Page 61 of Demon’s Temptation

“I’ll have my phone if anything urgent comes up.” He felt it vibrate in his pocket again.

He turned away and checked the screen. But it wasn’t a text. It was an email. Opening it up, he froze as picture after picture popped up.

Ah, fuck.

They were from Garrett.

Chaya, most of them. At The Dungeon, walking around the club, watching the scenes, talking to Victor, her eyes downcast while he stood over her. Chaya…tied to a St Andrew’s cross, Victor’s filthy hands on her beautiful breasts.

Brent kept scrolling.

Chaya at the gallery…gazing up at the picture of him.

More of Brent, fucking, being fucked. Naked. Tied down. Helpless. Hating it.

Loving it.

Nausea swamped him, along with rage so strong, he couldn’t think. He felt on the verge of losing his shit completely. And fear, fear that this asshole was going after Chaya, because that’s what this was—his way of making sure Brent knew he’d had the chance, that he could have taken her at any time, that Brent had put a spotlight on her the moment he’d showed interest in her.

He quickly scanned what was written at the bottom, and his fears were confirmed.

Do you think Chaya would like to stay with me for a while? Do you think we’ll get on as well as you and I did, Brent?

He’d been watching. Garrett had been watching him, probably had been since Laz had come for him.

He headed for the door. He needed to get to Chaya. Now.

Someone bumped into him from behind, a hand went to his back, and a wave of emotion hit him so hard he nearly dropped to his knees. Someone pumped him full of lust and anger so volatile he had to throw a hand out and use the wall for support.

His block, fuck, it was already weak after seeing those pictures of Chaya, plus the surge of his own emotions, and with that wave it had dropped completely.

He spun around, feeling like a fucking drunk, trying to see who’d touched him.

Someone came at him from the other side, hands locking around his biceps, and another wave came as they purposely fed him their emotions like it was being pumped into his veins intravenously. It was so strong he stumbled to the side.

Oh fuck.

No.

This can’t be happening.

Someone crowded him from behind, laughing close to his ear, and he didn’t have the power to fight them off as a third person grabbed his waist and did the same, pushing their emotions into him until he didn’t know what were his and what were theirs.

His block was decimated.

He was defenseless as all the lust and excitement in the room came at him like a tsunami, trying to wash his feet out from under him.

Palms to the wall, head bent, he concentrated on his breathing, on trying to pull it together. It wasn’t happening. Just like back then, he felt himself slipping away. Being washed away, unable to find an anchor. She wasn’t here.

He spun around and the room spun with him. The incubus, the demon half of himself, sprang to the surface. Dark and cold, full of rage, of uncontrollable need. Hunger. It took hold, glutting on the creatures in the room, everything they were feeling. Brent’s mind swam. He couldn’t remember what he’d been about to do.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to clear his head, but it was like seeing through fog. Nothing made sense. His cock throbbed and his heart raced.

Names and faces swam through his mind, but he couldn’t place them. Couldn’t remember his own damn name.

He was need. Sex.

Release.