, and was released from Amber Quill Press in January 2005. To find out more about Shannon, please visit her website: http://www.angelfire.com/folk/nanaslittleblackbook *

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Don’t miss More Than Prophecy by Shannon Leigh available now from Amber Quill Press, LLC

According to ancient prophecy, a woman will come from Earth to bear a child who will end the warring between the Ramekah and Andreas clans that has plagued the hold folk of Zandar for hundreds of years. On the tail of a magical zephyr, Cheyenne, a young Native American woman, is swept through the doorway of an interplanetary portal and whisked away from Earth in a dazing blur of motion. She’s deposited, alone and half-naked, in a valley between the grassy knolls of the Rhian Mountains and the dreaded Goetic forest, just inside the boundaries of Andreas Territory. It’s there that Lord Darian Andreas, ruler of the mighty Andreas Clan and master of the powerful Andreas Territory, finds her. Although Darian is a just man who exercises kindness and incorporates mercy into his method of rule—which, in the barbaric world of Zandar, are rare qualities for a man—he’s also used to getting what he wants, one way or another. And from the moment Darian lays eyes on the darkskinned beauty, he knows she’s meant to be his. If the Gods are willing, he’ll make it so…

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