Page 1 of Paramour of Sin
Chapter One
Gwen
Twenty-One Years Later
A successful date.
Followed by uneventful sex.
But at least I was fed.
I pursed my lips as Ty—no, wait,Trevor. Or something with a T, anyway—left in a satisfied daze. He even waved at Gleason as they passed each other outside, the former not at all concerned by the fact that another male strolled up the driveway with the clear intent of coming inside.
Men were so easy.
Women tended to be a bit more aware, even in a post-orgasmic state.
I shrugged and turned away, leaving the door open for my Nephilim roommate. We’d become friends shortly after Eve’s disappearance when he’d showed up looking for her. I’d forgotten to tell him about her extended stay in the Heavens. After a long chat, we’d become somewhat friends. And over the last decade, roommates.
An odd development considering he was part of a group of a militant Nephilim who policed Earth and ensured demons stayed in line.
Demons like me who had a penchant for killing humans.
Except I at least felt bad about that and tried to fix it.
Not all demons could say the same.
“Another breathing conquest,” Gleason said by way of greeting. “Nicely done, Gwen.”
I smiled. “Why thank you, Sir Gleason. I don’t know where I would be without your approval.”
“Dead,” he replied as he deftly twirled a silver blade between his fingers. It was real silver, too. I could feel the burn of it from here. Demons had eradicated the substance from the human realm eons ago, having replaced it with element 47—a revised version that was significantly less harmful to demonic kind. Then they’d deployed a bunch of Scrubber demons to alter human perceptions, thereby erasing all proof of the precious metal.
But Gleason knew how to create it thanks to his penchant for science. It was how I’d met him through Eve; he’d been her primary weapons supplier before she’d flown off to the Heavens.
He taunted me with it now, whirling that blade precariously through his fingers, proving he not only knew how to manufacture the metal, but how to use it, too.
I rolled my eyes. “You stopped scaring me a decade ago.”
“I know, and I’m still frustrated by that.”
“I bet,” I replied, heading into the kitchen for a much needed drink. My silk robe whispered around my thighs as I reached up into the cabinet for a glass. This new house of ours had the highest cabinets imaginable, making it difficult for my five-foot-four form.
Gleason reached over me, his sandalwood scent a welcome taunt to my senses. He handed me a pair of glasses, then stalked over to the pantry for a fresh bottle of Merlot. I hopped up onto the counter and watched as he expertly uncorked the wine.
“If I wasn’t afraid of killing you, I’d kiss you,” I informed him.
Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. “Don’t flirt with me.”
“I’m a succubus. It’s kind of what I do.”
“Very aware,” he muttered, but I caught the slight tilt of his lips. He rarely smiled. It seemed to be a Nephilim requirement to not show amusement. Because most of his friends I’d met acted the same way around me. Except for his protégé Creek. He liked me. But the others, not so much.
Probably a result of my demon heritage.
And the fact that fucking me might earn them a death sentence.
Details.
