Pride

Deadly Sins: Pride Lena Austin All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2006 Lena Austin

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ISBN (10) 1-59596-354-5

ISBN (13) 978-1-59596-354-3

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The Agrippa Legend The great spell books of Hell… No one knows how many there were in Hell, but each dealt with a particular type of spell casting, all of it fiendish, of course. Some legends use any combination of magical numbers: Three? Seven? Eleven? Stolen from Hell in antiquity, some were lost to time. Others became the property of ordinary men, the curse of their families, for an Agrippa attaches itself to a family bloodline, and only the complete death of that bloodline allows the Agrippa to find a new “host” family. Agrippas have been known to suddenly appear to some poor soul who never knew that somewhere in their bloodline there was an illegitimate member of an Agrippa family. The book cannot be given away, or sold. It will always return, and be very, very angry with you. Each Agrippa is six feet tall, and nearly as broad. It is bound with leather straps and many iron locks, as well as magical enchantments of great complexity that are deadly to any but a family member. The thing stinks of the sulphurous fumes of Hell, and many other odors best left undescribed. To keep an Agrippa in your home from literally tearing the place apart, it must be hung from a twisted beam by iron chains, for any intruder within its awareness, even a welcomed guest in the home, is fodder for its deadly appetites. You can imagine a frightened bride, led up the stairs to be introduced, so she won’t be eaten or destroyed later. The temptation of family members to use the Agrippa is huge. To even open the book brings instantaneous wealth and power, but at a huge cost. Your beloved great aunt will die, leaving you her huge fortune (at the expense of angry legitimate heirs, who will know you opened the book), a crooked election will leave you mayor even if you haven’t the skills or inclination to enter politics, or other “good fortune” that carries a heavy penalty. Opening the book is also opening your soul and mind to evil. It etches well-worn paths in your brain, and whispers insidious evil plans to gain you more, more, more.

Lena Austin

Deadly Sins: Pride

-4-

Only the most pure and the strongest dare to be Guardians of a book, without fear of falling into the temptations of using the book. This task was assigned in ancient times to only those individuals deemed by the family as most worthy and least likely to succumb to the evil within and its temptations. Not only is the family honor at stake, but the very souls of those living in the same house with it. Often the Guardians deliberately doom themselves to a life of isolation and loneliness rather than risk anyone else. The family provides for their every need, as long as they stay in their “prison” home. (Somewhere in time, invariably, someone opened the damned book and made the family wealthy and powerful.) Only when the incumbent Guardian is near death does the family gather to choose the new Guardian, rather than let the Agrippa choose. It would choose the one most likely to use its powers, of course. Most Agrippa families are desperate to cover up their ancestors’ sins and evil that led to their wealth and power. They, more than most, know the whole family is in mortal peril if that book is used, for human courts can be merciless with those who break human laws. Many would prefer to pretend the Agrippa never existed, but once in their lifetime, they know they must choose the Guardian and pray it is not them or their child. One family member must be sacrificed, so that all the rest may live in peace. Could you make that ugly choice, dooming the most good, kind, and strong member of your family to isolation and loneliness? What if you were chosen? Or worse, what would you do if you were the last of the family? Could you give up everything for an inheritance from Hell itself?

Chapter One Ian Hershey slammed into his New York loft apartment, threw his coat down on the sofa, turned on the lights against the thick early March darkness, and let in the alley cat meowing at the window. He ripped open a pouch and fed Demon before the cat’s demands disturbed the neighbors, then grabbed a beer and a slice of cold pizza from the fridge. He was starving, but his Tuesday night meetings with Dan on the Net meant too much to worry about a growling stomach. He was late again. He booted up the IM program and crammed as much pizza into his mouth as he could. Even with cable, the damn thing took forever to load when he was in a hurry. Of course, he reflected as he popped open the beer, he was always in a rush. He’d give just about anything if his life would slow down from “supersonic” to “walk.” Finally, the contact list loaded. Ian begged the little annoying smiley face to appear next to the one thing that was relaxation in his hectic life. “Come on, Dan, don’t give up on me. Be there, please.” He typed in his message with fingers that felt thick and clumsy.

HersheyBar: You on, Dan?

RomanWarrior: Hi Ian. :) Of course. I’ve been waiting.

HersheyBar: Sorry I’m late. Client wouldn’t shut the hell up. :(

RomanWarrior: LOL! You need more clients like me. How’d the auction go?

HersheyBar: How’s ten grand sound?

RomanWarrior: Great! Send it to the homeless gay kids’ shelter, as usual.

HersheyBar: After I take my cut, sure. Usual anonymous donation?

RomanWarrior: Yes. Make sure it’s untraceable.

Lena Austin

Deadly Sins: Pride

-6-

HersheyBar: Okay, Mr. Secrecy. LOL! Like I don’t know you prefer complete privacy after this long. One of these days, I’ll come fuck you unconscious in person, instead of IM. It’s time we met, don’t you think?

Ian Hershey waited, his hands poised above the keyboard for a solid two minutes by his desk clock. The New York skyline glittered like a jewel in the spring night. The skyscraper across from his apartment still had a few lights on in some of the offices. Ten PM his time meant only eight in Colorado. Dan couldn’t have fallen asleep at the keyboard.

HersheyBar: Dan? You okay?

RomanWarrior: You can’t come here, Ian.

HersheyBar: Why? You hiding a wife and six children on me?

RomanWarrior: Don’t be ridiculous. You know I live alone.

Ian sighed. Yeah, he knew it. Dan lived high up in the Rockies, like a reclusive mountain man. Every painting of Dan’s Ian sold was shipped to Ian via a parcel delivery service that made it up the mountain once a month. Nothing, absolutely nothing, disturbed Dan’s tranquil isolation. As far as Ian knew, Dan hadn’t left the grounds of his home since college. Dan had mentioned several times he never left home for any reason.

RomanWarrior: Don’t be angry with me, Ian.

HersheyBar: I’m not. Why don’t you come visit me in New York, then? We could

arrange a showing.

RomanWarrior: No.

HersheyBar: Come on, Dan. You could stay at my place, on the cheap.

Lena Austin

Deadly Sins: Pride

-7-

Ian looked around his semi-shabby apartment. It really wasn’t that bad, other than the inch layer of dust. Maybe he could pick up a little. He really didn’t do much more than sleep here and take care of Demon the mangy alley cat who came and went as he pleased in any case. Demon was asleep on the pile of clean laundry, content as a housecat, which he was not. The little bastard had appeared on his windowsill one freezing morning, caked in snow and ice. Out of pity, Ian had let the cat in and fed him some tuna. Apparently, that one act had been enough for Demon to attach himself to Ian. Not that Ian minded. It was nice to have someone to come home to, even if the someone was a flea-bitten black scruff who seemed to think Ian was born into slavery. Ian chuckled. “Ian Hershey, high powered art dealer and cat slave. I ought to put it on my business cards for laughs.”

RomanWarrior: No. That’s worse. Maybe you can come someday, and sleep in my guesthouse. It’s on the edge of the property. I could visit you there.

He’d won. He couldn’t believe it. Ian laughed to himself. Damn right he’d plan his next vacation to the Colorado Rockies. It was about time he met the elusive, reclusive art wunderkind Dan Roman.

HersheyBar: You got a deal. Put on your headset and let’s seal this deal with a little mutual gratification.

He didn’t wait for an answer, but just snapped on his own headset and hit the onscreen button for a voice chat. Free long distance to spank the monkey with Dan once a week on Tuesday nights. That was his social life, when he wasn’t schmoozing artists, patrons, gallery owners, and art critics. Those events weren’t fun. That was business, and it took up his whole life. Party in a tuxedo tonight, arrange for a showing in a suit tomorrow, and feed another starving artist dinner in the evening to get him to part with

Lena Austin

Deadly Sins: Pride

-8-

a portion of his work. He’d kill for jeans, a tee shirt, and bare feet, but that was the price he paid for borrowed fame. Dan’s voice crackled into his earpieces. “I’m ready. I’m sitting here naked and hard for you.” Ian stood and pulled the blinds down, shielding himself from New York for the little privacy he could get. The room became a dark hole, lit only by his computer monitor. He pulled off his suit and tossed it on top of Demon, who immediately took possession of it. Then he plopped gracelessly into his desk chair. “Since we’re on the subject, let’s go with you and I in the woods surrounding your place. Got somewhere we can make love in the mountain moonlight, Dan?” “Oh, yes, I do.” Dan’s voice purred, unlike Demon, who sounded like a freight train when he was content. “There’s a path behind my house leading to an old mine tailings yard. Mine is collapsed, but the tailings glitter in the moonlight.” Ian could imagine Dan’s brown eyes closing as he imagined where they’d go. That’s all he knew about Dan -- brown eyes, black hair, and glasses. Dan refused to send pictures, and only described himself with those few words. Ian didn’t mind the glasses. He wore a set of gold rims himself, and fancied they matched his gold hair and green eyes. He laughed silently. Mr. Fake Golden Boy, pimping artists everywhere. “Long as we don’t go down in the mine, I’m fine with this. Mine tailings? Piles of discarded rocks?” A chuckle. “Yeah, sorry. Rocks from the size of your fist up to bigger than a man. They were looking for gold, so the quartz in the rocks didn’t matter to them. It glows in the moonlight. There’s a stream where the miners got their water, and it flows into a small pond. It’s not much larger than an Olympic pool, but the fishing is good there.” Ian sat up. “You painted it once, didn’t you?” He looked across the room at the very painting, lit by one piano light. He’d told Dan he’d sold it, but instead he’d bought it for himself. That place called to him like no other. He’d had to have it, and ate beans for a week to give Dan fair market value.

Lena Austin

Deadly Sins: Pride

-9-

A huffed breath. “You remember the painting? Yes, that’s the place. Can you envision the green area on the right hand side? The one with a small stand of aspens?” Ian didn’t even have to study the painting. He knew the precise spot Dan wanted. “Yeah. One of your best works, in my not-so-humble opinion.” Dan’s voice fell into the musical lilt he had when he wasn’t paying attention. It sounded like a gypsy’s speech pattern when he told a tale, not Italian like his name. “There in the aspens, it is moss not grass, and thicker than a carpet. It springs when we walk upon it.” Ian made his voice squeaky like a girl’s, just to tease his friend. “Euwww! Squishy!” A sigh. “You have no soul, you philistine. It’s dry. I put the basket of our toys down, and embrace you. I want to nibble on your neck. Will you permit me?” Ian leaned back in his desk chair. He could almost feel Dan’s lips on his neck. Heat and mild tightening in his groin told him he had a full erection already. He didn’t touch it, no matter how tempting. Later. For now, he touched wherever Dan said his lips went. “God, yes, Dan.” His long distance lover would already be putting on the lube, pulling the gel from base to head with infinite patience. Sure enough, Ian heard the snap as the bottle closed. “I move down to kiss and lick your chest.” Ian’s tube and towel waited on his desktop. He never forgot his Tuesday date with Dan. He flipped the top and warmed the slick liquid in his hand before slathering himself lavishly. “I want to fuck you, Dan.” Dan laughed softly at the hoarse demand. “Anxious, aren’t you, lover? Okay, there’s a stump just the right height to bend me over. In the summer, it’s cool in the shade of the aspens. You can do what you like to me, and no one will see.” Ian imagined Dan bending over the stump. In reality, Dan was probably humping a dildo, but substitutes were the best they had. “Hope that stump is wide enough to lay you on your back this time, Dan. I want your heels in the air so I can watch your face as we come.” Ian’s hand moved faster at the image in his mind.

Lena Austin

Deadly Sins: Pride

- 10 -

Dan moaned, his breathing ragged. “No, but the log next to it is more than adequate. Fuck me, Ian. Fuck me hard. No mercy.” No mercy. Those words drove him nuts every time. Ian knew Dan loved his sex hard and fast. “I’m shoving in, Dan. No quarter given, as requested.” He choked his meat, imagining sliding into Dan’s tight passage, and the orgasm built in him. He had no trouble envisioning fucking Dan’s willing ass wide open. From the sounds emanating in his ears, both of them were coming like freight trains this time. Ian wasn’t the only one desperate for a hot bout of sex with a willing man. Dan’s voice rasped, “Aw, shit. I’m coming already.” There was no way Ian could answer. Just in time, he grabbed the towel. Keeping quiet while he blew his load was too ingrained. Dan knew this, and could infer from the sounds of Ian’s choppy breathing that they’d achieved a screaming wad. Dan’s gypsy voice whispered, “Come for me, Ian. Come inside me. I want to feel full of your cream.” Ian obeyed, helplessly. He came until he could feel every nub on the terry cloth. Gradually, he got his lungs working. “Geez, Dan. I don’t know how you make me come so hard I hurt every time. I swear, my next vacation, I’m flying to Colorado.” His mysterious lover chuckled. “Then I am safe. You never take vacations unless you’re schmoozing on someone’s yacht. Besides, I’m not so fun in real life. Very boring. However, you have inspired me to finish the painting. Good night, Ian. And thank you.” Ian stared in frustration at the screen with the flashing message box, “RomanWarrior has logged off.” He lit a cigarette and took a long swig of still-cold beer. “Yeehaw. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am and back to the beer before it’s warm. I hate redneck sex. One of these days, Danny boy…” He let the threat hang in mid-air. He blew smoke at his monitor, still showing his IM conversation with Dan. In a fake vampire accent, he quoted an old comedy. “For you, never a quickie. Always a longie.”

***

Lena Austin

Deadly Sins: Pride

- 11 -

Dan logged off, grinning from ear to ear. The sweat pouring off his body chilled and dried immediately in the desiccated heated air his furnace pumped throughout his monstrous home. He fumbled in the darkness for his thick flannel robe and quickly drew it on. Several thousand dollars to the homeless children made him proud he could do this small thing. He’d been so very lucky to have a family who, while they didn’t precisely like the fact he was gay, had made use of their unusual family member. No one had tossed him out in the snow to sell his body for food and shelter. Instead, they’d given him a home and an income so he could produce his creations in peace and quiet. If only their gift didn’t come with the catch -- he could never leave. You could leave. You could give millions to help the children, if you had the fame you deserve. Automatically, Dan muttered, “Shut up, Grip,” to the familiar voice in his head. He’d heard it every day since he’d come to live here, taking over for his dying greataunt. No, I won’t. You’re brilliant. A Renaissance man in the truest sense, and I should know. I was there, after all. Fame should be yours, not obscurity. I can… Dan squashed the anger and sadness that made his hands tremble. He couldn’t paint or write when he shook with rage and loneliness. “I know you can. What’s more, I know the astronomical price I’d pay. No, thanks.” It’s not right, Dainius. You are a descendant of Peter, and he was not half the artist and soulful man you are. Why, Catharine weeps every day to see what her children have become. He sniffed and stalked over to squeeze an excessive amount of ocean blue oil onto his palette. Damn, he’d have to order more before he finished this painting of a sea he’d never seen except in pictures sent to him by friends in Greece. He shook his palette knife at the ceiling. “I’ve got all the fame I need. Dan Roman paints, D. S. Manoff writes good books. I get pleasure by giving the money they make to those less fortunate than I.”

Lena Austin

Deadly Sins: Pride

- 12 -

Hah! Neither of those men exists, except as figments of imagination. They aren’t you; just as the corporations created to hide your identity for your patents are nothing more than addresses of lawyers. Ghosts and shadows designed to hide behind, like a coward. Gripping the knife like a weapon, Dan slathered the blue on the canvas, creating an angry slash of a wind-torn sea. He glanced at the printout of the picture of a Greek storm off the coast. The scent of the storm filled his nostrils, a taste as much as smell. Wet wind caressed his hair. His hands moved automatically to capture on canvas the storm around him. His robe was soaked in seconds from the lashing rain. Then he realized what he’d done. He cried out, and found himself back in his crowded living room, surrounded by easels in the darkness. He dropped the knife on the tarp beneath him and covered his eyes. Salty drops of seawater dripped from his hair on the canvas. An angry scream tore from his throat. “Stop doing that to me!” The voice was meek and silken in his head. I didn’t do it. You did.

Chapter Two Ian switched ears, praying he’d get voicemail this time. When he heard the automated message, he breathed a sigh of relief. His parole officer wasn’t in, and he could just leave a message. “Hi Mr. Patterson. This is Ian B. Hershey, calling to report in as usual. You know my office and cell phone numbers.” He started to push the disconnect, and thought better of it. “Uh, just in case, I’m thinking about a one-week vacation to Bailey, Colorado, to see one of my more reclusive clients. My receptionist will have the address and phone number if you wish to check on me.” He disconnected with a long breath of relief. He hated those phone calls, even after all this time and his semi-friendly relationship with Bill Patterson. They reminded him he wasn’t out of prison, yet. Automatically his eyes fell on his desk calendar, even though he knew how long he had until he was truly free. “Three months, just three months.” Ian hung his head, remembering those long horrible years in prison. He’d done the crime, and he’d paid the time. Now he was doing the same thing that had put him in the slammer, but this time he was legal and above board. He did the work, and paid his clients their fair share. No taking the money and running. Instead of a minor con man, he now was a legitimate art broker and agent. It felt wonderful, even if it was twice the work. “Speaking of twice the work, it’s time to call my favorite sculptor.” He dialed, grinning at the picture on his desk. The phone rang and rang in his ear, but he’d developed patience when dealing with her. Finally, a female voice snarled in his ear. “Yeah, whaddya want?”

Lena Austin

Deadly Sins: Pride

- 14 -

Ian chuckled and lit up a cigarette. He’d been listening to her rages all his life, and wasn’t afraid of a little five-foot-nothing squirt. “In the throes of creation, dear sister?” “Ian, you rat bastard. When will you learn I work at night? It’s ten fucking o’clock in the morning, idiot. Melissa and I were still sleeping, you twerp. She’s got a late shift for the next two weeks.” Caroline always grumbled, but he could hear her clinking coffee cups for herself and her latest lover. “I give you and Mel three weeks, sis. She’s a jealous, demanding bitch.” He switched his voice to his infamous imitation of a yenta. “When you gonna find a nice girl who doesn’t make her living stripping and settle down?” Caroline snorted. “Hope springs eternal, big brother. I could ask the same of you. When you gonna find a nice boy and settle down to a life of repenting your crimes? And when are you going to stop polluting your lungs? I can hear you blowing smoke.” Ian bristled and dragged on his cigarette. He didn’t like reminders of his past now that he was an honest man. “About the same time I find a guy to make an honest man of me. Listen, are you going to have that Aphrodite Awakening statue polished up in time? The delivery guys will be there this afternoon to pick it up.” A gusty sigh. “It’s ready, and crated. Thanks for getting me the rent money.” He listened to her slurp her coffee while they cleared up a few details about the upcoming showing, and then he let her crawl back into bed with her flavor of the month. He hung up, still laughing at his sister’s never-say-die optimism. Caroline Hershey lived in a ratty loft apartment and studio in the Village, freezing in the winter and sweltering in the summer, all for her art. She drove him crazy with worry, fixed him pots of spaghetti when he stopped in, and was the only family he had left. A few more encouraging phone calls to his tiny stable of artists, and he was done for a few hours until a meaningless dinner party that night. He checked his calendar and realized he’d wrapped up everything for the next week except for the usual schmoozing. He stuffed his day timer in his briefcase. His cell phone was still on the

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Deadly Sins: Pride

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charger, so he could rest for a few minutes before going home. A nap before changing into his tux sounded like the best plan so far, since he’d be lucky to leave the party before two. He called out to his part-time receptionist in the front room. “Jessica, why don’t you go ahead and leave? Take an early lunch before you pick up your kids. I’ll lock up.” “Bless you! Bobby has soccer practice.” Jessica ran out the door so fast the office door banged closed behind her. Ian leaned back in his chair and wished with all his heart for a vacation in Colorado with Dan. He needed the break from the incessant parties and meaningless flirtations with women old enough to be his mother who had money to burn and a need to buy art to emulate their equally rich art patron friends. His cigarette burned down to the filter while he dreamed of clear blue skies, fresh mountain air, and a willing Dan in his arms. Since he’d gotten out of prison, he hated dark enclosed places and spent every available moment in open air. Often, he’d take his bagged lunch up on the roof of the office building, winter or summer, just to see the sun. The front door of the office opened and shut. Damn. No one came here unless they were desperate artists with portfolios, anxiously trying to get him to represent them. Sometimes they brought shit, and sometimes gold. Ian pasted a smile on his face and stood to go sift sand for diamonds one more time. Maybe if he hurried, he could get out of ordering sandwiches from the deli downstairs to feed another starving artist. Three men in dark suits stood in his front office. One was short and a little plump, the other two tall and as alike as brothers. They damn sure weren’t artists, since none had a portfolio or even a briefcase. Puzzled, Ian kept the smile on his face and stepped forward with his hand out for handshakes. “My apologies, gentlemen. I let my receptionist have the rest of the day off. How may I help you?” The short one shook his hand and spoke with a pronounced Russian accent. “It is all right. We are interested in one of your artists, a Dan Roman. Our client purchased

Lena Austin

Deadly Sins: Pride

- 16 -

his painting yesterday at the auction. We wish to meet with this artist and discuss more from him.” Something about these men made him nervous. He tried to dismiss his unease as natural, since they looked like the FBI. Ian turned to wave at the big coffee urn. “Help yourselves to coffee, gentlemen. Then we’ll take it into my office where we can all sit. I’d be happy to arrange for you to see more of Dan Roman’s work, though I must admit most has already been sold.” They followed him into his office, none partaking of the coffee. Again, the short guy acted as spokesman. “No, you misunderstand. We do not wish to purchase more art at this time. We wish to find the artist himself.” He sat in one of the chairs across from Dan’s desk. The other two remained standing behind his chair, their faces impassive as stone. Ian sat in his chair, relieved to know these were just fans of Dan’s work who hoped for a visit with the artist and maybe an autograph for their client. He shook his head, smiling cheerfully. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but Mr. Roman is an extreme recluse who doesn’t live in the area. He makes no public appearances and grants no interviews. I could ask him if he’d autograph a print for you, if you wish.” Shortie leaned forward, his eyes colder than a snake. “We are not interested in more art. We wish to know where this Dan Roman is. You will tell us this. Now.” The smile slid off Ian’s face as his annoyance grew. Stubborn bastard. No one came into his office and demanded the private information of clients. He chilled his voice to match the cool spring breezes blowing outside. “No. That’s privileged information, sir. I don’t give away my clients’ privacy under any circumstances.” The two guys in back each drew a small automatic pistol. Ian didn’t recognize the make, since he’d never be allowed gun ownership again. Not that he’d given a rat’s ass about guns anyway. He put his hands on the desk in plain sight, and didn’t move. Shortie smiled unpleasantly, showing off a set of yellowed teeth. The menace in his tone made it clear the guns weren’t for show. “Then we will take it from you, Mr. Hershey. Step away from the computer.”

Lena Austin

Deadly Sins: Pride

- 17 -

Ian got up slowly, his hands still carefully in view, and made no sudden moves. He stepped over to his bookcase, and waited for them to discover he didn’t keep anything on his office computer besides spreadsheets, promo templates, and digital copies of the art for emailing to prospective buyers. What was more, everything was password protected. His business was cut throat, so he memorized everything and didn’t trust technology. All the client contracts were in a safe, hidden behind the bookcase. Shortie sat in Ian’s prized office chair like he fucking owned it and rummaged to his heart’s content. Ian hoped he enjoyed himself looking at beautiful art jpgs, his database program full of business contacts but no artist information, and graphics programs. The man’s face grew increasingly frustrated and angry, especially when he was forced to rummage through Ian’s collection of music CDs one by one. All of them were legit music, bought at a reputable music store. Ian didn’t even risk owning a pirated music CD, afraid of even that small crime. By the time Shortie slammed Ian’s laptop closed, Ian was surreptitiously shifting his weight from one foot to another, and the sun was close to setting. The bastard had been thorough, and his office was a shambles. They hadn’t found the safe. Ian guessed it was too cliché for them to suspect such an easy hiding spot. Besides, to all appearances, the bookcase was firmly built into the wall unless you knew where to find the lock mechanism on top. He hadn’t lived with thieves for five years without learning something. “Where are your client files, Mr. Hershey?” Shortie’s tone remained reasonably pleasant, but the angry glitter in his eyes said he was losing patience. “In a safe deposit box at my bank,” Ian replied. “However, I think the bank might be suspicious if you escorted me there.” It was true. The originals were in the safe deposit box, and what he had behind the bookcase were copies for his reference. “I don’t believe you.”

Lena Austin

Deadly Sins: Pride

- 18 -

Ian shrugged. “I don’t care what you believe.” He winced and prayed his insurance agent wouldn’t kill him while Shortie and one of the other goons methodically shredded his chairs, pulled apart his books, and slashed every one of the original pieces of art on the walls. Finally, breathing a little heavily, Shortie said something to his helper in what sounded like Russian. The goon advanced on Ian with a look of cold determination in his eyes. Ian sighed and shut his eyes. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d had his ass kicked, and probably wouldn’t be his last, either. The blow to his gut doubled him over. Damn, it hurt worse than he remembered. The goon slammed him to the floor. They really worked him over a long time, beating and kicking him as a warm up. Then they got serious with torture and a gag to muffle his screams. He awoke with his nose in his carpet, and wondered if any portion of his body didn’t hurt. Sons of bitches had even used a bastinado on his bare feet. Now he knew why the technique was in the torture manuals. Nothing permanent like breaking kneecaps, but they’d been thorough. Why they hadn’t done him truly serious damage or killed him, he had no clue. He wasn’t going to argue at a time like this. Ian crawled toward his cell phone, lying on the floor a few feet from the remains of his desk. Every inch of movement made his muscles scream in protest, but he got there in his own sweet time. At last his phone lit up, illuminating the darkness while he dialed 911. The cops and the ambulance arrived nearly simultaneously, a true miracle in New York. He endured the questions while the EMTs checked him over and put him on the gurney for the joyous journey to an overnight stay in the hospital. The detective appeared to be sympathetic yet determined to get every scrap of information he could out of Ian. “You say they just wanted the contact info on your client, a Dan Roman?”

Lena Austin

Deadly Sins: Pride

- 19 -

Ian winced at the insertion of an IV needle in his left arm. God, he hated needles, even if he did get a full blood screening every six months like a responsible gay citizen. Didn’t mean he had to like it. “Yeah, just Dan. No one else.” “Did they get the info?” “No. The client is a recluse in Colorado.” Ian’s vision hazed to gray. Had they put something in that bag of saline solution? He couldn’t remember. “Okay, thank you, Mr. Hershey. I’ll contact you at the hospital if I need more, but these guys sound pretty professional. Don’t get your hopes up.” The detective closed his little notebook and stepped away as the paramedics wheeled Ian’s gurney out.

*** His feet were still tender enough to use a cane when the hospital released him the next afternoon. He blessed Jessica’s assistance and organization. One phone call last night, and she’d retrieved his spare apartment key, fed Demon, and brought Ian clean clothes. Then she’d used her laptop, wired in, and cancelled all his appointments for the week. In gratitude, he’d given her all the plants and flowers that had arrived from his social contacts. He hobbled out into the sunlight and made a phone call to his travel agent. There was no time like the present to go to Colorado and protect Dan from these Russian… whatever they were. KGB? No, that was dead with glasnost. Wasn’t it? Of course, the entire television-watching world suspected the machinations of the Russian mob. Ian fought down a shudder. Could it be?

Chapter Three He decided driving up to the mountains above Denver from Dallas wasn’t so bad. He hit one of those weeks where a spring snowstorm blanketed the west, and the skiers flew in from all points of the map to take advantage. Forced to take a red-eye flight and encountering a seven-hour transfer delay in Dallas before he could get to Denver, Ian gave up and rented a car rather than wait overnight in a hotel. After driving until his eyes crossed, he’d stayed overnight in Lamar, Colorado. The Cow Palace hotel, no less. Despite its name, the restaurant served the best damn coffee and easily the most perfect burger he’d ever had. His taste buds still blessed him. The waitress -- was her name Judy or Julie? Shit, he was lousy with names -exclaimed over his bruises and fussed over him like a hen with one sorry chick. You couldn’t get that kind of service in the city anymore. He’d tried to call Dan from the hotel but as usual, Dan didn’t answer the phone unless he expected the call. Ian swore and gave the SUV he’d rented at an exorbitant rate a little more gas. He took a quick glance at the directions Jessica downloaded for him off the Internet and double-checked with a map. Surprisingly, the directions to Dan’s place were straightforward, once you got up into the mountains. Geez, he’d never seen anything as beautiful as the Rocky Mountains -- or as imposing. Breaking his neck gawking at the sights was a real possibility. Night came early with the sun behind the mountains, but an urgency to get to Dan before those goons hammered right along with his heartbeat. Funny thing, even in the growing dark of late afternoon, everything stood out in stark relief. His travel agent warned him to pack tissues because of the guaranteed nosebleed going this high from sea level, but other than popping his ears two or three

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times, he’d had no troubles. Wasn’t there such a thing as altitude sickness? Smooth travels bugged the hell out of him. Difficulties were part of the adventure. The tiny rusty sign depicting the county road Dan lived on might as well have been lit with neon. The sun hit the metal until the light flashed in his eyes, or he’d have missed the six-inch sign. As it was, he barely got the SUV to turn onto the narrow rutted road still covered in icy patches. “Ice. In May. Geez, let me guess. Dan is the abominable snowman or something. Does this place ever fucking thaw out?” No houses peeked from the endless stretches of trees. Once, the road wound out and Ian found himself looking down -- and down some more! -- into a narrow little valley where the houses below were dollhouse-sized mansions. His stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch. He tore his gaze away from the view and managed to avoid becoming a permanent part of the landscape by slamming into the side of the mountain. Ian wondered if he was hopelessly lost. Then he saw the house Dan had depicted several times in his paintings perched on the hillside directly in front of him. Two houses, in truth. One small A-frame alpine bungalow near the driveway entrance and one big-assed log home with green shutters. Obedient to the rules Dan had set in their IM conversation, Ian parked his SUV at the alpine bungalow. If Dan wanted him to stay there, then that’s where he’d be. He crawled out of the car, and resigned himself to a long cold walk up to the big house to announce his presence. Okay, a hobble. He needed the wooden cane. He was so stiff, he couldn’t help the groan escaping his lips. Hopefully Dan would forgive him for barging in. He patted the pocket of his coat, and then laughed at himself. The phone was on roaming charges first off, and second hadn’t worked since he’d driven into the foothills. No signal, and probably no cell towers within range. That’s what he got for using a cheap service. “Oh, well. Old habits die hard. I’m used to the weight in my pocket, and it won’t hurt to carry a dead cell around.” The climb was much more difficult than he thought possible. He was in shape, but he panted like a shaggy dog on a hot day within twenty feet, and a headache

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bloomed between his brows. There was the altitude sickness, he assumed, late but making up for it. To make matters worse, if the track that might loosely be called a road had seen a plow since last fall, he’d be shocked. Someone, he assumed Dan, had haphazardly shoveled a narrow path from the little house to the big one. Ian knew what he resembled shambling through the snow. A tall blond dude who literally looked like someone had beaten him with an ugly stick. So much for dazzling Dan with good looks and sophistication. He’d be lucky if he didn’t gray out and pitch forward to fall in a faint at Dan’s feet. Now there was a winning impression. He’d be lucky if Dan didn’t think he was a monster or crazy. Now who was abominable? He snickered, giddy from the light-headedness. Ian still chuckled when one shot rang out from the trees. Pain in his left leg destroyed any remaining good humor, and he fell over in the snow, grunting. Damn, the snow was cold! Footsteps crunched, and Ian rolled over to stare down the barrel of a rifle. A lanky, pissed off man in glasses, blue jeans and denim coat put the end of the gun right between Ian’s eyes. “You’re trespassing.” His eyes crossed to keep an eye on the gun, Ian avoided jerking in surprise when he recognized Dan’s voice. He stole a glance upward in the failing light. Yep, wavy black hair and big soft, slightly unfocused brown eyes. His heart beat faster, and he was sweating like a pig, adding to his unsavory appearance. He just hoped Dan would recognize his voice. “Um, hi, Dan?” Those big brown bits of chocolate blinked. The rifle barrel lowered a trifle. “Ian? Is that you?” Ian nodded slowly, and tried not to pass out from relief. The gun sailed into the snow three feet away. Curses in what Ian assumed was Russian followed. In fact, he sounded a lot like the guys who’d beat him up. Dan hit his knees, gently pulled Ian upright and out of the wet cold powder. “Why didn’t you call first? What happened to you?”

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Deadly Sins: Pride

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His left thigh screamed at his movement. He checked the wound. The ragged edges looked as if the bullet had grazed the inner thigh and passed right on through. He bled like a stuck pig, but wasn’t in any real danger. “Dan, right now I’m glad you’re a lousy shot. Were you aiming for my nuts?” Ian covered the wound with his hand, attempting to staunch the flow of blood. “I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer and you don’t own voicemail like a sensible citizen.” Those lost puppy eyes took on a huge pile of guilt. “Actually, I was aiming for the snow at your feet, but I stumbled on a rock in the snow.” Ian recognized the lie for what it was. He’d seen that slightly unfocused gaze in his own sister’s eyes. However, he also knew from personal experience not to mention what he observed. He could wait until Dan’s pride stopped resisting the truth. Dan shrugged. “I forget to check voicemail, so why pay for a service I don’t use? The phone is there for my convenience, not anyone else’s.” The last sentence carried a full load of defiance. There was no sense in arguing, and certainly not when his ass grew numb and wet from his icy seat. Ian shivered, and hoped Dan felt guilty enough to help his bruised and battered body back to the guesthouse, since it was closer. “I’ll make you kiss this better later, you eccentric nut. Can we go someplace warm?” Dan glanced back at the big house, and then he looked down like a kid in trouble. “I’ll take you back to the dower house. The bathroom will have bandages, but I can always use a pillowcase if there’s nothing large enough.” He grinned shyly, but didn’t look up. “You’re bigger than I thought you might be.” If his leg wasn’t hurting like a sonovabitch, Ian might have taken the non sequitur as a compliment. The shy guilt definitely melted any lingering resentment he harbored. In fact, he reminded Ian of a certain famous fictional kid wizard, all grown up and sexy as hell. If he said the word “ridiculous” with that weird ass faint accent of his, Ian would lose his composure completely.

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He peeked at Ian from under long black lashes, encouraged by his silly, charmed grin. “I take it I’m forgiven.” He stood, and then pulled him upright on his good leg with surprising strength. “Come. Let’s get warm and bandaged. You look like hell.” If Ian thought the walk up the path was purgatory, then the trip down was hell. The shoveled part was not wide enough for two, so Dan and he walked like a pair of conjoined twin crabs, shuffling sideways. This did not help his wound, and he left a stark trail of blood in the snow. He wondered if wolves or bears prowled the woods. “Um, Dan? Should we worry about wild animals with the blood on the snow?” Dan got him up the porch steps and fumbled with a key from his pocket. Now a hint of boyish mischief twinkled in those brown eyes. “I like when they visit. They’ll clean up everything by tomorrow morning.” Ian’s heart became a pile of marshmallow. Geez, this guy was seriously endearing himself to Ian, and he’d barely said two dozen words. Falling for Dan was not part of the plan. He protected his income by protecting a client, right? “I’m in trouble.” Dan wrestled the door open. “Hmm? What did you say?” Ian grabbed hold of his emotions and throttled them down. He was not after the Big C of commitment here, and not even a relationship. Certainly not with a long, lean, eccentric recluse with puppy eyes. “You’re in trouble, Dan.” Dan returned and wrapped his arms around Ian’s waist. Those big eyes snapped to black obsidian, and his voice was as hard as the stone. “You can explain while I bandage your leg. Come on, lean on me.” Stunned by the change from cute boy to cold ruthlessness, Ian obeyed without question. He bet his eyes were as big as the moon rising over the treetops. Naturally, the house was freezing, but better than the cold air outside. “Yeah, we need to talk.” Perhaps the understatement of the year, but not all Ian had in mind. Dan half-carried him over to a big leather recliner and eased Ian down into its icy embrace. He pulled the lever slowly, raising the footrest until Ian’s legs elevated. “I’ll be right back.”

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Deadly Sins: Pride

- 25 -

Ian heard the furnace kick on with a loud whoom, so he assumed Dan had cranked up the thermostat to something above arctic. Cabinets banged, and light reflected off the stone fireplace wall directly in front of him. He expected rustic, handhewn furniture, but the big console thing beside the fireplace and the end table next to him were carved antiques of some dark wood that gleamed with polish. He knew some dealers back in New York who’d sell their souls to get their hands on pieces like those. A warm wet feeling oozed along his ass. “Dan, you might want to hurry. I’m ruining the leather here.” A door slammed shut, and Dan’s voice came closer as he spoke. “I’ll buy another, if there’s not one in the main house I feel like moving. There’s plenty, considering most of the rooms are shut up.” Ian blinked and hid his surprise at the statement. He assumed Dan was well off because he never took his commissions, but how rich was he, anyway? He glanced at the priceless antiques littering the room of his guesthouse. Uh, that rich, dummy. If he could afford to decorate an unused guesthouse like this, then what did the main place look like? Ian wasn’t sure he wanted to know. His pride rebelled at being the play toy of a rich sugar daddy. Then the supposed sugar daddy looked at him with worry and guilt. Oh, yeah, right. Like Dan could manage the role. He held up a clean white towel. “I’m going to lift your leg and put this under your thigh. Then I must cut away your jeans. I’m sorry I shot you. I’ll order you a new pair, if you tell me your size.” Ian gritted his teeth and helped him lift his left thigh, refusing to curse when a fresh gout of blood poured out at the movement. Maybe the concept of Dan being as rich as a Kennedy inhibited him or something, but he wanted to act like a gentleman around him. He could have laughed had he not been in a shitload of pain. Like Dan and he hadn’t talked dirty to one another for a few years. Dan muttered and shed his coat in a hurry, dropping it on the floor beside him. “Let me cut away your pants and we’ll stop the bleeding from getting worse. You’re losing more blood than I like.”

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Deadly Sins: Pride

- 26 -

Ian wasn’t about to admit to wooziness. He lay still and let Dan cut until he sat there in the blood soaked remains of his jeans and his favorite pair of blue boxer briefs. At least the furnace kicked out some serious heat. Without batting an eyelash at Ian, Dan cut away his underwear too. Vanity had Ian blushing. He knew what he looked like. Bruises covered his body from head to toe, and the few not exposed to Dan’s scrutiny were under his turtleneck and coat. Dan ignored the other injuries and bandaged his thigh with his gentle, talented hands. He didn’t look up, not even when he asked gently, “Are you going to tell me why you sport this impressive set of purple love taps and have the nerve to tell me I’m the one in trouble?” Ian wriggled out of his coat, timing his movements to work with Dan’s attempts to lift his thigh to bandage. “I got them because some guys with a Russian accent wanted to know your whereabouts badly enough to beat the crap out of me for the information.” If Ian thought “lost puppy” described Dan’s eyes before, he was wrong. But the waif look lasted about ten seconds before the killer look returned. Man, Dan scared him when he did the Jekyll and Hyde routine. “Really now? I can’t imagine why. I was born here in the US and so were my parents and grandparents. My great-grandparents were from Russia, so we spoke it around them, but that’s it. I have no dealings with Russians, unless I’ve bought something from a Moscow company without realizing it. Surely I’m not behind in a few payments.” Ian’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t buying the careless act, not when Dan’s hand trembled as he cut the tape. “I can’t understand why they were so… vehement… myself.” Dan leaned over and kissed the bandage tape he’d put on. “We have better things to think about. I promised to kiss and make it all better, didn’t I?” His eyes were back to the sweet boyish charm when he raised his head. “Why don’t you shed your turtleneck while I light up the fireplace? And you.”

Chapter Four Alexi threw down the earphones and turned to his employer. In the mother tongue of Russia, he voiced his frustration. “The American has been shot by this Dan Roman. I couldn’t hear anything for a few minutes, so I assume he fell on the cell phone. But we may confirm to Moscow that we have found the suspect.” Garek nodded and lit another cigarette as soon as the old one joined its many brothers in the overflowing ashtray. “Does the American live?” “Da. A flesh wound.” “How unfortunate for him.” The short man sighed. “However, he led us straight to the suspect, and I am grateful. He’s been through enough pain that I feel sympathy for him. We’ll kill him quickly, out of kindness.” Alexi snorted. “Too bad the same cannot be said of Dan Roman, if what we suspect is true.” He picked up his headset, grinning. “True. Keep listening. We need confirmation. I will call Moscow.” Garek hefted his body out of the chair, still stiff after their flight from New York to Colorado. He stretched out his back. “After that, I’ll order room service from this fine hotel. We will celebrate with good food before we hire a car to drive to Bailey in the morning.”

*** Dan shivered with anticipation. Ian’s cock rose, begging him to taste it, and his mouth watered. Human flesh, warm and willing, waited like a banquet before him. Ian was much more than he’d ever hoped for -- gorgeous, kind, and loyal. How could Dan not love him after all this time? The shame of it was he’d have this one opportunity to enjoy him before he sent Ian away forever.

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He bent down over the arm of the recliner, determined to keep Ian’s mind fully occupied with sex until he was so tired he would sleep like the dead. He would be worse than dead if Dan didn’t send him away quickly. Tears of loss threatened to destroy what little vision was left to Dan. Ian must not know the pitiful thing he was, not now, not ever. He’d rather be alone. You aren’t pitiful, Dainius, and you’re never alone. You have me. Now savor Ian. There’s no harm in this. I won’t harm him. I like him, too. In fact, I want an introduction. Dan stole an angry glance in Grip’s general direction and kissed Ian’s thigh once more, so Ian wouldn’t know what Dan really did. The taste of skin was more precious than the finest meats from the family’s best banquets to his tongue. Dan thought hard in Grip’s direction. Might I have a little privacy, if you please, when I sin this gloriously? I know you’re there, but he doesn’t. Stop distracting me. Oh, very well. I’ll stop bugging you, but I’m watching and loving what you do to this human. Ian’s cock twitched against Dan’s hair, and he sighed. His hands gripped the arms of the chair a little tighter. Anticipation only went so far. Impatient to taste all of him, Dan swallowed Ian’s cock whole, and felt it glide into his mouth. He ran his tongue over him to enjoy what Ian gave him, salty and sweet all at once. With all the love in his heart, with all the hopelessness in his head, Dan would give the best he had to the man before him. Ian groaned in the back of his throat, so perhaps Dan was skillful enough. So little experience on his part meant Dan went with his instincts for what might please him. Dan reached down to unzip his jeans. His hand freed his hardness with difficulty, because it was so swollen with need. If Dan mimicked what his mouth did with his hand, perhaps he could guess his next move. Dan’s hand grasped tighter, so he closed his mouth to do the same. Uninhibited by knowledge of their watcher, Ian expressed his pleasure by caressing Dan’s hair. “Yes, Dan. Suck me off. Love it.”

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Dan moved from his kneeling position to get better suction for Ian’s pleasure. Dan’s buttocks hit the end table, and he half-sat upon it. The crash of the lamp hitting the floor gave him a small guilt, but the pleasure of human contact was worth much more than china and glass. The room fell into darkness, lit only by the one kitchen task light he’d used in his search for bandages. Ian jerked at the sound, and his hand stopped playing with Dan’s hair. “Dan, the lamp. It’s priceless.” His gasping protest gave Dan pause. Dan reluctantly lifted his head from his cock, but kept his lips on the tip. He was so hungry for Ian, but he needed the words. “You are more priceless to me than a stupid lamp, Ian. Don’t worry.” Ian hesitated, so clearly concerned for something so simple as a mere object. A thing that was easily replaced with another that worked just as well. He couldn’t know how little Dan cared for material things. Ian gave the shards on the floor one last guilty look. “If you say so.” How could Dan explain without giving his secrets and himself away? An insignificant lamp meant so little compared with his hunger for Ian’s flesh and the touch of skin on skin. The problem was impossible, so Dan ignored the unanswerable in favor of the moment. “I do say so. Now, enjoy.” Ian laughed weakly. “When did you get aggressive? Aren’t I supposed to top you?” Lust filled Dan and he caressed his cock more tightly. “I don’t care as long as I get to touch you.” He gulped Ian’s cock down, desperate to have all he could. Ian’s hands fisted in Dan’s hair, stopping him from moving before he got all he wanted. “Stop, Dan. Got any lube?” Dan paused and thought about what supplies were available in the dower house. Of course, there was nothing to use. Disappointment made his heart sink. “This house hasn’t been occupied in almost twenty years. I doubt it.”

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Deadly Sins: Pride

- 30 -

Ian smiled slyly. His teeth were as perfect as the rest of him. “Since you’re dressed and I’m not, if you go get my dark blue gym bag, everything we need is in there.” Oh, toys! Wonderful! I love toys. Oh, sorry. Shutting up now. Dan ignored Grip and stood, eager to do whatever was necessary. “You know more about these things than I do. You might have to explain how to use some of the supplies.” Ian’s eyes fastened on his rigid erection. Perhaps he was as starved as Dan was. His lips parted as if he longed to taste Dan, as well. Ian’s lips curved, but his hungry gaze lingered on Dan’s body. “Yeah, I will. Fetch.” Laughing, Dan woofed like a dog, zipped his pants to keep them up on his hips, and ran out the door without bothering with his coat. Ian’s laughter was music more precious than Tchaikovsky’s finest compositions to his ears. Human voices and laughter that didn’t come from a speaker was a treasure better than all the material wealth in the world. The cold slapped him in the face like an angry winter goddess, but nothing could disturb his joy. Dan wrenched open the car door and dug for the blue cylindrical bag, blessing the dome light to help him see in the darkness. He whooped in triumph when he found it, and slammed the door so hard, snow fell from a nearby evergreen like soft applause. Shivering with both cold and anticipation, Dan leapt up on the porch and back inside. He’d left the front door hanging open, and Ian was chilled and shaking in the icy breeze. Dan shut it with a shamed apology. Ian seemed to forgive him instantly, and laughed heartily. “Not anxious, are we?” Dan relaxed in the renewed heat and basked in his company. Anxious? That was an understatement. “After putting calluses on my cock for years, listening to you tell me what you would do to me? All my fantasies fulfilled in one breathless night? No, ecstatic is a better word.”

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Deadly Sins: Pride

- 31 -

Ian grinned. “Then get naked, you long drink of water. Then you can help me out of this turtleneck. If we’re inventive, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about my leg much.” His ass puckered, and Dan stripped off his shirt as fast as he could. There was no time like the present to state his needs. “Necessity is the mother of invention, they say. I want your cock buried deep in me, so I intend to get as creative as possible.” Ian’s green eyes glittered like emeralds. “Coming from you, creativity could take on a whole new definition.” There wasn’t much light, now that he’d broken the lamp. Dan flicked another on, one a safe distance from the recliner. He didn’t need it, but Ian might want to see. Dan didn’t care about the antiques in the house, but there was no sense in calling up ancestors from the grave to chastise him with Grip around. Grip would do it just for the amusement factor, and it got very old arguing with long-dead relatives. Hey, I wouldn’t do it now. I have some couth. Besides, I want to see you get fucked. Voyeurism gives me a thrill, you know. Quit your bitching and get out of those pants. Dan sighed. Nothing worse than a back seat driver, and telling Grip to shut up did no good whatsoever. He shed his pants and underwear in one swift movement. Ian played with his cock, teasing Dan with his eyes. “Pass the bag over. I’ll find the lube and a couple of condoms.” Dan obeyed, and fingered his own erection. He knew from their many cybersex encounters that Ian would wait to give him his pleasure after he was done fucking him blind. Still, a little manipulation felt good. Wiggling his eyebrows like Groucho Marx, Ian brandished the bottle and foil packets. He threw the condoms down on the table and squirted some of the golden liquid on his hand. His eyes widened. “Whew! Let me warm this a minute. Kee-rist! How cold is it out there?” Ouch. Bastard. I wish he wouldn’t reference that person. Dan snickered, since Ian would think he was laughing at him, not Grip. “Only perhaps twenty degrees. It’s spring, after all.”

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Deadly Sins: Pride

- 32 -

“You got a weird definition of spring, pal.” Ian slathered his cock lavishly and passed the bottle. “Warm it in your hands first, or the evening will be short.” Obediently, Dan waited until the gel felt a little less like a handful of ice shards before anointing his ass. Even then, he gasped when the thick stuff touched his sensitive tissues. For the first time in ten years, he wasn’t alone. He’d be damned if shyness would stop him. “You could tear me to shreds, and I won’t care.” Ian patted his prepared and sheathed cock. “Get up here and ride.” He didn’t have to ask twice. Dan clambered up, being very careful to place his knees on the arms of the recliner. Inexperience wouldn’t stop him from this one opportunity. Once he was in place, Ian pushed back the chair until he lay back as far as he could. Dan thrilled at the thought of Ian’s body on display mere inches from his. There was something so very sensual about feeling the cool air caressing his skin seconds away from the most intimate of contacts. He knew he would have to paint this moment for his memories if nothing else. Dan lowered himself slowly onto Ian’s cock until he felt the tip pressing his anus, like a lover knocking at the door. He groaned, half in fear and half in anticipation. He was no virgin, but he may as well have been. Not since college had he been impaled on another man. The latex substitutes were inadequate compared to reality. Ian reached between them and grasped his cock to hold it upright and steady while he breached Dan’s first barrier. Both groaned at the slowness, anticipating the pleasures they would share. Dan clamped his lips shut, determined not to let Ian know if he suffered any pain whatsoever. He expected some, considering his near-virginal state, but there had been none so far. His body craved more, and he gave it what it wanted by lowering until he felt the pressure at the second barrier. Then Dan hesitated to allow his body time to adjust.

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Deadly Sins: Pride

- 33 -

His lover, and Dan realized he could call him that now, settled the issue for him by pressing upward just enough to break through. The small twinge of pain was nothing compared to the ecstasy of being filled completely, and Dan slid the rest of the way down fearlessly. After all those years of loneliness, he rode a man who gave himself willingly to him. Some insane part of him laughed and sang, “I’m back in the saddle again!” Ian thrust upward, finishing the journey to his innermost core. He placed his hands on Dan’s hips and guided his movements up and down until he had a rhythm both of them could live with. Nothing mattered but this moment and their joining. Dan’s fears and heartbreak faded into the shadows of the dark room, like demons repelled by the light. They would be back, but for now they did not matter in the slightest. He had his own piece of heaven, and he would remember this night for the rest of his lonely life. Perhaps the memories could make latex and dreams enough to sustain him. His personal angel with blond hair grasped Dan’s cock and pumped. “Come with me, Dan.” Even were Dan not so inclined, the stimulus of feeling Ian’s warm hand on his flesh would have been enough. But he was so willing to bring them both to the ultimate pleasure he would have done anything Ian asked of him. Ian’s encouraging words, spoken with the huskiness of a lover on the edge of ecstasy, were more than enough. The pressure built every time Dan raised his body and Ian stroked his insides with the most intimate of caresses. He would give what Ian asked, and he panted out his agreement. “Yes. Oh, yes.” Ian’s face contorted. “I can’t hold on. I’m coming.” So was Dan. Perhaps his own face reflected his pleasure. All he knew was that he felt the explosion begin and did not want to stop. It was too soon! Dan wanted to linger and enjoy what he would never have again, but his traitorous balls rose and gave everything they had all over Ian’s lightly furred chest.

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Deadly Sins: Pride

- 34 -

With strong hands, Ian shoved him down until Dan was fully impaled. His sensitive tissues could feel every spurt of Ian’s orgasm, filling him. Ian’s inarticulate shout bounced off the walls of the dower house of his prison. Dan fell forward and caught himself with his hands on either side of Ian’s head. The recliner rocked dangerously backward and for a moment Dan feared they would fall and be separated. He didn’t want their fucking to end so ingloriously. Ian gasped at the sharp movement. “Whoops!” A small library table behind the recliner stopped the backward motion. Dan was never so grateful to his ancestors for the ridiculous need to overcrowd a room with so many useless furnishings. Books and a small statue flew off the table and onto the floor, but nothing broke to further add to Ian’s concerns for his family’s worthless treasures. They lay there together simply staring into each other’s faces until Ian softened and slipped out of him. Dan nearly cried at the loss, Disposing of the condom, he rolled until he rested somewhat comfortably on the arm of the recliner. He petted Ian’s face and willed him to sleep and heal. Ian’s eyes slowly closed and his breathing signaled he was asleep. Moving with utmost care, Dan crawled off until he knelt on the floor beside the chair. He dared not touch Ian again for fear of awakening him, no matter how much he ached to do so. Tomorrow, Dan would send him away back to his safe world. Tears rolled down his face, and Dan made no attempt to wipe them away. He covered Ian with a throw blanket made by one of his predecessors. With a heavy heart, Dan returned to his prison up the hill to watch the stars and await the dawn of the saddest day since he’d locked himself within the cage of paying for his family’s sins.

Chapter Five Ian put the car in park and absently reached for his half-finished travel mug of instant coffee. The view from the top of Dan’s property via the road beyond the driveway was a stunning vista of snow-topped mountains, lush evergreens, and blue sky. So what if the air was colder than a witch’s tit in a brass bra in January? He could understand why Dan loved being surrounded by nothing more than trees and sky. In place of his morning jog around the park, Ian decided to drive around and at least get some fresh air. The guest house, or as Dan put it, the dower house, was a dark and forbidding place even in dawn’s bright light. Ian would have spelled dower as dour had it not been for the magnificent old paintings which covered every square inch of wall. They drove him crazy with longing to put on a fine New York exhibition, but he knew Dan would never allow that kind of publicity. Ian growled his frustration, slugged down the remainder of his coffee, and rested his head on his arms as he leaned out the window, hoping the beauty of the area would put him back in an excellent frame of mind. He wanted to smile cheerfully when Dan showed up. Poor bastard probably felt sorry for him, and Ian couldn’t stand pity. He’d made his own way in the world as long as he could remember, never asking for handouts. Crime was better than becoming a welfare kid. The flash of sun on a car roof shook him out of his memories. The plain gray sedan wound its way slowly up the mountain toward Dan’s place. Ice made the road treacherous for anything less than four-wheel drive, and the car skidded dangerously close to the cliff edge while Ian watched and held his breath. Wisely, the driver and passengers got out to push the car back safely on the road, such as it was. Funny, but Ian had the impression no one lived up here but Dan, and he never had visitors.

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Deadly Sins: Pride

- 36 -

Then Ian recognized Shortie and his goons. His heart stopped and then skittered with adrenaline. He shoved his coffee cup back in the car’s cup holder and threw the transmission into reverse. Judging by the trouble they were having getting up the mountain, he had half an hour or less to awaken Dan and get him to safety. Muttering curses under his breath, Ian drove at a risky pace down the rutted driveway and parked behind the main house to hide his vehicle. There was no disguising the SUV was a rental with Dallas tags and logo of the rental company in bright green on the back bumper. If they had followed him, they were hunting for that specific car. Ian dropped the keys on the floorboard in his haste to fling open the door and find Dan. He left them where they fell. If they wanted the fucking SUV so badly they could have it. Unfortunately, Ian forgot about his injured leg until he sank past the level of the bandages in ice-cold snow. If the freezing temperature hadn’t taken his breath away, he might have been so undignified as to screech. Those few feet to the steps of the porch seemed like a mile, especially when his sneakers were immediately sopping and filled with the famous champagne powder skiers loved. He certainly didn’t love it. The clean covered porch was heaven in comparison. Ian peered in the window of the back door and breathed a gusty sigh of relief. In what apparently was the kitchen, Dan slept at the table, his head cradled in his arms. A box of used tissues littered the surface right next to an ordinary glass salt and peppershaker set. In desperation, Ian tried the door and blessed all his lucky stars when the rusty knob turned beneath his shaking hand. He knew better, he swore he did, than to shake another man awake. Shit, hadn’t he lived in prison long enough? He called himself six different forms of stupid when Dan bolted up out of his seat and caught Ian in his sore gut with a punch worthy of any boxer. Ian went down hard on his knees, clutching his stomach.

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Deadly Sins: Pride

- 37 -

Dan snarled something in Russian, probably curses. Then again, to Ian all Russian sounded like cursing, even if the speaker quoted poetry. The kick Dan aimed at his face stopped inches from his nose. Since Ian was busy trying not to spew his coffee all over the hardwood floor, he didn’t have time to do more than let out the breath he’d held waiting for the blow. Ian managed to groan out his warning. “Dammit, Dan, you paranoid son of a bitch. You’re more dangerous to me than those Russians coming up your driveway.” “Ian!” Dan knelt beside Ian in an instant, and helped him to sit up. The hurt puppy look was back in his eyes, but mixed with a healthy dose of fear. Strangely, Dan wasn’t looking at Ian, but staring off at the hammered tin ceiling with a resigned look on his face. “I’ll get you for this, Grip.” At least, that’s what Ian thought he muttered. Ian grayed out and was more concerned with not fainting like a girl. If he hadn’t had internal injuries before, he might now. “What? Who’s Grip?” Dan wrestled Ian around until Ian half-sat on his own. The killer look was back in Dan’s reddened and swollen eyes. “You’re about to find out. I don’t have any choice, now. There’s only one concealed room in this mausoleum, and it’s up a couple of flights of stairs. Can you walk?” Ian rolled to his knees with a groan. His gut ached and his leg screamed with the movement, but he could focus. “I’ll crawl if I have to. Check to make sure I don’t leave a blood trail.” Dan hauled Ian to his feet, proving he was much stronger than his thin frame might suggest. He grinned at the surprise on Ian’s face. “Who do you think chops all the wood for the six fireplaces in this place? I assure you, it’s not the ghosts of my ancestors.” Ian grabbed a box of granola bars off the counter and tucked it in his coat, in case they had to stay awhile. “You eat this cardboard?” Dan snickered and dragged him through a door. “Yeah. I went to college in Boulder, the new age capital of the west, for my first degree. This way.”

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Deadly Sins: Pride

- 38 -

Two distractions vied for Ian’s attention. The first was the magnificent dining room furnishings that any antiques dealer would sell his soul for, and the second was the words “first degree.” Okay, he’d bite to take his mind off the painful climb ahead. “First degree? Just how many degrees do you have, Einstein?” Dan shrugged and led Ian through a cavernous living room where half the furniture was covered in dust cloths and the rest of the room was decorated in early artist with easels, tables littered with tubes of oil paints, and one scruffy armchair by the biggest fireplace. “I don’t know anymore. Eight, I think.” Ian stumbled and stopped contemplating how the sunny room made a great artist studio, with two floor to ceiling walls of windows looking out over the driveway and the slope of evergreen forest to the side. “You don’t know but you think eight? Geez, I don’t even have one.” Dan dragged Ian toward a staircase of carved mahogany with finial posts of gilded and carved lions. “I get bored, so I take online classes when I can. Whatever interests me. I’ll tell you about it once we’re safely locked away, okay? This is no time for a game of twenty questions.” By the time they made the climb to the third landing, Ian had no ability to ask questions anyway. All he could manage was to gasp air in and out of his oxygenstarved lungs to keep from passing out again. Dan led him into a library with books lining every wall except the one which held another canvas-covered chair and a lamp table so gray with dust, Ian couldn’t tell what the title of the book was resting on its surface. The thick burgundy curtains were closed, and deep twilight cloaked the whole room in eerie shadows. At least the cobwebs were only in the corners, but the whole damn room looked like a set of a horror film. Dan looked around for a moment. “I’ll have to come up here with the vacuum again.” His comment made Ian laugh. Here they were in mortal danger for reasons Ian didn’t yet understand, and Dan was worried about playing Suzy Homemaker? “You have to get your priorities in order, Dan. We’ll worry about spring cleaning later.”

Lena Austin

Deadly Sins: Pride

- 39 -

Dan huffed out a breath, and reached into the back of one of the bookcases, behind a collection of Walt Whitman poetry. “We’re here. Shut up, and no smart comments for a few minutes.” Ian heard a click, and the bookcase moved away from the wall an inch or two. “A secret room behind the bookcase? Isn’t that a tad cliché?” Dan gave him a reproachful look, and shoved at the bookcase until the room was revealed. Now Ian shut up. Completely. He was too busy gagging at the stench of sulfur and dead things. The room was darker than the inside of a cow, but an object bigger than a man swung from the ceiling, and Ian heard the clink of chains. Was he thinking horror movies before? He wasn’t a fanciful guy, but the miasma of evil in the room had him ready to run back and face the Russians. Not to mention the fact he hated enclosed dark spaces. Dan reached out and dragged Ian into the room, and he fought Dan every inch of the way without shame. Dan finally collared him in a headlock. “Do I have to hit you again? We don’t have time for your hysterics.” He shoved Ian hard until he fell to the floor in the darkness. His brutality stunned Ian as much as the agony from his left leg, and he lay there with a feeling of doom. All Ian could think was that he’d flirted and enjoyed cybersex with a murderer for years, the Russians had a legit reason to come after him, and, aw shit, he’d fucked him, too. The bookcase closed and blocked out what little light there was. The thick, stinking darkness did not help his mood one damn bit. Worse, he’d almost swear he could hear laughter from far away. Dan’s calm voice came out of the darkness. “Let me find the light switch, Ian. We’ll get comfortable, and I’ll introduce you to Grip. I’ve got a lot of explaining to do while we’re cooped up in here.” Great. Was Grip the murderer? Ian couldn’t imagine the stench coming from anything else but dead bodies and blood. “Um. I’m not reassured here.”

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Deadly Sins: Pride

- 40 -

Dan’s voice was full of regret and resignation. “I’d imagine not. Normally, I’d take more time. Ah, here’s the switch. Shield your eyes.” Ian shut his eyes, and then wondered why he bothered obeying. The light flared, practically burning his eyeballs right through the lids. When Ian ventured a peek, Dan knelt on one knee in front of him with a tentative half-smile on his face. He held out one hand, offering him a boost to stand. “I know you have absolutely the least amount of reason to trust me, but I’m hoping you’ll remember our years of friendship and give me a chance to explain, at least. Can I offer you a more comfortable seat than the floor? Some wine, perhaps?” So Ian was a sucker for the boy wizard genius. He drew a deep breath and gave Dan his hand. Dan pulled Ian to his feet at the same time he rose from the floor. His captor held Ian upright and let him get a good look around. There was a lot to see, and Dan waited patiently while Ian gaped like an idiot at the monster-sized leather book dangling from its thick wrapping of iron chains and locks in the center of the room. The tome was six feet tall, and at least three feet thick, with a red leather exterior which changed color like it was made of scales. No snake Ian knew had skin that color, but there were natural changes in coloration indicating the leather wasn’t dyed. Strangely, the scales glittered when the book was in shadow, and dulled where the light from the lamps on the wall hit it. Ian hobbled one step closer to read the gold lettering stamped on the cover, kicking a large iron key aside. Keys littered the floor, so avoiding stepping on one was close to impossible. For one moment, the lettering made no sense and seemed written in a script Ian didn’t know. Then small flames flared from the letters and he winced away for a moment. When he looked again, the lettering was plain old English. It read, “I am the beginning of sin. The readiness with which you admit a fault may be me, masquerading as humility. I am Pride.” Ian stole a look at Dan, confused. Dan stood to the side, with his arms crossed in front of him, and his face an unreadable mask. Only the plea in those big brown eyes gave his real emotions away. “Meet Grip, the demonic Agrippa of legend. Why don’t you choose a chair? Any one

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Deadly Sins: Pride

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you like. And you never answered me. Do you want a glass of wine?” His lips twitched. “Or perhaps something stronger?” Ian looked back at the book. “A demonic book? You’re shitting me. Make my drink a whiskey. Neat.” Footsteps, with keys clinking as Dan kicked them out of the way. Glass tinkled, and liquid trickled. Ian looked around to see where Dan had gone. Dan stood in front of a gorgeous ebony console, where a large collection of antique glass decanters held liquids. He could see Dan’s tortured face in the mirror above, and watched one tear slide down his cheek. Ian doubted Dan even noticed the mirror, because he wiped the drop away before he put two glasses and a decanter on a silver salver worth a small fortune and picked the tray up. Twenty or thirty chairs, usually in groups of two or three, sat around the room. All the seating was covered with dust cloths, so Ian limped over to the two nearest him with a table between, and flipped off the covers. Two dainty Queen Anne chairs, upholstered with someone’s magnum opus of delicate needlepoint flowers, graced his eyes. He’d feel silly sitting in them, but they would do. Ian waited until Dan brought the whiskey, snatched up the nearest glass, and drained the finest booze he’d ever had in one swallow. Then he sat down. “This place looks like a meeting or social room, except for the odd decoration of a giant book in the center of the room. Somehow, I can’t imagine parties being held in here.” The wry, sad smile on Dan’s face wasn’t reassuring. “It’s never a party when this room is used.” Ian wanted to reach out and hold Dan, he looked so sad. The tear he’d seen in the mirror, hastily wiped away, ripped at his guts worse than the leftover ache from Dan’s punch did. Yeah, his trust was back, and his instincts knew it before Ian did, or else he wouldn’t have drunk the whiskey. The realization hit Ian even harder. He was in love with Dan. Shit, the big L. If opposites attracted, then you couldn’t be more opposite poles out than the two of them.

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Deadly Sins: Pride

- 42 -

Uneducated street kid from the big city -- and a criminal past to make things worse -- in love with rich, eccentric, genius mountain man from Colorado. How much worse could things get for him? Dan succeeded where Ian’s imagination failed to make the bizarre situation even more obscene. “Guess I’d better start at the beginning. I’m going to assume you know enough history to follow me here.” He took in one deep breath. “My real name, etcetera, is Grand Duke Dainius Sutkevicius Romanoff.” He took in Ian’s stunned look. “Yeah. The czar whose family disappeared.” Oh, yeah. Things could get a lot worse.

Chapter Six Dan sipped his whiskey and waited for Ian to absorb the first revelation. He pretended to be calm when he wanted to kneel before Ian and beg for his understanding. Any one of Dan’s revelations was enough, but put together in a string, they overwhelmed saints. Yet he had no choice. He had to make Ian understand, or his friend couldn’t combat the forces at work. It was best to simply give all the information to him and let him absorb what he could. “There’s more. I promised you an introduction. Grip really is a demon in an odd shape. I state the obvious and remind you demons follow their rules. Trust him to act as a demon would. Don’t trust anything he says because he plays his own game.” Some color returned to Ian’s face. He gave Dan a lopsided grin. His voice was shaky, but he managed some humor. “In other words, even if he tells me the sky is blue I had better check out the window.” Hey now! I’ve never pretended to be anything less than what I am. Ian’s head snapped around to look in Grip’s direction. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “I’ve never had a voice talk in my head.” Ian blinked for a moment. “I’d say nice to meet you, but the meeting isn’t pleasant in the least. I have a feeling you’re the reason the Russians came, not the fact I’m sitting next to the czar in exile.” Dan choked, surprised Ian had figured out his true rank. Technically, Dan was the last royal Romanoff, but his heritage meant nothing as far as he was concerned. Politics, especially world politics, meant living in a fish bowl. Dan wanted none of the nonsense and strife that turned men gray before their time. Very good. Yes and no. They want me, and the fact I’m attached to the last legal czar just adds spice to the broth.

Lena Austin

Deadly Sins: Pride

- 44 -

Ian laughed without humor. He held his glass out for a refill without taking his eyes off the demonic book. “Dan may not care for politics, but I do. I know the situation in Russia, and the growing faction of people who want to see the royal family restored to power, even if they’re puppets.” Dan’s hand shook as he poured whiskey into Ian’s glass. Ian sounded so cynical and friendly toward Grip, they were a matched set. They weren’t talking about some far away person who was merely a name in the papers. They conversed so casually about him. Dan had to remind himself Ian had been his friend and agent for several years. Trusting Ian would not betray him still came hard. “I hope you understand I don’t want anything more than staying right here.” Ian shot him an unreadable look. The cynical half smile wasn’t reassuring. “Of course you don’t. Your dislike of politics is what makes you so perfect for both this demon’s plans and the Russians’. They could lock you away in some fine palace with your paintings and trot you out on the rare state occasion when they need a symbol.” Quite right! I’m impressed, human. You’ve a fine grasp of the situation. Dan wouldn’t dream of grabbing the true power associated with opening me up and using the powers I could give him. He’s too strong-willed. Ian toasted the damned book. “Ah, but he’s gay. There will be no more Romanoffs after him. I assume you and the Russians killed off every one of his legitimate family?” Dan closed his eyes. Ian was right. All of his family had died, some under suspicious circumstances, others in freak accidents. “One might assume so. There may be a distaff member somewhere.” No, there’s not. I know. Isn’t it nice you’re impotent with women, Dainius? When you’re dead, I will be free to choose my next Guardian without your interfering family choosing for me. Then I can go about my business with someone much more amenable to my purpose. “I see. You’re attached to a genetic bloodline until they all die out.” Ian sipped again, and made an inarticulate sound of appreciation. “You worked on this for close to

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Deadly Sins: Pride

- 45 -

a century, once you found out the Romanoffs weren’t playing your way. I’ll assume one of them opened and used you to gain all the power and wealth in the first place?” Oh, I do like you. Damn, Ian was good. He’d figured the whole tangled mess all out, except for some minor details which didn’t matter much. Dan was in absolute awe over his powers of deduction. But what game was Ian playing with Grip? “By the way, Grip’s full name is The Agrippa of Pride.” Ian leaned back in his chair, seeming totally at ease, and winked at Dan. “You’ll have to tell me the story sometime of how a demonic book came to be on earth. Must be fascinating.” He sat up. “But we have more important things to cover right now. I’m assuming my being here is no coincidence. Were you hoping I’d corrupt Dan a little? Maybe into using you? Or am I simply a more corruptible toy in my own right, given my… past?” Past? What was Ian talking about? Now Dan was the one confused. He looked back and forth between his lover and the demonic book, like he watched a tennis match. You serve several functions, depending on your level of cooperation. You have many useful skills. I’ve a fondness for con men. Ian frowned. “I’m reformed.” He turned to Dan, his face serious. “Before you ask, I served time in prison before we met. Five years for running art scams, mostly small time. Since then, I’ve been legit.” He sighed. “I don’t have a fancy degree or anything. I’m just damn good at spotting excellent art and presenting the work to the right people.” Reassured, Dan put his lips to his glass and spoke before sipping. “They say confession is good for the soul.” However, you don’t care how you accomplish your ends. All those women, still hopeful that someday they’ll lure you to their beds if they buy enough from you. You’ll drink, lie, and flatter to get what you want. You encourage gluttony, lust, pride, avarice…

Lena Austin

Deadly Sins: Pride

- 46 -

Ian waved his hand carelessly. “Yeah, yeah. All the seven deadly sins.” Then his eyes flew open wide, and his feet hit the floor with a thump. “Seven deadly sins. You’re Pride. There are six more like you, aren’t there?” Silence. Dan sat back, amazed. Not only was this the first time Grip had refused to speak his mind, but also Ian’s extrapolation made perfect sense. Now was not the time to speculate further. Grip could read him as if Dan were the book and Grip the librarian. “That shut you up, didn’t it? Good. Because I’m going to handle this one step at a time.” Ian turned in his chair and faced Dan like a drill sergeant. “Dan, demons usually have rules they can’t go beyond. Grip’s gone to some trouble to wipe out your family, but not you up until now. Why is he using the Russian mafia instead of simply causing you to have a fatal accident? All alone up here, he could have arranged a fire with ease.” Sonofabitch. The laughter bubbling up inside Dan had no outlet. He dared not guffaw in case the sound traveled outside their hiding spot. He turned the chuckles into a cough. “I’m his Guardian. He can’t harm me directly. In fact, he gave me an odd sort of health. I can’t be harmed by ordinary methods like injury, or most diseases. I can feel pain. The Russians can make me hurt badly, but they can’t kill me.” Ian studied Dan for a moment, and then nodded thoughtfully. “Okay, so there’s one role for me -- hostage. You can’t be hurt or killed, but I can. Another obvious role for me is corrupter. I am your temptation to commit sodomy.” Ian snorted and looked away. Then he sighed. He couldn’t afford to cater to Dan’s pride anymore. “I’m guessing my last role is promoter and guide dog. How eyesight impaired are you, anyway? I couldn’t help but notice you use your hands on the wall a lot, and you forget to look around.” Dan started, and then answered honestly. The time for pretending was past. “I don’t know. I can still see colors, but fine details are difficult.”

Lena Austin

Deadly Sins: Pride

- 47 -

“Figured as much. You hide it well, Dan.” Ian put his empty whiskey glass on the salver. “Okay, one final question.” He hesitated, and his face turned red. Dan grew impatient when the silence lengthened. “Spit it out, Ian. What do you want to know?” Dan lifted his glass to finish his whiskey, and waited. Judging by the grave expression in Ian’s eyes, the question would be difficult to answer. Dead serious, Ian rose from his chair, and stood in front of Dan with his hands on his hips. “Do I have to curtsey before I fuck you, your Royal Highness?” Laughing, Ian barely dodged the spray of whiskey from Dan’s mouth. Dan coughed until Ian reached over and pounded him on the back. He noted Ian’s tennis shoes were still wet, and wondered why Ian wasn’t shivering. In between choking gags and laughter, Dan managed an answer. “Men don’t curtsey, you nut case, and the only bowing to be done will be me when I bend over my great-aunt’s favorite fainting couch.” Ian followed Dan’s waving hand to the draped Victorian monstrosity so beloved by the family hypochondriac. He yanked off the covering to reveal the curved back and long length of burgundy velvet and stood back to study the sofa with his hands on his hips. “Dusty, but serviceable.” Dan’s cock engorged at the thought of being thrown over the scrolled velvet back. “Aren’t you worried about the Russians?” Ian turned to him. “Yeah, but I figure they’re making a thorough search, starting with the lower rooms and working their way up. Knowing the way their minds work a little, having been their victim before, they’ve got this house sealed. They can’t turn off the electricity, nor disconnect the satellite, since one involves digging up the hot lines from under your drive, and the other involves climbing up on the roof. They’ve got us buttoned up nice and tight in here, they figure.” Dan agreed with Ian’s assessment of his utilities. His family had built this place to be self-sufficient, as much as possible. They could survive literally for weeks in this room, with its secret stash of food and a bathroom behind one of the murals. There was even a computer hidden in the armoire to Dan’s right.

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Deadly Sins: Pride

- 48 -

Ian gave him a cheeky wink. “Grip can’t read my thoughts, obviously. So he has no idea what my plans to save your royal ass are. Suffice it to say I know what I’m doing. You wouldn’t happen to have a collection of swords, knives, and firearms hidden in here, would you?” Without bothering to answer, Dan walked over to the console, which held all the decanters of wine and hard liquors. He opened the main cabinet doors, reached behind the linens, and pulled out an assault rifle and a clip of ammunition. Dan laid them on top, then pulled open one of the drawers. He tossed Ian the .44 Magnum, and laid the box of its ammo next to his rifle. “Answer your question?” His clever lover’s lips twitched, and his eyes twinkled. “I should have known.” Ian hefted the pistol. “You realize that, as a convicted felon, I’m not allowed to possess or use weapons.” Dan snorted. His mind kicked into gear, and he knew how to take care of things now that Ian had moved him past his fears. “There will be no investigation and no bodies for them to find. Trust me on this.” Ian tossed the gun on a table near the couch. Then he shrugged out of his coat. “I do. Great. Come here.” One of Dan’s degrees was in psychology. He knew why both of them were so in need of sexual relief. Their survival instincts made them wish to procreate but as gay men, they had but one outlet -- each other. This was not such a bad idea, given the circumstances. If they failed, Dan wanted to die happy. He began to shed his clothes on the way there, tossing his shirt negligently on one of Grip’s many locks. Hey, now! Don’t be rude. Ian chuckled and pointed a finger at Grip. “As if you can’t see what we do. I figure you’re in there, a part of Dan’s mind. You’ll participate in everything we’re about to do no matter what. So shut up and enjoy, demon.” Hmph. I intend to, now that the cat’s out of the bag. Speaking of which, you might want to show Dan a picture of your cat. He can fetch the little beast for you. You forgot him in your haste to get out here. He runs from your receptionist, you know. The furball is starving.

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Deadly Sins: Pride

- 49 -

Dan stopped in the midst of removing his jeans and cast a wary glance at Grip, swinging on his chains. “What do you care about a cat?” Cats are associated with demons, asshole. I have a fondness for them, and Rottweilers. Ian nodded, and folded his arms. Mouthwateringly naked and golden in the lamplight, he looked like a fierce warrior waiting on a slave boy to attend him, and Dan would be his slave. “Yeah okay, I get you. Not to mention you might be able to use him later on us. He’d make a great spy.” Personally, Dan didn’t give a damn about the cat now. He’d worry about the implications of Grip’s suggestion later. Dan wanted that gorgeous length of cock in his mouth. He knelt at Ian’s feet. “Talk later.” Ian reached down into one of the many pockets of his coat and brandished the lube and a handful of foil packets. “No problem. By the way, have I ever told you how you look like the boy wizard in the movies, but all grown up and safely legal?” Dan laughed and took Ian’s cock in his mouth.

Chapter Seven Ian threw his head back and gasped for air. His left hand fisted in Dan’s dark curls at the first tug of Dan’s hot, wet mouth. The stench of the room faded to a minor annoyance, like listening to a fly humming around. Ian’s mind refused to wrap around the concept of Dan’s royal heritage, like finding out the rock you used to prop your door open with was a fifty-carat diamond. The whole idea of noble blood in his friend wouldn’t compute, so Ian went with the visual and sensual. Dan was his friend and fuck buddy, nothing more. That concept Ian could handle, but a small part of him wished they had a setting more appropriate to Dan’s rank. Oh, the things Ian could imagine doing with the proper equipment. Your wish is my command. Well, mainly because I like the idea. Here goes! The whole room wavered and went out of focus. Dizziness made Ian stagger, and he stepped away from Dan’s hungry mouth. Instead of a stinking, dusty sitting room with a huge demonic red book hanging from the coffered ceiling, the place looked like a cross between a Roman bath and an Arabian tent, with red and gold hangings and gleaming marble columns. Incense and candles perfumed the air, and classical violin music filtered in from some unseen location. Ian recognized the place as being directly out of his most lurid fantasies. Dan knelt on the floor, sweeping his gaze around with a bewildered expression. He took in the steaming sunken bath, and his eyes lit up for a moment. “Fulfilling a fantasy wish, Grip?” Got a problem with my doing so? He pushed the sinful image out where any demon could see. First clear vision I got from him, and it looked like such fun, I grabbed the whole scenario.

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Deadly Sins: Pride

- 51 -

The guilt which rose from Ian’s stomach settled back down and faded to a mere whimper of protest. He let out the breath he’d been unconsciously holding. Dan liked his taste in dream sequences so far. “I don’t mind. Does Grip do this for you often?” His royal lover lifted troubled brown eyes. He bit his lip for a moment, but his cock stood up like the mast of a schooner. “He’s never done this for me.” Yeah, well, you never brought anyone home to meet your pet demon before. Ian snorted and talked to the ceiling. The ridiculous image of Dan bringing him home to meet “Mom and Pop” and introducing Ian to a red-skinned demon with sharp fangs and a forked tail had him choking down laughter. Ozzie and Harriet meet the Necronomicon? “Somehow, I wouldn’t call you Dan’s pet anything.” “Oh, so very true. Perhaps you should call me his other half.” Ian spun back around. The voice was Dan’s, but not the intonation. The drawled, languid words were spoken in a low, insinuating tone without Dan’s wisp of a Russian accent. Ian’s cock hardened further to the call of the sensual sound. His boy wizard’s sweet look was gone, and his body altered. Rising gracefully to his feet and sauntering over was a being using the body and making minor alterations. Dan’s skin reddened, as if he had sunburn, and his nails glistened as if painted with metal. The knowing come hither look in those golden eyes would never appear in Dan’s puppy browns. He lifted one sculpted buff arm to negligently sweep Dan’s thick wavy hair out of his eyes. “Like what you see?” He looked down at Ian’s rock-hard cock. “Never mind. I get the picture.” Ian’s cock twitched and he told it to behave. He didn’t care if his pointer homed in on the demon’s perfect naked ass like it was a lodestone, complete with hole. There was probably brimstone in there and that was not the standard model Hershey Highway. His heart wanted Dan. “Give Dan his body back.” The impudent demon pursed his lips and blew Ian an invitational kiss. Those taloned hands reached out and grasped his cock, encasing the aching length in just-atthe-top-of-tolerance heat. “He’s got it, silly. Don’t you, Dainius darling?”

Lena Austin

Deadly Sins: Pride

- 52 -

Ian writhed unwillingly against the strokes of those heated hands. His body wasn’t paying a damn bit of attention to his heart, and fell into the rhythm of the expert strokes. A reverent “shit” of appreciation rolled off Ian’s tongue. “Prove it.” Dan’s soft brown eyes returned, incongruous in the red face. One tear slid down the cheeks, hissing as it evaporated. “I’m here, Ian. I’m sorry, I want you so badly to… to…” The brown eyes faded away and closed for one blink. Grip’s golden eyes returned, and his fanged smile didn’t soften the knowledgeable look on his face. He made a tsking sound. “He wants so much, he can’t even articulate it all. I can, but I’d prefer to show you. Come along.” Note to self: When a demon has your jewels in his hand, go with him or get your cock ripped off and eaten. Not that he minded when Grip led him to the sunken bath and shoved him in, letting go of Ian’s slightly overheated cock. Ian fell in with a splash and yelped at the near-boiling temperature. “I am not a fucking lobster!” The powerful demon rolled his eyes, put his hands on his hips, and did an impression of a queen from the Village. “Tch! But you are a stinky bitch. Get clean.” He then jumped in and shrieked like a girl. In his normal tone, he gasped out, “Baal’s Balls, the water’s fucking freezing to me. This is the best compromise we get. Let’s hurry before my scrotum collides with my diaphragm.” He dunked himself under and came up shivering with a sea sponge and bar soap in hand. Ian tried lowering himself by inches into the roiling water. A quick sniff at his pits proved to him he did need a wash up, but he didn’t expect to be cooked in the process. Ian’s curses increased in speed with every millimeter he sank. He didn’t relish even the concept of his nipples touching the surface. Grip brandished the sponge under Ian’s nose. His teeth chattered. “Flattery will get you nowhere. Turn around and I’ll scrub your back.” As soon as Ian faced away from him, Grip put his hand on top of Ian’s head and shoved him under. Ian came up sputtering and pissed as hell. His skin felt scalded, and he imagined his nipples were on fire. His arm came back and swung, intending on decking and drowning the bastard.

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His knuckles connected with Grip’s jaw, and the demon’s face snapped to the side. When he turned back around, his eyes glittered. “Love taps, darling? Besides, you just clocked Dan’s jaw. You’ll have to kiss the sore spot later, baby. Go lay on the massage table. I’m going to get warm for a few seconds. You’d better get out quick.” Knowing he wasn’t lying at the moment, Ian hastened to crawl out. His muscles felt like they were made of melted and drawn butter. Okay, yeah, Ian enjoyed the novelty of being dominated a little, but he preferred the gentle sharing he had with his Dan. Screw his being royal. Dan was his, just… inhabited… for a while. “I still want Dan, you sonovabitch.” “And a fine tasty bitch she is. Too bad you’ll never know, gay boy.” Grip’s mouth attacked Ian’s ass as soon as his feet were out of the water. The divided appendage of demons could do things no human tongue could manage, and he wasted no time penetrating where no one had traveled since prison. Ian shuddered while his forked tongue did a memorable rim job. Grip’s talons held him firmly in place, and could shred flesh if Ian tried to move. So he didn’t move, except his toes. They had two reasons to curl up. One was the expertise of Grip’s tongue, and the other was to avoid the lava-like temperature of the now boiling water. “Move over, Demon Dolt. Mine.” Ian sighed in relief when Dan’s voice commanded right between Ian’s ass cheeks. A normal human tongue lapped where the demonic tongue left off, and did as good a job of making him squirm. Ian moaned to demonstrate his sincere appreciation. “I want you, Dan.” Dan learned fast, and made good use of what Grip showed him. The soft human hand that crept between Ian’s legs to play with his balls was more than welcome. Dan hummed and laughed softly when Ian squeaked. “You’ll have me. Eventually.” He patted Ian’s ass. “Why don’t you get on the table? On your back, please.” Ian wobbled to a standing position and stole a glance over his shoulder. Only Dan’s face was his, and the rest was the demon’s, else he couldn’t live in the boiling cauldron. Ian bent down and gave him a quick kiss. “Hurry.”

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Dan gave him a languid wink. “My plan exactly, lyubimiy moy. Are you ready to come out yet, Grip? Ian needs our attentions.” Ian shook his head in wonder at how seamlessly Dan and Grip flowed into one another. Was this the insidious nature of Grip’s power? Was this what happened to Dan’s ancestor when he opened the book and gave the Romanoffs their wealth and power? Ian put his hand to Dan’s cheek and stroked. “Don’t lose your sense of self there, Dan. This switching looks too easy for you.” Dan’s eyes hardened. He stood upright, like a soldier coming to attention. Then in one fluid movement, he lifted himself out of the pool. The steaming water sheeted off him. He tossed back his wet hair and gazed up at Ian with a wry smile. “Keep reminding me. If you think you’re being seduced, it’s nothing compared to in here.” He tapped his skull to emphasize the point. The golden irises came back instantaneously. “Shit, Ian. You’re ruining my fun, here. Bitch. I oughta put barbs on my cock.” Amused at the threat, Ian patted the demon’s cheek. Beneath his fingertips, Grip felt like a guy with a high fever. Ian wasn’t fooled by Grip’s beauty and charming routine. That was the nature of demons after all, to seduce and lure with fun and the easy way. “Then Dan would kick your ass to the curb and you’d be back to swinging from a chain. Admit it. This is the most fun you’ve had in a thousand years. Besides, this ass is exit only, demon. I’m the top in this party. I’ll fuck you and Dan, and you’d better behave or no more nookie for you.” Grip sniffed and stuck his nose in the air. “Okay, I can admit I’m having a grand old time and rethinking my options.” Ian turned and sauntered to the massage table, which looked more like a luxurious Roman couch than the clinical steel and leather contrivances in most massage therapist’s offices. He lay on his back, as Dan requested. “You cooperate, we cooperate. You’ve given us this incredibly detailed fantasy, and we’re willing to go with it. Come here and attempt your best seduction, demon. I know sex isn’t your top skill, you being

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a demon of another type, but I’m sure you can manage.” Ian casually put his hands behind his head, knowing what would happen. The demon that typified pride puffed up at Ian’s mild insult. “My skills are more than adequate, human. You’ll find out. I’ll have you screaming my name instead of Dainius quickly.” He all but dove for the foot of the couch. Triumphant, Ian repressed his snickers and blanked his mind to all but what Grip did. Not thinking about his plans was like telling someone to not think about the camel’s left knee, but he had to try. Grip might read those thoughts, just like he pulled the fantasy out of Ian’s head. Deliberately, Ian focused on the warm, butter soft leather beneath his body, the rich cloying incense, and the delights of a demon sucking on his right big toe. Toe sucking always got him. Trust Grip to winkle the little fetish out of his fantasies. Grip knew all the tricks. His forked tongue massaged the underside, his teeth scraped lightly, and he applied just the right amount of suction. He even managed a humming vibration below the level of tickle to give Ian’s nerve endings the tiny extra stimulus. When his balls started to rise, Grip stopped. He almost screamed in frustration. Clamping his lips together, Ian refused to give the demon one hint of an accolade. He kept his eyes focused on the golden Greek key stitching of one ceiling hanging. Grip’s voice changed to Moe from the Three Stooges. “Oh, a wise guy, huh?” “Nice imitation.” Ian had to give him credit for the humor. He wondered if the damned soul of the actor himself had taught it to Grip, but Ian really didn’t want to know. “Oh, I got you to speak. A point for me.” Grip got up and moved to a peculiar device Ian had read about once and fantasized ever since. The rounded hump of wood looked like a squashed bridge, with a small burgundy velvet-lined hole in the side. Grip lay face down over the hump, which displayed his sculptured ass to perfection. His engorged dark red cock fit in the velvet hole. A small shelf allowed him to put his elbows on the surface for a good stabilizing hold. Clamps at the end of chains snaked

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up of their own accord and snapped around his ankles. He turned his head and gave Ian the come hither look again. “Come and get your just desserts, big boy.” Fucking Dan over an oversized whipping horse was Ian’s favorite lurid fantasy. He stumbled over as if in a dream. Ian didn’t hesitate to make use of the lubes and a condom conveniently placed on the table within easy reach. Grip watched him roll the latex down from over his shoulder, his golden eyes glittering in the flickering candlelight. “You don’t need the condom, you know.” Ian applied the lube over the condom liberally, enjoying the chocolate cherry scent and taking his time. “You don’t, but Dan does. That’s still his body. Shall I say a prayer over the raincoat to make the fucking hurt more for you?” The demon shuddered. He huffed out a breath of fear and exasperation. “Bastard. Be nice. Lube us up.” A distinct snicker followed, and one eye in the handsome face turned brown and winked at him. “Yes, lyubimiy moy, lube me up well.” Ian dribbled a generous amount around the fire engine red anus, and rubbed a bit, just to heat him up. Whups, bad visual. Never tell a demon to flame on. They just might. “Are you going to tell me what that means? I don’t speak Russian, but I hope it’s a term of endearment.” Both eyes turned brown, and the body color faded back to a normal color, but the face flushed almost as red as Grip’s. Ian’s genius-royal-wizard -- oh, hell -- lover was back, fully. Dan put his face into the wood. “It means my love.” Those two words did something no one else had managed. Ian couldn’t stop himself from plunging in, determined to fuck Dan’s brains out. His heart sang, and tears rolled down his face. He was loved by a demon-possessed royal genius with a face that fueled a thousand of his fantasies. The whole package encasing his cock drove him mad with love and lust in a homogenous mess of emotions. Dan cried out, but only the first had an edge of pain. The rest were incoherent pleas for more, interspersed with Russian phrases, and Ian couldn’t guess at their

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meaning. Dan fucked the velvet hole with every downstroke of Ian’s cock into his receptive body, and rose as if reluctant to let him go with every upstroke. The orgasm would kill them both for sure. Tidal waves and earthquakes had less force than what built up in Ian’s balls. The explosion hung there for what seemed like an eternity, and then he filled Dan’s ass. Ian was turning inside out, and didn’t care if he lived or died. Dan shoved down until Ian crashed on top, trapped between Ian’s body and the wood. From his shudders and tiny jerks, he came inside the structure with the same force. His harsh gasps let Ian know he hadn’t killed him. Ian wasn’t sure about himself. His heart hammered so hard, he was sure his chest would burst, and he couldn’t catch a full breath. Still, Ian managed to force words out of his starved lungs. “I. Love. You. Too.” He collapsed on top of Dan and prayed he could still breathe. Grip’s voice came back, and he panted as well. “Best fucking load I’ve shot in two millennia. You win. I didn’t make you scream my name. Guess I’ll have to try harder next time.” First, Ian had to survive the next few hours. He loved a goddamn demonpossessed genius czar. He was sunk.

Chapter Eight Dizziness roiled Dan’s empty stomach when Grip shifted their perception of the room back to the foul ugly place Dan called “Grip’s Prison.” Still pinned beneath Ian’s sated body, Dan’s cock rubbed against the cold wet spot he’d made on the velvet sofa. Dan didn’t care. He wanted to laugh and sing. No matter what the next few hours brought, it was enough he was loved. Above him, Ian sneezed reflexively against the stench. Not that Dan blamed him. Compared to the perfumed incense Grip had conjured, the sulfur was twice as foul. Groaning, Ian slipped from Dan’s body and pushed himself upright. “Damn, we’re back to reality.” For the first time ever, Grip nudged gently, asking permission to take over Dan’s body. Surprised, Dan let him have it. “Fun time’s over, kiddies. They’ve made their way to the third floor, finally.” Then Grip released Dan’s body back to him with a purely mental pat on the shoulder. If Dan could have done a mental double take, he would have. Why the hell was Grip being -- dare he say it -- nice? Disposing of the condom, Ian wobbled over and grabbed up his shirt and pants. His knees shook, but the grin on his face was cocky and confident. He hummed a jaunty tune and put his clothes on without a word. Stunned, Dan recognized the song as “Tomorrow” from the musical Annie. His mouth gaped open. Ian was a streetwise punk who put on a veneer of civilization and good taste when it pleased him, but to hear that particular piece coming out of his mouth was like hearing a hymn out of Grip’s. Ian looked up and laughed at Dan. “What? I always liked that kid. She never gave up.” He bent to put on his damp tennis shoes with a grimace. “Do me a favor,

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lover? Fire up your computer, willya? I need to shoot off a few quick emails before we start popping bullets.” Dan took heart from Ian’s attitude and quickly donned his clothes. Opening the armoire, he turned on the high-speed computer and let it connect to the satellite. Dan changed the language from Cyrillic Russian to American English. Who needed passwords when you used a different alphabet? Then he bowed with a flourish at Ian. “It’s all yours.” Ian dragged a chair over and planted a quick kiss on Dan’s lips. “Thanks, your royal whatsis. Get the arsenal ready. I’ll only be a minute.” Dan’s shoulders shook at Ian’s lack of reverence at his rank and a snicker escaped from Dan’s mouth. He turned to make his way around the room to gather his little toys from walls, cabinets, and under furniture. The whole situation wasn’t all that funny, yet he was laughing. Was it hysteria? Maybe. An internal defense mechanism? More likely. Whatever it was, Ian’s clowning in the face of danger helped, and Dan was grateful. Your Royal Pain in the Ass, they’ve found the library. Oh, you’re going to be so pissed at the mess they’re making. “Thanks, Grip,” Ian replied absently. Dan vowed when this was over to upgrade all the security features, including motion detectors, remote cameras, and all the latest gadgets. He’d been lax in his guardianship. Many things had changed since he was eighteen, especially Grip’s attitude. He’d have rampaged and killed security technicians if they crawled all over the house back then. Now Grip seemed to want protection. Dan faced Grip, swinging from his chain. “You’re suddenly helpful. Why?” Oh, I’ve decided to keep you a while longer. I can wait, after all. What’s another fifty years to me? Ian shut down the computer, shoved the chair he’d used aside, and strolled over to pick up his pistol. Now his face was serious, and his eyes had that fey look writers always said someone got when they knew they were about to die. “Because he knows

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you’ll die eventually, Dan, and you have no heir to take over the guardianship. Patience and pride are not incompatible. All he has to do is wait you out, and he’ll get the pleasures of our company until then. Not a bad deal for a demon.” He snapped the clip into the pistol, and stepped confidently over to listen at the doorway to the library. Being isolated up on his mountain with Grip and Ian didn’t sound like such a bad deal to Dan either, except for the fact he knew what he’d unleash on the world with his death. Then, an observation struck Dan. “Ian, have you noticed you’re not limping?” Yeah, yeah. I fixed his leg. Big deal. Too bad I can’t fix your eyes, Dainius. That’s a little beyond me. Ian turned, and Dan was fairly certain he winked. A loud thump penetrated the door. He winced and stuck a finger in his ear to rub. “Grip means that’s one of his limitations. Apparently he can heal anything but the eyes.” Shaddup. I’ll get you, my pretty. “And my little dog too. Later.” Dan loaded his rifle and threw Ian an extra clip. Then Dan shoved the couch away from the wall and tipped it on its side. The fine velvet, horsehair stuffing, and oak construction were the best they had for a defensive wall. “Grip won’t be harmed taking a few bullets. They’ll probably just bounce off his scales. Oh, and whoever finds the trip mechanism will be dead in three minutes or so. Unless you perform the sequence in exact order, you get a dose of poison from the thorns on the plate.” A shriek echoed through the door, confirming his statement. You’re meaner than I thought, Dan. You’ve evened up the odds. Three on three, now. Ian grinned and shielded his body behind the couch with Dan. He steadied his pistol on the edge of the fine oak carvings. “Should I mention right now that I’ve never fired a gun in my life and I’m operating on pure guesswork?” Dan rolled his eyes to the ceiling, reached over, and flipped off the safety, and chambered a round for him. “You should have said something earlier.” The look he received could peel paint. “What’d you expect me to do? Squeal like a girl and hide behind you? I don’t theenk so, Yer Imperial Highness. I don’t give up,

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and I never will.” Ian sighted along the barrel. “Besides, I’m not looking to put one between their eyes. According to rumor, this bitch of a weapon will knock anyone on their ass. I’m aiming for the torso and hoping I flatten them up against the wall to make a nice target for you. Fair deal?” His plan was a good one, so Dan nodded. “Fair enough. Brace yourself. A .44 has enough recoil to pop back in your face, break your nose, and send you off to dreamland in less than a second.” He paused. “In other words, get your face away from the gun.” “Oh.” Ian chose another stance, with his arms straight out from his body, but at least his elbows weren’t locked. He looked like an idiot from a cop movie, but he might live. There was no more time for shooting lessons. The bookcase door slid open. Dan had time to take in the two burly underlings, the short balding man ordering them to keep Dan alive but kill the American, and the body on the floor. It stood out against the dark room, a white-shirted body on his dark rug. Dainius? Would you like me to help you target? I can take over just your hands. I can’t use your eyes, but I can help if you let me. I can’t let you and Ian die, now. I can wait until your human body gives out. Dan nodded. This was no time for pride. The irony made him smile. The Agrippa of Pride would help him save his lover, but only after he agreed to suborn his wish to be independent. A crack shot Dan wasn’t, but he could target a deer’s butt for a meal if necessary. The man shoving the door was no test of marksmanship. His ears stuck out, and even Dan could see them against the dark wood of the door. Dan’s fingers tightened under Grip’s control, and the goon’s head exploded in gore. Ian fired once, his choice being the short fat man. Well, the rotund fellow did have the widest torso target area, which bloomed red before he went down. Ian grunted with satisfaction. “Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

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That left the one large fellow, who dove back into the library. Dan’s bullets urged him along nicely. There was no way he could come back through the opening in the wall without dying. They were at a standoff. The silence lengthened. Dan heard the beeps and blips of him frantically dialing his cell phone. Perhaps he didn’t realize cell phones didn’t work well here in the mountains, or he was desperate enough to try anyway. Funny, there were cell towers everywhere up here, now that he thought about it. A demonic snicker sounded in his ear. That’s my doing, Dainius. Not that I can help it. It’s the energy I put out here on the material plane. Fortunately, the humans around here blame the mountains and don’t enquire further. Ian settled himself more comfortably, but didn’t remove his pistol from the sofa’s brace. He grinned and winked at Dan. “Let’s hope the fellow out there speaks English, otherwise you’re translating.” Dan jerked his chin once in a nod, but didn’t remove his gaze from the sights of the rifle. He didn’t know how Grip was helping him, but he’d give the demon the best chance by doing what seemed best. Even a fuzzy colorful image was better than nothing. The beeping stopped, and Dan heard muttered curses in Russian. “That’s my cue.” Ian’s grin widened. He pitched his voice to carry out the doorway. “Comrade! Do you speak English?” “Yes.” The accent was heavy, and laced with frustration. “I doubt Moscow, or whoever you work for, will be interested in Dan Roman and his possessions any longer.” Dan glanced at Ian’s smug face. He knew something. The lone fellow in the library asked the question burning in his mind as well. “Why do you say this?” Oh, you naughty, high-handed boy. Dainius isn’t going to like this.

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“Because I just used my connections to spread the news one of the Romanoff descendants lives in America, is an American citizen, and is willing to submit to a DNA test to prove it.” Ian paused and chuckled. “I figure within hours everyone from the New York Times to the gossip rags will run the story, and several know I’m the contact. It won’t take them long to trace I’m near Denver somewhere.” Now Dan cursed under his breath, in both Russian and English. He glared at Ian. “High-handed was right. You destroyed my privacy.” Ian didn’t bat an eyelash, and didn’t lower his voice. “Damn right I did. The Russians depended on your secrecy to whisk you and Grip out of the country with no one the wiser. It’s much, much harder to kidnap a famous person while dodging paparazzi and newsies. Isn’t it, Comrade?” There was no answer, though they heard him shuffling around for a full minute. “You are correct. We wanted the book as well, but I doubt my superiors realized it would be a horrible monstrosity.” Hey! Ian winked at Grip and whispered, “He means how large you are, big fella. I bet they thought you’d be a little tome that could be carried or stuffed in a suitcase.” How undignified! I think not. Dan snickered against his rifle butt. They were in a standoff with what Dan assumed was the Russian mafia, dead bodies on the floor, with the American media now hot on his heels. The situation couldn’t get more ridiculous. A loud crack split the air, thunderous enough to make Ian and Dan both wince and duck behind the couch. Dan looked into Ian’s wide green eyes behind his glasses. “Meow!” Ian jerked in shock and scrambled to his knees. His mouth flew open. “Demon! How’d you get here?” Dan peered cautiously over the edge of the couch. A mangy alley cat sat on his haunches in the center of the room squarely between the doorway and them, licking a paw as if nothing had happened.

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The Russian stuck his head around the wall for a second, then ducked back. Perhaps you should call him by his correct name. Belial. A cloud of sickly yellow and green sulfurous smoke boiled out from under the cat, accompanied by the most raucous fart Dan had ever heard from anyone, animal or human. The gaseous emanation grew, filling the room with such a horrible odor both Ian and Dan doubled over with nausea. Their weapons dropped to the floor from their hands. From the gagging sounds across the room, they weren’t the only ones in danger of losing the contents of their stomachs. “Wusses. A guy farts and they can’t handle the smell.” Dan summoned all the strength given to him by Grip, and struggled to look over their barrier. Wreathed in the foul smoke, the naked figure of a man waited with arms folded. Only his eyes were clearly visible, glowing in the miasma. Poor Ian gave up all pretense of dignity and fell over on his side, clutching his stomach. Between rasping gags he managed to speak. “Great. My cat was a fucking real demon.” Dan couldn’t see the Russian anymore, but the wet heaving sounds told him the goon lost his battle with nausea. If he ruined any of Dan’s books, he’d have to hurt him merely on general principles. Belial smiled approvingly at Dan, and then turned to face Grip. “You’ve lost this round, and made a mess of things. If we were discovered to truly exist before the correct time, the world would turn its back on its delightfully evil ways and choose the path of good.” Beneath Grip, foul goo oozed and hit the floor, hissing and steaming. The huge demon laughed, and it wasn’t a pretty sound. “Shitting yourself won’t help.” He waved a negligent hand in Dan’s direction without taking his eyes off Grip. “You’re bound to this human and his descendants in bonds not even I can break, since they were set by the Lord of Lies himself. I’ve been ordered to sweep this mess under the proverbial rug.”

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Grip lit up in hellish blue-black flames, which didn’t consume him or the room, but from the screams deafening Dan’s mental ears, they hurt all the same. Ian clapped his hands over his ears at the same moment Dan did. He’d managed to get back on his knees. Ian’s sympathetic eyes trained on Grip. His mouth moved in the words, “You poor bastard.” Belial gestured, and the flames went out as quickly as they’d flared. They took with them the stinking piles beneath Grip, leaving a small mound of ashes. Grip smoked and hung from his chains, but mere tiny whimpers came to Dan’s grateful mental ears. Ignoring Ian and Dan, the powerful demon turned his back on them and spoke to the Russian. “Alexi, you are a problem to me. Promises of silence are not enough. Therefore, I will set upon you an insurance of your continued cooperation.” A sexy female demon arrived in a puff of black smoke. Her most notable features were six-inch long, gleaming razor blade claws on her hands and a voluptuous body even a gay man could appreciate as sexually dangerous. She changed into a small, helpless looking black kitten, meowing piteously. The little creature stalked into the library. A gasping “Nyet!” and a human cry of pure terror followed. Lazily, Belial crooked a finger from the yellow fog surrounding him. “Come here, and bring your new pet.” Alexi stumbled into the room, carrying the purring kitten in his trembling arms. His face was white, his eyes glazed with horror. His shredded clothes hung off his bleeding body in strips. The smoke-wreathed demon reached out a hand and stroked the kitten’s black fur. “She’ll be with you always, ensuring you never breathe a word, nor communicate in any way what you saw and know concerning the Agrippa and its related events. In exchange, she’ll fill your nights with sex beyond your wildest dreams until the day of your death. The Russian mafia must be left in the dark, unsure about the events here.

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They must think their attempt to steal the Agrippa failed, but never understand why. In Minsk, you will find a job and never report to Moscow. Go.” Alexi screamed, his voice cut off in mid-shriek as he disappeared in another puff of black smoke. “Un-holy shit.” Ian’s comment rasped harshly in the silence. “Guess this means I’m next.”

Chapter Nine Belial leered at Ian through the haze. “Be afraid. Be very afraid.” He strode toward them, and left the smoke behind, revealing for the first time the unnatural beauty of a high-ranking demon. Ian gulped down the instinct to hit his knees and grovel among the rusty keys littering the floor for the non-existent mercies such a creature might dole out -- for a cost. Ian had met enough of his human counterparts to remember the prices paid by others. Still, a little arrogance served him well then, and might do so again. “Hiya, Demon.” The huge black demon with golden eyes threw back his head and bellowed his laughter. “I like you. You always were cocky. Come out from behind the couch and have a drink. Since none of these flimsy chairs gives me a decent seat, I’ll provide my own.” He gestured, and a magnificent bronze throne appeared right in front of Grip. He sat down, his dark scales contrasting with Grip’s red, like matched artwork. Dan got up and edged over to the console. Must be the nobility thing again since he managed to act like a gracious host serving an honored guest. “Whiskey, Belial? Ian, what will you have?” Ian cleared his dry throat. This was no time to lose his wits with alcohol. “The usual. In a small glass, please.” Belial casually crossed his legs. “I’ll take your grandfather’s hooch in the Mason jar in back. Bring the whole thing. No sense in wasting time pouring me little nonmouthfuls. I’m the demon of Pride and Arrogance, by the way.” Dan reached in the back of the console and brought out a quart Mason jar full to the brim of what had to be white lightning. He screwed off the top and gracefully

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served Belial the jar on a silver salver. “You have excellent taste. The still was one of his finest achievements.” When Dan brought Ian his jigger, Ian slugged the fine whiskey down in one shot and shook his head when Dan raised an eyebrow asking him if he wanted another. The smooth fire slid down Ian’s throat and warmed his belly, giving him transitory courage. He’d be damned -- bad phrasing again, given the present company -- if he made the next move. Belial watched them both with glittering eyes, and his lips curved into a halfsmile. He waited with perfect patience until Dan returned with a wine glass to stand next to Ian. Two sturdy, masculine captain’s chairs slid from beneath their dust cover and came to a rest behind them both, not quite knocking them behind the knees. Dan and Ian looked at one another and took the invitation. Dan sipped his wine with all the aplomb of a man at a dinner party. “Would you care to enlighten us on what you intend next, Belial?” Ian had to admire his lover’s nerves of steel. Ian wanted to clench the arms of the chair and tremble like a tree in a high wind, and it took every bit of brass he had to cross his legs and act casual. He wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of having a succubus or incubus riding his ass the rest of his life. Ian knew too much about the creatures, and “Feed the kitty” took on a whole new meaning when a demon sucked your life force out through your dick. Belial’s grin widened, and Ian assumed he could read every thought Ian had. He winked at Ian as if to confirm his suspicions. “I’d love to toy with you, but I really don’t have time for this nonsense. I’ll spare you the anxiety. Grip, as you call him, is the only demon you’ll deal with on a regular basis. Now be at ease.” Dan relaxed infinitesimally and toasted the black hellspawn. “Thank you. Would you mind answering a few questions, such as why you attached yourself to Ian?”

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Ian snorted and went to pour himself something non-alcoholic. He settled for tonic water. At least it was liquid. He’d already figured out why Belial had come to him, but Ian would let Belial tell his innocent Dan. Belial slugged back half the jar and smacked his lips. “Great hooch. Anyway, we recognized a long time ago Ian’s potential to become your lover and possibly save your ass from Grip’s plans. Ex-bad boys have a tendency to make superb heroes when given the right reasons, and when they make the correct choices, they succeed. We threw a shitload in his way, from the beating, to the delay in Dallas, to the bullet so near his jewels it singed a few hairs. Still, he kept on. Self-sacrifice, even to the point of nearly dying, throws us off.” He paused and threw back another generous gulp. His voice was sourer than bad lemonade. “You both expected to die to save the other, and the willingness to die for your love made you the winners… for now.” Ian took a sip of his tonic water and walked over to his coat on the floor. In the pocket, he found his cigarettes and lighter and lit up. He might piss off Belial, but the demon’s explanation wasn’t enough to cover all the bases. “You see, Dan, love and selfsacrifice aren’t exactly what you’d call hellish traits. They belong to the other realm, which I won’t mention in present company.” Thanks. I don’t need any more ouchies tonight. Belial merely nodded, but his eyes glittered a warning for Ian to tread carefully. Dan blinked. “I still don’t get it. Why come to you?” Ian sighed and tried again, phrasing everything as adroitly as possible without mentioning anything that caused Belial or Grip distress. “When humans were given free choice, uncertainty became a factor in the struggle of good vs. evil. That’s the main rule -- humans have a fundamental right to choose. Belial was there to monitor my choices and throw as many obstacles and temptations in my path to make me choose to give up.” Belial’s eyes narrowed. “Essentially correct. We threw obstacles and temptations in Ian’s path almost since his birth. He chose, for a time, the wrong path, and we thought we had him covered. Therefore, we relaxed our vigilance. When we realized

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our mistake, it was almost too late.” He frowned and slugged back the last of the jar’s contents. “In fact, it was too late. He’d accepted his pre-ordained gift of art appraisal and met you. Our last ditch efforts failed to stop him from saving you and your line.” Hope flooded back into Dan’s face, but he sipped his wine and remained calm. “My line? Need I remind you I’m dysfunctional with women? I can’t see myself fathering any children, even if I could leave here to find one willing to isolate herself.” He shuddered. Ian sauntered behind Dan and leaned over, keeping his cigarette down behind the chair. He deliberately made his voice droll. “You can beat off in a jar, and do I have to spell out to you the second use for turkey basters?” Dan whipped around in the chair, his face white. “A-a-artificial insemination? Where will you find a woman who’ll put up with the indignity, allow us to use her body and her eggs and --” he gulped, “-- help us raise the results?” Ian grinned triumphantly at Belial’s sour look, and took a long insolent drag off his smoke. “Since Belial arrived so late in the game, I’d say he waited until I’d truly won. Which means, there’s a positive response to my email from a certain lady. Am I right, Belial?” His upper lip curled, and Belial, plus his throne, disappeared. The Mason jar rattled on the floor before falling over. Dan’s eyes were dark and troubled. “Who would… I mean, what kind of woman would live with two men and raise a kid with them without wanting the ring, the white lace bridal shit, and all the Ozzie and Harriet lifestyle?” Ian snickered at the imagery and drew on the last of his smoke. He walked over, picked up the jar, and dropped the butt inside. The remains of the alcohol inside poofed briefly, and went out. “Damn, the white lightning was strong, wasn’t it?” Ian grinned at Dan reassuringly. “My sister Caroline is a lesbian sculptress. I tempted her with promises of a fully stocked workshop in or near the dower house, where she’d live and work. She doesn’t give a damn where she works as long as she’s left alone when she’s

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creating. She’s always wanted a kid, but didn’t want the man in her life who’d want more. Raising a kid alone is a bitch.” Dan snorted. “Lots of women do so, even -- or should I say especially -lesbians.” Ian closed his eyes against the pain he was about to inflict on himself by confessing his childhood traumas. Dan had the right to know the whole sordid mess of his life. Maybe he’d cut Caro a little slack when she showed her independent streak. “I know. Caroline knows. Our mother managed, until she soaked herself in booze one too many times and slept with the wrong guy for a little comfort.” Ian lit another cigarette as a crutch. He didn’t want to remember the screams and wet thunks as the bastard knifed her to death in the next room. “Needless to say, Caro and I don’t like admitting we need anyone.” Dan swallowed, but color returned to his face slowly. “So the isolation won’t bother her?” Ian chuckled to hide his last worry. Dan had to agree to the whole shebang or the deal was off. “If I drive her down to prowl around Denver now and then, she’ll be content enough.” Ian drew breath and threw down his proverbial last ace. “She gets a lot of sympathy lays with the white cane.” Sonofabitch! You’re good. Trust a street rat to find the perfect person for the job. “She’s blind?” Dan’s chin jerked up, and his shoulders drew back. Then he slumped forward, admitting defeat. “Yeah, I guess I’d better talk to her. She probably copes better than I ever could.” Ian bent and flicked his ashes in the Mason jar as an excuse to hide his face until he got his victorious expression wiped away. “She can’t drive, but she’s got more ways of traveling around than you have ways of stopping her. She’ll organize your life, rearrange your furniture, and when the mood is on her she’ll cook the best damn spaghetti you ever tasted. Her philosophy is simple and direct -- lead, follow, or get the hell out of her way.” Dan chuckled weakly. “If I were straight, I’d marry her.”

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Now Ian laughed at the ridiculous image of his sister in a wedding dress. Or any dress for that matter. “She’d tell you to fuck off and die. Uh, your Highness.” My kind of gal! Ian rounded on Grip with his hands clenched. Yeah, like he could beat up a book, he mused ruefully. “You keep your mitts off my sister.” Dan shook his finger at Grip. “You stay out of this. She’s not yours.” Easy, boys. Ian’s my Guardian now, too, but not Caroline. I can’t touch her unless Dainius does, and having a kid by him doesn’t count. Ian’s jaw probably fell all the way to his chest as the implications of Grip’s statement sunk in. “Wait. When did I become your Guardian?” Dan stood beside him. His brown eyes were wider than even when Ian smacked him across the eyes with the idea of artificial insemination. “Grip, only spouses can coGuardian.” What? You think my kind and I obey human laws like legal bindings? Gimme a break! We enjoy flaunting law and order, especially when the so-called religious right has such a fit about keeping repression alive. We’re a little more practical about partnerships. If legalities bug you so much, Dan, form another fucking corporation listing you and Ian as CEO and President of the Board or whatever. An S-corp ties you more legally than any stupid ceremony and gives you many lovely tax breaks. Satan’s Beard, I do love the IRS. Dan stood silently for a moment, staring off into space. A slow smile creased his face, and his puppy eyes brightened. “I’ll email my lawyer as soon as Ian and I do a little hard labor.” He turned to Ian. “Friends help you move. Real friends -- and spouses -- help you move bodies. Right?” Ian snorted. Then the realization hit him where the bodies would go. “The mine?” When Dan nodded, Ian laughed. “Great. Then you can show me the aspen grove we’ll use later when the weather’s warm.” Dan strode over and lifted the legs of the dead goon. “I’m not waiting until June for great outdoor sex. Are you, Grip?” Hell, no!

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The possibilities were wide open, since Dan didn’t have to hide and demon-sit. “How does a honeymoon in the Bahamas sound? Will the Caribbean be warm enough for you, Grip?” You haven’t ordered the tickets yet?

*** Dan sprawled out on the powdery sands of the beach with a sigh of relief. Sun soaked into his starved body, and the sweet breeze was better than any perfume. Dan felt Grip’s contented purr inside him as well. “Do you want to come out for a bit, Grip? Ian’s idea of renting this small island in the Little Caymans means you can manifest yourself whenever we’re both agreeable.” Naw, I’ll wait until tonight. You catch some rays, but don’t burn. If you turn red, Ian won’t be able to tell us apart so easily. Dan laughed at his joke. As if Ian couldn’t tell Grip and Dan apart by more ways than color. Dan tuned his ears to where Ian laughed on the porch of their bungalow, chattering on the phone with Caro. The woman was a nuclear-charged dynamo. She’d pounced immediately on all Dan’s clutter as soon as she tripped on a footstool. He’d ended up giving her one of his credit cards while she ordered a Braille keyboard, label maker, and a host of other devices to make things easier on both of them. After three days of sorting, most of the musty Victorian furniture resided in stuffed rooms on the third floor, and some antique dealers in Denver were ecstatic with their commissions to sell the rest. Then she unceremoniously shoved them out the door on their way to their honeymoon. She even picked up all my keys and put them in a jewel armoire by the door to my room. Looks frou-frou, but I can live. Oh, here she comes for our morning coffee klatch. Talk to you later! Dan heard the slight crunch of sand as Ian strode over and flopped down next to him on the sand. His happy sigh echoed Dan’s previous one. “Ah, sun, sand, and surf. You’d better roll over to roast on the other side. You’re already turning pink.”

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Obediently, Dan flipped over on his towel, showing his white ass to the sun. Ian and Dan both ran around naked, since no one would see them until the supply boat returned in a week. “We’re both going to be crispy critters before we tan, you know.” “Not if I can help it.” Dan heard a click, and something dribbled on his back and ass. Dan gasped and raised his head. Ian’s hand pressed on the back of Dan’s skull. “Suntan lotion. SPF 30. I don’t give a damn if Grip can heal us within hours. No sense in even suffering that long.” Dan heard a distant rumble. “Well, darn,” he drawled. “I hoped for something a little more slippery.” Ian chuckled at his insinuating tone, and rubbed the lotion in, starting at Dan’s ass, of course. “Why, your Highness, are you asking to get laid again?” Dan shifted position a little to allow his cock to rise more comfortably. The rumble grew louder and became a rhythmic thump. “Yes, and we’d better do so inside where sand won’t get in interesting places. Besides, I think the newsies found us. I hear a chopper.” “Damn!” He smacked Dan’s ass. “Race you back to the bungalow.” He showered Dan with sand as he grabbed up his towel and fled. Dan laughed. He couldn’t resist teasing Ian about the unexpected results of saving Dan from Grip’s world domination scheme. He scrambled after Ian, still able to see well enough to distinguish between the bright yellow bungalow and the surrounding dark shady foliage. “Proud of yourself, Guardian of Pride?” “Oh, suck my royal dick!” Dan stepped into the cool interior of their little honeymoon retreat. He snickered, taking pleasure in Ian’s newly purchased noble title, even if it did cause Ian some discomfort. “I fully intend to, Your Grace.”

Read about the other books in the Deadly Sins Series from Changeling Press! Deadly Sins: Avarice by Reneé George “…when thy strength is broken, beware of greed.” -- Confucius Xiao Sun is the newest Guardian for the Agrippa of the Xia Dynasty -- a living heir of Emperor Yu the Great. His only task is to keep the malevolent book from ever being opened. His life is one of solitude, with the exception of his teacher, Chu, and the constant whispering of the Agrippa. His problems of loneliness and unquenched desire appear to have a solution in the form of an American man, Hogan Ryan, an antiquities dealer, who, by accident, has appeared at Sun’s home. Hogan is tall, blond, and blue-eyed, with a gorgeous body, and so much more. Despite Chu’s warnings, Sun welcomes Hogan to his house, but the American isn’t alone in his arrival. Is Hogan who he really claims to be? Will Sun keep to his duty or fail his family by falling to greed? Between the Agrippa, the demon, and Hogan, the seduction of Sun has begun. And will the cost of that seduction be too high?

Deadly Sins: Envy by Kira Stone Oliver St. John is following a dangerous path which he hopes will lead him to one of the demonic Agrippa books. His investigation has brought him as far as Brazil, but no one will speak of the man rumored to guard the deadly tome.

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Raphael Georges Pedro Martinez is investigating a rival, someone who could wrest the ancient, possessed Agrippa known as Envy from his control. Instead of an enemy, he finds an educated man who makes him feel as though love was created just for the two of them to share. Both men have secrets they hide from the other. Will their love be strong enough to survive the lies, or will the Agrippa’s power drive them mad with ENVY?

Deadly Sins: Lust by Lacey Savage Welcome to the Di Maldo castle, where lust drives even the sanest person wild with desire… Molly Di Maldo lives in a world shrouded in darkness, shadows and constant, throbbing need. As the Guardian of the Agrippa, an ancient demon bent on possession and destruction, her purpose is simple: ensure the book is never opened. It should be an easy task for anyone pure of heart and able to withstand the constant temptation permeating the halls of the ancient Di Maldo castle. But Molly’s not pure. Her soul cries out for pleasure, answers every deliberate attempt the Agrippa makes to draw her toward the ultimate seduction. Lately, no amount of erotic books, toys or movies are able to quench the constant longing pouring through her body. That is, until Jared Roberts leaps over a windowsill and into her castle. What’s Molly to do when confronted with a real, flesh and blood man who can satisfy her every burning desire? But the Agrippa is always watching, constantly aware of the Guardian’s needs. When it sends an incubus to sweeten the deal, will Molly be able to resist the masculine temptation surrounding her from all sides?

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Deadly Sins: Anger by Lexxie Couper Ira McKenzie is a troubled man. He has spent his life struggling with the undeniable anger that scorches through his veins. And the irrational feeling he is someone else, someone more than an Australian graphic artist. Someone rich. Someone powerful. Someone to fear. But in the arms of Beatrice ‘Ricki’ Sullivan, Ira finally feels like he has found his place in the world. At last he is at peace. Ricki Sullivan is every man’s fantasy. Twenty-five years old. A swimsuit model. Beautiful in every aspect. Drop dead gorgeous, she exudes a sensuality none can deny. Or ignore. But Ricki is more than just a stunning face and body. She’s intelligent, kind and gentle. And madly in love with Ira. Life just can’t get any better. Until Shahla enters Ira’s world. Who is the mysterious redhead only he can see? What does she have to do with the strange book suddenly appearing in his attic? A book that radiates death and sin? How can she make him hornier than he’s ever been in his life with just a look, and at the same time turn his anger into bloody, murderous rage? And, more frighteningly, why can’t he resist her?

Deadly Sins: Sloth by Eve Vaughn How could two sisters be so different? Two gorgeous women. Two totally opposite points of view. Billie Cartwright’s always paid her own way, never willing to rely on her family’s wealth. She’s determined to prove her own worth. Her sister Felicity is always after whatever she can get with her good looks and charm -- and she’s not above bending the rules. Billie’s

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spent most of her life getting her shiftless sister out of scrapes. But this time, Felicity has gone too far. When the sisters discover they’ve inherited an aging mansion from a mysterious aunt, Felicity’s more than happy to take whatever she can get. Billie’s more than a little skeptical -- till she meets Grant Jorgensen, the trustee of their great-aunt’s will. Grant and Billie bump heads, but the instant attraction between the two is explosive. Billie’s head is filled with wet dreams for the sexy lawyer. The two meet again for one steamy night of passion, only to realize once will never be enough. Then Felicity’s accused of murder, and Billie discovers the forbidden secrets of the Agrippa. She’s ready to make the ultimate sacrifice for her sister, but nothing and no one will stop Grant from claiming his woman!

Deadly Sins: Gluttony by Belinda Richmond and Elizabeth Jewell With the inheritance of an Agrippa from his uncle, Alec Roth discovers an incredible zeal for the best that life has to offer. Under its influence, he became a wellknown gourmet chef, living a life of indulgence and gluttony of every imaginable kind. But after a near-fatal heart attack, Alec has held firm against the book and its attendant demon, Beelzebub, determined to rebuild his life on his own terms. Then he meets Lillian. Beautiful and intelligent, her very presence sets him on fire, makes him want. But Lillian is more than she seems, and the power of the book, and Alec’s own desires, may be more than he can resist.

Lena Austin Lena Austin is a “fallen” society wench with a checkered past. She’s been a licensed minister, hairdresser, realtor, radio DJ, exotic dancer, telephone service tech, live-steel medievalist swordswoman, BDSM Mistress, and investment property manager. Not necessarily in that order. She never finished that degree in archaeology, but did learn to scuba. After a life like that, gardening is pretty restful. Of herself, Lena writes, “I’m tall, presently red-haired, and I look like an unholy mating between an Amazon and a librarian.” Visit Lena’s website at http://lena.realmsoflove.com