Demon Bewitched
You say witch like it’s a bad thing…
Former fallen angel, current smokin’ hot enforcer, and all-around demon most likely to get the girl, Stefan of the Syx knows women better than they know themselves. He should, because once upon a time, one of them caused his brutal damnation.
All these millennia later, however, Stefan still can’t resist a pretty smile. So when he learns his chance at redemption entails pairing up with a gorgeous redheaded spitfire, he’s ready to rock—until the other pitchfork drops. Because the bold, impulsive Cressida Frain’s not only a woman, she’s a witch. And a hookup between witches and demons is one of the few hard stops in Stefan’s book of Go.
Unfortunately, this is one offer Stefan can’t refuse. To keep her new position as high priestess for her coven, Cressida must lead her people in an ultimate showdown against evil. To help her succeed, Stefan must allow Cressida to take him, break him and bind him to her—body and soul. But neither of them are prepared for what happens next…
It’s out of the cauldron and into the fire when you’re a Demon Bewitched.
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Read an Excerpt
Chapter one
The New York City goth club Storm Court was rocking hard enough to be heard three blocks away, but not by ordinary humans. This party was for witches and their initiates only, mortals desperate to be transformed into something—anything—else. Vampire, witch, yeti, it didn’t seem to matter. They just wanted to become something bigger and better than themselves. It gave a whole new meaning to Ready to Were.
Stefan of the Syx whistled beneath his breath, surveying the debauch. “This is…weird.”
“I think you mean unholy.”
Stefan stifled a grin as he glanced over to the most taciturn member of the Syx, Gregori. The man was a virtual mountain, the tallest and broadest demon enforcer among them, and by far the grumpiest. If Grigori ever got to choose his own destiny, he’d be perfect as a monk in a mountain cave.
As it was, he stood out in this underground electro-house club like a unicorn in hell.
“Gotta wonder why the archangel sent you here with me,” Stefan said, patting his fellow demon enforcer on the shoulder. “Storm Court is totally not your scene.”
Grigori grunted, muttering something about their boss that Stefan didn’t need to hear to agree with. When they were sent out on assignment, the members of the Syx had long since learned to keep their mouths shut and their eyes sharp. It didn’t pay to complain, not when an archangel of the Lord was doling out your work assignments.
And truth to tell, being a Syx wasn’t so bad—or it hadn’t been until recently. Having sinned their way out of Fallen angel status and straight into demonhood six thousand years earlier, Stefan and five other demons had been culled from the teeming masses of the damned and had been given a sort of second chance as a demon SWAT team, tasked with routing the worst of their kind. Since no ordinary human stood a chance against the horde—in almost all cases, it took a demon to kill a demon—the Syx had been in high demand since the moment the demon enforcer team was formed.
Now, however, with Earth sustaining a body blow of magic that’d dumped a fresh multitude of demons across the planet, the Syx’s caseload had skyrocketed. Jobs that would normally have taken four or five of them only got two, and Michael the Archangel was the final arbiter of who went where.
Stefan drew in a deep, fortifying breath. Storm Court smelled like danger, sex, and witchcraft. He’d never been here before, but clubs like this were exactly his jam. Even if the modern covens were decidedly coed, they were still dominated by women. There was nothing on this earth that Stefan appreciated more than mortal females, especially the ones willing to let their freak flags fly. The crazier they were, the better, as long as they never got crazy over him. He’d learned that lesson the hard way, resulting in the sin that’d damned him for all eternity, and justifiably so. He’d spend the rest of his immortality atoning for his transgression.
But that didn’t make him immune to women.
Grigori was a different story. The man barely talked to any human, let alone a female one. As a result, he was usually tagged with the Syx assignments that were heavy on the brawn, light on the banter. His assignment here made no sense.
Stefan scanned the room, his gaze snagging on a female working her way toward the stage. He narrowed his eyes. She was a witch, but that didn’t matter much in this group. Was this the Syx’s summoner? The woman definitely had an energy around her that caught his attention, and she wouldn’t ordinarily—she was small and thin, her hair cascading down her back in an auburn tumble. While he appreciated all women, Stefan’s tastes tended decidedly toward the voluptuous. This chick wasn’t that. But she held his attention anyway as she stalked across the room in a body-hugging black leather halter, pants, and high-heeled boots, her biceps wrapped with intricate silver cuffs, her lips painted red as blood—
“So who summoned you?” Grigori grumbled, breaking Stefan’s concentration. “It stinks in here, but not of demon. No one’s in danger.”
“You’re half right, anyway,” Stefan agreed. There were no demons in the club except him and Grigori, actually, and their glamour was ironclad. Not even the most powerful witch would know that the Syx were demons if they didn’t let their guard down, and the Syx’s glamour only strengthened when they were within range of someone who summoned them.
Stefan sensed his disguise was nearly perfect—he’d worked long and hard to build his armor to an impermeable shell. But no one else on the floor even gave off a whiff of demon, which made no sense. He thought back to the call that had brought him here. “Someone on the dance floor demanded aid,” he said, “but the summons was muted, desperate. Blocked.”
“Blocked because of drugs?” Grigori narrowed his eyes. “Or because they’re possessed?”
Stefan shrugged. Either one wasn’t a bad guess. “Unknown. But if the latter is what’s going on here, whatever demon is possessing our summoner is operating on a whole new level. I can’t pick him up, and I just fought a pile of the bastards a few weeks ago. I’d remember the smell. This whole deal feels different, somehow. And different in a decidedly not-good way.”
Demons appeared to humans as ordinary mortals and could do anything a mortal could do—eat, drink, procreate, kill. But for some demons, it wasn’t enough merely to harm God’s children. They had to inhabit them, body and soul. Possessing a human was a form of domination that appealed to the most craven of the horde, because it made annihilating the demon more difficult. To send a possessor demon into oblivion, a member of the Syx or an exceptionally skilled exorcist first had to pull said demon out of the human without causing more damage to the unfortunate host. Easier said than done.
Stefan eyed Gregori. “We need more intel. Why don’t you let your hair down and shake your groove thing or something? From their smell alone, these humans are desperate to commune with demons. Maybe you should promise them immortality or whatever in exchange for them giving you the inside scoop on what the hell is going on here.”
As usual, Gregori couldn’t take the joke. It was one of his charms. “We have rules,” the ox snapped back, his eyes going flat.
“Okay, Colossus, then head over to the bar—no, not that one. Over there.” Stefan pointed at the elaborate alcohol station at the far end of the room, directly through the writhing crowd.
Gregori focused on the bar. “Why?”
Stefan grinned. “Because you’re the biggest guy in the room and the second-most attractive one after me. If someone’s banging the drum for deliverance, you’re going to look like the answer to their prayers.”