Soul Surrender

Book 3: Soul Stripper Romance

by Katana Collins

Genres: Erotic & Steamy Romance; Paranormal Romance

Synopsis

"Katana Collins has created a fascinating and complex world." --Romance Reviews Today Who knew sex could be so deadly. . . A fallen angel with a bounty on her head, Monica's a succubus with an unquenchable craving for sex. With one pulse-pounding orgasm, she consumes just enough of a person's soul to keep her alive. Of course that means human lovers are off limits, and so she keeps her distance from Drew, the one mortal she actually cares about. But Drew's been missing since his escape from Hell, and now her boss Lucien has gone MIA. Chased by every assassin this side of immortality, Monica has no choice but to abandon her low profile and put her own eternal life in danger. . . Praise for Katana Collins "What a ride! I can't wait to see what happens next in this fantastic new series!" --Caitlin Crews, USA Today bestselling author "Erotica buffs will embrace this modern-day paranormal story, which is filled to the brim with sex, shifters and demons." -- RT Book Reviews, 4 Stars, on Soul Stripper This book contains adult content

Release date: April 29, 2014

Publisher: Aphrodisia

Print pages: 321

Sample

This wasn’t my first time riding a mechanical bull. But it was the first time I’d done so while in a wet tank top, cowboy boots, and a thong. I was still surprised I had talked Lucien into replacing the stripper pole with the bull for the night. Then again, my ArchDemon of Las Vegas had deep pockets and shallow morals, so perhaps it shouldn’t have been such a shock.

The spotlight on center stage warmed my mostly bare flesh. With the bright lights and pulsating bull between my legs, it should have been hard to see the sea of spectators ogling the stage. But my succubus vision was sharp, and each face was clearer than high definition television.

The tank top clung to my hard nipples with a damp chill, and bills rained onto the stage. One of the greatest things about being a succubus is the fact that I can shift into any look I want: man, woman, or creature. With one hand in the air and ass cheeks slamming onto the moving leather bull, I slinked one leg over the side and did a back bend off of the moving centerpiece.

Sitting front and center, chin at stage level, was Damien. My elemental . . . friend? Boyfriend? Fuck buddy? It had been months since our first hookup in Salt Lake City, and we still couldn’t define what the Hell we were to each other.

A smirk tugged my eyes, and I fell to a crouch in front of him. With a finger, I stroked the length of my sex over the gauzy cotton panty (also shapeshifted to be wet) and then plunged that same finger into his mouth. His tongue slid over my nail, nibbling the edge, and his moan vibrated through me.

Jutting my hip forward, I paused, holding his steely gaze.

His eyebrows climbed higher. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Can’t give you any special treatment, Detective Kane.” My voice had a humorous lilt to it. “You sit in the front row, you cough up the dough.”

Grumbling, he reached into his back pocket, crinkling a five in his fist. He hooked the bill into the G-string along my hip and curved his finger in as well. It slid down the length of my panty, brushing the smooth skin inside. My pulse jumped with the wicked gleam he flashed at me. “I’ll see you after, then?”

The thumping bass beckoned me back to the performance to center stage. Damn this job. With a wink, I pranced back to my duties. I tore the tank top from my body, ripping it with the ease and strength of any supernatural being. The dank club air swirled around my naked breasts, and I shimmied out of my thong as well, two-stepping about. With one more spin, I stopped dead in my tracks. There, at the back of the audience—in the midst of blended bodies writhing together—was Drew. My Drew—my best friend and human boss at the coffee shop. Drew—the man I loved but could never have. Part of the succubus curse was an eternity sleeping with humans and taking some of their life to sustain my existence. It pretty much took any sort of real human relationship out of the equation.

I blinked once. Twice. Was it actually him? I couldn’t tell. Not only was it weird to see Drew here, because the man wouldn’t be caught dead in a strip club, he’d also been missing for almost eight months after learning that his friends, girlfriend, and ex-lover were all either angels or demons. Then add to that his leap into an abyss of Hell to save all of us from an angry elemental family—well, no wonder he didn’t want to come anywhere near us.

Sea green eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment there was no one else in the room. No assholes whooping and hollering for me to shove my tits in their face. No groaning mechanical bull. No boyfriends or girlfriends, current or ex, in the front row. It was just him and me.

And then I blinked—and Drew was gone. Or the man who looked like Drew was gone. I felt empty and abandoned all at once. Did I just imagine him there? My eyes cruised the crowd once more.

“Mirage! Mirage! Monica!”

“Huh?” Someone was calling for me . . . by both my real and stage name. Stage name . . . shit, I was still onstage. It had only been seconds, but for this crowd, seconds of not shaking my succubus ass was grounds to be deported back to Hell.

My eyes found Damien’s, and his were wide, concerned. “Are you all right?” he mouthed rather than said.

I didn’t bother answering; instead I slid back into my routine. The chorus of assholes booing quickly morphed into whistles and hoots. It didn’t take much to please the deviants that hung around Lucien’s strip club, Hell’s Lair. And as much as I loathed being a stripper, it provided me access to some of Vegas’s worst souls. The kind of guys from whom I didn’t mind stealing some life energy. Most of the losers who slipped in here every night after work had it coming.

After my set I shifted into jeans, but kept the wet tank top, and took a seat at the edge of the bar. T, our bouncer and bartender at Hell’s Lair, slid me a scotch and water. My favorite after a rough night.

“Hey, kid,” he said, even though we both knew I was decades older than him. Two meaty elbows leaned against the bar, and though he didn’t smile I could sense the warm grin in his eyes. T rarely smiled. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d seen his dimples. He was a massive man, easily taller than six feet. His weight was entirely made up of pie and burgers. It only took one out-of-line customer to learn that T didn’t need bulging biceps to assert power. He was strength personified and acted like a bulldozer to those needing to be bounced.

“Everything all right?”

I brought a shoulder to my ear. “Oh, sure. Just another night, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” He stared wistfully at one of our other dancers and a fellow succubi, Janelle.

“What happened with you two? Things looked like they were going well.”

“They were.” His baritone voice licked my skin, rough like a cat’s tongue. “Until they weren’t.”

It was probably all I’d get out of T, I realized, and so I sipped my scotch and water instead of pushing him further. “Where’s Lucien tonight?”

“Around. He’s always around.”

Two arms curled around my waist, and I found myself lost in someone’s muscular chest. “I’ve missed you.” My skin tingled and I gasped at the low voice. Drew. I sighed into the embrace, dropping my head back against his chest, and glanced down at the arms enveloping me. Only they weren’t covered in blond hair; they were dark. Damien. Shit. Was I totally losing it?

“How can you miss me when you saw me onstage just a minute ago?”

He chuckled, released his hold, and slipped onto the seat next to mine. “Because you’re addictive. You of all people should know just how much.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, but we both know your kind is immune to my poison.”

Damien dipped his finger into my scotch and let the droplets fall onto my palm. After using his finger to swirl the tiny bit of liquid like a whirlpool, he raised my palm to his lips. His tongue flattened to my hand in a tortuously slow lick. “I like my liquor stirred.” He ran a hand through his dark hair, which was trimmed in layers but still long enough to dive my fingers into.

“Show-off.”

I never knew how powerful Damien’s elemental magic really was, until his mother and brother, infamous elementals from my past, came back to seek revenge.

His eyes darkened and he trailed a finger down the side of my face. “Let’s go back to my place.” His voice was raw. Husky. I inhaled his scent—it was earthy, like his magic.

I curved my fingers onto his clean-shaven jaw and ran a thumb across his full bottom lip. He nipped the edge, his lips sliding into a smile. Man, that smile is hard to resist. “I can’t—I wish I could, but I have to recharge first.”

The sexy smolder immediately wilted into searing anger; his darkened gaze took on a whole different tone, and he jerked away from my touch. Instead of curving those talented fingers around my body again, he gripped my glass of scotch and tipped back a loud slug.

The sudden shift lacerated my already bruised ego. This wasn’t a life I chose for myself, and yet at every turn judgment slammed into me. Impatience and pain collided against my heart, but as always, I pushed my battered soul to the side. “Damien, this is part of the deal. Elementals can’t give me power—and luckily in return, I can’t take your life. You know that. Or would you prefer I never fuck another man again? Recede into nothing and allow my soul to fall away into a tortuous Hell?”

His jaw clenched, teeth grinding away at the top enamel. “Well, at least then you could be with your precious Drew.” His words were cold, and they speared me like an icy dart.

“Fuck you,” I spat. “And for your information, Drew’s not in Hell. He’s just not here.” My fingers twitched, and I resisted the urge to run my hand along the postcard Drew had sent me from Alaska months ago. I carried it as a constant reminder that he was out there. Somewhere.

I finished the rest of my drink with one swallow and slammed it down before pushing the stool back. His hands darted out, one grasping me behind the waist, the other behind the neck. His fingers laced into my hair, tugging it into a knot at my nape.

“Let me go, Damien.”

“Not a chance, angel.”

I gulped. “Don’t call me that.” I shuddered remembering the man who instituted that nickname long ago: Lord Buckley. He, along with a vampire named Dejan, had been responsible for my fall from angel to succubus.

There was a hurricane of emotions swirling in his eyes. “Dammit, woman. Do you know what you’re doing to me? I never used to give a shit about who my lovers were fucking in their off time, so long as they were safe. But you—you . . .” He hissed an exhale, sloping his lips over mine. His tongue stroked my own in soft, needy glides. Arousal flared in my body, and I hated myself for being so quick to respond.

“Damien,” I said against his lips. “Stop. This—us . . . we fight all the time,” I said on a moan as his lips trailed kisses down my neck, nipping my collarbone. “This is why I don’t do relationships. My lifestyle is not an easy one to accept. And I don’t blame you if you decide it’s too hard.”

“No,” he growled. “I’m not ready to give up yet.” His hand glided to my lower back and cupped my ass. “I’m sorry,” he added.

“Why don’t I finish up work tonight, then tomorrow we can pick up where we left off?” Our mouths met in unison and tongues twisted in an intensely emotional kiss that I felt in every area of my body. His erection was denim-clad steel pressed between my legs.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” He stood and tossed some bills onto the bar. With a wave at T and another smacking kiss on my lips, he slipped out the door.

The air in Damien’s absence was clearer and my lungs seemed to work easier without his looming gaze on me.

“Monica!” I recognized Lucien’s growl immediately. I’d already dismantled one bomb tonight—I wasn’t sure I had it in me to do another.

Like a rat running from a flood, T bolted to the other end of the bar. Lucien was the only man I’d ever seen T afraid of. He was our boss not only here at the club but in the Hell-realm, too.

“Tell your boyfriend that if he doesn’t back off, he won’t be allowed in here anymore.”

“Back off of what?”

A string of long, black hair escaped its ponytail and fell into Lucien’s equally dark eyes. “What the fuck do you think I mean? You.” He shoved it behind his ear, then slapped a palm down on the bar top. “He might as well lift a goddamn leg and piss all over you. No guy will dare buy a private dance if it comes with a risk of getting his ass kicked.”

“They might. The thrill-seeking sort . . .”

“You’re fucking hilarious.”

My eyebrow curved into an arch. “Jeez. What’s got you so grumpy?”

“I run this damn place on my own. I’m ArchDemon over the entire Southwest region. I’m investigating who the fuck is stupid enough to put a bounty on you. And on top of all that, I’m searching tirelessly for your missing human. The latter would be a lot easier if you would just tell us what you know about him.”

“I told you already—stop looking for him. He’ll come back if and when he wants to.” I slid a glance over my shoulder, scanning the crowd for Drew. I could have sworn that was him in the audience. Attention back on Lucien, I opened my mouth to mention my sighting. But as Lucien’s gaze narrowed, assessing my every move, I chickened out and instead grasped my glass, slugging the rest of my drink in one gulp.

“I would love to stop looking for him. He’s clearly no longer in Hell. I know enough people down there that I would have at least had confirmation of that by now. But no one will release the information about where he is or what he is doing. Not to mention that angel of his is pretty damn insistent. She finally caved and hired Kayce to find him.”

The bags under Lucien’s eyes were blue and heavy. His skin lacked its usual luster. He raked a hand down his face. Emotion knotted in my stomach. He was worried about Kayce. Of course.

“Lucien—”

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

“I didn’t even say anything yet!”

“I don’t care. Unless it’s about where Drew is, I don’t want to hear it.” His gaze slid over me, taking in everything from head to toe. “Where’s your gun? And the holy water mace I gave you?”

“Oh, um”—I looked down and put a hand to my pockets, something we both knew was bullshit since these jeans may as well have been painted directly on my body—“they’re back in my dressing room, I think.”

“Monica.” Lucien’s face dropped with his sigh, a defeated sound that made me instantaneously regret not being more cautious. “Do you know how expensive it is to get bullets blessed in holy water for a demon? You should at least keep the mace on you at all times.”

His full eyebrows creased in the center, and he glared at me with more sorrow than anger.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Shock registered on his face before his eyes dropped into a narrowed gaze. “You’re not disagreeing with me? Not taking the moment to fight me?” Like a dart to a bull’s-eye, his hand shot to my forehead. “You’re not sick, are you?” he asked with a smirk.

I slapped his hand away with a playful grin. In the 250 years since I had fallen from angel to succubus, there has been one consistent rock in my life: Lucien. He found me when I fell from being an angel. He guided me. Taught me the rules of being a succubus. And never once allowed himself to be relocated without bringing me with him. “I can admit when you’re right.” My smile slid wider. “It’s not my fault that it just doesn’t happen all that often.”

Hooking an elbow around my neck, Lucien pulled me in for a hug and pressed a kiss to my temple. His cheek rested on top of my head, and his breath was heavy, laden with stress.

“You know,” I said, “Kayce acts tough and all. And she in no way needs a man in her life. But that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t enjoy having one. . . .”

Lucien’s eyes slid to me, pupils dilated, and he pulled back from our embrace. “She said that?”

No. “Yes.” A pause swung between us like a noose. “Not in those exact words . . .”

He shoved off the bar to his feet. “Go make me some money, Monica. And if you decide to cut all of us a break, and want to tell me where Drew is, you know where I’ll be.” He stalked two steps before looking back over his shoulder. “For your sake, make tonight’s conquest someone good. I can tell you could use the energy.”

I caught my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. The draught menu and various specialty drinks were painted over the top, obscuring my reflection. My lack of energy radiated from every aspect of my features. The lower my powers, the more beautiful I became. Saetan’s own little insurance policy on us succubi. My skin shimmered like dew. My nails were long and glossy. Overall, it looked as though my body glowed; I was a lighthouse beckoning the strongest and most virile sailors. My body was compensating for what my soul lacked.

With a deep breath, I released my succubus pheromone into the club. It billowed out like cigarette smoke, swirling above the crowd. T rushed back to me, his eyes glossy. “Another one?” He shook my empty glass. The question was simple, but his lovesick gaze was not.

“No, thanks, T. Janelle seems to want something, though.” I inclined my chin in her direction. She glowered at him, and my scotch and my pheromones were quickly forgotten.

It didn’t take long for heads to turn in my direction. My scent was powerful to begin with—and the more a succubus needs energy, the more potent the scent.

“Excuse me,” a familiar voice rumbled beside me. “Are you available for a dance?”

The bar stool nearly tipped out from under me. “Drew?”

Confusion marred his rugged face. No—not Drew. His aura wasn’t right. But holy damn, did he look like him. Chiseled bones and a strong chin peppered with reddish-blond stubble. He even had a similar scar on his lip. Were dopplegängers possible? My hand twitched to reach out and feel him.

“No,” he said. “I’m Ryan.”

I nodded, my pulse slowing to its normal rate. He wasn’t my Drew. His soul wasn’t perfect . . . not Heaven-bound. He was the ideal candidate for a one-night stand. Slowly, carefully, I extended a hand, curling it into his and lacing our fingers. His hands were softer than Drew’s, not so calloused. My eyes fluttered shut and I inhaled, lost in memories of Drew on top of me, his face between my legs, palm against my trembling breast.

“Um, are you okay?”

Arousal pulsed between us, and I raised my eyes to his emerald green irises again. “More than. You sure you’re ready for me?” I pressed a hand to his chest and slid it down to taut abs.

“Oh, yeah.” He grinned. One dimple creased at the corner of his mouth.

I searched the room for Lenny, the horrid manager Lucien had hired to run this pit.

He caught my eyes, and I gestured to Ryan. Like the little weasel he was, he scurried over to us, his obnoxious clipboard clutched tightly in his clawlike hands. Beady black eyes and an awful comb-over made up most of Lenny’s appearance. Other than that, he bought button-down shirts two sizes too small, and his belly always spilled over the top of a pleather belt. I’d seen more style waiting in line at McDonald’s.

Ryan held my gaze, full lips slipping into a soft grin. His eyes slid down my body like a gentle kiss. Goose bumps rose, nipples hardened, and my breasts were heavy with need. He hadn’t even laid a hand on me yet and I was squirming to slide on top of the man. He was a darker souled Drew. Hell-bound and deadlier.

“It’ll be four hundred fifty—and that doesn’t include a tip for the lady.” Lenny’s nasal voice broke the moment, pulling me back to the present.

From his back pocket, Ryan opened an expensive-looking leather wallet and pulled out a fistful of cash. He held it out for Lenny, still not tearing his eyes away from me. “Not to worry,” he said, his green eyes twinkling, “I’ll take good care of the lady, too.”

Everything inside me clenched. Leaning into his chest, I ran both palms down his arms and grasped his hands. With a tug, I directed him to one of the private rooms in the back. For one of the first times working here at the club, I was nervous. Guilt gnawed deep in my belly. This is a job. He is a necessity to keep on living.

The wooden legs of the chair scraped across the floor as I placed it in the center of the private room. His saunter was slow, with one hand tucked into his front pocket. The other brushed along his top lip. He flicked a glance at the chair. “I’d rather stand, if that’s all right with you.”

“Sure. Of course.” In all my years dancing, I’d never once had a client want to stand during my dance. With a little remote, I set the music low, the vibrations pulsing through my body. He closed in, backing me against the wall. What was that smell? His scent was so familiar.

His breath was hot, and the itch for his life force flared inside of me. Between my legs the ache was so agonizing, I didn’t know if I could make it through an entire dance.

“Let me help you,” he rasped, curling his fingers under my still-damp shirt and lifting it above my head. Blood rushed behind my eyes, roaring in my head. “In fact”—his fingers skimmed the curve of where waist meets hip, and he popped the button on my jeans—“what are the chances we can skip the dance?”

The breath hitched in my throat—why did this guy affect me so? Sure, he looked like Drew, but I was supposed to cloud his thoughts, not the other way around. He tilted his lips, covering my mouth in a scorching kiss that resonated between my legs.

I slid my palms under his jacket, and impressive shoulders clenched under my touch. The jacket fell to the floor, and I popped his shirt buttons open, one by one. A silver cross gleamed around his neck. I immediately withdrew, snapping my hands back to my sides.

“What’s the matter?” Despite the question, something knowing gleamed in his eyes, and I narrowed mine to slits.

“Nothing.” I went back to undoing buttons, careful not to touch the cross, and he shuffled his arms out of the shirt. His chest and abs were marble—pure chiseled rock.

His thumbs hooked into my jeans and I shimmied out of them. One hand cupped my sex through my damp panties, and his thumb pressed into my clit. With flattened palms shoved against the wall behind me, my trembling knees gave out and I fell back, allowing the wall to absorb my weight.

His chuckle was a practiced lullaby, and he caught me around the waist. “Easy, there.” Sure, easy for him to say. Two muscled thighs flanked either side of me like two columns. The cross around his neck winked at me in the soft lighting, and a lump lodged in my throat.

“Could you take off your necklace?” The interruption was an odd one, sure. But I doubted I could enjoy myself knowing at any moment the holy relic could scald my skin. Branding me as Hellspawn.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Why?”

I sidled closer, my ache deepening with each passing second. “I just . . . prefer not to have a constant religious reminder for the duration of our time together.”

He didn’t respond right away. His face was masked with stern lines and a gritted jaw. “What if I don’t want to take it off?”

I snapped my eyes back to his. Why wouldn’t he want to remove a cross? Unless he knew . . .

The pregnant pause was unnerving. From just outside the door, the bass thumped under a low hum of chatter and laughter.

“Or,” he continued, “I suppose I could just get a refund.” He peeled away, and the absence of his touch flamed on my skin.

“No.” I loathed that the word escaped my mouth as almost a whimper. I clamped his hand tighter in my fist and tugged him toward me once more. “It’s fine.”

Fire danced in his eyes. I shivered, not quite understanding what this raw and exposed feeling was about. He made me feel—alive. Desired. Grasping at my hips, Ryan spun me and nudged my body onto the sofa that flanked the corner. The leather whined, cradling my weight.

I stole a peek over my shoulder just as his pants dropped, and my mouth dried at the sight of his long, hard dick. Arousal was thick . . .