A Demon's Desire

Chapter One

Chapter One

Olivia flew through the restored Victorian, a crumpled shopping bag clutched to her chest. Most of the members of the coven were in the living room, watching the latest episode of True Blood. She didn’t stop to greet them but hurried through the kitchen and to the door of the basement. She opened it, her elated thoughts sliding into unease at the unnatural glow emanating from one wall of the basement. She descended a few steps and paused. The scent of sulfur made her nose wrinkle, and heat rendered the basement hot compared to the rest of the drafty, old house.

Forcing herself onward, she let her eyes fall to the fissure in the basement wall through which the orange flames of Hell glowed.

It had grown larger the past few months. Not by much, maybe half a foot or so. Two years ago, it had appeared after she killed her third victim and was no larger than a tiny crack the size of her pinkie. The more black magic she practiced, the larger it became. The only benefit of the heat of Hell: it kept the coven’s electricity bill low during the coolness of the late October autumn in rural northernMaryland.

One of her ghostly slaves moved from its place in the poorly lit basement, and she jumped in surprise.

“Not now!” she barked at the shadow demon. It slinked back to the corner. Olivia plucked the content of the bag and set it on the wooden desk by the wall of the basement opposite the fissure. She clapped her hands in delight at the sight of the decomposed finger. It stank, but not as much as the portal to Hell.

“You’ve been out all day,” a man’s voice said. She tensed at his voice. She never heard him coming. “Must’ve been important to leave my bed so early.”

“It is,” she said. “Leave me alone, Jeffrey. I’m busy.”

“Not the proper way to thank your host, especially since you’re a member of my coven.”

She spun on him with a glare. With silky black hair, chiseled features and a lean frame, Jeffrey’s looks alone had drawn more than one witch to his coven. And he slept with all of them. He was not the kind of man who would ever know how deep and satisfying loving another could be, which was why she didn’t give two flips about pleasing him the way the other girls did. She did what he expected of her to retain her place in the coven—and nothing more.

“None of them brought you that,” she said and pointed to the fissure. “You were a poser, Jeffrey, and everyone knows it. I made you legit.”

“I’m more legit than you’ll ever understand. But yes, you brought me the fissure,” he said with irritation. He lifted his chin toward the table. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

He strode across the basement and pushed her aside to see her treasure. She shoved him back, but not before he saw what it was.

“I’m being replaced by a dead man,” he said. “Where’s the rest of him?”

“I’m trying to figure that out. He’s my soul mate—I’m meant to find him.”

“And I’m …?”

“Just a warm body.”

“You obsessed bitch,” he whispered. His jaw ticked in anger. He was close enough for her to feel how tense he was. “You know Hell will demand your soul for helping you.”

“I’ve promised it a soul. Doesn’t have to be mine!” she snapped. “Leave me alone, Jeffrey!”

He gazed at her for a long minute. Of all the witches in the house—and people on the planet!—he was the only one who seemed immune to her mind influence spells. He turned away finally, and she watched him go, again wondering why he was immune to her spells. The basement’s darkness clung to him like it did her shadow demons. He stopped near the stairs, and his gaze went to the fissure. He closed his eyes, pleasure crossing his features.