Chapter 3
The suppressant will kill you.
As Stryke stepped into his personal Harrowgate at the back of his office, Eidolon’s blunt words rang through his head .
Stryke didn’t merely hear the words, either. Thanks to his synesthesia, they pulsed in fluorescent orange in his mind, so bright and vivid that he could almost taste them the way he could taste music. Oh, wait…yup, there was just the slightest hint of anise on his tongue.
Apparently, impending death tasted like black licorice.
Figured. He hated licorice.
As if the topic of suppressing sexual urges was a trigger, a sudden wave of arousal made his cock twitch as he pressed the symbol for his house. He glanced at his watch. Yup, it had been exactly four hours since his last injection.
The next one could kill you .
Yeah, yeah, whatever. Eidolon was such an alarmist.
Growling under his breath, Stryke stepped out of the Harrowgate and into a foot of fresh snow. Son of a bitch. He wondered for the millionth time what he’d been thinking when he had the gate installed outside on his deck instead of inside his living room.
Well, he knew what he was thinking. Security. If an inside gate ever malfunctioned or was hacked, demons could potentially pop into his house. But outside on his deck, warning systems, traps, and a couple of lethal countermeasures ensured that no uninvited visitor made it to the bulletproof, fireproof, and magic-proof sliding glass door. Not in one piece, anyway.
They’d never been activated, but as the wealthiest, most powerful, openly demon tech giant, he had a lot of enemies. From religious zealots and demon-haters to jealous rivals and political schemers, his human detractors were constant threats.
Then there were the demons. Since most of his company’s products were developed to detect their presence, kill them, or trap their souls, he was generally hated and feared by underworlders.
The only people he didn’t worry about were the angels. They allowed him to exist as a useful idiot as long as he toed the demons-are-bad line and created weapons to use against them. An Archangel named Gabriel even checked in on him every couple of years to make sure he hadn’t gone evil or some shit.
The suppressant will kill you .
Yeah, yeah, back to that.
The deck door slid open, and he stepped into a blast of warm air. A second stab of arousal went through his groin, but this time, it was accompanied by a jolt of pain. As the door closed behind him, he reached into his pocket for his injector pen.
When his fingers touched the smooth plastic surface, he hesitated.
This, his sixth injection in a row, would halt the sex pangs for approximately three and a half hours. The next one would be effective for three hours. The next, two and a half. And so on, losing about half an hour per dose until they stopped working, and pain and nausea forced him to find relief with a female.
If he didn’t, he’d die.
According to his uncle, he was dying right now. Eidolon told him to stop the injections immediately, but that would mean finding release multiple times a day.
He didn’t have time for that shit.
Another spear of arousal stabbed him in his cock and balls before some invisible vise grabbed his sac and twisted it so hard he nearly passed out on the hardwood floor. He staggered to the couch and braced himself against it while he caught his breath.
He needed sex.
Or a shot.
Either way, this couldn’t wait.
Gradually, the pain eased, leaving a heavy, pulsing need spreading through his pelvis. He eyed the delicate, ornate jade vase on the other side of the room, and his cock swelled, practically pointing at it.
He groaned through another wave of pain. When it retreated, his need had doubled, and his dick felt like it was on fire.
“Masumi,” he croaked.
A stream of pearly liquid bubbled from the vase’s narrow, phallic mouth and flowed to the floor, where it took the shape of a slinky, bronze-skinned succubus wrapped in a sheer ruby shawl and nothing else.
She shoved her waist-length black hair away from her face, her dark, almond-shaped eyes, tilted up at the corners, wide with surprise.
“I didn’t expect your summons so soon. You usually run the full course of injections before seeking my services.” Her husky voice conveyed concern as she glided toward him, her curvy hips swaying hypnotically. “You don’t look well.”
Clenching his jaw, he rode out another round of his genitals being squashed in a clamp. The pain was enough to make his vision go dark for a few heartbeats, and then Masumi’s warm body eased up to him, her hands working the fly of his pants.
As a species of demon created to service Seminus demons, she sensed his need as if it were hers. Her very existence relied on sexual exchanges with Sems, so she went eagerly, hungrily , to her knees in front of him.
Her warm mouth took him in, and instant, hot pleasure shot through his body.
Followed by dark, twisted self-loathing.
He hated sex. He hated being aroused. He hated everything that made him a lust demon with needs that took priority over everything.
Like his little brother’s safety.
Agony ripped into his chest like claws, and he tore away from Masumi. Panting and trembling, he scrounged for the injector pen.
Masumi’s hand came down on his wrist as his fingers closed around the device.
“You don’t need that.” She caught his earlobe with her teeth and nipped him before licking the sting away. “I’m here. Let me ease you.”
“I’m fine,” he gritted, his body reacting to her breathy words and warm heat even as his mind screamed to get away. “I’m sorry I bothered you.” His hand shook so badly that he barely managed to pop the cap off the injector.
“Stryke—”
“Go!”
With an angry, frustrated snarl, he jabbed the needle into his thigh and flopped back against the couch. Relief came quickly as the solution streamed through his veins to all the parts of his body that needed the chemical hit an orgasm would normally provide.
Masumi’s curses echoed in his ear as she dematerialized back into her vase. She was pissed, and he couldn’t blame her. He wasn’t worried about her getting what she needed to survive, though. Her vase’s twin, her second home, resided at the compound shared by his brothers Rade and Blade, and his cousins Mace and Sabre. Between the four males, she got a lot of action, and they didn’t have to waste time looking for partners several times a day.
Not that all of them considered the pursuit of females wasted time. Mace definitely enjoyed the hunt for sex. According to Masumi, he only summoned her a couple of times a week, and half the time when he did, it was to join him and another female.
Snow swirled against the windows, giving him something besides Masumi to focus on as the meds took effect. He breathed a sigh of relief as his blood shot back up to his brain, and he reached functional status again.
Damn. Those injections were a miracle.
Maybe Eidolon’s prognosis was wrong. Perhaps the lab had gotten Stryke’s blood mixed up with someone else’s.
And maybe he was a fucking idiot in denial.
His uncle wasn’t one to screw up. And something had caused the symptoms that had forced Stryke to seek medical help. So, yeah, it was certainly possible that the injections were harming him, but his pride had prevented him from conceding the possibility to Eidolon.
Whatever. It was a problem to solve. And Stryke loved to solve problems because he was really, really good at it.
Goal in mind, his thoughts spinning with theories and calculations, he showered, threw on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, and headed to his private laboratory. Before he got there, he stopped in the kitchen to grab a ham sandwich—just bread and meat. Condiments were a waste of time, and food was nothing more than fuel. Taste wasn’t a consideration.
The hidden panel in his living room slid open at his approach, revealing a metal staircase. He took the steps two at a time and hit the bottom, landing with a bounce.
He loved it down here. It was a space full of high-tech equipment where he could do anything he wanted without scrutiny or explanation. Here, he created and destroyed. Invented and tested. Here, he was a god.
He was a god at StryTech, too, but there were no interruptions here, and he didn’t have to explain himself to anyone.
Inhaling the comforting scents of sterile cleaners, chemical concoctions, and cedar chips, he walked past whiteboards covered in hastily scrawled equations, a bank of computers, and a rat in an enormous cage.
“Hey, Squeaker.” He took a peanut from the bowl next to the cage and tossed it to the sleek albino rodent. “No mazes for you today.”
The rat, the last survivor of the batch of twenty rats he’d rescued from StryTech’s labs, absconded with the legume into the little cardboard cave he’d made for himself. Squeaker was the only one Stryke had named, and even then, he hadn’t done it until the rat was the only one left after the others had died of old age.
But this guy kept on keeping on, aided by one of StryTech’s anti-aging test formulas and Stryke’s ability to optimize bodily functions.
He sank into one of the computer chairs and brought up the formula for his sex inhibitor. Maybe he could make it safer if he adjusted or tweaked it a little.
“ None of these inhibitors, not even mine, are meant for regular use, ” Eidolon had said before they hung up . “ Orgasms produce chemicals in our bodies that keep us alive. The inhibitors mimic the chemicals but can’t completely replicate them. Without regular sex to fill in the gaps, your body will break down. ”
“ Is it reversible? ”
“ Maybe. But we won’t know until you stop using them and give your body a chance to heal. ”
“ Can’t you heal me? ”
“ Not from this. I can’t replicate the chemicals either. ”
Maybe his uncle couldn’t replicate them, but Stryke could. He could try, anyway. And there was no reason to think he’d fail. He rarely failed at anything.
You failed your brother .
Yes, he had. And because of that, he’d dedicated himself to protecting others from evil demons. He’d built an empire and had become the richest, most notorious person on the planet. He was as powerful as any president, king, or supreme leader of any country in the human realm.
And all it had cost him was his entire family.
Cyan stood in the middle of her living room, staring at the boxes piled next to the door.
Shanea’s boxes.
On one of the shelves, a selfie of Cyan and Shan at an office party looked back at her. Behind them, her fiancé, Draven, photobombed them with a goofy face.
Fresh pain sliced through Cyan’s heart. She missed them both so much.
She smiled sadly at another reminder, a holoimage of Cyan, Shanea, and Xoei at brunch at their favorite Parisian restaurant. Next to that, hanging on the wall, was a picture of Cyan and Shan at Disney World.
And next to that…
Cyan went cold. Her inspiration board, a four-foot by four-foot corkboard she’d had since high school, hung there, mocking her with pictures of Stryke and articles about his company, inventions, and success.
She’d idolized him once. She’d felt a connection to his drive and curious mind. She’d wanted to be as notable in her field of work as he was in his. And it didn’t hurt that he was one of the most gorgeous males she’d ever seen.
Then, within a matter of months, her parents, Shan, and Draven had all died—victims of Stryke’s inventions. And when he was asked to speak publicly about the incident at DART that’d killed three people, including Shan and Draven, he’d basically said that accidents were bound to happen and, overall, the benefits of the weapons outweighed the deaths of a couple of demons.
A couple of demons .
Fuck The Aegis. Fuck StryTech. Fuck everything.
Furious, her eyes burning with unshed tears, she tore down the board and smashed it against the wall. Beat it until the cork shattered and the drywall dented.
Why, why, why did Shanea have to die?
Hurling the board’s skeletal remains to the floor, she threw herself onto the couch and buried her face in her hands. She wanted to cry, but there was nothing left. So much had gone wrong. Her best friends were dead, her enthusiasm for her job was just as dead, and she’d been a jackass to her boss.
And a vacation wouldn’t fix any of it.
Someone knocked on the door, and she ignored it for a moment, content to dwell in her pity party. But the knock came again, harder and faster. Both annoyed and grateful for the interruption, she glanced over at the security monitor screen on the wall next to the gas fireplace.
Kynan’s daughter stood outside her door, waving at the camera. Weird. She hadn’t seen Dawn in months.
“Door,” she called out. “Open.”
The lock on the door clicked, and Dawn entered.
“Hey.” The dark-haired, blue-eyed female was the spitting image of her father, although she’d gotten her mother’s slight build and sense of humor. “I’m sorry I didn’t comms you first.”
Suspicion slithered through Cyan, and she narrowed her eyes at the other female. “Did your dad send you?”
Dawn sauntered inside, her form-fitting black jeans and strategically slashed emerald silk tank top revealing more skin than her father would have liked. “He has no idea I’m here. Why?”
“He wants to send me on an assignment, and I refused. Rudely.”
Dawn laughed. “It’s good for him to not always get his way.”
Maybe, but he hadn’t seemed to appreciate it. “I should probably apologize anyway.” Cyan gestured to the kitchen, where Shanea’s teapot sat on the stove, collecting dust. “Would you like a glass of wine? Or tea?”
Please, don’t say tea . She didn’t know why she’d even asked. She wasn’t sure she could make it without breaking down.
“Nah, I can only stay for a minute.” Dawn held out the bag in her hand. “I wanted to bring you this.”
“What is it?” Cyan stood to take the sparkly white gift bag.
Dawn hesitated and then quietly said, “It was a gift from Shanea.”
Cyan froze, her fingers clenching the handles tightly. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s your maid of honor gift.” Dawn smiled sadly. “She asked me to keep it so you wouldn’t see it.”
Cyan’s legs buckled, and she collapsed back onto the sofa. “Damn.”
Dawn sank into the chair next to her and placed a comforting hand on Cyan’s knee. “How are you doing? Is there anything I can do?”
Sure, there was. “You can destroy The Aegis and StryTech for me,” she muttered as she peered into the bag.
Dawn snorted. “I’d love to.”
Surprised, Cyan looked up at her friend. “Really? I mean, The Aegis, yeah. Filthy demon-slaying scumbags. But StryTech? Isn’t Stryke your cousin?”
“Sabre is my cousin. Stryke is Sabre’s cousin, though. I can’t stand him. Stryke, not Sabre.” She shifted in her seat, settling in a little. “He’s always been a pompous jackass. And his demon-detection software has made my life hell. I wanted to work in human hospitals all my life, but because of him, I can’t.”
As much as Cyan wanted to jump aboard Dawn’s Stryke-hating train, she wasn’t sure how Stryke was connected to her friend’s career limitations. “Why not?”
Dawn idly plucked at a frayed thread on the armrest that used to give Shan fits. “The DeTecht scanners pick up my Soulshredder genetics, and pretty much every hospital on the planet has installed them. Hell, I can hardly go anywhere. Jessica and I tried to go to a movie last weekend, and I couldn’t get in because the theater had a demon detector at the front door.”
“Oh, damn. That sucks.”
Dawn crossed her legs, her jeans whispering softly against the chair. “I’ve begged Stryke to develop something to disguise my DNA, but he refuses. Says he can’t risk that kind of technology getting into the wrong hands. As if I’d let that happen.”
“What an asshole.” Cyan put the bag on the cushion next to her. “Why does your family put up with him?”
“They don’t.” Dawn fetched a tube of lip balm from her purse. “He’s estranged from everyone.”
Cyan knew he wasn’t close with his family, but she hadn’t known it was that bad. “Your dad seems to have a good relationship with him.”
Dawn shrugged. “I don’t think it’s personal, though. It’s more of a working relationship. DART benefits from a lot of StryTech inventions.”
So did DART’s rivals. How could Stryke arm everyone? Weren’t there laws governing the arming of both sides of a conflict?
“Working with StryTech is actually the assignment I turned down.” Cyan reached over and ran her finger over the gift bag’s silky handle. Before Dawn, Shanea had probably been the last person to touch it. “Kynan asked me to work with a team of StryTech people to develop a new weapon that would also capture souls.”
“Wow. That sounds like a great opportunity,” Dawn said. “Why did you say no?”
“Why?” she asked incredulously. “Stryke’s last anti-demon weapon killed Shan.”
“I know.” Dawn finished with her lip balm and popped the cap back onto the tube. “And now you have a chance to help prevent that from happening again.”
“Prevent it? How? This weapon isn’t a counter to The Aegis’s Smiter.”
“No, but any new weapon in DART’s arsenal is something The Aegis doesn’t have. DART will become even more valuable to the world. Right now, they’re under the microscope because of what happened with Draven. DART could even be dissolved. With a powerful new weapon that would allow any agent to capture souls, something The Aegis can’t do, DART becomes indispensable.”
Most of what Dawn said after Draven’s name was lost on Cyan. “Excuse me. ‘ After what happened with Draven ?’”
Dawn gave her an are-you-kidding look. “Come on, Cyan. He did kill a lot of innocent people.”
Cyan nearly choked on her anger. How could Dawn take The Aegis’s side?
“He killed them because The Aegis killed his fiancée!” She shoved to her feet, knocking the gift bag over and onto the rug. “It wasn’t unprovoked—”
“I know.” Dawn’s voice was annoyingly calm as she fetched the bag from the floor. She was so much like her father. “Look, Cyan…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “It’s nothing.”
“What? Tell me.”
“It’s just…I know I’m only a quarter Soulshredder, but it’s enough. I can see your scars. I can see how much pain you’re in. But you’re taking it out on the wrong people. If you work with StryTech, you’ll kill two hellrats with one club. You’ll help DART become invaluable and can make Stryke’s life miserable. Win-win.”
“Doesn’t feel like a win,” Cyan muttered.
Dawn gestured to the gift bag. “You gonna open it?”
Cyan looked down at the sparkly tissue and ornate bag that so perfectly fit Shanea’s personality.
How could she be gone? And so soon after Cyan had lost her parents to a different StryTech device. Granted, her father’s death had been an accident caused by a faulty circuit in a StryTech-designed security panel, and her mother had died of grief, but still.
“I can’t,” she said. “Not yet. It probably sounds weird, but once I see it, I’ll never get anything from her again.”
Dawn nodded like she understood and started for the door. “I have to go, but I’m sure I’ll see you at Runa’s birthday get-together. Dad’s always looking for excuses to throw office parties.”
That was true. Kynan Morgan loved a good celebration at work. He said it helped boost morale and gave everyone a chance to catch up on things happening in other departments. He even invited everyone from all the DART branches. Most couldn’t make it because of time zone differences around the world, but it was always cool to catch up with those who could attend.
Dawn gave her a quick hug. “If you need anything, let me know. I’m serious, okay? I’m not just saying that to be nice. Call me.”
She promised she would. After Dawn left, Cyan looked over at the pictures of Shan again. She’d deserved so much better than how she’d died. Maybe Dawn was right. Perhaps working on the weapon project would be an opportunity to do something positive for DART and give Shan’s death some meaning.
The gift bag felt as heavy as her heart as she placed it on her dining room table. Later. She’d open it later. After DART had taken possession of the weapon, perhaps.
Which meant she needed to make that happen.
She used her mind to turn on her computer because the first step was always research. She wanted to know everything she could about Stryke and his company—beyond what she already knew.
A basic query of Stryke’s name turned up an overwhelming number of photos, articles, and magazine cover shots, including the time he’d been TIME magazine’s Person of the Year.
Boy, that had caused a meltdown among the humans. Calling a demon a person ? And giving him that kind of notoriety? People had lost their shit, and TIME almost didn’t recover.
She used her mind to scroll through more of the media frenzy, and there he was as Most Eligible Bachelor from multiple organizations for multiple years. Underworld News Today called him, “The perfect combination of human good looks and demon ingenuity.”
Admittedly, the guy was drop-dead gorgeous. But then, all Seminus demons were. As incubi, they were designed with females in mind, from their effortless athletic builds and model good looks to their skill in bed and sexual pheromones that heightened female arousal.
And Stryke…he was even more striking than most. His angular, tan features could have been carved with a razor blade, and his dark eyes reminded her of black diamonds: hard, cold, and brilliant. She’d always wondered what, if anything, made them soften.
She had a feeling nothing could soften that male.
And things that didn’t soften and bend…broke.