correctly identified an extremely rare breed of sex demon.”
The guy’s upper lip curled. “That’s because I’ve killed two of you bastards.”
Raze inhaled deeply, willing himself to stay calm. People killing Seminus demons happened too often, and unfortunately, much of it was deserved. Raze didn’t even want to think about how, if he didn’t bond with a female by the time he turned a hundred, he’d go through the second of two maturation processes: gaining fertility, a facial marking, and an unholy, uncontrollable need for sex. In fifty short years, he’d become a beast whose primary instinct was to reproduce, and any female within dick’s reach would be a target . . . willing or not.
Males of all species killed mature Sems on sight, which Raze figured was pretty understandable. Especially given that all offspring from a Seminus mating were born male Seminus demons—no matter what species the mother was. Raze’s own mother had been some sort of cave-dweller demon, but DNA tests performed at Underworld General hadn’t been able to identify the exact species, let alone the breed.
“Well, good for you,” Raze said, as he not-so-gently slapped his hand over the werewolf’s wound and activated his healing power. Stinging energy flowed through the markings on his arm, lighting them up like molten iron. In his mind, he saw the torn vessels, veins, and tissue in the wound begin to knit together. “Not everyone can go up against a Sem and survive. So . . . you gonna tell me your name? Or would you rather I keep calling you Bite Me? Because I’m fine with that.”
“I’m Heath, you demon parasite.”
“Parasite? That’s a little harsh. And unoriginal.” Raze sent another wave of power into Heath’s leg—but not to heal. This one was made of pain. Heath yelped, and Raze smiled. “Don’t fuck with the guy who is patching you up, asshole. I can just as easily kill you as heal you, and my boss is good at disposing of bodies. Keep that in mind.”
Heath leaned forward, teeth bared, canines elongating. “I’d rather die than let a filthy demon heal me.”
“Fine with m—”
In a sudden burst of fury, the bastard snared Raze by the throat and hauled him off his feet. Dude was strong, but then, werewolves were known for their strength. And their bad breath.
The werewolf stood, lifting Raze with him, his fingers squeezing Raze’s windpipe in a bruising hold. “One of you fucks stole my woman.”
There was nothing more cliché than a thick-skulled werewolf vowing revenge against an entire species because he’d been humiliated.
Raze would have said as much, but merely breathing took effort—talking was out of the question. He glanced over Heath’s shoulder and saw Marsden moving in to help, his broad, tall form shoving through the crowd like a bulldozer. Raze met his gaze, gave him the Back off, I’ve got this blink, and in a quick surge, he powered up his healing gift and jammed his fingers against Heath’s temple. Instantly, the power Raze normally used to heal ripped skin and flesh apart at a cellular level.
The werewolf shouted in agony and dropped Raze to the ground. Spinning, Raze clamped his hand around the back of Heath’s neck and frog-marched the idiot through the rear of the club toward the back door. Marsden trailed behind like a shadow, content to let Raze handle his own messes, but when Mars slipped into the security office, Raze knew he’d be watching everything through the state-of-the-art surveillance system.
Raze shoved open the door and gave the camera overhead a smirk as he shoved Heath outside. The meathead took an awkward swing the moment they stepped out into the pouring rain, and yup, Raze’s patience meter had pegged out. With a hard shove, he sent the guy stumbling through the puddles in the alley.
“You’re banished, asshole,” Raze growled.
“Fuck you.” Clutching his head in one hand, Heath wheeled around and slammed his fist into Raze’s jaw.
Raze