Base Instincts

  He searched his brain, hunting for anything that could jolt a memory, but all he had in his head was Slake. And . . . Fayle. Yes, now he remembered her chaining him up, telling him she was leaving. That happened after . . . after he and Slake went to the apartment following the explosion.

  Suddenly, he jacked up in the bed and grabbed Eidolon’s scrub top. “Thirst . . .” He swallowed, but it did nothing to get rid of the hoarseness in his voice. “Nate. Vladlena. Marsden. My friends . . . how many . . .”

  Lexi. Gods, her death came roaring back, and he sagged against the pillows.

  “Ten people died in the explosion,” Eidolon said softly. “Eight were customers, two worked at Thirst. I don’t know their names, but I can get them for you. Nate, Lena, and Marsden are fine.”

  Raze swallowed again. Hard. “I already know one of the names,” he said, and then he needed to get off the subject, and fast. “How did I get here?”

  “Your friend Slake brought you in when you lost consciousness.”

  Raze shook his head as if doing so would shake loose some memories. It didn’t. “I passed out?”

  Eidolon jammed his hand through his short, dark hair, his frustration evident in his brisk, jerky movements. “As far as we can tell, you went too long without sex, which caused internal damage. The damage should have healed quickly, but when I tried to repair it with my power, nothing happened. It was almost as if something was draining my healing energy. Nothing we did could counter it. We just had to wait and see what happened.”

  Wait and see. The most common and exasperating words in the medical world. He’d said them a million times to patients, and now he understood why they didn’t always take those words well.

  He patted himself down through the hospital gown dotted with Underworld General’s caduceus, and everything seemed to be okay. He felt fine. Didn’t even feel the distant need for sex.

  And wait . . . while a Sem was recovering from injuries, the need for sex would go into a hibernation of sorts, but the moment they were well, the need should hit like a punch to the groin.

  “If it’s been three days, why am I not going mad with—”

  Eidolon, obviously anticipating the question, gestured to a full syringe lying on the nearby instrument tray. “A few years ago I developed a drug for Wraith that would temporarily ease the symptoms. I injected you this morning after I determined you were healed enough for the need to set in. You probably have four to six hours at best before the need hits you.”

  Great. And then what? Did he go hunting for a female . . . or for Slake?

  “I’m glad you woke up,” Eidolon continued. “Your buddy is a little . . . tenacious. He called ten times a day, and I don’t know how much longer he was going to be civil about our lack of a diagnosis.” He reached for a backpack on the counter and tossed it to Raze. “He brought you some clothes this morning. He didn’t want you to wake up and not have something of your own to wear.”

  Raze’s hand froze as he reached for the pack. That was the most thoughtful thing anyone had done for him in a long time. Especially considering the fact that Raze had attacked him.

  The thought took a slow slide from his brain to his gut, where the reality sat like a jagged piece of brimstone. He’d lost control and could have seriously hurt Slake. And what if the coma was a result of going against his Seminus DNA and having sex with a male instead of a female?

  What should have been a happy discovery had just turned into a stinking pile of shit, and as he pulled a red Manchester United hoodie and a pair of jeans from the bag, he succumbed to the realization that he needed to come clean with Eidolon.

  Which made him want to throw up that lump of brimstone.

  Standing to put on the pair of jeans, he spit it out before he chickened out. “Something’s going on, Doc.”

  Clearly sensing that this wasn’t going to be a light and fluffy convo, Eidolon sank into one of the chairs next to the bed that had been Raze’s home for three days. “Hit me.”

  Raze mirrored him, taking a seat on the bed. Then he just sat there. Looked around. Tapped his fingers on his thigh.

  “Whatever it is, you can talk to me,” Eidolon said. The guy could be a ballbuster, but he always knew how to put a person at ease too.

  Finally, Raze blew out a breath. “I, uh . . .” Just say it, man. “I’m gay.” There. He’d said it. Cringing inwardly, he watched Eidolon, who, to his credit, kept his surprise limited to cocking one black eyebrow.

  “Given the fact that we have to orgasm with females, being gay must be difficult for you.”

  Raze hadn’t thought Eidolon would react badly, but his measured response, utterly free of judgment, still stunned him. His respect for the doctor swelled more.

  “It is,” Raze admitted. “It’s lonely.”

  Eidolon inclined his head in a slow nod. “So what does this have to do with your current situation?”

  “I’m not sure. Something happened. When I was all raged out. It was weird. Good, but weird.”

  “You gotta give me more to go on.” Eidolon kicked his legs out and crossed them at the ankles.

  This was so damned uncomfortable to talk about. “I was . . . I was with a male. And I . . . there was no female, but I . . . I came.”

  This time, both of Eidolon’s eyebrows popped up, and his head actually snapped back a little. After a moment of silence, he leaned forward again, propping his forearms on his knees. “Are you sure it was a male you were with? There are a lot of spells, tricks—”

  “I’m sure.”

  The skepticism didn’t completely drain from Eidolon’s expression, but at least he didn’t push. “What species is this male?”

  “Duosos. I’d never heard of it until he told me.”

  “Interesting,” Eidolon mused. “They’re isolationists. Rare outside of their communities. So rare that I’ve never met one, and we’ve never treated one here.”

  Raze kept to himself the fact that Eidolon had, indeed, met one. “What do you know about them?”

  “Not much, and what I ‘know’ is mostly rumor and speculation. But if you were able to have sex with a male of that species, then one of the rumors might be true.” Reaching over, he swiped his laptop off the counter and tapped on the keyboard. He studied the screen for a moment, and then turned back to Raze. “According to Baradoc, who developed the Demonic Biological Classification system, Duosos demons are born female, and at some point in their lives, they can choose to morph into males.”

  Raze sat there, stunned. The pillow talk he’d shared with Slake came back to him, and the words he’d spoken took on new meaning.

  “They accepted me until I turned into something they couldn’t understand: a male who was attracted to other males.”

  Holy hell, he’d meant that literally. He’d actually turned into a male.

  “If that’s accurate,” Eidolon said, “and there’s no reason to doubt that it’s not, then maybe our Seminus instincts get kind of . . . scrambled, for lack of a better word . . . in the presence of a male Duosos who used to be female.” Eidolon’s dark eyes lit up with excitement. There was nothing he liked more than a medical mystery. “Will you be seeing this male again?”

  Eidolon might as well have punched him in the gut. Slake had saved his life and brought him to the hospital, but that didn’t mean he planned to see Raze again. Not that Raze could blame him if he didn’t. Not after what Raze had done to him.

  The memory lingered, an uneasy combination of both regret and excitement that the one impossible thing Raze had wanted all his life, to be wholly with a male, had actually happened.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, if you do, tell him I’d love to talk to him.”

  By “talk,” Raze figured Eidolon meant, “poke, prod, and take a whole lot of bio samples.”

  “I’ll let him know.”

  The door swung open, and Dr. Shakvhan stepped inside. The tall, curvy succubus offered a thin smile. In all the time Raze had worked at
Underworld General, he’d never seen her show warmth for anyone except a potential sex partner. Fortunately for her, the fact that she was a top-notch surgeon made up for her shitty bedside manner.

  “I’m ready for the procedure,” she said crisply, and Raze frowned.

  “What procedure?”

  Eidolon stood. “Remember I said something was odd with the way you were healing? When I consulted with Dr. Shakvhan, she said it sounded familiar. She’s here to test you for a sexual tether.”

  “A what?”

  Shakvhan moved like a serpent. One second she was near the door, and the next, she was pressing Raze’s palm in hers. “This is going to hurt—”

  He yelped as what felt like a thorn jammed into his hand. “What the hell?”

  “Shh.” The succubus hummed, and searing heat spread from his hand through his body, the intensity growing until he thought he was going to pass out again. Sweat coated his skin, and his heart thumped about a million beats a minute, and just as his vision began to blur, she released him. Blood dripped to the floor until Eidolon wrapped his hand in gauze.

  “Just as I suspected,” she said, with an arrogance only she could manage. “He’s linked to a female.”

  “Linked?”

  She looked at him like he was an idiot. “Somehow, you allowed a succubus to attach herself to you.”

  “That’s not possible. I’ve only been with one, and she wouldn’t . . .” Would she? Surely Fayle wouldn’t have done something like that without his permission?

  “Whatever,” Shakvhan muttered. “But I’m telling you, a succubus formed some sort of bond with you, and it’s draining you.”

  No. Raze refused to believe it. He must have spoken out loud, because Shakvhan huffed with impatience. “Has she ever been able to find you, like, out of the blue? Have you ever wanted to get away from her but kept being drawn back to her? Do you put up with things she does and you have no idea why?”

  Raze’s gut churned. He could answer yes to all of those things. This . . . tether . . . would explain a lot, in fact.

  “How can he get rid of it?” Eidolon asked, sparing Raze the humiliation of replying.

  Shakvhan shrugged. “He can kill her. That would sever the link. Or she can remove it herself if she’s so inclined.”

  Still half-numb with disbelief that Fayle could have done this, Raze asked roughly, “And if I can’t find her?”

  “Then it sucks to be you.”

  Raze clenched his fists, thinking how lucky it was for Shakvhan that the hospital operated under an antiviolence spell. “How helpful,” he ground out.

  “It’s possible,” she said as she opened the door to leave, “that another bond could break it.”

  “Like our mating bond?” Eidolon asked. “If Raze went through the mating ritual, the bond he forms with another fe—ah, person—could sever the ties he has with the succubus who did this to him?”

  “Maybe.” Shakvhan shot Raze a curious look. “Either way, good luck.”

  Raze wasn’t overly fond of the doctor, but right now, he’d take all the luck he could get.

  Slake had been searching for Fayle for three days, and now, as his deadline was ticking down to the final hours, he’d finally caught a break.

  Fayle had led him on a wild-goose chase through the bowels of Sheoul, where he’d gotten close once, in a brothel in the Spectral Abyss. But somehow she’d slipped away only minutes before he’d arrived.

  The trail had gone cold for a day, and not even a meeting with a Transylvanian Seer had given him a new direction to take. Failing at that, he’d staked out an underworld pub to rattle some info out of an ugly horned demon who did regular business with Fayle’s people.

  Big. Fat. Bust.

  But today his luck had taken a potentially soul-saving turn. Using a sample of hair he’d found in Fayle’s bedroom, he’d paid a Charnel Apostle to perform a location spell.

  The succubus was in Amsterdam.

  Slake rummaged through his cabin to finish loading a backpack with rope, weapons, and a few spell-bombs that would magically seal rooms and render him, and anyone he touched, temporarily invisible. He glanced at his watch and cursed. He had three hours before Dyre’s time limit was up.

  As he strode toward the front door, his phone buzzed. Hoping it was Raze, he plucked it from his pocket. His heart gave a huge thump at the message on the screen.

  It’s Raze. I’m okay. Heading home in a couple of hours. Call me.

  Screw calling. Slake needed to see him. To know he was truly okay.

  But first, he had to catch Fayle. As he hefted his backpack over his shoulder, the instant, alarming sensation of being watched made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

  “Hello, Damonia.”

  Slake froze in the middle of his living room. Went as still as an angel strangled by its own halo, as the ancient Sheoulic saying went.

  No one had called Slake by that name in decades, and only one person was brave enough to try.

  But too bad for Gunther that “brave” was merely another word for foolish.

  In one smooth motion, Slake drew a sinisphere from his pocket and pivoted around.

  “Dhru’ga.” The whispered command launched the tiny ball at the vampire’s blond head.

  Gunther easily dodged the weapon . . . until it made a U-turn and punched through his shoulder. He yelped as blood sprayed from the hole that also ruined what was probably a very expensive leather jacket.

  Slapping his hand over the puncture, Gunther rounded on Slake. “What the fuck?” he yelled, his English accent making him sound almost reasonable, even in his anger. “A bit unnecessary, don’t you think?”

  “‘Unnecessary’ would have been sending an entire swarm of sinispheres at you.” Slake flexed his hand over his pocket and the remaining dozen lethal balls. “But don’t think I wasn’t tempted. Or that I’m still not.” Fury jacked him up so much that he had to relax his jaw in order to continue. “I told you the last time I saw you that if you came back, I’d put a hole through you. You’re lucky it wasn’t your skull.”

  Gunther hissed, the pearly fangs that used to give Slake so much pleasure glistening. “You were aiming for my skull.”

  “And I’m a little embarrassed by the fact that I missed.” Slake raked Gunther with his gaze, expecting to experience the flutter of attraction he always felt when Gun came crawling back. But this time, all he could do was make comparisons to Raze, and the vampire couldn’t match up. Not anymore.

  Gunther stood there, his black slacks neatly pressed, his silver button-down shirt so starched it would be afraid to wrinkle. He had always been an impeccable dresser, but then, he’d spent a thousand years accumulating wealth, knowledge, and taste.

  “You could have killed me,” Gunther said, sounding so put out that Slake almost laughed.

  “Stop whining. And stop bleeding on my floor. I just had the hardwood refinished.”

  “See, that’s why our relationship didn’t work,” Gunther said, rubbing the puncture in his shoulder. “You’re an asshole.”

  “No,” Slake corrected, “we didn’t work because I’m not female, and you couldn’t seem to keep your dick in your pants.”

  Gunther’s pale-blue eyes flashed. “I’ve changed. I want you back.”

  Son of a bitch. Not this rerun again. “You say that every time.”

  “And every time, you fall for it,” Gunther pointed out, still as arrogant as ever.

  “Not this time.”

  “Uh-huh.” Gunther’s skeptical expression pissed Slake off. “And why not this time?”

  An image of Raze flashed in his brain, but he quickly shoved it aside. Yes, the Seminus demon had sexed his way into Slake’s mind, but more than that, he was tired of not being accepted for what he was. For who he was.

  “Because you’re never going to be okay with who I am.”

  “I fell in love with who you are.”

  Slake shook his head. “You fell in love with who I was on t
he outside.”

  “Damon,” Gunther said, “if that were true, I wouldn’t keep trying to be with you.”

  “I don’t doubt that you loved me. That maybe you still do. But ultimately, the fact that I have a penis will chase you away again. It always does. I can’t do that anymore.”

  Gunther took a step closer and spread his hands in a plea. “What if I promised I was okay with it? What if I swore I’d stay with you, no matter what?”

  “You can’t do that,” Slake said. He’d been through this before, and it always ended in disaster. “You know you can’t.”

  “For the sake of argument. Say it could happen. Would you take me back?”

  That was something Slake had thought of more than once. And long ago, the answer would have been yes. But too much time had passed. Too much had happened. And after seeing how Raze was so dependent on Fayle and yet so miserable . . . Slake could never tie himself down to someone who couldn’t commit a hundred percent.

  He wanted a relationship. He wanted love. And yes, Gun had loved him, but not enough to truly get past the fact that Slake was one hundred percent male with no remnants of his past. Well, except the fact that he was still attracted to males, just as he’d been before the transformation.

  “I’ll never take you back, Gun. Get that through your thick skull. I’ve moved on.”

  Instantly, Gunther went taut and looked around, as if he expected the person Slake moved on with to come slinking out of the bedroom. “You’ve found someone else, haven’t you?”

  “You lost the right to ask that question when you banged a female werewolf in our bed.” Weird how he wasn’t angry about that anymore. He’d held on to that particular grudge for the last ten years, but now that Gunther was here, begging to come back into his life, it no longer mattered.

  Gunther’s upper lip curled, his fangs gleaming wetly against blood-red lips. “Does he know? Does he know the truth about you?”

  “Fuck off.”

  “So that’s a no.” Gunther shoved past Slake and threw open the front door. “Good luck with that, then. This saint of yours might be less understanding of your choice than I was.”