Title: The Care and Feeding of Sex Demons
Author: Angela FiddlerPublisher: Loose Id
Pages: 180
Language: English
Genre: Paranormal Erotica
Format: eBook
Purchase at AMAZON
Keeping a sex demon happy and sexually satisfied is always
the safest option, even if Cy has his own relationship issues. When saving the
world on a regular basis, a happy home is important, especially when mixing
human, fae princes and a starving sex demon.
Book Excerpt:
When rotten fish and bile smell of the ambergris met… well,
you know what sulfur smells like, the whole sky lit as fragrantly as it did
brightly. Just like the old days. Evil came in different flavors but it all
smelled badly. I was ready for whatever came out of that cloud. But the only
threat was a different kind of bad smell. My agents replaced three quarters of
the whale vomit with earwax at the source to cut costs. We didn’t know it would
also save the world.
My boyfriend,
Patrick, had insisted the bad guys would now the difference and that I was
risking my life to make the switch, but the person picking up the ambergris
from my agent hadn’t known what it was supposed to look or smell like either. I
wasn’t even supposed to be here. My brilliant planning was supposed to have
helped out my team, not me, personally.
After the sky fizzled
out, the warlock had exploded in a billion, billion...billion? I had no idea. I
wasn't a physicist, I was an apocalypse stopper. Calculating how many photons
contained within whatever warlock the Internet coughed up this week wasn’t in
my job description. No scientist would ever read my paperwork.
I was retired from
active duty. I was only supposed to administrate the real apocalypse stoppers.
I'd been out scouting for possible altar locations when the world-ending had
started early. The exploded warlock had been as surprised as I was until he had
been unmade.
And he took my
company car with him.
When the apocalypse
had started, my first thought had been oh,
good.
Patrick was going to
kill me.
The cow walking along
side me looked as though nature has squared off her body. If cartoon physics
were correct her cross-sections would look like T-bone steaks. The highway I
walked beside stretched on ribbons, rolling over the endless hills in the high
country. The cow had been following me for a while just on the other side of
the barbed wire fence. Three hours of constant adrenaline had left my
fine-reasoning skills somewhat stripped, but I was fairly sure it wasn’t a
threat. It reached the end of the fenced in field and regurgitated some cud.
I wanted breakfast,
too. My back hurt, my shins ached, and the dried mud on the legs of my suit
added twenty pounds to each step. My boss had even forced me to wear dress
shoes to the stupid meet-and-greet that had turned into a scream-and-run.
Another red car
appeared in the distance, but I didn’t get my hopes up. Because the high powers
above loved to mock my life choices, the last three cars that appeared in the
past hour had all been small, two-seaters, and red.
It bobbed up and down
on the ribbons. I had a blister on the
back of my foot. I wanted to stop walking, but that would almost guarantee the
car wasn’t Patrick’s.
On the last rise, the
turn signals came on, and the car started slowing down. Patrick had a meeting
with one of the major charm-makers in town. He’d been worried about it for
weeks, but once the rogue warlock who was sourcing his hanged-man pancreas
through craigslist had run out of his ambergris, the hell-fire had stopped. The
warlock had brought a full truck’s worth of sulfur, but without enough of the
catalyst ambergris, it fizzed out before summoning even a hell-puppy, forget a
hell-beast. Exploding into subatomic particles was an easier death than having
a summoned-but-not-contained denizen of hell munching on parts of you from a
watching-your-own-death happen perspective.
We had a lot of specific terms in our business. We used a
lot of dashes.
Patrick and I had
been together for five years, and yet when I asked him if I had woken him up
just before dawn before his biggest meeting of the year, he lied and told me
he’d been awake the whole time. I wouldn’t have lied to him.
Patrick slowed down,
but didn’t stop, so neither did I. He didn’t unroll the window until I couldn’t
pretend my shoes weren’t hurting my feet which every step.
“Get in the car, Cy,” Patrick said.
He drove on another
couple feet and stopped, so I still had to limp to get in. He didn’t even wait
for me to do up my seatbelt before he pulled the sports car into a U-turn. I’d
been on a single lane highway, but the tiny car had no problem completing the
circle on the road with its tiny wheel base.
The silence was worse
than the million questions he had every right to ask me. He didn’t ask. I
wanted to crack a window to let some of the tension out, but it wouldn’t
actually affect the air pressure.
Neighborhoods surged
beyond the city limits like massive muffin tops. Some groups subdivisions were
love handles by now. Calgary
needed a bigger edge to contain everything inside of it. “Have you eaten?”
Patrick asked.
“I’ll grab something at the house.”
“I’m not dropping you off at the house. I have
to be in at the university in twenty minutes. There’s a C-train station there.”
My feet were killing
me. I just wanted to go home, and I’d bought the fucking car. I put my head
against the back of the seat. “I’ll get a cab.”
Patrick exhaled,
sharply. I hadn’t meant anything at all by wanting to hire a car to take me
home.
“What wrong?”
“You promised me you were going to be in a supervisory
position. In what role is the supervisor supposed to be involved in a standard
apocalypse prevention attempt? You have minions. They should have singed
eyebrows right now, not you.”
I reached up to touch
my face. Mud flaked off. I would get the car detailed, but I didn’t really have the time, which meant
Patrick would have to get it done for me, which meant he was cleaning up after
my mess again. We’d just had that talk. So that meant he’d do it for me. I
wondered if it had occurred to him not to answer the phone when I called. “It
was just supposed to be a dry run. He just recited his incantations better than
most. As far as we knew—"
“Do not sit there and tell me that you have a
clue as to what your boss knows. It’s far more like Ms. Gwen to know it was
supposed to be tonight all along than it is that this was all just a
misunderstanding.”
Patrick swung into a
fast-food restaurant parking lot. “You normally call your demon when you get
into shit and you don’t want me to know about it. Was he not picking up?”
I flushed. August was
my sex demon. He’d been given to me at the end of a successful job back when
Patrick and I had two separate addresses. It had been after the house fire so
technically I had an address, but no place to live.
Patrick had bright
red hair. When I met him, his arms and legs had been too long for his body in a
way that I found adorable. He moved with coils of energy. In the past five
years he’d left his early twenties behind and he finished filling out all the way.
Now everything looked in perfect proportion.
“I got you coffee,” Patrick said, motioning to
the white coffee container in the two-cup holder. It hadn’t been sipped from
either.” Alarm bells went off. “What, do you think I poisoned it?”
“No,” I said truthfully. But he would have had to do
something to it, or he would have sipped on it on the way out of the city.
Patrick hated mornings. He grabbed it
and took a big swallow. “Happy?”
The Care and Feeding of Sex Demons Tour Page:
Angela Fiddler wrote her first erotic novel as a birthday present to a friend who had requested kneeling and vampires. While the vampires come and go in the story, the kneeling remains. Angela likes smut, dark humor and stories that mix erotica with raw emotion. She talks about writing and her characters at www.angelafiddler.com.
Her latest book is the paranormal erotica, The Care and Feeding of Sex Demons.
Connect & Socialize with Angela!
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