Hypersexual beings with insatiable appetites, incubi radiated a preternatural allure that enchanted humans and demons alike. That allure drew their “prey” closer. It assailed their bodies with molten lust, muddied their thoughts, and subtly lifted their inhibitions.
She’d always been resistant to preternatural allure, so his mojo didn’t work on her. But that wasn’t to say that he didn’t make all her feminine parts do a mighty cheer. Everything about him was inviting—his perfectly symmetrical face, his carnal mouth, and his short blond hair that glistened like flecks of gold. His smooth, sleepy, post-orgasm voice felt like fingertips teasingly trailing over her skin.
His crooked, boyish “you can trust me” smile could loosen any girl’s panty-elastic, but it didn’t give him an approachable vibe. Not when he had “bad boy” stamped all over him. Yeah, Keenan was by no means harmless. He was a cunning, ruthless, cynical motherfucker who had an incredibly short fuse.
He was also packing some serious heat in his jeans. She’d gotten a glimpse of his disproportionately large Johnson during one of her drunken mishaps.
She wanted to dislike him. Wanted to dislike that cocky “I know who I am and where I fit in the world” swagger. Wanted to find that blatant danger he oozed a complete turn-off. Wanted to be immune to the alpha-male confidence that seemed ingrained in his very being.
There was no such luck, apparently.
Her demon liked him. Liked that he was a guy who never gave ground, never sought anyone’s approval, or ever showed weakness—that kind of strength and personal power was an aphrodisiac for her demon. It wanted to get all up in his business.
Every breed of demon had a dualism to the soul. There was nothing easy about sharing your soul with a psychopathic predator that felt no empathy, remorse, guilt, or love. Especially when said predator could take control of your body whenever it pleased, making your eyes bleed to black. Thankfully, for the most part, Khloé was pretty in sync with her demon.
Feeling the weight of Keenan’s gaze, she flicked him a haughty look that made his eyes blaze. Ha. She did like to prick at that volatile temper of his. Well, if she couldn’t fuck him, she could certainly fuck with him.
“Oh yeah, Keenan’s throwing you glowers from hell, all right,” said Devon, gathering her long, ultraviolet curls in one hand so she could fan her nape.
“In my humble opinion, Khlo,” Raini began, “the dude likes you. And I mean, likes you likes you. But I don’t think he likes that he likes you likes you. And I don’t like that he doesn’t like that he likes you likes you.”
Devon raised her glass to Raini. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”
“Seriously, what do you think his deal is?” asked Raini. “It’d better not be that he looks down on your family, Khloé.”
“He wouldn’t be the only one,” Khloé pointed out. Her family was notorious for being what her grandmother and Prime, Jolene, liked to call “multi-talented.” Which, roughly translated, meant they were masters at all kinds of illegal shit—particularly forgery, embezzlement, and hacking into bank accounts. And they were utterly unashamed about it.
“I don’t think it’s that,” said Harper. “I mean, I was a Wallis before I mated Knox. Keenan never made any shitty remarks about our family to me.”
“Doesn’t matter either way,” said Khloé. He might be a decadent, drool-worthy enticement, but … “I already have one alcoholic in my life—I don’t need another.”
Demons were predisposed to developing addictions, so Khloé knew plenty of compulsive gamblers, drug addicts, adrenaline junkies, and alcoholics. Sadly, her mother was one of the latter.
Penelope drank to cope, to destress, to relax, to sleep, to calm down, to perk up, to pretty much anything. She hadn’t always been that way. It wasn’t until Khloé and her twin brother, Ciaran, were teenagers that it all went to shit.
Harper nudged her with her elbow. “Knox says he’s sure that Keenan could easily give up drinking if he really wanted.”
Khloé sighed. “Yeah, yeah, so you’ve said before. But no one carries around a flask of vodka if they’re not dependent on alcohol, so I ain’t buying his denials. I will, however, buy us shots. Seriously, we need shots. I’ll go get—Oh, I love this song! Girls, this is our jam! We gotta dance.”
“Not on the table, Khloé, not on the table!”
*
“You’re sure you don’t want to hear what Thea has to say?” Knox asked Keenan, watching him with that piercing gaze. “Not that I believe you should. I was glad when you cut all ties with her, you know that. She’s not a bad person, but she’s never been a healthy presence in your life. I just want to be sure that you won’t second-guess your decision later. I don’t want this playing on your conscience.”
Keenan almost snorted. “My conscience isn’t that well developed,” he pointed out. “I don’t know why she’d suddenly reach out to me via you, and I can honestly say I’m not the least bit curious about it. That won’t change. She’s walked in and out of my life too many times, always giving me the same spiel, never meaning a fucking word of it. I’m done listening to it. I told her that the last time she came knocking at my door.” That had been six years ago, and the memory made his demon clench its fists.