Holly-Day

Holly-Day Hell, Oh! Celia Kyle

Holly-Day Hell, Oh! Celia Kyle (c) 2009 ISBN 978-1-59578-645-6 Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2009, Celia Kyle. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author. Manufactured in the United States of America Liquid Silver Books http://LSbooks.com Email: [email protected] Editor Chrissie Henderson Cover Artist April Martinez This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Blurb Hell’s demons, Satan included, have decided that maybe their bit of Hell should celebrate the holidays. Not Christmas, mind you, because that would be wrong. But they’d like something sparkly, shiny and flame-resistant for November and December. (Since the shops are decorating so early year after year.) So, Damon the demon, aptly named because it seems that most demons are named Damon, is sent in search of the perfect holiday (but not Christmas) decorator. He found Holly. Holly Boughs, so named because her mother loved the holidays, is in line for this year’s prestigious Best Store Window Award. They’re looking for the best of the best of the best. (Sir!) She’s decorated her fanny off, put on the finishing touches, and is ready for anything—except being kidnapped, dragged to Hell and told to do it all over again. Without anything melting. Um, yeah.

Chapter One “Damon.” The Lord of Hell’s voice boomed through the court, rising above all others. “You’ve been nominated.” “Which one?” another voice shouted. Had to be Damon Kobal. Damned demon thought he was hilarious. And impudence always got the Lord riled. “Damon Damas, Ambassador of Hell!” The walls shook with Satan’s fury. “Kobal! If your mother wasn’t Queen of the Harpies, I’d send you to Ukobach and have him burn you for a few millennia.” It wasn’t necessarily Kobal’s fault, really. With so many demons named Damon, it was bound to cause some confusion … and a few snickers. “Aw, Satan. That’d just piss Mom off and then I’d have to explain—” “Shut it.” And Kobal did because the idiot at least knew when to shut his mouth. Occasionally. “Da-mon!” Damon Damas sighed and stepped away from the wall. He’d hoped to avoid actually doing anything for the evening. “Yes, my Lord.” He tried to hide the sarcasm. Really. “Ah, there you are. Come, come, come. Much to discuss.” Satan waved him forward and he went, begrudging every step. He really, really didn’t want to know what he’d been nominated for. Not. At. All. Because somehow, it meant he’d be going somewhere and when he came back, there was always a war. People didn’t like negotiating with a demon. They liked negotiating with the Ambassador of Hell even less. That he also happened to be related to the Lord of Hell on his mother’s side, got doors slammed in his face before a word even left his mouth. They feared him and he just couldn’t figure out why. So, no, he really preferred hiding to talking with his great-great-something or other. Regardless of how much power the man wielded. “Now, Damon. We have all discussed this…” “Who’s we?” Because in Satan’s world, “we” could be God for all Damon knew. Satan growled. “If it wasn’t for your mother—” “Yes, yes, I’d be visiting the fires of Hell with Kobal while Ukobach toasted us. Now, who’s we?” Sometimes being related to the big guy had a few benefits. Satan slumped into his chair. “Doesn’t anyone respect me anymore?” Kobal, the idiot, raised his hand. “I’m sure the souls do, my Lord. The demons? Not so much.” With a quick wink, the demon of hilarity disappeared in a puff of smoke. “I should kill him,” Satan muttered. “But then he’d have a chance of getting into Heaven. Would you really want to lose him to…” “Yes.” Damon smiled. “Aw, Uncle Satan, it’s not that bad. Now, whose door is going to be slammed in my face today?” “Right.” Satan sat up straighter. “The demon babes…” Damon groaned. Satan narrowed his eyes at him, but didn’t comment. “As I was saying, the demon babes would like to celebrate the holidays. Not His son’s birthday, of course, that would be wrong on

so many levels, but just some festivities that end in presents. The little ones feel that just because they aren’t part of the living world shouldn’t mean they don’t get extra presents each year. As if celebrating my birthday isn’t enough for them.” “Uh-huh. Uncle Satan, you get presents on your birthday, not everyone else. The thing about Him is that everybody else—” “Zip it.” “I’m just saying…” “Well don’t. We’re not celebrating His son’s birthday and that’s final. Now, where was I? Right. We need presents and decorations and festivities.” “Presents. Okay. Presents I can do.” Damon started tallying the cost of presents for each of the children. It would deplete the coffers a bit, but it’d be worth it. Children should get some enjoyment from life be they demon, angel or Living. “It’s the festivities and decorating we’re having issues with.” Damon stared openmouthed at his uncle. “I’m not responsible for presents?” “No, you’re the Ambassador of Hell. You have to go ambassador-ize someone. You’re responsible for convincing someone from the Living to come here and,” Satan waved a hand, encompassing the hall, “decorate and plan and whatever else it is that the Living do for the holidays.” Damon flopped down onto the steps leading to Satan’s throne. “I won’t do it. I can’t be around the Living. It’s bad enough here in Hell. They’ll shoot me instead of just slamming doors in my face. What am I supposed to say? ‘Hi, wanna come to Hell?’ I can’t die, but bullets hurt, Uncle Satan.” Yes, he even pouted. Anything was better than venturing to the land of the Living. “I’ll do it!” Another demon raised his hand. “You will not, Samael! I don’t want a plague, I want a decorator,” Satan snapped, and the Demon of Death slumped into his seat looking sad and defeated. Samael was always looking for a reason to visit the Living. The demon had entirely too much fun doing his job, and Damon didn’t have nearly enough doing his. In fact, his job just plain sucked. Not literally, but still… **** Stabbing the mannequin really helped. Deck the halls with stab of stab stab. Fa la la la la, la la la la. ’Tis the season to be stab stab. Fa la la la la, la la la la. “Hol-ly!” Lord, it was the harbinger of death and destruction, also known as Monica, Holly’s boss. Holly pushed the pin into the mannequin one last time, holding the frou-frou garment in place. She’d have to redo the whole thing after Monica quit her screeching, so she didn’t waste any more time on the hunk of foam and plastic. Because, instead of coming into the store and discussing the window display with Holly, the woman felt the need to scream through the glass from outside the building. “Yes, Ms. Shax?” Don’t throw the mannequin through the window. Or the tree. Or one of the mechanical carolers. Although they’re so ugly, they deserve it. “Holly, dear, don’t you think we…” Monica waved toward the left of the display,

“…need some more red there. Give it some more holiday joy.” The woman smiled widely, showing every bright white tooth she had. It was her fake smile that gave Holly the urge to deck some halls, starting with hers. Holly raised her voice. “Sure, Ms. Shax. I’ll take a look in just one moment and get things balanced out.” When Hell freezes over… “Lovely!” Monica tapped the glass and gave Holly two thumbs up. “I’ll come back in a few hours, then.” “Sounds good!” she screamed back and turned around, careful to keep her smile in place until her arch nemesis and general pain in the ass left the area. Alone again, Holly started reciting her soothing words to calm down. Because, really, the left side of the display didn’t need more red. Why? It was a snow scene! Snow. White snow. There was no such thing as red snow! Not unless she wanted Holly to put in a car accident with a dead and decaying corpse bleeding all over her pristine, realistic snow. Soothing words. Stay calm… Ribbon, bows, chiffon, crepe, Singer, pins, needles, thread… She rested her head on the shoulder of one of the male mannequins and stared out into the pitch-black night. Unfortunately, store display changes happened in the dead of night, which left Holly alone most evenings. Except, of course, when Monica felt the need to supervise and then claim all of Holly’s hard work for herself. But Holly didn’t mind too much. It was the designing she cared about, bringing her ideas to life and bringing smiles to the faces of each passerby. With a sigh, she turned back to the abused, smiling female mannequin and pulled the pins on the back of her gown free. No sense letting Monica and her thieving ways ruin the display. The store had hired her boss’ firm, Delicate Displays, to design the perfect holiday exhibit to draw in shoppers. The store owner himself had hinted at a permanent position for Holly if the display looked as wonderful as he hoped. Permanent. As in she’d never have to travel around with Monica and her entourage and then work like a dog just to have the witchy woman take credit for Holly’s long nights. Yeah, permanent sounded really good. Brushing off the bad attitude that always came with confrontations with Monica, Holly stepped over to display one, the first of her “rooms” for the windows. She’d numbered them while designing the perfect theme for McAcy’s Department Store. After reviewing past windows, she’d decided on an understated classic holiday theme. Visions of family and friends together to celebrate, as opposed to the fantastical displays of the past. With the world in an uproar over this current event or that one, people needed to be reminded of the staples of life. Friends and family fit the bill. Display one was Holly’s snow theme. Rolling hills and playful mannequins littered the ten foot by ten foot space. A bit bigger than originally planned, but McAcy’s had been accommodating once they’d heard her plans. This window would bring smiles to faces and hopefully ignite the memories of the adults. Plus it featured all of the best winter snow wear to be found in the city. Display two was her “story around the fire” room. Grandma and Grandpa mannequins holding little bundles of squirming joy in one hand and books in the other. Reading in front of the fire instead of watching It’s a Wonderful Life for the umpteenth time in front of the television. And it didn’t hurt that the kids were dressed in a wide

assortment of pajamas. Three was the big one: Christmas morning. A massive tree with all the trimmings, toys as far as the eye could see and ecstatic children filling the room. Smiling parents with the video camera and kids showing the viewer the newest, greatest toy ever created. That room had been the most fun because Holly couldn’t pick the best toys without playing with them first. All of them. Some more than once. And then there was the fourth and final display. This one tugged at her heartstrings and had been a blowup battle between her and Monica. The final decision was decided by the president of McAcy’s. After he’d seen the first three windows and learned of Holly’s plans for the fourth, he’d been behind her one hundred percent. A novel feeling since she’d begun working for Delicate Displays. This final room was about giving back to the community and sharing good fortune with those that hadn’t been as lucky. Holly visited soup kitchens and shelters every weekend, hoping to help those who needed it, so she knew how little assistance was provided by the general populace. This window showed the parents working in a soup kitchen while the children donated their newly acquired toys. Sharing their fortune and receiving the pleasure of knowing that they’d just made someone else’s life that much better. Yes, this room was all Holly’s and she wouldn’t let Monica touch it with a tenfoot pole. Holly stared out into the night, imagining the children and adults lining up to see the new display, a New York City tradition. Every year the department stores all changed their windows on the same night. Glowing lights in the front windows could be seen from one side of the city to the other. So, while most people slept, the display associates prepared the stores for their holiday debut. Like Santa Claus, but with chiffon and ribbon instead of toys. A shift in the shadows across the street caught Holly’s eye, and she edged toward the glass, straining to see what caught her attention… * “Go to the land of the Living, he said.” Damon stabbed at the concrete with his pickaxe. “More like the land of the lost,” he grumbled. Did they tell him that the portal to the mortal world was below three old sewer systems and two subway tunnels? No. Did they tell him that “Hey, Damon, your powers won’t work in the mortal realm”? No. How about that he’d go dark the moment Living air touched him? No! The dark thing was hitting the hardest. Damon was a strong guy, dark or not, but not having the rosy hue of his homeland made him look … just like them. The puny Living things. He spat on the ground. Gross. He’d been fighting the concrete and dirt for hours. Hack, hit, jump back. Hack, hit, jump back. From what he could tell, he didn’t have but another ten or so feet. At least, that’s what the annoying little devil beside him kept insisting. The fact that the devil had been saying the same thing for at least three hundred feet was not lost on Damon. “Melich?” The devil crawled up the wall, clinging to the rock and dirt at Damon’s eye level. “Yes, master? The master needs something? What can Melich do for master?” Damon closed his eyes and dropped his head back. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kick the devil’s ass to Hell and never-back. It’d be like kicking a horned, purple, hairless puppy that’d been dropped on its head just after birth.

“Nothing, Melich. Go back to what you were doing.” Which was gnawing the bones of the dead they unearthed during their ascent. The tiny devil crab-crawled back down the side of the tunnel, sinking farther and farther into the depths, hunting. Damon returned to his task of digging through the sludge of life. He displaced foot after foot of dirt until his shovel hit … nothing. He didn’t get too excited, though. They’d gone through this drill several times before. Damon cleared a hole big enough for the devil to fit through and summoned the disgusting creature. “Melich!” A tiny squeak, followed by the scrambling of nails on rock and dirt, echoed up the hole. “Coming. Coming, coming, coming.” As if Damon hadn’t heard him. “Here, my Lord.” “I’m not your lord, devil.” “But, my Lord said you’re my Lord which makes you—” “Melich. Enough. Up the hole.” He didn’t want to waste any more time on this errand. Plus, if someone saw them, they’d catch sight of the devil first. The fact that the devil looked like a small child who’d been dropped from the highest building was just a bonus. Melich poked his head back through the hole. “Oh, my Lord, it’s the Living land. Disgusting and cold and clean and, my Lord, I will tell his Lord that it is not fit for Damon demon. Not fit at all…” The devil scrambled and fell back into their dirt and rock-formed lair. “I will go right now and tell Him.” The devil scampered deeper and deeper into the hole until Damon couldn’t see him any longer. Wonderful. He had a devil on the loose and a world to conquer. Just how he wanted to start his day. Damon shoved the shovel through the hole and poked his head through. Never mind, it was just how he wanted to start his night. The damned land of the Living couldn’t even get their times of the day right! He popped back into the hole and then tossed his pack out onto the land, following as quickly as he could. A quick glance around revealed that he’d ended up in the middle of some sort of grassland area. And Damon Bifrons had said the portal from Hell led to the center of a large city. The demon of the arts couldn’t even master geography. He regretted sharing a name with the man … demon … whatever. Damon brushed the dirt and rubble from his body and then turned to his pack. He’d at least thought far enough ahead to bring an extra change of clothing. He changed quickly, donning his clean leathers and cotton shirt. Changed, he took a few moments to become acclimated with his new environment. He spun around slowly, eyes taking in the strange place. Lights twinkled in the distance, and he decided that he would head toward civilization. Hopefully, they would have one of these decorators and then he could head back to his homeland, his own personal hell. * It was as if the Best Store Window Award walked out of the darkness and right up to Holly. Right there, in the middle of the night, in the center of the street, stood a god she’d like to know. This wasn’t her normal drooling over fabrics and patterns, but honest to goodness drool over another person. And not an imaginary one, either. Live and in living semi-color. (Street lighting doesn’t flatter anyone.) Dressed in heavy black boots, black leather pants and a form-fitting shirt, Holly could see that this stranger was all that and a bag of chips. Times two. Maybe even four, but she was crouched behind one of the ugly carolers Monica made her buy and didn’t

have a clear view just yet. She crawled out from behind the mechanical monstrosity and edged closer to the window. To adjust some ribbon, she told herself. Ri-ight. Oh. Closer was better. Much better. Because while she’d crawled closer, he’d stepped closer until ten feet and thick glass separated them. Thank God she’d convinced Monica not to spray the windows with the tacky faux snow. ’Cause that would have ruined this show, not to mention the window display. The visitor, now named Mr. Hot-Pants, stepped closer, his attention focused on everything but her, it seemed. Didn’t matter, it gave her a chance to salivate over his hottiness. Mr. Hot-Pants had a wide brow, strong nose, sculpted cheekbones and full lips. Cap off all that yummiliciousness with shoulder-length black hair, and Holly was looking at her favorite romance hero come to life. His eyes were so dark they almost looked black instead of the romancelandia stock blue, but she could live with that. Beggars and choosers and all that. Not like she’d get a shot at his hunkiness anyway. Guys like him, with their perfect bodies and movie star hair, usually had equally perfect bimbettes with their plastic bodies and botox injections. She of the voluptuous body (totally not fat, by the way), kinky curly hair and blah hazel eyes didn’t stand a chance with a hunk of yummy man-meat like him. It was nice to stare, though. No, not staring, people watching. Made it sound less stalker-ish. He took a few steps closer. She kept “people watching.” Closer. Watching. Closer. Nope, it’d turned into outright staring. Closer. He really did have good skin. Closer. Three feet separated them now and his attention was still focused on the windows, dismissing her as if she were just another part of the display. Yeah, story of her life. Closer. Black eyes focused on her, and she screamed, falling over the mechanical monstrosity in the process and taking it down with her. She landed in a pile of bright winter clothing, ribbons, bows and messed up mannequins. Instead of getting up, she simply covered her face in a child’s pink coat and prayed to the god of embarrassment that the ground would open up and swallow her whole. Like, now. But the ground didn’t swallow her. It didn’t even nibble a bit. Instead, she heard a tap on the window. Holly shifted the coat until her eyes were exposed and, of course, she got an eyeful of Mr. Hot-Pants smiling down at her, mere inches and glass separating them. He took a step back and opened his arms wide, mouthing words slowly. “You did all this?” Wary, Holly nodded. Sometimes she got religious fanatics who didn’t believe in commercial Christmas. They had the teensiest problem with the way card companies seemed to have exploited the holiday. Holly? She just wanted to get paid. That, and she enjoyed her job. He raised his eyebrows. (Perfectly sculpted eyebrows, mind you.) “All of it?” He

appeared impressed. She grinned and nodded again. Holly watched him from her window as he walked down the sidewalk, his attention never straying from the windows before him. This was why she decorated windows for a living, to give someone that moment of joy and wonder when they viewed her creations. Window dressing wasn’t the most prestigious or highest paying job in the world, but she loved it anyway. Mr. Hot-Pants was ambling back her way, so Holly untangled herself from the pile of ribbon and kid’s clothes. She brushed her hair out of her face, cursing her momma’s curls for the millionth time in her life. Holly had yet to find a climate her curls responded well to and no matter what she tried, they took on a mind of their own. The man paused in front of her window again, eyes and lips smiling. “It’s beautiful.” At least, that’s what she thought he said. Reading lips wasn’t exactly an everyday occurrence for her. “Thanks,” she mouthed in return and smiled back at him. Whether he’d said “it’s” or “you’re,” it fit. She doubted it was “you’re” considering … well, just considering, but she’d take the compliment however it was meant. “Wanna come to sell?” Sell? She furrowed her brow. Mr. Hot-Pants was leaning toward crazy. She knew it. One super hot man she’d seen in New York and he was riding the crazy train down Park. “What?” Give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s too hot to chase off now. “Wanna come to Hell?” Forget riding the crazy train, he was the conductor!

Chapter Two Waking up in a strange place is similar to waking after a person has overslept and didn’t hear their alarm clock. First, there’s denial. “No!” Then shock. “Holy shit!” Followed by panic. “Oh fuck!” For Holly, it went more along the lines of “Noholyshitohfuck.” Things kinda blend when a person opens their eyes and finds that she’s being stared at by no less than ten different “men.” Can’t forget the air quotes on that one. The people things staring at her were varying shades of red , from pale pink to a deep burgundy. “Oh! It’s awake!” A small, child-sized thing toddled toward her. She’d have almost called it a kid except for the horns. And the tail. And the purple color. And, oh yeah, lack of genitals. Otherwise it was totally a kid. The purple thing, that most definitely wasn’t a devil because they didn’t exist regardless of how it looked, reached out to touch her and she shrank back. “It sparkles! Like those fairies in that book we read. Did you bring us a fairy?” Another “man” pushed the devil, that wasn’t a devil, back. “Melich, those were vampires, made-up demons—” “Demons don’t suck blood,” the little devil who most definitely didn’t sound as if he, she, it, knew for a fact that demons didn’t drink blood, cut in. “So, she’s not a fairy.” “No,” another person, thing, replied. “She’s a Living.” Melich reached for her and she scooted back farther, shifting and shimmying until she hit an obstacle. Glancing up, she realized she’d run into another “man.” With a jump and a scream, she crawled to the other side of the circle around her, away from the purple baby, and yet still leaving space between her and the other men. “What,” a disembodied voice shouted over the growing crowd, “are you doing?” The men jumped back from her, seeming to shrink in size. “Samael tried to kill her!” “Did not! Melich tried to touch her!” “So… So Cresil tried to steal her. So there!” And the small creature stuck out his tongue for good measure. All of the men groaned and one of them scooped up the childlike thing. “Melich, you really should learn to lie properly. Cresil is the Demon of Laziness. Do you think he’d bother to expend the energy it’d take to steal the Living?” Sighing, the man and the child disappeared in a whiff of smoke. The remaining men looked at each other, identical looks of fear on their faces, and as one, disappeared in the same manner, leaving her and two other strangers alone in the large room. It was almost big enough to be considered a hall in times of old. Huge pillars supported the high ceiling and it looked to be as wide as it as long. And it was really long. They could fit two McAcy’s in the space and then some. Holly focused her attention on the two remaining men and realized that one of them bore an uncanny resemblance to her Mr. Hot-Pants. That settled things. This was a dream and nothing more. Because Mr. Hot-Pants wouldn’t be anywhere near her for any other reason.

So, her unconscious mind wanted her to spend time with the hottie and … an older, more distinguished version of the hottie. Hottie’s dad, maybe? She waved, opening up communication with her dream guys. Not her “dream” guys, but guys in her dream. Oh, whatever. Mr. Hot-Pants smiled and waved back. The other … did not. She didn’t want him to wave anyway. Old guy looked at Mr. Hot-Pants, then her and back again. “This is the Living you brought me? This?” He sighed. “She doesn’t even look festive!” “But…” “I don’t want to hear it, Damon. You didn’t want the job in the first place and you’ve brought back this poor excuse for a decorator just to piss me off, and do you realize how pissed this is going to make Him? He gets really angry when I kill for no reason, and she’s all covered in…” He made a disgusted face. “Goodness. I bet she would have had a ‘straight to heaven’ card too.” The man rocked his head side to side, his neck cracking with each shift. He tossed his cane to Mr. Hot-Pants and twined his fingers together and pushed out, cracking his knuckles as well. “Let’s do this. It’s been a long time since I’ve actively taken a soul. Have to admit I’m a bit rusty.” Holly scrambled to her feet. “Hold on a second. Poor excuse for a decorator?” Yes, out of the man’s entire tirade, the decorator comment stung the most. Because she’d long ago stopped dreaming she wasn’t good enough. “Listen, buster, I’m the best. Before I passed out I was this close to getting the Best Window Display Award for my work at McAcy’s. There is no one better. I’m so good that I could even make Hell shine. Asshole.” No one put her work down. Bitch about her looks, be snide about the way she dressed, but never ever say she didn’t know how to do her job damned well. The old guy stopped, eyes wide. He looked from the hottie to her and back again. “Did she just call me an asshole?” The hottie smiled at her. Yeah, she used to think he was cute. “Used to” being the operative words. “Yes, Uncle, she did.” “Damon, she says she can do the job, so let her try, but I refuse to put up with the woman.” He snatched his cane back from Damon and turned on his heel. “I swear, no respect. My domain and no one gives me an inch. I should cause some havoc and then let them come running. Maybe I’ll borrow the soul of Mother Theresa. See how everyone likes having her around for a few millennia.” The man kept grumbling and mumbling as he stalked toward the other end of the room. The whole hall vibrated, as if an earthquake suddenly overtook the building, and the man stopped walking and looked at the ceiling. “Fine. Don’t lend her to me. Be that way you selfish pri—” “Uncle!” The man looked back at Damon and scowled, tapping his cane to punctuate each word. “No.” Tap. “Respect.” Tap. “Yes, Uncle, we’ll work on that.” Damon’s uncle harrumphed and vanished in a puff of smoke. Why did she dream up such a jerk? Mr. Hot-Pants, still wearing said hot pants, took a few steps toward her, closing the distance between them. Holly knew his name now, Damon, but still had a hard time getting her brain past hottie! to actually process that he was something other than scrumptious. Like, pink.

The uncle’s skin had been white. As in whitewash-white and Damon’s skin … was pink. Lighter than baby-pink, but not quite white either. A shade of blush that was just this side of pasty. But what you wouldn’t call the color, was human. As in no peach or beige or anything related, near or far from a natural “person” color. Nu-uh, she couldn’t dream up mister human-wonderful. Nah, she got mister pink man. Damon tucked his hands in his pockets, pulling the leather lower on his waist and exposing some finely chiseled, pink marble abs. Again with the pink. “So…” Yeah, she’d dreamt up some talkers. “Look, this dream isn’t doing much for me. So, if my subconscious could just get to the point of all this, it’d be appreciated.” Damon froze, like marble. Pink marble. She snickered. He swallowed and stayed silent. For all of a second. “Um…” Oh yeah, she hit it outta the park with this dream. Right over left field. Crack! He cleared his throat and swallowed again. Maybe he had some sort of salivary gland problem. “This isn’t a dream, um, ma’am?” Holly closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Which part of that was a question? The dream or whether I’m a ma’am or not. Because if my own subconscious doesn’t know what I am, I’ll check myself into the loony bin now and save my family the trouble.” “No, no. This isn’t a dream and I just didn’t know what to call you. ‘Living’ seems very generic. They give you names there, don’t they?” Damn, she was dealing with someone who belonged in the loony bin with her. “My name is Holly. Ho-lly.” Then the rest of it hit her. “What do you mean this isn’t a dream. It isn’t like your subconscious to fuck with you. Scare you to near death, yes. Fuck with you? Not so much. Can I just say that this isn’t one of my best dreams?” Oh, pink guy was offended now. “What do you mean it isn’t one of your best dreams? You should know that you were perfectly happy to come with me before you woke up.” “I was passed out, asshole. I would have been happy to do anything.” She sighed. “How did I get here and where exactly is here?” She wasn’t convinced he was right, but she wasn’t all that sure that this was a dream, either. Damn it. “We’re in Hell.” “Like hell.” “No.” He furrowed his brow. “There isn’t anything like Hell. We’re in Hell.” “Uh-huh.” Soothing words … Singer, needle, thread, buttons, bows… “I’m in Hell?” “Yes.” He nodded. “I navigated the portal from Hell and emerged in the middle of a great plain. I walked and fought through the brush to find you and then brought you back here. To Hell.” “Wait a second. You emerged in the middle of a “great plain”?” He nodded, almost looking pleased with himself. That was going to be short-lived. “Liar. You navigated Central Park, dipshit. I ‘navigate’ that place on a daily basis. It’s a great walk, but it’s not some great plain that requires stocking up on food and water first. Try again, pinky.” “Fine. The grass was short and the brush was minimal. Happy?” Ooh, even dream men didn’t like being made to admit they’re wrong. Score one for Holly. “Yes, actually.” She tapped her chin. “And you brought me here, to Hell?” He nodded again. “Prove it.” His face went blank. “Prove what?”

Holly opened her arms and waved around. “Duh, that we’re in Hell. Prove it.” Damon quirked a brow. “How would you like me to prove it? You’ve been surrounded by demons, scrambled from a devil and you’re talking to a demon now. What more proof do you need?” Might as well go for the big guns. “Satan. Let’s say hello to the big guy down below.” “That’s what you want? You know you’ve already met him…” “Nah, really. Then let’s assume that this isn’t a dream. And assume further that I’m actually in Hell. I wanna meet the big kahuna one more time. Got it?” “If I do that, then can we talk about why you’re here?” “Sure!” Why the fuck not. Not like she wasn’t about to wake up anyway. Right? Two seconds and a poof of smoke later and they were standing in front of the old guy again. Holly stared up at Damon. And up. And up. Funny, she hadn’t realized how tall he was before. The man, demon, thing, had to be a good eight inches taller than her five feet six inches. Huh. Tall demon-man-thing. “I said I wanted to meet Satan.” Damon looked from her to the old guy and back again. “That’s him.” She looked at the older man, winter-white skin and dark hair and eyes. “He looks like you, but old. You’re trying to tell me a man with a cane is Satan, the Lord of Hell?” “No.” Tap. “Respect.” Tap. “I told you, Damon, I don’t want to deal with her. I swear to Me that if you don’t take her in hand, I will. And I’ll send her to Kobal and she can laugh herself to death.” The man harrumphed. Holly snorted. “That is kinda funny.” She mimicked the man calling himself Satan. “I swear to me.” She chuckled. “Look, Satan, this is a fun dream and all, but I’m going to wake up now and I’ll do my best to remember all of this because I’m sure it’ll give my therapist a boatload to jot in her little notebook. In the meantime, I’ll just pinch myself, okay?” She patted Damon on the arm, copping a quick feel of his muscles, ’cause hey, when was the next time she’d be that close to all that man yumminess? Never. “Lovely meeting you all, have a nice dream-life.” And she pinched herself. And nothing happened. So she did it again. Harder. And it hurt. More. She smiled at Damon, a half-chuckle escaping her lips. “Let’s just try again, shall we?” Skin was clamped between fingernails. Tears burned her eyes. Nothing else happened. Her attention darted between Damon, who more and more looked like a demon, and the old guy, who apparently was the devil himself. She sniffled. “You’re Damon?” Pink man nodded. “And he’s Satan?” Another nod. “And I’m not dreaming?” A quick shake, and his lips narrowed in a thin line. The bastard was either very serious or trying seriously hard not to laugh. “I swear to G—” A hand clamped over her mouth. A pink hand. “We don’t say that word here.” “Damon! She was going to use His name. Here of all places.” A tap of the cane. “I’ll take her soul, Damon, don’t think I won’t. No respect in my own domain! None!” Satan grumbled. “Get her out of here before I decide to do just that. Now.” Another mist of smoke and they were back in the great hall, his hand still over her mouth. “I’m going to take my hand away and you’re not going to say anything about the big guy upstairs, okay?” She rolled her eyes, but nodded. Yeah, no big “G” talk. She understood. She’d be

praying like hell if she ever got out of this, though. He slid his hand away, and she frowned at him, just to make sure he knew how pissed she was. “I swear that if this is some elaborate ploy to do … something … I’m going to have you put in jail for forever. And ever. Until you’re a rotting whatever you are. Did you know that you’re pink? Pink!” * “Pink? Pink. Pink!” Damon fumed and was tempted to call Satan back into the room to steal her soul after all. “I. Am. Not.” He ground his teeth, doing his best not to yell. It didn’t work. “Pink!” Calming words… Count souls… don’t strangle the Living… He cleared his throat and called in a set of chairs and a small table with two cups of café muerte. Let her drink some of that. “Why don’t you have a seat?” Breathe. “And we can discuss a few things.” She skirted around him and perched on the edge of the chair. He followed and snatched a cup off the table, downing the soothing brew in one gulp. “Ah, the taste of Hell.” He settled into the chair and stared at the Living before him. Damon placed his now empty cup on the table and put his elbows on his knees, focusing on the woman in front of him. “First. I am not pink. I am a blush-level demon and the Ambassador of Hell. The highest insult you could ever give someone of my esteem is to call me…” Deep breath. “Pink.” She held her hands up. “Woo, big bad blush demon gonna get me? Look. I’m in Hell for cryin’ out loud. At this point, I don’t care if you want to call yourself fuchsia for Go—cripe’s sake. Dude, you’re pink.” “Enough!” Damon grabbed her cup of café muerte and downed it in a gulp. One cup wasn’t enough today. The woman seemed to shrink into herself, shoulders slumping, eyes focusing on her lap. Damn, he felt like he’d just kicked a puppy. “Look.” He opened his mouth to explain and nothing came out. She stared at him with tears shimmering in her eyes, and now he felt like he’d helped a little old lady across the street. “I’m … sorry.” He spat the word. “A demon’s hue is important in our world. In pure power, I am one step below Satan himself. It assures that I won’t come to an unfortunate end here in Hell. If someone were to challenge me and win … I could end up upstairs, of all places.” That earned him a giggle and he smiled in response. Then frowned. He shouldn’t be smiling and laughing with the Living. She was here for a job and it was his job to keep her alive. “You mean you could end up with a visit to the big ‘G’?” He nodded, and she laughed even harder, clutching her stomach. “You! Of all places!” “Hey, I’ll have you know that I make a very good demon. I’m sure I’d do well wherever I land should something unfortunate occur. Which I hope it doesn’t.” She wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes. “Sure. If you say so.” Damon sighed. Nothing with this Living was going right. “How about we move on and discuss a few rules and why you’re here?” “Fire away, Pinky.” “Blush.” “Whatever.” She snorted, and he resisted the urge to beat her with a pillow. A pillow wouldn’t kill her outright. Would it? “As I was saying.” He shot her a pointed look. “The most important rule for your

stay—” “In Hell.” “Could you please just shut up until I finish?” He felt the vein in his forehead throbbing. She giggled. The Living giggled at the Ambassador of Hell, blush demon. She was either dumb or just didn’t give a damn. He couldn’t figure out which just yet. “As I was saying. Again. The most important rule during your stay in Hell is that you should never stray more than twenty feet from me.” He paused a moment, letting the severity of the first rule sink in. “If this is some cheap ploy to get into my pants, it won’t work. Just sayin’.” She crossed her legs, and Damon took a moment to admire her legs before he blew up at her. Again. “As lovely as you are, this isn’t a ploy.” “What happens if I decide to do a little running and shoot across the room?” She smirked, and he couldn’t hold his temper any longer. “At twenty feet, you’ll feel a little warm. At thirty, you’ll feel like you’ve been baking in the sun for a few hours. At forty, like you’ve been in the desert for weeks and at fifty, you’ll combust, burnt to ashes. It’ll be painless, but permanent.” “You’re joking.” Damon rose from the chair and placed his hands on the armrest of her seat, leaning over her, his face inches from hers. “This, I won’t joke about. If you run from me, you will perish and I can’t guarantee the fate of a soul born in Hell.” She swallowed audibly and he watched the wave of her throat. Her sweet peaches and cream throat was so different from the maroon damons, female demons, that threw themselves at him. “Okay,” she squeaked out. He nodded, a sharp dip of his head. “Good.” Damon retreated to his seat. “As for the rest of it… You’re here to create a holiday celebration for the babes.” Suddenly the fear was replaced with interest. “Create how?” “Like what you did in the window display. The babes have never had a winter holiday—” The Living furrowed her brow. “You mean like Chri—” Damon rushed forward and slapped his hand over her mouth. “No.” He shook his head. “No, we don’t celebrate that. That would be wrong on so many levels. We’re celebrating a gift giving occasion popularized by card makers. Nod if you understand.” She nodded and he kept his hand firmly in place until the movement was complete. “Good.” He slid his hand away from her mouth and took his seat. Again. Though, he didn’t know why he bothered, she was bound to try and say something else that would enrage Satan before the conversation was through. “As I was saying, you’ll decorate the hall with the appropriate winter holiday decorations and festivities. Uncle Satan said gifts were being handled, so you just have to handle the shiny stuff. Any questions?” She nodded. Of course the infernal woman had questions. “Won’t it all melt?” “Melt?” “Duh, Hell, hot. Shiny stuff is typically plastic. Plastic melts when it gets hot. With me so far, blush boy?” Damn Satan, he wouldn’t have to worry about cursing the woman to the fires, he’d

do it for him. “We will work on that. You just tell me what you need.” He wasn’t going to have any teeth left by the time this project was through. “And will you please call me by name? I have one.” “Really?” She leaned forward and her blouse opened just enough for Damon to see the tops of her breasts. She taunted him with the brief glimpses of flesh, and he had to force himself to focus on her words. “’Cause I have a name too, and it sure as shit isn’t Living.” Damon’s face grew cool in an embarrassing drain of heat from his cheeks. He supposed he could understand a little of her frustration since he had been calling her a Living this whole time. He cleared his throat. “I am Damon Damas, Ambassador of Hell, servant of the Lord of Hell, Satan.” She sniffed. “I am Holly Boughs, best window decorator you’ll ever meet and servant of the woman who could be Satan’s wife, Monica Shax.” Holly leaned forward. “She really is a bitch.” Damon held out his hand and she slipped hers within. “Nice to meet you, Holly Boughs.” The hall doors flew open and at least thirty demons, damons and devils tumbled in. “Boughs of Holly? We know that one!” * Holly twisted in her chair and froze. They were being invaded by pink babies. Hundreds of them. And they were all staring at her. Some had horns, some didn’t, and they were all bright and rosy and were bad devil singing. Deck the halls wif bows of holly! Fa la la la la, la la la la… And then they repeated. And repeated. And repeated. Loudly. And screaming. Screeching even. Holly rose to her feet and took two steps back, easing away from both Damon and the babies. She didn’t even know what they were, just that they were staring at her as if she were their next meal. For all she knew, she was. Two steps turned into four and still they sang. Only now, they were toddling closer as well. The taller ones were gaining ground, pushing the smaller kids out of the way or down to the ground. Part of her heart ached for the tiny babes. The rest of her told her to get the fuck away. She was listening to that part. Closer and closer they moved and farther and farther away she eased until they were both gaining and losing ground in tandem. “Damon…” She needed him. Wasn’t he supposed to keep her alive? “Oh! She knows our names!” one of the smaller ones cried and they increased their pace toward her. The air around her grew hotter with every step and she wiped sweat from her brow. She really needed to get to the gym more if half-jogging had her heating up so much. Farther and farther she shuffled, and the heat grew worse. Hotter, higher, more and more with every step. Still the kids ran and reached for her, some with fangs, others with horns, and her panic rose, heart pounding in her chest. Without thought for the consequences, Holly spun and broke out into a mad run. Far and away and farther still she moved, pain and heat wrapping around her like a spiked blanket … and then she remembered Damon’s words.

Oh shit. She was in Hell and it was hot.

Chapter Three Lord of Hell, the King of Darkness, Satan was pissed. Which mean Hell, was well, hotter than Hell. Insanely hot. The souls were crying, the babes were whiny, harpies weren’t visiting and the damons were bitching about their hair. Yeah, pissed might not be strong enough of a word for Satan’s attitude at the moment. The Lord was pacing his study, cane clicking and clacking on the granite floor, the whole building vibrating with Satan’s fury. “Tell me, Damon…” His voice was whisper soft. Scary as hell. “Why is that thing here? Hmm?” “The thing about it is—” “Do! Not! Do not underestimate me or try to joke your way out of this, Damas!” Flames roared to life within the room, the heat rising and rising, higher and higher. “She was hurt. Her heart stopped.” The entire room burst into flames. “Hurt!” The door burst from its hinges. “And whose fault is that!” Damon remained seated, thankful that he’d chosen Hell’s rock chair. “Mine.” His, only his. His smiling peaches and cream woman crumbled before him under the weight of Hell. She’d been frightened, but she was afraid of the babes as well and he couldn’t blame her. But to become so distracted that… Unfamiliar feelings pulsed through his veins. Guilt. Remorse. Caring. It was the caring that disturbed him most of all. He hadn’t ever … respect, almost. That he knew. But the cool feeling in his coal-hot chest was new and he wasn’t sure if he liked it at all. No amount of rubbing or time spent suffering Satan’s wrath was warming that freezing spot in the center of his chest. Nothing. “Exactly! Now tell me why that thing is here?” Satan growled, the flames dying down. “We don’t exactly have demon healers, Uncle Satan.” “Respect!” Respect. Right. He was supposed to have that for the big man in charge. “My Lord, demon healers are unknown to our establishment. It was essential for Holly’s well being that someone with healing capabilities be brought to the hall.” There, polite and everything. “Holly? So it’s Holly now, not the Living?” Damon closed his eyes, regretting the slip, but not her name on his lips. “The Living, my Lord.” “Right. And the reason that thing is now in my lair?” Satan was calm, too calm. “Demons aren’t known for their healing ability, my Lord. I appealed to On High to heal one of their own and they acquiesced.” “I see.” Uh-oh. “So, you requested assistance from On High instead of returning this Living to her home plane.” Damon nodded, unsure what to do. “And then, they sent…” Satan tilted his head to the side, cracking his neck. “An angel!”

Yeah, Damon kinda figured that an angel showing up wasn’t going to sit well with his uncle. He’d been right. “He is an excellent healer, my Lord. And we do need the Living, well, alive.” Satan glared at him, eyes burning bright. “Do not remind me what we need. What you should have done was let her perish and fight her way out of Hell like the other souls. That’s what you should have done. But, nooo, you had to involve what’s-his-name upstairs and heal her. Didn’t you?” Satan sighed and slumped into a Hell’s rock chair. “Just come get me when he’s done with her.” Damon hopped from his chair, happy that the worst of Satan’s temper had dwindled. “But her display better be damned good or there’ll be no help from On High next time,” Satan called after him, and Damon faltered. He wouldn’t let that happen. Those sweet lips and fiery eyes called to him, her body beckoned him to stroke and pet those luscious curves. She was his and this accident solidified everything he’d been feeling from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. The room cool, well, relatively cool, Damon went in search of his Holly and the being assisting him. He found them easily enough. His brother Leonard stood outside Damon’s rooms, arms crossed and eyes burning bright. “I couldn’t just leave her when Uncle summoned you. She’s…” “Mine.” He was possessive, damn it. His brother chuckled, a smile coming to his face. “Well, well. Brother dear, you’ve met your match in this hellcat.” “I—” “Oh, you have,” his brother needled. “She stood up to Uncle. Toe to toe with him and didn’t back down for a moment.” “Fire.” Damon nodded. “And ice. At least until the babes came running at her, full tilt and looking for attention.” “Ah, so she has the same aversion as you do. Good. It’ll make the issue of offspring easier.” Damon nodded again, agreeing with his brother. True. How many Living had been lost due to demon babes tearing their mothers open during birth? Carrying a demon was difficult for the damons at best and fatal at worst. It was a guaranteed death sentence for Living women. A bright white light shone from beneath the doorway. “How does she fare?” Leonard sighed, eyes sad. “She hasn’t risen. The … being still hasn’t come out to report. She still fights. I can feel her, but I … feel an emptiness. I don’t have the urge to conquer and steal her soul. It’s as if her very being is gone.” Gone? Couldn’t be. Not after he’d just realized that he wanted her as more than a Living to complete his job. The door clicked and slid open, revealing the purity of the man within. Thoughts and murmurs tinkled and blew through his mind. The man’s voice, but not. Too pure, the being’s very presence threatened their lives, their very existence. With one word, the walls would come crashing down. The Metatron, God’s very voice, was in residence, delivering a message. She lives, yet she dies. Her heart is strong, but broken. Her soul is here, yet gone. You must wait, she must be judged.

**** Dying, Holly realized, wasn’t all that bad. Oh, the trip to death sucked hairy balls, but being dead was kind of … floaty. Holly danced through the air, shifting this way and that, pausing to listen to conversations here and there. Most she passed without thought, demons and devils discussing the next soul to torment. She didn’t want them catching her, she was destined to go to Heaven. Period, end of story, thanks for the visit. No way she’d stick around here in Hell. No. Way. She’d hunt up that white light if it took an eternity and Hell would freeze over if they thought they’d toss her into the burning pits with all of those other icky bad souls. She floated down a hallway, enjoying her time exploring the ins and outs of Hell’s great hall. It was down one specific hallway that she ventured and learned more than she desired. Or did she? Damon, sexy, growly, asthmatic Damon was speaking to another demon. They looked the same, but different. The other was a hint darker than Damon’s blush. Yet they both bore the same look of concern. Curious. And then she heard their words, and if she still had a heart, it would have stopped. Mr. Hot-Pants wanted her? Little ole Holly Boughs? Now she wished she had stuck around in her body, stayed corporeal just to see if he’d make a move, seduce and woo her. She’d never been truly wooed before, and she had to admit the prospect excited her. She wasn’t even sure what a demon’s version of wooing was, but dang it, she wanted that. But she was dead. And he was … something other than Living. Demon-Living? She ached for him though, with or without a body. She’d been attracted to him even before he’d kidnapped her, and now his worry over her touched her heart in a way it hadn’t been touched before. She wanted to reach out and smooth the lines of concern between his eyebrows, ease the tension and throw herself into his arms. Or skip most of that and go to the jumping into his arms part. She really wanted to do that. She just needed to get her body back. Only … she couldn’t. It didn’t matter. She’d stick around. Maybe figure out how to communicate with him, learn about him. Holly hadn’t ever had anyone that cared … in any way. Sure, she had family, but this felt … different. A good different, but different just the same—even if he was a demon from Hell and his uncle was Satan. Suddenly the hallway was filled with a blinding white light, and yet the men didn’t react, just continued their conversation as if nothing had changed. Holly could see the light clearly, a man standing in the center, beckoning her, calling her, urging her to come forward. But she didn’t want to, didn’t want to leave Damon. Damon’s pull was still so great, but the light was even greater, stronger. She felt her soul floating forward even as she fought the stranger’s hold. No. No! It didn’t matter. Within moments she was following the man, into the light and away from Damon. No! Shhh, the man urged. You shall be judged and the gatekeeper is rarely wrong. Great. Rarely. How reassuring. Was this like a web hosts ninety-nine percent uptime assurance? Well, his new assistant still has a few issues…

Issues, uh-huh. Lots of confidence there. In moments she felt the white light release her and found herself in a large, spacious office. One desk filled the room along with what looked like hundreds of other souls. All of them in a line before the desk. This isn’t what she wanted, what she signed up for. Damon said he was going to protect her. Wasn’t there some demon promise or something that would get her back to him? She should have made a deal with the devil, Satan, whatever. Then she’d probably still be in Hell with the man who got all growly for her. Following the line with her eyes, she saw that the end snaked through the room, the line moving painstakingly slow as each soul presented itself to the secretary. “Assistant! I’m an assistant to the gatekeeper! I have the stamps to prove it, thank you very much.” The assistant ranted to the soul before her. “And you, sir of the puppy kicking, are going to Hell for a century, after which you can be revaluated.” Whoa, hard core. Holly made a note not to piss her off. She had a goal and that looked like the woman to suck up to. Sighing, or at least a ghost’s closest approximation of a sigh, Holly floated to the end of the line which seemed like miles long. Holly watched the door each soul passed through, noting the flashes of light coming from beneath the wood. White and red, and you couldn’t always tell by looking at a ghost exactly where it’d end up. Some looked creepy, as if they belonged in Hell, and yet the assistant sent them to Heaven. Curious. She wondered where exactly she’d be placed. No! She didn’t want to go to Heaven. She wanted to get back to Damon to explore what could be. She didn’t love the man, but there was something there, something more than “like.” They hadn’t known one another long enough for much more. Love was not built in a day. Time passed quickly, souls floating this way and that, and suddenly Holly found herself in front of the assistant. The woman smiled at her. “Hello, I’m Mira, the gatekeeper’s assistant. I see here that you devote time to the homeless and needy children as well as volunteering at an elderly facility. I’d say you’re a shoe-in for Heaven, but do you have anything to add before I send you on to the gatekeeper?” “I don’t want to go to Heaven.” Mira frowned. “Everyone wants to go to Heaven. There’s all you can eat without gaining an ounce and all the Prada, Coach and Manolos you could ever dream of. Heaven is the place to be, darling. I promise you. If I could die, I’d so be there. The big guy is insisting I stick around here, though. Selfish.” The woman raised the Heaven stamp, and Holly shoved her hand beneath it, keeping her from completing her judgment. “The thing about it is…” “Oh, great, you’re one of those people.” Mira sighed. “Get it out then.” “I was in Hell.” “The Living don’t go to Hell.” How many times had she been told that in the last twenty-four hours? “But I was in Hell and I met this demon, Damon, and—” “Wait, which one?” Mira interrupted. “Damas.” “Of course you did. He’s a smooth talker, that one. He’s the Ambassador of Hell, it’s his job to be all dreamy and convincing.” The woman raised the stamp again and Holly grabbed her arm. Could that be it? Had

his words been him doing his job? No. No. She wouldn’t believe it. He’d been talking with another demon and Holly had already become a ghost. No way it’d all been a ploy. “Look. I hate to disagree with you, but I want my body back. Truly. He’s not just smooth-talking me… I think there’s something there, but—” “Good Heaven, you’re in love.” “No, no, no, it’s nothing like that. I’m in a lot of like with him, I admit. But there’s also a whole passel of demon babes counting on me to create the perfect holiday for them and I can’t do that from Heaven.” See, no one could disappoint babies. It was a cosmic law or something. The woman’s mouth dropped open. “You’re creating Christmas for demons?” “No, ’cause that would be wrong. In Hell? Are you joking? It’s just a highly popularized, card company driven holiday. Presents for the kids. No celebrating His son’s birthday.” Holly shook her head. “’Cause that would be wrong.” She’d had that drilled into her head enough. “So, you want to go back to your body for a guy and some demon kids? I got that right?” Holly nodded, biting her lip and hoping Mari would return her to Hell. “Give me two seconds, gotta get the return stamp from the boss. One time I send a serial killer back and he puts the darned thing under lock and key.” Mira ducked behind the large wooden door and Holly couldn’t help but eavesdrop. “No.” A deep voice, must be the boss. “Yes.” “No, Mira.” “But I read her file and she’s really, really good this time.” “You read the last guy’s file.” “No, he just spoke Prada, and I fixed that one. Come on, please?” Then the voices dropped low, seductive, sensual, and Holly could only imagine what she was promising. She didn’t want Mira to sell herself, not for her sake. Mira appeared within moments, face flushed. “Okay then, got the stamp.” “Mira, wait, I didn’t want you to … with your boss … and…” “Oh, honey, he’s my mate as well as my boss.” Mira winked. “And sometimes I use that to my advantage. Now, you ready? The ride will be bumpy.” Holly nodded. She was ready to return to Damon and reluctantly return to the babes who needed her. Just as long as what Damon said was true and she’d never have to have kids of her own. ’Cause, ow! “I’m ready.” She got a quick glance at her file, at the stamp Mira placed on the front, and grinned. Return to Sender In a rush, her soul was sucked through the floor, down and down and down through the building until she could feel the warmth spreading through her from head to toe. In awe, she watched as everything sped by as she was pulled faster and faster until… Holly came back to life with a deep breath and a scream bursting from her lips. Pain warred with pain, wracking her body from head to toe in a burning, torching fire along her skin. Then, just as quick as the pain crested, it ebbed, becoming a soothing warmth. Opening her eyes, she stared into the deep blackness of Damon’s gaze, concern marring his features. “Don’t you ever die on me again!” he yelled at her, the walls shaking.

“Don’t you ever yell at me again,” Holly returned, her voice hoarse. And then his lips crashed into hers—a bruising passionate kiss. An exchanging of need and want and caring and possibly something more… But she wasn’t sure. His tongue stroked and dueled with hers, petting and stroking in a rhythm as old as time itself. His warmth filled her, caressed her in ways she’d dreamed and hoped from the time she was a little girl. She’d longed for this her entire life. A kiss that would curl her toes and make her want from just a touch of lips. Damon moaned and pulled her close, angling his head this way and that, taking the kiss further and further until she felt the answering pull between her thighs. She needed and desired and had to have him more than any other. Now and then and forever more. His hands skimmed her skin, kissing her with his touch, lighting the fire hotter and brighter than before. His lips traveled to her neck, fire following in his wake. “Damon.” She panted and then moaned. “Oh, Damon.” “Damon, for the hate of Satan!” another male yelled, and it felt as if a bucket of iced water had been dumped on her. Holly squeaked and pushed Damon away from her, embarrassed to be caught necking. “You, brother hated, have horrible timing,” Damon ground out, and the other man, Damon’s brother, laughed. “Can’t you leave her alone for a moment? She’s just come back from the dead for Satan’s sake.” True, but she felt great. Better than great, truly. “Damon, I’m fine.” Damon kissed her nose and shifted his head back and forth, rubbing their noses together. “No, Leonard’s right, I shouldn’t have jumped on you like that. You just…” “Yeah.” She got that. Holly wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close, whispering in his ear. “I enjoyed it, though.” He whispered back. “Me too.” She released the breath she’d been holding. She wasn’t really all that good at the sex stuff. Too bad Mira wasn’t there. The woman oozed sensuality and confidence with her mate. Holly only hoped that she could learn that someday. Of course, without the dying part first. **** “You are.” Damon wouldn’t budge on this. “Am not!” “Are!” “Not.” She stuck her tongue out at him, and he was tempted to kiss her again. He’d felt her passion, felt the heat between them, and it sure as Heaven wasn’t the fires of Hell burning her when they kissed. Okay, he could convince her of this. He was an ambassador for Hell’s sake. “Holly, I can’t protect you from the heat if we’re not together.” “That doesn’t mean we have to be in the same bed.” She stomped toward the window, staring out into Hell’s barren landscape. “Yes, it requires us to be touching when I sleep.” A lie, but hopefully she’d fall for it. He really wanted to have her in his arms all night. Even if all they did was sleep. “You’re a liar,” she sing-songed at him.

Damn. “Maybe, but it doesn’t lessen my determination at all. Don’t you want to be in my arms?” He really wished he’d learned to pout properly when he and Leonard were children. Leonard always got what he wanted when a pout was involved. “Nice try.” She narrowed her eyes. “But it’s not going to work.” “What if I ask nicely?” “I don’t think you know how.” Oh, this he could do. He padded toward her and twined her fingers with his, the contrast between his blush and her peach skin arousing him, enticing him. “Holly, I would love for you to sleep next to me, in my arms, where I know you’ll be safe and cared for.” She swallowed, throat working, and he nearly moaned, the line of her neck tempting him to kiss the silken skin. “Cared for?” This time he gave in to temptation and brushed his lips just below her ear, nibbling her earlobe and whispering so softly, “Yes.” “Yes.” And then she moaned his name. “Damon.” “Come, lover. Come to bed.” “We’re not having sex, Damon.” Sure they weren’t. He hadn’t become the ambassador because he lost arguments.

Chapter Four Holly lay on the right side of the bed. Damon came to bed after her and lay in the middle. Bastard. Snuggled under the blankets, wearing an oversized T-shirt and boxers, she felt relatively safe. Except relative was all … relative. Her heart beat to the sound of a drum she’d never heard before, anticipation rising with each passing second. She played the “would he or wouldn’t he” game in her head, unsure of which outcome she was rooting for. She rolled to her side, clutching the pillow beneath her head and willing her heart to slow down, her breathing to become normal. She wanted him, his sexy body, those sweet lips and that sharp tongue. But part of her was still … uneasy. He was a demon for Heaven’s sake. Wouldn’t that guarantee her a spot in Hell? Falling for a demon? A demon with bedroom eyes and hair that looked silky soft? It didn’t matter because she wasn’t falling for him. Not one bit. Nu-uh. Not happening, Hot Stuff. She nibbled her lower lip, straining to hear his breathing. Was he asleep? With her half-naked next to him? The nerve! He’d … and she’d … and now… Damn it! Being a woman in Hell was difficult. “Quit thinking so hard, Holly.” She squeaked and nearly rolled off the side of the bed. “Huh? I’m not doing anything.” Damon’s arm snaked around her waist and he hauled her toward the middle of the bed, her back to his front. From shoulders to thigh, she was plastered to him, his hand splayed across her stomach. Damon pressed a light kiss to her cheek. “Quit thinking so hard. What happens, happens. Let Satan’s will be done.” “You mean Go—” Damon slapped his hand over her mouth, cutting off her words. “No, baby, what did Uncle Satan say about that down here?” Holly sighed and rolled her eyes, tugging his hand away from her. “Yeah, yeah. Can I call him the big guy or something then? This no “word” rule is getting old.” Damon slid his hand back into place and snuggled close. “Nope. Get over it and get some sleep.” “That’s it? Get some sleep? No cajoling or weaseling or anything?” He nuzzled her hair. “Let me catch a few winks and then I’ll take you up on the offer.” The offer? Holly punched her pillow and laid her head down to sleep. Offer? She snorted. As if. He was the last man in Heaven, or Hell, that she’d sleep with. No, wait. She was sleeping with him. He was the last person/demon/thing she’d have sex with. Yeah, that. Damon’s warmth, his heat, seeped into her. Holly’s eyelids grew heavy, limbs sluggish and unresponsive. She wiggled closer to the source of the heat and sighed when it seemed to wrap around her like a blanket. “Mm…” She moaned and then sighed, drifting into a peaceful sleep, Damon at her side.

She awoke freezing. The deepest black surrounded her, making it difficult to see. It felt as if someone had placed a blindfold over her eyes. The blackness enveloped her, sending her into a panic. The ice cold, the bleak darkness… This was too much like a nightmare and not enough like real life. This was, quite literally, Hell. “Da-Damon?” She hated the shakiness of her voice, the uncertainty. “Damon?” she called again, desperate to have him with her. A light flickered and came to life near the window, illuminating the entire room. Damon stood next to the window, a ball of fire in his palm, rolling the flame back and forth between his hands. He was bare from the waist up, his blush skin glowing in the golden firelight, accentuating his chiseled torso. The light showed off each ripple and flex of his muscles, the six-pack abs, and the sharp lines at his hips that disappeared beneath his pants. The pants clung to him, accentuating the muscles of his legs, but more importantly, the bulge at his groin. He was excited. By her? By another? She didn’t know. Couldn’t guess. But something had driven him from the bed and forced him to blacken and cool the room to an uncomfortable temperature. “Damon, come back to bed,” she ordered, didn’t ask, and held out her hand for him. He shook his head. “It’s cold. I need you to warm me.” He shook his head again and closed his eyes. Within moments, the temperature of the room rose to a comfortable level. “I can’t, Holly. I … I can’t.” She untangled herself from the bedcovers and padded toward him, stopping when only a foot separated them. “Why?” She held out her hand. “Come with me. I want you to warm me.” “The room is warm.” He stared into his ball of fire. “Not enough. Not without you.” “I’ll burn you, Holly. I’m fire. You’re light. It… I’m trying to be noble, damn it.” He growled, squashing the flames into his fist. Threat of harm gone, Holly closed the distance between them and insinuated herself into his arms and stared at his profile. “Damon, even light needs a little fire. Come to bed.” He stared down at her and she returned his scrutinizing gaze. “I won’t be… I’ll want you, no matter how wrong it is or the fact that it may never go beyond tonight. I want you.” He pressed a tender kiss to her lips and she inhaled his sweet smoky scent. “It doesn’t matter. I want tonight.” She kissed him, rising onto her tiptoes, searching for more than she’d been given. “I want you.” Damon moaned and returned her kiss, increasing it ten-fold, demanding more and giving everything and nothing and then some. She opened to him, letting him pillage and plunder her mouth with a fierce intensity that almost scared yet excited her. This is what she wanted, this unbridled passion and desire that she’d never experienced before. There’d been affection and small doses of arousal, but Damon left her wanting after a kiss, a connection of lips and nothing more. He nudged her backward, and she handed her trust over to him, allowing him to be her eyes and legs, pushing her this way and that until the back of her legs hit the bed. He broke the kiss then, his eyes literally burning with fire, and she gloried in her ability to drive him that high, that hot.

Holly leaned back on her hands, waiting for his next move, his next direction. His hands fought and fumbled with the tie of his pants until he growled in frustration. “Here, let me…” He burned them to ash. Okay then. “Stay very, very still, Holly.” “Wha—” The heat started as a tickle, a feather dancing along her skin but not enough to make her giggle. She kept her eyes trained on Damon, watching him concentrate on her, his eyes still burning. “Stay…” The heat intensified, centering around her nipples and pussy, spreading and turning, torturing and demanding her arousal. Her breath came in harsh pants, and she ached to rock her hips, or rub her breasts to ease the ache. “Still.” This time it burst through her like a flash, a quick flick of searing pain, and then it vanished, the warming around her nipples and pussy gone as quickly as it had come. Damon leaned forward, hand trailing over her … bare skin? Holly looked at her body and gaped. She was nude, blackened ashes surrounding her on the bed, flitting and fluttering to the floor to join the ashes of Damon’s pants. “Damon!” He rubbed his nose against hers. “You liked it. Don’t tell me you didn’t. I get you hot.” She pressed her lips against his for a quick kiss. “You know you do. In more ways than one.” She giggled and he growled, dropping on top of her and then rolling them toward the center of the bed. “I’m going to make love to you unless you say no, Holly.” He kissed her cheek, her nose, her chin and her forehead. Holly spread her legs for him, allowing his hips, his cock, to connect with her pussy. The heat she felt wasn’t just her desire for him, but his physical heat as well. His erection tempted and teased her with its warmth, so much hotter than her own temperature. He continued his trail of kisses, exploring her neck, her earlobe, her collarbone. “I want you, Damon. Want you.” She could barely speak, his kisses, his lips alone, arousing her. The need, want, for him grew more and more with each passing second. Damon sunk his teeth into the top of her breast, growling with the bite, and she arched into him, the pain mingling with her pleasure. “Yes.” His travels didn’t stop at her breasts, he shifted and moved, mouth licking, teeth biting from breasts to pubis. Holly spread her legs wide, aching and wanting and praying … okay, not really praying because she wasn’t about to pray to Satan for an orgasm. She just couldn’t. Gentle, warm fingers separated her pussy lips and she held her breath, waiting for the next touch. Damon didn’t disappoint. His tongue snaked out, lapping and licking her moisture, dipping and stroking the special place between her thighs. His tongue circled her cunt, round and round and round again, tempting and teasing her with his movements, pulling her climax forward. He didn’t focus his attention solely on her pussy, but also flicked and nibbled her clit, sucking and laving the sensitive bud with his talented tongue. Every shift, every move, every motion, aroused her, yanked her orgasm closer, pushed her toward the edge. Damon slid one finger and then two into her passage, stroking her from within while his tongue sprinkled magic over her clit. The fires of Hell weren’t just burning outside in the pits this night, but were burning bright within Holly as

well. The nerves in her body tingled and sang, waiting and wanting and desiring more and less and somewhere in between. She ached and hurt for more, but wanted less, yet it all wasn’t enough. “Damon… Damon, please.” She wasn’t above begging and pleading for release, not with him. He slid his fingers free of her pussy and pressed a gentle kiss to her mound. “What do you need, baby? What can I give you?” His eyes had gone full white. White-hot. And she, little Holly, had done that to him—a demon who’d probably had more than his share of women throughout eternity. “You. Just you.” “Oh, you have me. Always.” She didn’t want to think of always or forevers or tomorrows. Just right now. Damon crawled up her body, lips kissing, teeth nipping as his mouth approached hers. He touched her and stroked her with every inch of skin, blush muscles sliding and slithering against her peaches and cream skin. He rose above her, balanced on his hands and knees, cock nestled against her labia. “Are you sure, Holly?” “Yes.” Yes, yes, and yes a thousand times. Poised on one hand, Damon settled the tip of his cock at her entrance, and she shivered in anticipation. He pressed forward, inch by agonizing inch, filling and stretching her like never before. He pushed and sank his cock into her channel, further and further and further still until his hip rested against her, his dick completely inside her. “Full, so full. Move, Damon.” The fizzling sparks of her arousal were quickly relighting with his invasion. His cock touched and stroked those places deep inside that she never believed existed and now they were awakened by this man. He did as she’d asked, retreating slowly before advancing again, his pelvic bone pressing and stroking her clit with each stroke. In and out and in and out, he filled her, loved her, fucked her like she couldn’t have ever imagined. She moaned and groaned, rocking her hips in time with his thrusts, rising to meet him, pushing herself to fly higher, burn brighter. The tiny tingles of pleasure and arousal met and mated, skittering and dancing along her spine, through muscle and bone. Muscles tensed and tightened, pending release and ecstasy. “Close…” She’d hold on if she had to, she wanted to come with him. “Yesss…” he hissed, increasing his speed, fucking her with a frenzied abandon that she loved, needed and craved. He pumped harder and harder, skin slapped against skin, their bodies coated in sweat. That building pleasure gathered and collected, centering around the juncture of her thighs. Her pussy pulsed and tremors began spreading throughout her body, muscles tensing and preparing for their release … until, until, until … she came with a shout, Damon’s name on her lips, bodies touching and fucking, her own her thoughts entirely centered on him. Distantly, she heard her own name shouted when Damon tensed and froze above her, hips jerking three final times before his entire body stilled, beautiful agony all over his face. Seconds ticked by while they remained lost in their pleasure and the beauty of each other’s bodies. Finally, panting, Damon slumped over Holly, and she accepted his weight gladly.

“Mm…” She kissed his cheek, nuzzled his neck. “I… I think you killed me.” Holly laughed and then caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. Smoke was gathering by the window, shifting and forming into a… “Demon!” She stared wide-eyed, unable to breathe. “You don’t look dead.” The demon cocked his head to the side. “I thought she’d killed you. That’s my job, you know.” The demon took two steps forward, and Damon stopped him with a few words. “Damn it, Samael. I didn’t say I was dead. It was a figure of fucking speech. Get. Out!” The demon disappeared as quickly as he’d manifested, and Damon pulled out of her. She whimpered at the loss, but it wasn’t like they could stay connected forever. He rolled to the side and snuggled her against him into the shelter of his arms, yanking the blanket over them. “So, Samael?” “Uh, yeah. Demon Angel of Death. You want a plague or mass genocide? He’s your guy.” “Ah. And he popped into the bedroom because?” This had better be good or she was hunting the demon down herself. “He hasn’t had a lot of work lately and hasn’t found a hobby he likes. So, any hint of the ‘D’ word and he’s on it like white on rice.” “Uh-huh. What he really needs is a girlfriend. He’ll be so busy with her, he won’t have time to pout about being out of work.” Damon chuckled and pulled her closer, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. “Maybe, sweetheart. Just maybe.” **** The next morning: One day AR (After Resurrection—Like God, but different) “Wake up! Damon, wake up!” She nudged him, pulled and prodded him, and finally sat on him in an attempt to wake the man, demon, guy who blew her mind. “What?” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, a satisfied smirk still in place. “I need a tree.” She paced the room, ideas bouncing through her mind at a mile a minute. Damon grumbled and rolled over, leaving his round ass in the air and just begging for a smack. “We don’t have trees.” She hopped onto the bed, bouncing and energized, ready to take on Hell. She bent at the waist and popped his butt, once on each cheek. “No trees?” “Hey! And no, no trees.” “How about a bush? Don’t ya’ll have a burning bush or something you can gather for me?” A swirling mist filled the bedroom. “Did someone say fire? I have fire.” Holly stared at the new arrival, fully ablaze from head to toe, filling the room with an almost unbearable heat. Damon threw a pillow at the ball of flames and it disintegrated. “We don’t need you, Ukoback. Go back to tending the fires.” Damon mumbled under his breath, and all she could hear was something about “interfering demons.”

Undeterred, she padded around the bed and dropped to her knees so she could sit nose-to-nose with her personal demon. Soft snores and snuffles emanated from Damon, and Holly pressed her forehead to his. “Hey, Damon, I need a tree and I’ll call it the ‘C’ word if you don’t help me get it.” Damon snorted and flopped to his back, forearms covering his face. “The lady wants a tree, I’ll get her a tree.” **** Three Days AR (After Resurrection—Like God, but different) “Damon!” She really enjoyed being able to boss Damon around. More than she ought to, but not enough to get him really angry. She giggled. “Da-mon.” She singsonged his name. “For the love of H—” “Ooh… I’m telling Uncle Satan you almost said a bad word,” she teased. It’d become a lot easier to think of the Lord of Hell as her uncle as opposed to, well, the Lord of Hell. “I was not.” “Were to.” “Not.” “To.” “Damn it, Holly.” She popped up onto her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his mouth. “Thanks. Now, I need ribbons.” “We don’t have ribbons.” She harrumphed and propped her hands on her hips. “Damon, you said the same thing about all of my other requests and yet you still find something to make me happy. Ribbons will make me and the babes happy.” “We don’t have any ribbons here. The harpies…” “Great! Let’s go visit them.” She gathered her notepad, pen and the bag she’d begun using as a purse. “Over my dead—” A mist appeared next to Holly, a voice following the formation of a demon. “Did someone say dead? Do I get to kill her now? I’ve been really good waiting, Damon.” “For the hate of—No, Samael, you cannot kill her. Ever. For all of eternity.” Damon fumed, his face turning, well, red. Samael looked at Holly. “He said over his dead body.” The demon turned his attention to Damon. “You said over your dead body. So I get two for one. Ready to die, Damon?” Then the fists went flying. Men. She’d just have to find a way to get to the harpies by herself then. Without dying, of course. **** Five Days AR (After Resurrection—Like God, but different)

“You can’t have Ch—a holiday without Ch—holiday dinner! We need yams and stuffing and ham and…” Did the man not understand the importance of a holiday dinner? It was the best part of the holiday, excluding the presents, of course. All of the yummy food that no one would cook except on Chri—a holiday. They also needed a new name for the holiday besides “holiday.” “They won’t eat it.” “They will.” “Won’t.” Okay, this bickering and one-upmanship thing had to stop. “Why not?” If he had a good reason, she wouldn’t beat him to death with the candelabra. She. Wouldn’t. “Because we don’t eat.” “Damn it.” A rumbling voice came from behind her and she saw Samael in the doorway. “What?” She hadn’t called him and neither had Damon. The planning was supposed to be secret. “She thought of death. I was just going to help.” The demon shrugged. He really needed to find some people to kill. Or a date. **** Seven Days AR (After Resurrection—Like God, but different) Holly-Day! Holly closed her eyes and counted to ten. Again. The babes had named the holiday after her of all people. Nope, nothing original or awe-inspiring. Holly-Day. In honor of her, the woman that pulled it all together. The burning bush/Holly-Day tree stood in the center of the room, babes taking turns tossing in the different colorants she’d had Damon hunt up. With all of the red in Hell, she wanted to bring other colors to the babies. And instead of picking one color, she gave them a rainbow. Tossing in Epsom salts produced white flames, potassium chloride produced purple, and copper chloride produced blue. Just about any color they could want was there in buckets surrounding the bush, making the tree more colorful than the ones she’d created in the Living realm. The tree skirt had been avoided after the fifth one she’d created went up in flames. She figured it was pretty enough as is. The garland around the room had been a smidge more difficult, but that’s where Melich came in. She sent him scavenging in the Living realm for shiny bits of metal. He came back with full sheets three times the size of him, and several looking conspicuously like parts of actual cars. She wasn’t going to ask. It wasn’t like the cops were going to come to Hell and arrest her, or them. So, she’d employed Damon and his demon abilities plus a little heating help from Ukobach to twist, stretch and bend the metal into thin, interwoven, shining strands of metal that wouldn’t melt the moment they left Damon’s protective barrier around her. The garland was a hit. Holly employed the same technique when creating the stockings. Each babe donated one of their socks and she toiled for hours, sewing and weaving the shiny strings of metal into the cloth, forming each babe’s name on the sock. Then there were the presents… Uncle Satan had assured her that the entire day would be gift enough for the little ones. She called him stingy. In the end, Leonard

traveled to the Living realm and returned with bag after bag of heat resistant materials. If it could be baked, microwaved and put over an open flame, it was brought to Hell, to Holly. With those items and a bit of Leonard’s sorcery, toys were created that wouldn’t melt in Hell’s climate. Damon sidled up to her, pressing his front to her back and wrapping his arms around her waist. “It’s beautiful. Because of you.” He pressed a kiss to her neck. “I made it beautiful or it wouldn’t be beautiful if I wasn’t here?” “Uh…” She’d totally stumped him. The goal of every woman in life. “What is it, Damas?” She loved calling him by his last name, especially when she pronounced it Dam-ass. “Uh, I love you?” Holly pushed his arms away and spun to face him. “Excuse me?” He raised his eyebrows. “Wrong answer?” Oh, she could just… Samael took two steps toward them. “Don’t need you, Samael!” Damn it, she couldn’t even get mad anymore without Samael wanting to solve all of her problems by killing someone. Damon took her hands in his. “We’ll find him a girlfriend when we move to the Living realm.” “I’m not moving anywhere with you until you explain.” “Explain what?” Men could be so dense. “What you said? You … with the love … and me.” Maybe she should have given him flashcards for Holly-Day. “Oh. That. I l-l-love you.” She pulled her hands free and crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s with the stuttering?” “Demons aren’t supposed to love.” She raised a single eyebrow. “Says who?” Damon swallowed. “The harpies.” Oh, well, yeah. She was pretty afraid of them too. “Fine. But what are we going to do about it?” Because she totally didn’t do long-distance relationships and Hell wasn’t a home to anyone but demons, devils, icky bad souls and the occasional harpy. Damon pulled her forward, wrapping his arms around her waist, and she encircled his neck with her arms. “We are moving to the Living realm where we will live happily, or damned, ever after.” He rubbed his nose against hers. “Can’t take you back and leave and I can’t have you living here with Samael itching to kill at every turn, and Leonard trying to steal you from me.” “Leonard? Me? That’s interesting…” Damon ground his teeth and then snapped his head around. “It was a passing thought. Damn it, Samael!” Holly kissed him on the cheek. “Just as soon as we get settled, we’ll find him a girlfriend.” The End

About the Author: Celia would have loved to have written her own biography, but she just didn’t know what to say. In a fit of desperation, she turned to me, her most trusted confidant and friend. I realize you’re asking yourself, “Who is this?” I am Cali, her cat. I also go by a few other names, but those may be too strong for your delicate ears. Suffice it to say my mommy is very creative and not just with writing. My mommy, Celia, began writing in August of 2006. I know this because it was around that time our meals started coming later and later in the day. As months passed, she spent more and more time in front of the boring screen. Though it was fun to chase the little arrow around every once in a while. You should hear her scream! But I digress. She’s worked hard to give readers sexy, quirky heroines they can relate to. And you better damn well appreciate it. All I got was late night feedings. And I didn’t even make it into one of her books by name! That damn kitten, Katie O’Meghan, did. Bitch. Well, enjoy her writings and if you want to praise her for her work… don’t. I’d like to get fed at some point, people. Fine. If you must contact her, her website is at www.celiakyle.com or you can send an email to celia.kyle @ gmail.com. But when I go hungry, I’ll blame you all!

Meet Lsb Authors At The House Of Sin Lsbooks.Net We invite you to visit Liquid Silver Books LSbooks.com for other exciting erotic romances. 2007: Terran Realm Urban fantasy world: TerranRealm.com Featured Series: The Zodiac Series: 12 books, 24 stories and authors Two hot stories for each sign, 12 signs The Coven of the Wolf by Rae Morgan Benevolent lusty witches keep evil forces at bay Fallen: by Tiffany Aaron Fallen angels in hot flight to redeem their wings The Max Series by JB Skully Meet Max, her not-absent dead husband, sexy detective Witt, his mother… And many, many more!