Angel Blood

1- Who Says I'm a Virgin?

They'd told me the monster I'd be hunting was an incubus but no one had told me that he would be the most beautiful man I've ever laid my eyes on.

They'd given me the walking definition of sex. Definitely on purpose. Can't say I've ever been popular with the angel bloods. If not for our shared heritage, they'd have casted me out ages ago. I guess my loose tongue is getting grating after twenty-one years.

My sable hair curls artfully around my face, blue contacts hiding the swirling golden irises beneath them. The skimpy red dress raided from the closet of my divine-blooded sister clings to my body, feet wobbling in my stilt-like heels. My chest practically spills out of the sweetheart neckline, but I think that's a good thing. Sex demons like boobs, right?

I sigh, mouth tugging into a thin line as I realize that Sinclair already has a woman on his lap, curled around him like a snake before it chokes out its prey. A wry breath huffs from my lips at the irony of it all. Little does she know, she sits atop the city's most notorious monster.

With a quick reassuring pat to the black purse that hangs at my side, I force a sultry smile onto my mouth and a sway to my hips, hoping I don't look as idiotic as I feel inside.

They're making out now. God help me. Her fiery hair is draped over his face, manicured nails twining through his thick head of somber hair. He's dressed in a shirt the color of night, the sleeves rolled up to his elbow to showcase the lean muscle. A tattoo runs along his olive skin, the end of a winding serpent scribed along the uncovered section of his toned forearm in black ink. Black jeans hang upon his legs sinfully and the girl straddling him grinds against his crotch with a fierce desperation.

My nose crinkles in distaste before I can stop it. I have no godly idea how they both manage to stay balanced upon the bar stool or how it could be even remotely comfortable. To each and their own, I suppose.

I push through the drunken bodies, making my way to the bar until I stand a few feet away from where they twine together. I clear my throat, leaning my hip against the stool next to them.

The noise gets lost in the murmuring crowd that surrounds us and the music so loud that it makes my ears ring. With an exasperated sigh, I half-shout, "Sinclair?"

Still nothing. Oh god, if anything, they're only going harder. She's trying to unbutton his pants and shove her hand inside.

I don't know what the hell I'm doing when I grab her arm, giving it a sharp tug of warning. She startles, shooting me a look of bewilderment. Smears of crimson lipstick mar her cheeks.

"What the fuck?"

"I can take it from here," I say, leaning forward so that my boobs practically fall into her face. Her gaze narrows on them before she meets my eyes again, indignation lighting her features.

"Fuck off, skank," she hisses, whipping her arm away from my hand.

The comment tempts me to slap the snobbish curl of her lip off her face. Instead, I swallow the hot bite of fury bubbling in the back of my throat and wave my fingers at her like she's a pesky fly buzzing around my head. "You heard me. Shoo."

The man sitting under her chuckles. The sound brushes over my skin like dark satin and disturbingly, I find that I want to wrap myself in it. "Go on, gorgeous. I'll find you a little later."

I blink. Well, that was easier than I thought.

She looks at him, the exasperated look across her face comical. She shoots me a glare that tells me she'd tear me down if not for the handsome man sitting underneath her and then pulls away from him, sauntering into the crowd.