Follow your own advice and stay alert. No touching the girl. A single touch, and he’d become lost to the lust again.
Branches slapped at him, slicing his cheeks. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. The action must have roused Secrets. Instantly agitated, the demon prowled through his skull, hatred for this place welling up.
Voices suddenly wafted to Amun’s ears.
Come closer, warrior…
Welcome to our home…
We won’t hurt you…much…
Thoughts soon followed, filling his mind.
They’ll taste so good.
Maybe she’ll scream just the way I like…
The snakes were closing in, ready to strike. To kill. He couldn’t fight them with Haidee dangling so precariously over his shoulder. She would take the brunt of the action, her body acting as his shield, and that he wouldn’t allow.
Not knowing what else to do, he stopped and eased her to the ground—no sudden movements—then fit the backpack she still carried around her neck, shielding the sensitive area as best he could. As he slowly, so slowly straightened, he withdrew two of his blades, metal whistling against leather.
That must have been the starting bell for the snakes.
Dozens of crimson eyes leveled on him… Fangs flashed bright white.
He tensed.
The snakes launched forward.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
NOW THIS IS THE SHIT, Strider thought with a slow grin.
A few hours ago, Lucien had flashed him and William to Paris. The guy, not the city. Though the evening had only just begun, Paris had been well on his way to ambrosia intoxication, already laughing like a loon. So rather than cart him off and start hunting Gilly’s parents to play a little game of slice and dice, as planned, and rather than leaving him behind in such a vulnerable condition, Strider and William had decided to take care of Paris—aka down a little ambrosia themselves—and head out as a unit in the morning.
Brotherly love and all that. The things I do for my friends. Not that Strider was intoxicated. He was the sober one.
He reclined on a delightfully cushioned lounge in the sprawling ranch Paris had rented. In Dallas, Texas, of all places. Promiscuity had decked himself out, too, wearing a Stetson (weird), no shirt (understandable), unfastened jeans (smart) and cowboy boots (weird again). Dude looked ready to rustle cattle or something.
At least the girls Paris had invited to party with him were more sensible. They wore bikinis.
Best of all, as the girls swam in the moon-and-lamplit pool, laughing, playing, Strider was reminded that he’d always preferred females with big boobs and lots of makeup. He was able to forget all about only-a-handful Haidee and how lovely and delicate she’d looked in Amun’s arms. Arms that should have been his. But whatever.
“I call dibs on the topless one,” William said from Strider’s left, throwing back his ambrosia-laced beer. “And the one wearing dental floss.” He’d changed his mind five times in the past ten minutes. As of now, he had dibs on every single female in sight.
“That’s a thong, moron,” Paris slurred from Strider’s right.
They reclined in lounges, too, the only cocks within miles of this little henhouse.
The girls were in front of them, some using the concrete rim around the hourglass pool as a dance floor. Gods love this modern era, because the females weren’t afraid to grind on each other.
“If the thing riding up her ass is a thong, whatdya call that string across her nipples?” William countered.
“A string,” Paris said, then nodded as if confirming his own genius. “And by the way, I get first pick since I rounded ’em up and brought ’em here, and I call dibs on the topless one.”
“Where’d you get ’em, anyway?” Strider asked. Funny. His own words were slurred.
“Strip club downtown,” Paris replied, finishing off his latest bottle of jack. “Throw enough money around and you can have anything you want. Except, maybe, fried Twinkies. I can’t find those anywhere.”
William tapped two fingers against his chin. “You had any of ’em before?”
“Fried Twinkies?” Paris nodded. “Only once, but I’ve never forgotten the experience. It’s like heaven in your mouth, man.”
“Fried— Paris, you dumb bastard.” Exasperated, William shook his head. “I meant the women.”
Exasperated himself, Paris splayed his arms. “How would I know whether or not the women have had a fried Twinkie? I only just met them.”
“Dear gods.” William pinched the bridge of his nose. “Have you. Slept with. One of. The women. Before?”
“Oh. Sure, I have. And shit. Why didn’t you say that to begin with?”
“Finally,” William said. “We get somewhere. Who?”
Because of his straight-up awesome demon, Paris couldn’t screw the same woman twice. Sure, he weakened unbearably if he failed to roll around in the sheets at least once a day, but that was a small price to pay for unlimited nookie.
“Like I remember,” Paris replied.
“Your cock always remembers.”
“Well, we’re currently not speaking, so…”
“And we come to yet another dead end.” William’s sigh was somehow as wry as his tone. “You’re just gonna have to take who I give you and deal.”
“Like anyone would pick you over me.”
William blustered over the insult. “You just wait and see. I’ll have every single one of them eating out of my hand.”
“Only if you find one of those delicious fried Twinkies,” Paris snapped.
Strider rolled his eyes. Egotistical morons. Anyone with a set of eyes could see that Strider was the pretty one in their little threesome.
His demon immediately recognized the challenge and stretched, gearing up to do whatever was necessary to ensure that statement was true. Win?
Down, boy. He didn’t need the hassle tonight.
“Hey, William,” a beautiful blonde frolicking in the water called. “You said you wanted to taste me when I got wet. Well, I’m very, very wet,” she ended with husky entreaty. “Come taste me.”
“You’re not quite wet enough, honey bun. Keep playing, and I’ll let you know when you’re ready.”
For all his own dib-calling the past few hours, William hadn’t touched a single female yet. Strider had, though. He’d already taken the one with blue streaks in her sandy-colored hair upstairs. For forty-five minutes he’d unleashed his sexual needs on her willing body, making her moan and scream and writhe. He’d even made her beg.
Clearly, he’d been the best she’d ever had. Not that he’d ever doubted that would be the case. Not that he’d waited several minutes after the loving was done, tense, expecting to double over in pain since he hadn’t laid his patented moves on her, had just acted on need.
When he and Defeat had realized they could add another name to their ever-growing list of completely satisfied females—not that they remembered any of the names— Strider should have shot right into another climax. But the rush of victory hadn’t done anything for him. He hadn’t felt any better about his situation. He might even have felt worse. Like, hollowed out or something.
The girl had fallen asleep immediately afterward, thank the gods, because if she’d tried to talk to him, he would seriously have cut off his ears. Sex, good. Conversation, bad. He should have let her rest, but he hadn’t trusted her enough to leave her unattended, so he’d carted her back outside and placed her on a lounge—on the opposite side of the pool, where she was still sleeping. A guy couldn’t be too careful.
Still. She hadn’t been a challenge, not in any way, really, and he’d liked that. Liked being able to relax. With Ex, the challenge would always be there, influencing everything he did, so he would always be on edge. Of course, that would also mean the pleasure of finally winning her would be unparalleled, because the harder the battle, the sweeter the victory.