What Happens in Vegas...After Dark by Lauren Dane Page B

walls and trimmings set in shades of black and deep bloodred. A lengthy balcony raised up ten feet overhead, more freakish faces watching over its railed side. Some focused on the dance floor teeming with otherworldly bodies. Most focused on me and Deitre atop the long side of an oval wet bar.
    A big, burly guy stood in the center of the bar. With the gnarled face I could imagine only a demon would possess, he growled at Deitre, “Finish him!”
    She lifted her mouth from whatever the hell she’d been doing at my neck to render the kind of pain that had nausea swimming in my gut. Her eyes met mine from a few inches away. No longer were hers that cool ice-blue, or tinged with tenderness or even sweet-yet-naughty seduction. Reddish-orange, the same fiery shade as the half halo of hair cascading around her nude body, centered them.
    The malicious smile slipped from her lips with the opening of her mouth. Her teeth flashed. Teeth that appeared incredibly long. Jagged.
    Stained with crimson that looked a whole hell of a lot like blood.
    This was a dream. This had to be a dream. But would I feel such extreme pain in a dream? Would my mind be able to race with the impossible even as it swam with faintness? And why would I turn her into a bloodsucking monster in a dream?
    Maybe it wasn’t a dream. Maybe not owning up to the truth about my past with Jada had finally pushed the shit in my head so far to the forefront that it turned me into the mental case I’d been a step away from becoming for months now.
    Just in case it was neither of those options, which made it something too implausible to fathom, I demanded, “Who the hell are you?”
    I meant to snarl the words. They came out as a whisper that sounded a hundred times more feeble than I had following that session with the butt plug. I felt a thousand times more winded. And then I felt a hundred thousand times more fearful as Deitre sank her chest back against mine and the warmth of her mouth closed over the area of my neck that already felt torn apart.
    White-hot pain sliced through my neck. Tears of agony stung my eyes. My guts roiling bile up the back of my throat, I struggled to lift my hands. My feet. Anything to get her demonic mouth off my neck, to end this goddamned anguish. This woman I thought I trusted. Loved. This woman who wasn’t a woman at all.
    What the fuck was she?
    A nightmare. I stil wanted to believe I was either asleep or insane, but that seemed less of a possibility all the time. It seemed this really was happening. That she really was ripping into my body and slowly tearing me apart.
    Blood dripping from her fangs, Deitre rocked back on my thighs. Even as my mind rejected her touch and her viciously ravenous smile, my gaze zeroed uncontrollably on her bare, bouncing breasts. Movement at her back had me looking to either side of her body.
    To wings.
    Black and huge, they were nothing I could think to dream of. Nothing I could know existed on Earth. If we were even still on Earth. Maybe I hadn’t lived that night of the processing plant fire.
    Maybe I was in Hell.
    Smaller wings emerged at the sides of her head. A tail curled up from her ass—a tail I’d seen once before but had written off as part of a fantasy costume.
    I knew now that it had been no costume accessory. Her tail was real and coiling deadly tight around my throat as she shoved her hands against my chest and impaled her ever snug pussy onto my cock.
    Claws extended from the tips of her fingers. Nipping them into my forearms, she ground her pubis against mine. “You’re not in Hel , Ry, baby. Not yet. But if you’re lucky, maybe as soon as your she-devil finishes fucking you to death.”

Chapter Seven
Deitre
    I t should have been perfect. The owner of Darkness, who was pul ing double duty as a bartender this morning, was pissed about me using his place of business to kill my latest victim. But other than that, Ryan’s murder should have been perfect.
    Unlike the owner, nearly every