A powerful djinni, enslaved to her lamp. An undead thief, bound to a cruel demon's whim. A passion that will outlast death itself... A dark, delicious urban fantasy romance from the author of Shadowfae.
Jewel is a djinni of the lamp, an enchanted slave, bound to her owner by dark magical cravings she can't resist. She burns for freedom, and when her lamp is stolen—by Tam, a hot and dirty bad-boy thief—she vows to be rid of her new master at any cost. Even as she plots Tam's demise, the lamp's dark fascination makes her long to claim him as her own.
But the last thing Tam wants is a spellbound djinni who can't say 'no'. Cursed by a demon to suffer living death, he's tormented by undead longing for pain, pleasure, any sensation he can get. To have this exquisite, besotted Jewel at his bidding is pure torture... because Tam refuses to succumb to her magical allure.
Not when he knows she can't truly be attracted to an ever-dying freak. And not when he’s already on a mission from his cruel demon master: capture and deliver one djinni...
Warning: this novel contains a feisty magical heroine, a besotted fairy best friend and the hottest wise-ass dead-guy hero in town.
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Except 1: Chapter 1
The worst thing about being dead? Low blood pressure. Getting a hard-on is just about impossible.
But I've sure as hell got one now. Squeezing a smug murdering asshole's throat between my thighs does it for me every time. I jam my pistol harder into his forehead, banging his blond head into the metal floor, and I can't deny that adds a certain something, too.
Spit leaks in my mouth, thick and tasty, and I savor it. He can't move his arms, and his cool sweat soaks into my jeans. Bitch of a chafe there tonight. I remember to breathe, and the warm nightclub air tastes good, gritty with smoke and fear. "Tell me what you did wrong, bug guts."
My friend Gavain giggles. He's still lounging in the corner, shirt off, dark hair in tangles, blood-tinged fae sweat glistening on muscles stretched tight like wire. Gavain thinks all kinds of weird shit is funny. That's why he helped me lure this dog to his death. But I don't want to think about Gavain right now. I'm having too much fun.
The gangster grits broken teeth, his hair plastering in splashes of his own blood. "Don't know what you're on about."
Bzzt! Wrong answer. First rule of dealing with a reanimated psycho bent on revenge: tell him what he wants to hear.
I squeeze tighter, lean closer. My oily breath wets his face. "You killed me, motherfucker. You blew my goddamn brains out in front of my little girl. I'm still picking out bone splinters. Ringing any bells?"
Vertebrae pop as I twist my neck to show him the hole, black and sticky with rot beneath my long hair. I was going for a haircut that day, too, before the ambush. If they'd waited half an hour, kids would be running from me in the street. As it is, I can pass for living, just, so long as no one gets too close.
He chokes, either the smell or the pressure, and struggles, bare skin sticking on the metal floor. But he can't shift me. Not with the added weight of anticipation. I've waited a long time for this.
"Jesus, Tam, Joey pulled the goddamn trigger, you know that, I never knew he was gonna—"
"Do I look like I give a shit?" My finger jerks tighter on the trigger, and my teeth clamp together, gums crunching. Joey DiLuca's already top of my face-down-in-a-garbage-skip list. This asshole was just easier to catch. Fury dizzies me, and now my dick's so hard, it hurts. "Blood on my little girl's dress. Bits of my brains in her hair, you shit-eating little worm."
I'm trying to be cool and bad-ass, but my vision smears, black blood staining my tears.
Dying's nothing like they say. I remember everything, and I didn't see white light, or my grandmother strumming a harp, or any shit like that. Everything just stops, like you've pulled the plug on a movie projector. Hell's nothing like people say, either, except for one thing: it's full of snot-faced bureaucrats. Deals with demons take time, and I slammed back into my body too late. My daughter's corpse, flowering scarlet in her dead mother's arms, her murderers long gone. I hadn't spoken to my ex for eighteen months, and I wasn't allowed to see Katie, but it didn't mean she wasn't my sunshine.
My enemies kidnapped her to get to me, and when they had me, they killed her anyway, just for spite. She died because I was too slow. I can't bring her back. But I'll make this slick pretty-boy gangbanger regret ever laying his sleazy hands on her.
His chest heaves under my ass as he struggles to breathe. "Jesus, don't shoot. Crazy motherfucker, get off me—"
"Shut the fuck up." I drag his head back, and my fingers smear his hair. His wet blue eyes lock with mine. He sees his death, and pisses himself. I breathe again, and the warm salt tweaks my sluggish sense of smell. Jesus. The stink feels so good, a shudder rips through me, my balls tight and burning. Sensation plays hard to get when you're dead. If I come when I shoot him, I'm not responsible.
Mouth or jugular? I tap my pistol against his teeth, but he squirms and squeezes his lips shut. I trace the barrel down to his throat, where his pulse flutters, and shove it in tight. "See you in hell."
And that's when she walks in, and everything turns to shit.
Except 2:
In seconds, I crystallized. My bare feet hit carpet that was streaked with dim moonlight. Dusty grey curtains swelled with warm breeze. The place smelled of blood, sticky and salt-drenched. I couldn't see anyone.
My skin prickled. I'd expected bright lights, laughter, gloating, that kind of thing. Usually people giggle and caper about like fools when I appear, before they find out about the moon and the french fries.
But this time I'd appeared in dim silence, alone.
My eyes adjusted, and the shadow of a bed emerged. I wasn't alone after all. A man, naked, fit and golden-skinned. His dark hair was a tangled mess. Curling thorns were inked up his arm and over his shoulder. He stirred, lifting his face from the pillow, fighting long black strands away before he even opened his eyes.
Recognition speared under my skin like a needle, and I groaned, disbelief mingling with irony. They had to be kidding me. Owned by a crazy vengeance-obsessed corpse?
My thoughts twirled in crazy circles. How did he get my lamp? And how did he know my name? They needed my name to own me. I hadn't told him. Hadn't said a word . . .
Except in my dream.
But that was crazy. How the hell could a dead guy eavesdrop on my dreams?
Someone had cornered him since we'd met at the club, by the looks of the spidery red bruise across his kidneys and the dark blood leaking from his nose onto the sheet. Still, he looked great naked. Lean tight legs, smooth back, cute butt. Not that I noticed.
Inwardly, I sighed. This is what happens, see. They claim me, the magic switches on, and poof! I'm all romantic and girly for a while.
I'd get over it.
I kicked the bedframe to rattle it. "Wake up, genius. Where's my lamp?"
He jerked fully awake, scrambling to turn over and crawl away from me at the same time. His dark eyes fixed on me, and widened. "Jesus, you're really . . . what the fuck are you doing here?"
Okay. Yeah. He looked even better from the front. That soaping I imagined before? All done, his skin clean and glistening with just a hint of mysterious darkness to keep you interested. He had a nasty gash on one hip, but who cares? I couldn't help letting my gaze slip a bit lower. Very nice.
He didn't seem to mind being naked in front of a suddenly-appearing woman, either. Maybe he liked guys. Damn. I wouldn't even be able to seduce him into letting me go. What I'd give for a glimmer of persuasion right now. I couldn't, not of my own accord. My power wasn't mine to play with anymore.
I tried it, just in case. Reached for my magic, a shimmer of seduction or a trick. Nothing.
Damn it. I scowled, in case he saw me staring. "Don't play dumb. You called my name, remember?"
He halted, leaning back on his elbows, staring at me with a crease in his forehead like I had three noses or something. "What are you on about, lady?"
I rolled my eyes. "Come on, already. Brass lamp, long neck, about this big?" I held up my hands a foot apart. "Sound familiar?"
He stared, and swallowed, his throat jerking. "You're kidding."
"You're telling me. Look, just hand it over, release me and I'm gone, okay? No harm done."
He sat up, dragging that gorgeous black hair into a twist and draping it over his shoulder out of the way. "Look, lady—"
"It's Jewel. You know that. Enough with the ladies, it doesn't fool me." I wanted to look at him, to watch him move, and it made me mad. He was trouble, pure and painful, I didn't care how bad and dangerous and downright tasty he was.
"Jewel, then. Whatever. I don't believe you, all right? Kane sent you to screw with my mind. Or you're just some crazywoman stalking me, or something. Either way, you can get out of my house right now."
Nah, nah. He didn't say the magic words. If they don't say my name, I don't have to. "I can't do that. Not without my lamp."
He lifted his hands, a mocking shrug. "Fine. Stay here. Just shut up and let me sleep." And he grabbed the sheet and made to roll himself back into it.
I tugged it away. "Ask me for french fries."
He laughed. "What?"
"Ask me. Say, 'Jewel, go get me some french fries'."
He shook his head, a tolerant smile. "If I say it, will you get the hell out of my bedroom?"
"Sure will." I just hoped something was still open around here. I couldn't charm french fries from the air any more than I could charm anything else. Sure, I can turn iron into gold or make things disappear, but that's not the same as creating something out of nothing. That can't be done, at least not by me. The only way I can get something new is to take it away from someone else. Like I said, I'm a collector, a fetcher of baubles. I swap things. That's all.
"Great. Now we're getting somewhere." He jammed the pillow against his curled arm and flopped down onto it. "Jewel, darling, if you're not busy and it isn't too much of a hassle, can you please leave me the hell alone for a few seconds and go find us some french fries?"
God, what a sweetie. I only wished I could stay to watch his face when he saw what happened next.
About the Author:
Erica Hayes was a law student, an air force officer, an editorial assistant and a musician, before finally landing her dream job: fantasy and romance writer.
She writes dark paranormal and urban fantasy romance, and her books feature tough, smart heroines and colourful heroes with dark secrets.
She hails from Australia, where she drifts from city to city, leaving a trail of chaos behind her. Currently, she's terrorizing the wilds of Northumberland.
Website: www.ericahayes.net
Twitter: www.twitter.com/ericahayes
Facebook: www.facebook.com/ericahayes.author
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