Hells Belles by Jackie Kessler

Author:Jackie Kessler [Kessler, Jackie]
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
Published: 2009-04-24T18:51:42+00:00

Chapter 15

New York City/Belles

By the time I cleaned up after my stomach cleaned itself out, I had twenty-five minutes to get to Belles. I grabbed my outfits for the night and my broken-in four-inch heels, and I stuffed it all into a Victoria's Secret shopping bag. And if I used a little more force than necessary to jam silk and leather into the bag, sue me.

Fucking Paul I-Know-Everything Hamilton. Him and his sorries. Who did he think he was? How dare he hold me and soothe me and have me bare a soul I didn't own, and then shove it right back in my face?

I should kill him. I should chase him down, rip off my Shield Against Evil and fuck him to death.

No, I should make him want to fuck me and then refuse to sleep with him, and make him so depressed that he would throw himself in front of a bus during rush hour. And the bus should back up over him five times.

No, I should go down on him and bite his cock off at the root, then shove it down his throat and lap up his blood before I took his soul and spat it into the Lake of Fire the way he spat away my advances.

Why didn't he want me?

I bit back a sob, crumpling a satin teddy in a shaking fist. No fucking way was I crying again. I didn't have that much hydration in my entire body. And I'd be blessed if I had to wash off my makeup and put it all back on again.

No wonder mortals invented waterproof mascara.

He'd like to know me, he said. Well, there's one way to know a succubus, and that's intimately.

I paused in my unholy anger. I wasn't a succubus any longer. My fingers danced on the peridot stone, feeling its cold, slick surface. All it would take was one pull, and the chain would give. And then I could use my power, and Paul would rue the day his father sired him.

My little voice whispered, Settle down, Jezebel. You Ye spouting words like rue.

Screw that. I'm four thousand years old. I'm allowed to throw in the occasional archaic word into my narrative.

But that voice was right. I had to calm down. I wasn't going to jeopardize my human life because of Paul Fucking Hamilton. And I wasn't going to be late meeting Roman because I was so busy plotting Paul's demise that I lost track of time.

Jamming my feet into loafers, I grabbed my purse and the shopping bag, remembering at the last second to make sure I had my wallet and key card. Then I was out the door and on my way—still fuming, still wishing all sorts of painful deaths on Paul, but at least I was also mobile.

As I marched down the city streets, the wind gusted around me, kicking up litter and pollen as well as tangling my dark curls. I didn't care; the haggard look fit my mood. I'd doll myself up once I got to Belles.

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