WARNING: This novel is intended for mature audiences, ages 18+ years of age and is not for the faint of heart.
Some doors should never be opened...
As the daughter of a witch, Erica knows better than to treat the arcane lightly. But when her best friend convinces her to play a dangerous game, she quickly finds herself out of her depth. Before she can react, she and Tera are whisked into a terrifying demonic realm and chained to an auction block.
...And some doors fate opens for us.
The moment Troz sees the fiery redheaded human, he knows she's exactly what he's been looking for. He purchases her from the slave auction and takes her home as a gift to his husband, Lyx. Her witch blood makes her the perfect mother for their demonic offspring, but her indomitable spirit also provides a refreshing challenge. Despite the slave collar that binds her her will, she resists their advances in every way possible. Both masters must use every ounce of their skill and talents to bend their new concubine to their desires.
Only Erica can decide which path leads to her destiny.
Meanwhile, in the shadows, angels are making a play for Erica's safe return. She is disturbed to learn her long-lost father is an archangel with a twisted agenda. Her masters can offer her salvation from her father's plans, but can she trust them? Should she remain their sex slave forever, or gamble on an uncertain fate without the dark pleasures they've taught her to crave?
“MOM’LL
KILL US if she learns what we’re about to do.” Erica wiped sweaty
palms on jean-clad thighs. When Sybil got wind of this…she exhaled a worried
breath. Hell. To. Pay. Something
insignificant like age wouldn’t matter.
An antique Ouija board rested on the bed
between her and Tera, her best friend of ten years. Tera was a “vintage
archeologist”, a classier distinction to her BFF than antique collector.
Semantics in Erica’s opinion with the end results the same. As a successful
antique store owner Tera could call herself whatever she wanted.
Her bestie placed the pointer—what Erica’s mom
called a planchette—on the center of the board. The letters were etched into
the cherry wood. Elaborate and beautiful. A fine piece of workmanship.
Erica ran her fingertips along the wood, which
created a weird static against the pads.
A nagging sensation throbbed at the base of
her cranium. A lifetime of witchcraft lessons implied she should shut down this
adventure. Pronto! But the excitement in her girlfriend’s eyes…yeah, sometimes
peer pressure was a bitch even at her age.
“Sybil will never find out.” Tera waggled her
fingers at her and made cheesy ghostly noises.
She gave Tera ‘the look’. Saying her mom
wouldn’t find out was like pretending Santa didn’t know what you’d been up to
all year. Being the local witch, her mom wasn’t just feigning to practice the
arts, but was damned good at them.
“Okay, fine.” Tera rolled her blue eyes and
notched her chin-length blonde hair behind an ear. Too many times over their
ten-year friendship Erica had coveted her friend’s appearance, wishing she
possessed the same sultry attributes. Guilt snagged on her envy, but what woman
wouldn’t prefer to look like her friend? Drop-dead gorgeous and sexy too…oh,
yeah, she wouldn’t mind finding out how the prettier half lived. “By the time
Sybil finds out, it’ll be too late.”
Wouldn’t stop her parent from chewing her ear
off when she discovered what forces they dabbled with. Didn’t matter that Erica
was a grown woman in her twenties either. Trivial things like age meant
jack-squat to her nosy-body mother.
“Don’t think Sybil won’t turn us over her knee
and blister our asses.” She gave Tera an exaggerated wink.
“I’m twenty-three years old!”
“Yeah. So?”
Tera slapped her leg. “Stop your drama, bitch.
Let’s booty-tap the spirit world.”
I hope the
spirit world doesn’t booty-tap our asses back. These weren’t forces to
idly toy with.
Together they placed their fingers on the
pointer.
“Anyone here?” Tera’s voice carried.
“A little louder. I don’t think the neighbors
heard you.”
Her friend poked her tongue out and waited,
peering about the room as if a spirit would show itself from one of the four
corners. Nothing materialized. The planchette remained motionless. Not even a
creak in the old home sounded.
“Are we alone?” No movement. “Yo’, Casper!
Chat with us. Or are you scared?” Said with Southern slang—skeered.
“Don’t antagonize them.” One thing Sybil had
taught Erica was to never piss off spirits. Respect them and they’d respect
you.
“You try it, then, Ms. Know-it-all.”
Erica rolled her eyes, but nerves guised as
cold gooseflesh puckered her skin. “Anyone with us? We invite you to join…us.”
‘Join’ wasn’t the wisest solicitation. The
object of the Ouija was to keep the spirits on their side of the board. Not
summon them to crossover, which she just did with her unwise word choice.
Too late
now.
The Ouija fogged over, and for a second she
thought she caught a glimpse of another dimension. What she saw was unlike
anything she’d ever imagined.
Erica knocked Tera’s hands off the wooden
pointer, snatched up the spirit mouthpiece and snapped it in half as easily as
she would plastic. “No more of that!”
That she was capable of breaking the voice of
the souls was alarming. The wooden pointer should’ve been more rugged. Whatever
they’d connected with obviously didn’t want them to socialize with others and
had helped assist her destruction. They needed to get to Sybil and fast.
Slack-jawed her BFF gaped as she held up the
two broken pieces. “What’s gotten into you? I can’t sell it broken.”
“We summoned trouble.”
“No ghost appeared. The pointer definitely
didn’t move. No creepy noises and nope, I’m pretty sure the lights didn’t
flicker.”
Erica glared at her friend. “Can the sarcasm.”
In real life she’d never seen lights flicker. Spirits were too refined for
theatrics better left in the movies. “I got a peek at the realm we opened.” She
shuddered. Scary failed to paint an accurate description.
“Now who’s being dramatic?” Her naïve bestie
dropped the planchette on the board. “This shit’s fake, and you owe me a
replacement.”
“I’m calling Sybil.” Erica scrambled off the
bed and snatched her cell off the dresser.
“She’ll kill us, Erica.” Tera pushed the two
pieces of the pointer around on the board as Erica speed dialed.
“What happened to ‘this shit’s fake’?” Sybil
was the least of their concerns. The spirit realm they’d contacted hadn’t
looked pleasant. “Whatever we set free—”
“Me.” A deep, foreign-sounding, male voice
emerged from the dark corner.
Erica spun around and almost tripped over the
rug. As the intruder emerged from the darkness, Tera screamed and scuttled
backward across the bed before slamming into the headboard.
Red-skinned, with a set of gray horns
protruding from his forehead, his straight green hair hung to his chin. Eyes
shimmered like prisms in sunlight. “Imagine my surprise when a witch invited me
to play.”
“I’m not a witch,” Erica said automatically.
“And I’m not a demon.” In a move so fast and
fluid she didn’t have time to react, he seized the cell from her grasp and
snapped a black bracelet on her wrist. The moment the locks engaged on the
band, hieroglyphs burned on the surface like lava. “Hello, Mom,” he said into
the receiver of her cell, snatching her focus off the armlet. “She’s already
mine. I officially registered her as a sex slave.”
Sex slave? Registered? No fucking way!
Erica clawed at the band on her wrist. The
contraption didn’t budge, not even to slip further on her arm. And the more she
studied it, the less it looked like a bracelet, but more like a tattoo. Except the
lava hieroglyphs continued to smolder-like magma. The slight burn on her skin
testified to the validity of the lava-like appearance.
The demon held the phone away from his ear,
grimacing at the volume of her mother’s voice.
Erica made a go for the door.
“Knees,” he said in his thick accent, and she
obeyed instantly, hitting the floor hard, her knees protesting with pain that
jarred up her spine.
Shit! So not good.
“Sybil…shut up.”
Erica’s eyes widened at his tone. No one
talked to her mother like that. And how’d he know her name?
“It’s Horace, you know how this works.”
Erica wished someone would tell her.
He shook his finger—correction talon—at Tera, and her friend froze,
abandoning her inching across the bed. “By nightfall tomorrow she’ll be sold
and bedded. If it takes that long,
which is unlikely.”
Bile slammed to the back of her throat, and
she forced it down with a gulp. She wouldn’t panic. Not yet.
“You want to free her from enslavement, bid
the highest number of souls.” A long moment of silence as the demon stared at
her and grinned at whatever her mother said. “‘Tis a pity you don’t barter in
souls, Sybil.” He didn’t look disappointed, but rather pleased. “I would’ve
enjoyed working out a deal with you.” The gleam in his eyes confirmed his
statement. “Her friend is going with me. I’ll sell them as a set…or I have a
few demons who are into human sex-pain play.”
Tera clenched her hands over her ears and
sobbed as she rocked back and forth, hitting the headboard with each backward
sway. The demon tossed the cell to the floor, his gaze sealed on Erica.
“L-leave Tera, and I’ll go with you
willingly.” Foolish to sacrifice herself, but as unprepared as she was to enter
a demonic realm, Tera was woefully ill-equipped for all things demon.
“Declined.” His dark pea-colored lips pulled
into a satisfied smirk. “You’re going willingly either way.”
He retrieved the Ouija board and threw it
against the wall. The witchboard stuck as if nailed to the spot. A moment
afterward another demon stepped out of a portal. This one royal blue, with no
horns, and average brown hair. The new demon tossed Tera over his shoulder, but
her friend had already shut down mentally, babbling about lucid dreams, unwise
choices, and stupid board games.
Horace—what
an average name for a scary-ass demon!—offered Erica his hand. When she
hesitated, he nodded at the bracelet. “It won’t allow you to refuse my
commands.”
Determined to brazen her way through her
predicament she rose to her feet. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be
happening to her. Please, please, please
let this be a nightmare.
“You’re mistaken if you believe I’ll allow
anyone to turn me into a demon sex slave.” Too bad her voice shook and her
knees wobbled, threatening to put her flat on her ass.
With a chuckle, the demon caught her against
him and swung her into his arms. “You’re mistaken if you believe you have a
choice.”
Arrogant
bastard!
She closed her eyes as they went through the
portal to a hell of her own making. A few seconds later she found her back
against a cool, stone wall. Cold temps weren’t what she expected in a demonic
realm.
Horace peered at Erica as he braced her hands
against the wall above her head. His impersonal touch was unsettling,
especially when his eyes said an entirely different thing. Alarmed by his
interest, she became more resolved to defy him.
“Get your hands off me.” Getting the demand past the sudden lump in her throat
proved difficult, and her voice came out hoarse.
“Behave.” Through her jeans he cupped her
crotch. She gasped at his highhanded manner, but before she could mandate he
remove his hand from her body, he backed away. “I’m not sure if I should be
disappointed or pleased you’re a virgin.” He cocked his head, his green hair
parting over his shoulder. “You’ll bring me too many souls as a virgin to
possess you myself.”
Her eyes grew round at his statement. He could
assess her virginity by a simple touch? Relief flooded her. At least she
wouldn’t be forced to endure sex with this douchebag. In short time her mother
would rescue her, and Erica would ridicule the demon for underestimating
Sybil’s superior sorcery.
She parted her lips to enlighten him on the
benefits of returning her to her parent straightway, but he cut her off by
holding up his hand. “Whatever you have to say is inconsequential.”
“My mother will make you regret this. And I’ll
laugh in your face when she does.”
“She has no power here.” Horace ran a claw
along her chin. “I’ll be the only one laughing when you’re sold and my bank
account is fat.”
Pride locked her jaw and kept her from
displaying her fear in the face of a predator. No point in arguing with an
imbecile. He’d discover the validity of her words soon enough.
“Pity you’re chaste. To have had both the
mother and daughter would’ve been a feather in my hat.”
“You lie! Sybil would never screw someone as
filthy as you.”
“One more word out of you, and I’ll put that
mouth and tongue to better use.” He palmed his crotch, and she bit the inside
of her cheek to stifle a retort. The conceited asshole smirked. “Thought so.”
He fondled himself through his pants.
Shocked by his baseness she gaped at him.
He leaned nearer and sniffed her neck. “And if
I’m not mistaken, that angel Sybil ran around with for a while is your father.”
His facts were incorrect. She was not a
witch or an angel. “Want to know the only good thing about angel offspring…the
nephilim?”
Something about the gleam in his eyes
suggested she wouldn’t like whatever he divulged, so she held her tongue and
offered him a hostile glare as a response.
Horace slammed his hand on her neck, and she
gasped as he squeezed. “I asked you a question.”
“Yeah,” she choked out.
He relaxed his grip. “They’re blood is toxic
to almost all demons.”
“You have someone you want to murder?” She
couldn’t imagine any other reason why he shared this information.
A lopsided smile tugged at the corner of his
mouth, but the artifice failed to reach his eyes. “I have a few calls to make.
You should be sold by nightfall.”
Erica trembled at the idea of someone buying
her like a common house pet. She had no idea where Tera had been taken or even
if she remained unharmed. Instincts had warned her not to engage the Ouija
board. She should’ve listened. No point in crying over the past. Survival was
priority…but if Sybil’s rescue bombed, would Erica endure the claiming of a
demon? Would she want to? Were they even built like human men? And what if she
was toxic to the demon that bought her? What were the ramifications for a human
who unintentionally felled one of them? She had a sneaky suspicion the outcome
wouldn’t benefit her.
She choked on tears, biting the inside of her
mouth until she tasted blood and the need to cry passed. Waterworks were a
weakness she couldn’t afford.
Gracen is a hopeless daydreamer masquerading as
a “normal” person in southern society. When not writing, she’s a full-time
basketball/lacrosse/guitar mom for her two sons and a devoted wife to her
real-life hero-husband of over twenty years. She has an unusual relationship
with her muse, Dom, but credits all her creative success to his brilliant mind.
She’s addicted to writing, paranormal romance novels and movies, Alabama
football, and coffee...addictions are not necessarily in order of priority. She’s
convinced coffee is nectar from the gods and when blending coffee and writing
together it generates the perfect creative merger. Many of her creative worlds
are spawned from coffee highs and Dom’s aggressive demands. Gracen writes is
multiple genres—paranormal romance, paranormal erotic romance, and contemporary
romance. To learn more about Gracen or to leave her a comment, visit her
website at www.gracen-miller.com.
Twitter:
@GracenMiller
Amy adores Scotland. Though she now resides in southwest Utah, she received her MBA from Heriot-Watt University in Edinburgh. Winning multiple writing awards, she is now focused on the genre of Scottish historical romance. Amy loves to write steamy edge-of-your-seat action adventures with rugged men and fascinating women who weave their paths through the brutal eras of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. 
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