Kissed by Chaos: Her Immortal Monsters Book 1

TROPES: Reverse harem, fated/chosen mates, medium burn romance, forced proximity, outcast heroine, possessive love interests (don't worry, she holds her own!), found family, second chance, positive female friendships

Coming from a powerful line of black witches doesn’t mean anything if they’ve abused you your entire life.

Born with weak chaos magic, I exist on the fringes of society as a fixer of people and their problems.

Whoops.

Lucifer whispers filthy promises of all the things he’d do to me if I brought him back, but I won’t sacrifice another life to restore his playboy throne.

He broke off our engagement. It was his choice. So why won’t he leave me alone?

You’d think I’d have learned not to trust my taste in men by now, but when a one-night stand with a sinfully arrogant stranger turns into something more, the only thing I know for certain is that I’m screwed.

But as they say… the road to hell was always paved with the best intentions.

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This is a devil(ish) paranormal romance with three possessive love interests that fall first for one strong, independent witch. All relationships are completely consensual. This is the second series in the Magic Wars Universe. You do not need to have read Demons of New Chicago to proceed, but there will be spoilers.

Latex was overrated.

Sure, it clung to all the right places, but it clung to all the wrong ones too. The dress felt like a glove suffocating my body for the sake of sex appeal, and the boob sweat was real.

I wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse that it had large cutouts along my hips, waist, and thighs. While it gave those parts of me a tiny bit of relief from the sweltering, nonbreathable fabric, I couldn’t help feeling like a busted can of biscuits.

I hid my snort behind the martini glass pressed to my lips.

My legs were crossed, appearing long and sleek despite my actual petite stature, thanks to a magically enhanced body oil infused with succubus pheromones. It would make me irresistible to my date for the evening.

Hopefully enough so his lips would come loose and let slip the location of an incredibly powerful magical artifact I was searching for.

Throughout the dungeon of Bliss, no clock ticked, but I sensed the passing of time. Keeping up with the seconds in the back of my mind as I waited.

An incubus approached, no doubt caught in the lure I’d cast out.

On another night, I might have sidestepped his attention. But with this particular target, having his interest would suit my needs.

I smiled demurely but with unmistakable interest, teetering on that line between being a flirt and too forward. His own smile widened. “Hello, beautiful,” he purred. The incubus bent at the waist, extending his hand toward me. “May I?”

He was blonde—ashy, not golden. Once upon a time I might have taken him to my bed. Now I avoided blondes. Even if his blue eyes were pretty. High cheekbones. Full lips. He had a face I could sit on.

The subtle scent of my arousal hit him, and those eyes darkened a shade. “You may.” I dropped my hand in his, letting him pull me from my barstool. The moment our skin touched, I got the feeling of yearning. A raw, unbridled ache longing to be soothed or forgotten entirely. He was so lonely, lost in a darkness that left him empty.

My heart sighed, deflating a fraction, even though he’d never see. I related to the poor man and the way he sought to fill the void that grief and resentment left in his soul.

The tink of my martini glass touching the counter was the last I knew of it as he pulled me through a crowd and away from the main room. Deeper in the dungeon, play chairs, crosses, and sex swings waited.

“Does anything pique your interest?” he asked me, a glint of sexual excitement in his gaze.

My lips parted and I leaned forward a fraction to point when a presence appeared behind me. I knew he was there despite being unable to see or touch him. He had no body, but his entire presence filled the space.

“What are you doing, little witch?” Lucifer rumbled; his voice dark. Gruff. The hairs along my nape stood on end in answer, but I refused to acknowledge his presence. Not anymore.

In an effort to keep him at bay, I severely limited my magic use. It seemed to work. But the small touch of skin led to my premonition about the incubus and gave Lucifer just enough of a crack to open the door and make his presence known.

Should have worn gloves, I thought, making a mental note to not make that mistake again.

I swallowed, then pointed at the cuffs hanging from the ceiling.

The incubus in front of me shifted his attention to them, completely unaware of the ghost in our midst or my unease due to it.

A sly smile spread across his face. He licked his lips, looking back at me with hunger. “You or me?” he asked.

The target whose attention I wanted liked pretty things. Submissive things. Seeing me bound and on display for another? He wouldn’t be able to resist.

“Me,” I answered with a wink.

The incubus smirked. “Hands up, beautiful,” he murmured as he guided me closer. At my back, that presence grew. Silent, but not indifferent. If anything, his lack of speech said a great deal. I ignored it. Ignored him.

The ghost was dead. Gone.

Sure, I could hear him, but he wasn’t here.

I offered my wrists, raising them high above my head. The incubus’s fingers were cold to the touch, but soft. They weren’t working hands, that was for sure.

The leather cuffs wrapped around my wrists, restricting my movement. If not for the heels of my boots, I would have struggled to stand.

“What’s your name?” my partner for the evening asked, checking the grip. Months ago, I would have appreciated the care he took to respect my boundaries. Seeking permission. We would have had lots of fun together, a creature that fed on sex and a witch that liked to have it. It really was a shame so much had changed.

“Ophelia,” I lied smoothly. I may not be the strongest witch by a mile, but I was a fantastic liar. “And yours?”

“August,” he answered as he rolled up the cuffs of his button-down shirt. “Tell me what you like, Ophelia.”

I opened my mouth to answer, right as my gaze slid past him. Nothing came out as golden eyes, bright as the sun itself, focused on me. Lucifer’s white hair seemed to reflect the lights of the dungeon, but that was impossible. My mouth went dry at the look on his face. The sheer intensity with which he stared was startling.

“Two weeks,” Lucifer said, not revealing a hint of emotion. “You’ve refused to use magic for two weeks just to shut me out, and when you finally slip, it’s to fuck one of my children.”

Stomach acid climbed up my throat, but I kept it down.

“Ophelia?” the incubus asked, drawing my attention back to him. I blinked, remembering myself. Lucifer was being dramatic. The incubus wasn’t his child. He couldn’t be. At least by blood. Magic was another story.

“Sorry,” I murmured. “I thought I recognized someone.”

The incubus glanced behind him, then turned back, brows pinched together. “Would you prefer—”

“Choking,” I said, interrupting him. His mouth snapped shut, that dark hunger coming back. “Spanking. Biting. I like some pain, but not so much it leaves more than a mild bruise. My hair being pulled turns me on.” I focused on him, refusing to look elsewhere, even if it meant I wouldn’t see when my actual target approached.

“How do you feel about toys?” August wondered, studying a rack of options.

“Impact toys are okay. No canes. No clamps. I can’t do pinching at all, but I’m all right with restraints. Hard no on any kind of hook.”

The incubus glanced over his shoulder and lifted an eyebrow as his fingers hovered over a velvety eye mask. I shook my head. “Not here.”

While a sliver of disappointment went through him, he acknowledged it. It wasn’t uncommon for people to be uncomfortable with masks when taking a partner for the first time to play. My reasoning had more to do with needing to see the door, but there was no need to elaborate.

When he selected a single black feather, I tried to cock my head but couldn’t, and settled for a lift of my eyebrows.

“Interesting choice.”

“I’d rather start slow and find your limits than accidentally overstep,” he said thoughtfully.

A ghostly tingle ran from one shoulder blade to the other as Lucifer stepped around him, circling me. “I wouldn’t need to ask,” Lucifer whispered in my ear. “I already know all your likes. Your dislikes. Your limits. Your boundaries.”

My heartbeat intensified, filling my ears with the sound.

“May I feed from you?” August asked. The question grounded me.

He wasn’t talking about blood. He wanted my pleasure. Normally I said no. While I wasn’t inherently opposed, that was something I preferred only with partners.

Just as I was about to answer, Lucifer snapped, “No.” The word was a growl. Possessive, though he had no right or reason to be.

Just to spite him, I said, “Yes.”

Lucifer’s golden eyes burned like solar flares. August dipped his head in thanks. “I’ll be gentle,” he murmured.

“I’m sure he will,” Lucifer scoffed. “You guard your blood and magic carefully. You won’t even give him your name, but you’ll let him feed from you?” Lucifer asked me. I didn’t answer. I refused. “What happened to not wanting to taunt the devil?”

So much. Yet so little.

Was it cruel? If I owed him anything, yes. But I didn’t.

He was simply a ghost, and I was just the very unfortunate witch who’d been tied to him. While annoying, he couldn’t do a thing to stop me.

August leaned forward, letting the tip of the feather touch me. A sheen of silvery blue magic covered him, letting me know he was disguising his actual appearance with a glamour. It didn’t bother me. Half the people in the club opted for one. I didn’t like the feel of glamours, the way they rubbed against my skin, stifling me. I preferred to use a fake alias when possible.

Under other circumstances, he would have asked me for a safe word before getting started, but that wasn’t needed in this establishment. Not when they used the universal colors of red for stop and yellow for slow down. It was simplistic and easy to remember.

It also meant that magic enforced the rules.

“You have beautiful eyes,” August said, letting the feather trail over my collarbone. “I’ve never seen eyes such a light shade of brown.” The feather drifted over my abdomen, skimming the edges of where the dress cutouts let it touch my skin. Another kind of itch erupted in me.

My breathing slowed.

He leaned in and licked a trail up the column of my neck.

I gasped at the contact, and he groaned.

“You taste delicious. You shouldn’t use the succubus pheromones. You don’t need it.”

My lips parted. How did he know that?

August lifted his eyes to me once more. “I have a very good sense of smell. I can scent magic and other things . . .” I heard the truth in his voice and let it lie. While uncommon outside of demons, I’d heard of some creatures inheriting a demon’s ability to scent magic—since all magic came from them. I was an oddity myself for being able to see it.

He leaned in again, inhaling around my neck. He kissed a spot and despite it being nothing more than his lips, it felt tender, with a bite of lust entwined that I wasn’t used to. It had been a while since I’d been with an incubus. The feather trailed across my abdomen and my stomach twitched.

Lips falling open, I lowered my guard a little, letting my eyelids flutter closed as I let the pleasure wrap around me.

“Nathalie.”

I bit the inside of my cheek.

My eyes flew open to see a person on the other side of August, just over his shoulder. I couldn’t say the newcomer was the very last person I wanted to see, but he was certainly near the top of that list.

The incubus touching me froze, stepping back a fraction. He glanced over his shoulder, expression neutral to the point of distaste. “We’re in the middle of a scene.” A polite dismissal if I ever heard one.

“Consider this production canceled.” The not-welcomed guest unbound my wrists with a flick of his hand. “Scene over. Move along.”

The incubus worked his jaw instead of dropping the topic and deciding it wasn’t worth his trouble. He looked at me. “What would you prefer, beautiful?”

I gazed at him. He had to have known I lied about my name, but he was still interested, and unwilling to walk away unless I wanted it.

Regret tasted like ash on my tongue.

“Unfortunately, I can’t ignore this.”

He dipped his head. “Perhaps we’ll meet again, then.” He stepped away, walking backward to keep eye contact with me.

“Maybe,” I repeated, knowing the odds of that were incredibly unlikely now that my cover was blown and that meant I couldn’t return to this club without a glamour—which pissed me off even more. They were worse than the latex dress by a mile.

Turning to the man who’d interrupted me, I shook off all desire, letting a familiar mask drop into place. He grabbed my wrist without permission, making me instantly wish for my incubus companion. We disappeared, rematerializing in a graveyard outside none other than the Wicked Haunt, a church turned summoning center owned by the only existing coven of black witches in New Chicago.

“Marcel,” I said curtly, yanking my wrist back. “I was in the middle of something important. I hope you have a good reason for interrupting.”

I doubted he did. Severely doubted.

The heated look he practically branded me with solidified that thought.

But his words made everything evaporate.

“Your twin is missing.”

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