Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
What did they want with the two? Damien didn’t know, but he had a much bigger question: How had SBP figured out Sky’s plan?
Answer: someone had tipped them off, and that meant there was a rat in Sky’s immediate circle. Until he knew who the rat was, it made no sense to attempt to free Amelia and Miguel. They’d be ambushed.
Of course, these were all points Damien had just spent the last hour conveying to Sky, but as usual, she didn’t want to listen, thus the bottle of whiskey in his hand. Next, he might take a long bubble bath or perhaps sharpen his shears. Both were very relaxing.
Damien turned to face Pet, knowing Sky was hovering nearby. He could smell her vanilla shampoo wafting in the air.
“Ladies,” he said, “I will only say this once more: there is a traitor among us. And until I know who it is, I cannot make any moves against SBP or the governor. Therefore, if you wish to rescue Sky’s sister and nephew, it will be without my help.” He took another swig of scotch. “And Sky, when you predictably find yourself in more trouble because you did not heed my warning, do not even think of calling me.”
He could not hear Sky bitching, but right now she was probably calling him every name in the book.
He did not care. He was a man. And men did what they wanted, when they wanted.
“I’m going to my sewing room,” he grumbled. “Enjoy your failed rescue.”
“Pussy!” Pet yelled, fluttering behind him.
“Nope. Manly man!” Handsome, well built, and six three, he often had to beat the ladies off with a stick. They especially loved his turquoise blue eyes and dark hair. “Pussy, my ass!” he grumbled under his breath. “I’m all man!” So what if he enjoyed making clothes? They were manly clothes!
He went downstairs and pulled a pattern for a nice tweed sportscoat. If anything could get him in a better mood, it was cutting into fabric.
Two hours later…
Wearing black silk pajama pants, Damien got into bed and closed his eyes, savoring the stillness in his opulent mansion overlooking Sunset. Recently rebuilt after a fire, it was a home he’d been given as payment during his fixer years by a very wealthy vampire for covering up some rather unsavory sexual escapades.
Not that Damien couldn’t afford such a palace on his own, but who in their right mind would turn down a house with a garage for his twenty cars? It was a true gem and had become his sanctuary.
With contentment beating in his heart, Damien felt his body drifting off into the serenity of slumber.
Buzzz…buzzz… His cell vibrated on the nightstand.
No. Do not look at it. Let them leave a message. He focused on his breathing, determined not to get involved with whatever clusterfuck was going down.
After a few moments, the buzzing stopped.
See. All better now. He rolled over and snuggled into his white down comforter and Egyptian cotton sheets.
Buzzz…buzzz…
“Godsdammit!” He rolled over and grabbed the cell. “Can’t you see I’m trying to sleep?”
“Obviously, I cannot see what you are doing over the phone. Did you hit your head, tailor?” said a deep, familiar voice.
Oh hell. Damien cleared his throat. “Votan. Errr…hello. How may I be of assistance?” Votan was seven feet of pure warrior, and prior to his recent retirement after seventy thousand years of service, he had been the God of Death and War. Not the sort of being anyone sane wished to anger.
“My sister Cimil has broken out of prison again,” Votan said blandly, as if bored by it all.
Damien was right there with him. Cimil’s constant troublemaking had grown old.
“Did she leave another treasure map behind, depicting where to find her ‘lucky charm’?” Last time she escaped, Cimil had made a game of it and left a map leading to a room in Vegas papered in photos of her butthole. Apparently, the goddess had a tattoo on that location of her body, which read, yes, my lucky charm.
They eventually found Cimil and Minky, her invisible pet unicorn, at the poker tables, winning everyone’s money. Cimil was an excellent poker player since the goddess could bluff her way into and out of anything.
“She did not leave a map,” replied Votan, “which is what concerns me. This time, she disappeared into thin air and has not been seen for weeks.”
That was unusual. Cimil, who lived to break the rules, cause chaos, and party, generally enjoyed flaunting her fugitivity. It was so very her.
Most recently, she’d broken a major law by meddling in the affairs of mortals—a giant no-no after the fourteen gods had voted to retire. Only one deity, K’ak, had permission to continue working part-time, though he was limited to running the underworld and acting as a liaison to the gods’ human army.