Page 4 of Demon Food

I scraped my fingernails over the black wall paint that had once featured families of quills but had faded so much that only their ghostly outlines remained.

It was quiet in Terrek’s wing of the brothel, barring the bumps and moans coming from the feeding rooms upstairs. He liked his privacy. He was also a cheap prick who didn’t feed as often as he should because of the cost, and I’d never seen him in anything but a foul mood because of it.

I steeled myself with a breath as I approached his door.

“Go away,” he said, before I even had a chance to knock.

They had preternatural hearing. Even he, at seventy-four, probably heard me coming a full minute ago.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I need to talk to you.”

“And how the fuck am I supposed to know who you are if you don’t name yourself?”

“Feloré.”

His chair scooted across the floor like he was standing in haste, almost like it was an involuntary reaction, but he said nothing.

“Open the door.”

“No. You’re a cunt and a tease, and whatever you’re up to, I promise, I am not in the mood.”

He was never in the mood to address any of the atrocities around the brothel. “I’m not here to tease you. What I have to say is important. Call it a business opportunity.”

“Go away.”

I clenched my teeth, bouncing as I said, “Are you hungry?”

Silence. That meant yes.

“If you promise to listen, I’ll let you kiss anywhere but my mouth.”

Much like their distant ancestors, the ancient incubi, the modern vultae fed on sexual proclivities. Some sexual acts gave them more energy than others, but they could find a way to feed from just about anything.

Which was why his footsteps slowly approached. “For how long?”

Well, someone had gotten smarter. “Twenty seconds.”

“Fuck you. A full minute.”

“Thirty.”

“A full minute.”

I glared at the woodgrain of the door. It didn’t matter to me. It wasn’t like I got as tired as the other concubines seemed to get from their feedings. I just hated him. “A full minute. But you have to promise to hear me out.”

The lock on the door unlatched. Then he pried the door open with a slight creak, just enough to show one of his eyes.

It was red.

Or it was beginning to redden around the rim, like a glowing log in a fire, which meant one of two things. He was already aroused, or he was very, very angry. Perhaps, both?

“Good gods, human,” he whispered, gaze dipping down my body as he bared his teeth. “Fuck, you are delicious.”

I leaned back, just out of his reach, when he stretched a hand toward me as if he were possessed to do it, his nails stark and white against his deep brown skin.

“Not until you hear me out.”

He snarled, curling his hand into a fist as he finally opened the door.