Dark Embrace (Principatus) Read online

  Dedication

  For my sister-in-law, Karen. For being the sister I always longed for, the friend I can always turn to and the woman who makes my brother smile.

  “A Principatus is an Agent of the Order. A hunter—of sorts—controlled by the Powers, who gets to kick the shit out of…how should I put this…otherworldly scum who step out of line.”—Death, aka, the Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse.

  Prologue

  Sydney, Australia, twenty years ago

  The sex demon walked along the quiet corridor of Bondi High School, her highly tuned senses seeking her target. She shook her head, and the long tumble of her dark brown hair tickled her neck and jaw line. “This is no place for a succubus,” she grumbled under her breath, the words sounding like a shot in the silent hallway.

  Not for the first time since receiving her target from the entirely too gross First Horseman of the Apocalypse, she swallowed a lump of distaste in her throat. Three hundred years of draining human males of their sexual energy, fucking them within an inch of their lives, and here she was hunting down a kid on the cusp of manhood with direct orders to drain him to death.

  She didn’t like it.

  Since when do you have a conscience, demon? Don’t tell me you’re losing your taste for it.

  The little whisper in her head made the succubus scowl, and she quickened her pace. She didn’t want to listen to that little voice. That little voice had no right being in her head.

  A soft, tinkling, painfully familiar laugh followed, and she curled her fingers into fists. Curse it, she did not need this right now. She had a job to do. Find. Fuck. Kill. Simple.

  But a boy? Barely eighteen? Really? Is this what you’ve become? A killer of children?

  This time the voice was her own, and she shook her head again, turning a corner as she tried to squelch the uncomfortable tension in her belly. This is what she got for playing poker with the scum of the lower levels of Daemonium. Lose a freakin’ hand in a high-stakes round, and she was stuck doing the dirty work for one of the Horsemen. She’d had four aces. Four aces. Who would have thought the bastard had a royal flush?

  Four aces? How could he have a royal flush if you had four aces?

  Realization smacked into her like a hot fist, forcing the breath from her in a sharp, disgusted grunt. Pestilence had cheated. She bit back a muttered curse. How could she be so stupid?

  She chewed on her bottom lip, considering returning to the Realm and telling the Horseman to stick his order in his ear.

  Not a wise thing to do if one wants to keep existing, is it now?

  No, it wasn’t. Pestilence may be all charm and roguish charisma, but he would garrote, disembowel and decapitate anyone who offended or slighted him in anyway. All at once. While keeping them alive as he did so. And then he’d get really nasty. Next time she wanted to gamble, she’d do what she normally did and hit the human casinos. At least the crooks there couldn’t order her about, not if they wanted to keep their genitals intact, that was.

  Lifting her chin a little, she pulled in a quick breath, tasting the air for her target. The corridor hung heavy with the residue of teenagers in summer—sweat, dirt, cotton, cheap aerosol deodorant, just as cheap make-up. The odors threaded through each other, ribbons of scents and smells weaving together to become one. If she concentrated, she could distinguish each individual scent, separate the origin based on gender and narrow in on the sexually strongest male in the building. From there, she would mark him as her feed and return to him that night in his dreams to take her fill of him. A typical selection process she enjoyed immensely. Today however, she was under different instructions—find the boy and fuck him to death.

  And you’re really going to do that? The annoying voice whispered in her head again. Really? Don’t you think it’s…wrong?

  She scowled, ignoring all the other scents as she detected a hint of the one she was after. She did think it was wrong. But she was just a succubus. When it came to the grand scheme of demonic hierarchy, the First Horseman of the Apocalypse pretty much had her beat. Unless she wanted to end up decaying in the bottom pits of the Realm, the unearthly network of dimensions all demons called home, she would do what Pestilence ordered. Find the boy and fuck him to death.

  You’ll hate yourself afterwards.

  The sex demon drove her long, manicured nails into her palms and curled her lip, wishing the voice in her head would just go away already. “Shut up.”

  Silence answered her, and she let out a ragged sigh. She didn’t like the situation she was in. Not one little bit.

  Continuing along the corridor, she tuned out anybody with a double X chromosome, focusing her senses on the many teenage boys around her. All of them oozed raging sexual energy, their pubescent hormones devouring what was left of their pre-teen innocence. For a teenage boy, little else mattered except sex. It was hardwired into their genes, and more than one succubus she knew feasted deeply and often on their rampant sexual needs. She however, was not such a demon, despite the delicious ferocity of a teenager’s sexual energy. In her opinion it was wrong somehow. Of course, that rather vague argument hadn’t dissuaded the First Horseman from sending her here, had it?

  An itch tickled the back of her neck, urgent and hot, and she quickened her step. She was close. Her target wasn’t just nearby—he’d walked this very corridor not long ago.

  Following the distinctly male scent, she found herself in a doorway, staring out at a large, tree-lined oval of grass. The baking mid-summer sun streamed down on her from its zenith, heating her bare limbs and face. She lifted her hand to shade her eyes and studied a group of rowdy boys dressed in blue and red chasing a round white ball around on the grass.

  “Montgomery, get back in line!” a man with a paunch and receding hairline shouted from under a tree, waving a clipboard at one particularly lanky youth. “You’re playing soccer, not rugby.”

  “Not my fault, sir,” Montgomery called back with a grin, his strawberry-blond hair flopping into brilliant blue eyes. “Wato shoved me off-side.”

  “Bullshit, I did!” a tall, lankier boy laughed back, broad shoulders hinting at the strength of the man he would become. “Carrot can’t play soccer for shit, sir.”

  “Cut the language, Patrick Watkins,” the man with the gut and clipboard—obviously the boys’ teacher—called back, “or you’ll be picking the gum from under the desks in all of the science…”

  The rest of what the teacher threatened faded away, unimportant. The sex demon locked her stare on the young boy with the broad shoulders, her heartbeat tripling. Her mouth went dry. Patrick Watkins. She’d found her target. The one Pestilence had sent her to destroy.

  No. This can’t be right.

  Her throat clicked as she swallowed, and she was unable to tear her stare from the teenage boy.

  He is…

  He can’t be? How could such a being exist? And here? In Sydney?

  She shook her head, every molecule in her being, every nerve ending of her existence thrumming. She could not kill this boy. She could not fuck this boy. Even if he were a man, even if she were on the verge of death herself, she could not take this boy. She would not take this boy. She’d never known of a human to be so…

  He is…

  The succubus shook her head again, awe and disbelief prickling the back of her neck. No, whatever punishment the First Horseman meted out on her, she would not kill this boy. He was as pure as the Holiest of Holies. He was as innocent, maybe more so. She gazed at him, her heartbeat wild. He defied description and made her core—that ravenous sexual center—ache. It was as if he was born of the Highest of Powers, God Himself.

  She took a step backward. She would not kill him. What happened to
her didn’t matter. Pestilence could just go take a jump. She’d accept whatever punishment he brought down upon her, willingly. She would bear it all because she would not—

  A sudden heat erupted in the sex demon’s chest. Blistering hot, it spread into the core of her being like a tsunami of golden fire.

  A shocked gasp burst from her lips, and she staggered back another step. By the Dark Ones, what was going on?

  Unable to move, she stared out at the boys running and laughing in the bright summer sun. The fire in her body surged through her existence, rolling through her like a wave of light. What was happening?

  Her pulse pounded in her neck, her skin tingled, her sex—the weapon she’d used her entire three hundred years—throbbed.

  What was happening to her? What was—

  She sucked in a breath, another, another, each one growing more ragged than its predecessor. The pure heat born in her chest spread farther. Consuming her, filling her, claiming her.

  Changing her.

  It threaded into the succubus she was, its heat growing more potent. More compelling. It threaded through her demon core. Overpowering it. Devouring it. Changing it.

  Changing…

  Changing…

  She stared at the young boy with the broad shoulders, the boy almost a man. Felt his pure soul call to the world. Felt it call to her. Call to her—

  A silent cry tore from the sex demon’s throat, and she pressed her hand to her lips, her eyes wide.

  By God, she had a soul. A soul.

  She stared at the laughing boy running in the sun.

  How can I have a soul? It isn’t possible. How can a sex demon have a soul?

  She gasped, hot tears stinging her eyes. Impossible or not, she had a soul. She could feel it. Feel its mighty pull, its undeniable purpose. Tears squeezed from her eyes, and she pressed her fingers harder to her mouth. She had no idea how or why, but she was no longer succubi. The hunger, the insatiable, demonic craving for sex no longer knotted in the pit of her existence. It no longer dominated her every thought. She was no longer succubi. She was…was—

  Principatus.

  The word flooded her mind, her existence, in a voice of infinite time and presence, and suddenly she understood it all.

  And she dropped to her knees and wept for joy.

  Chapter One

  Today

  A prickling sensation itched the back of Inari Chayse’s neck. Something was watching her. She spun, staring hard at the people moving over the busy Kings Cross sidewalk. Tourists entranced by the gaudy beauty and bright lights of Sydney’s most debauched suburb weaved in and out of impatient locals for whom the lights were nothing more than a way to illuminate the crowded sidewalk. None paid Inari any attention. Well, apart from a few appreciative glances from more than one man, but those she expected. It came with the succubus genes. But the prickling sensation on the back of her neck, like a thousand fire ants nipping at her flesh, only happened when a non-human was about—an early warning system courtesy of her Principatus soul.

  She scanned the ebb and flow of pedestrians around her. Nothing.

  Facing forward again, she continued through the crowd, refocusing her senses on the vampire she’d tracked for the past fifteen minutes. He’d been feeding on tourists for over a week now, picking off easy targets like backpackers and party-goers too drunk and unfamiliar with the suburb to realize they’d wandered from the busy main thoroughfares into the quiet, dimly lit backstreets. The trail of drained bodies he’d left in the alleys and gutters after sunset sickened her, and she’d had him on her target list long before the Powers sent her the command to deal with him. Tonight, his feeding frenzy would come to an end.

  Quickening her pace, she pushed through the crowd. It had been too long since she’d had some action. The paranormal population in Sydney had been behaving itself of late, which meant she’d been bored. Restless.

  Is that the only reason, Inari? Or does it have something to do with the fact you haven’t had sex in twenty years?

  Inari ground her teeth, the blunt thought unsettling. When the Powers kept her busy, she didn’t have time to think about her self-imposed lack of a sex life. Killing this bloodsucker tonight would take some of the edge off.

  And then what? What do you do if you aren’t given any orders for another six months? There are only so many times you can masturbate before you have to do something about the situation. For God’s sake, you’re an ex-succubus who dreams about having sex with a master vampire you’ve never met. Killing this bloodsucker is all well and good, but why are you dreaming about sex with another one?

  She grunted at the humiliating thought. She didn’t want to think about her dreams now. They were too disturbing. It was as if with every second she denied herself sex her body demanded it more. With every night that passed without sexual release, the succubus she once was edged closer to physical control of her body and soul.

  Once was? Or still am?

  A dry snort sounded at the back of her nose. If only she knew she could have sex without the risk of draining her partner. She’d queried the Powers since her rebirth, but of course they’d yet to answer her.

  She shook her head and lengthened her stride. What she had to do was quit the self-pity and deal with it. Plenty of people existed without sex—nuns, priests, eunuchs… She needed to get over it, tell her body to shut the fuck up, ignore the ache in the pit of her belly and concentrate on what she’d been reborn to do—kill monsters.

  Zeroing her senses in on the tourist-snacking vampire—one such monster overdue to be terminated—she smiled. He’d walked this very sidewalk only a few minutes earlier. His filth still hung on the air, his soulless rot like a slick film of decay coating every breath she drew into her being. She was close. Very close.

  Pumping her fingers into loose fists, she turned a corner, the flashing lights and sounds of Kings Cross fading behind her. She moved quickly, almost running down the dim street, past silent houses and closed shops. Her Principatus force stirred within, eager for release, the putrid scent of the vampire feeding it. Her skin tingled and her muscles burned, but she squashed the transformation before it took hold of her. The last thing she needed was some unsuspecting human stumbling upon her in her other form. To put it mildly, it would scare the hell out of them. Besides, she’d only just bought the leather pants she currently wore. She really wasn’t ready to have them stretched beyond repair, thank you very much. Nor did she want the classic Iron Man T-shirt hugging her torso torn as her wings burst from her—

  A muffled cry halted that line of thought, and Inari stiffened, her skin prickling with increasing heat. Curse it. The bastard had someone.

  Hurry.

  The vampire’s scent flooded into her soul and she broke into a sprint. Another cry fell in the quiet night, this one not so muffled but far weaker. Whoever the bloodsucker was feeding on, they were running out of time.

  Hurry. Now.

  Rounding the corner, she pushed herself faster, past the sleeping houses, the empty cars, her pulse pounding in her ears, her senses locked on the vamp.

  She finally saw him.

  He had a man pressed to the front fender of an RV, one hand gripping the squirming human’s groin, the other fisted in his dreadlocked hair, holding his head back so his neck bowed in a violent curve, granting greater access to the blood-rich jugular beneath his exposed skin. Inari absorbed the sight in a heartbeat, noting the stunned disbelief on the man’s face, his flailing arms, the blood trickling down his throat like a line of liquid life turned black by the darkness of the street.

  She bit back a savage snarl and threw herself forward.

  Her shoulder hit the vampire hard, slamming into the side of his head. Hot blood splattered Inari’s arm as the impact yanked the bloodsucker’s fangs from the man’s throat. A gurgling scream ripped through the air, but she kept her focus on her target. Vampires never died easily. They were always too stupid to accept their fate.

  This one, it see
med, was particularly dumb.

  He fought against her, smashing a fist into her jaw even as they hit the asphalt in front of the car. Black stars erupted in her head, but she ignored the pain, springing to her feet before he could land another blow. He jack-knifed himself up off the road, fangs bared, chin and lips glistening with blood, demonic stare locked on her face. “Gonna fuck you—”

  Inari snapped out a swift sidekick before he could finish, aiming her booted heel for his unbeating heart.

  The vampire jerked to the right, blocking her kick, his arm swinging in a dark blur to strike her ankle with a crunching blow. White pain shot up her leg, but Inari didn’t falter. She spun into a back kick, driving her heel high against his chest. He flailed backward, face distorting in stunned fury.

  And turned and fled down the street.

  “At least he’s smart enough to know he should run away,” she muttered, fixing his back with a level stare. She flicked the human crumpled on the sidewalk a quick look, grim relief filling her at the sight of his moving chest. She’d reached him just in time. Now to end the vampire’s existence.

  She took off after the escaping vamp, her own speed matching his. Which meant she’d hurt him when she’d crash-tackled him to the road. Unless she transformed into her Principatus form, she couldn’t outrun a vamp. No matter how many hours she spent working out at the gym.

  Focus locked on the sprinting—albeit, sprinting with a limp—vampire, she pushed more power into her legs, letting the force of her assassin’s soul seep into her muscles. Blistering heat surged through her, scalding the walls of her veins, scorching the cells of her body. And still she ran faster, holding back the Principatus buried within her even as she leached its power, drawing closer to the fleeing vampire. Closer.

  She leapt without a sound, landing on his back and driving him to the ground a second before he could cut right and disappear into a narrow, unlit alley.

  He hissed, but the furious sound was cut short as she snatched a fistful of his hair and smashed his face against the sidewalk. Again and again. He flailed beneath her, scrabbling at her wrists, his fingers turning into claw-tipped talons with every swipe. She snarled, ducking each one. Curse it, if she wasn’t careful he’d rip her T-shirt.