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instead of grabbing the closest female and doing her right up against the wall.
    The only thing that kept him going now was the thought that by the time he got to their place, he’d be so far gone with lust that he’d control the battle of wills that always raged between him and Fayle.
    She was ready for him when he burst into the apartment, standing naked in the middle of the room, her clothes draped neatly over the back of the couch. A stranger would see defiance in her wide-legged stance and squared shoulders, but that was all for show.
    She smelled of fear.
    The incubus inside him would have preferred to smell arousal, but ultimately, he was a demon who had been driven to the very limits of his self-restraint, and the scent of her fear made his blood sing and his cock throb. He wouldn’t hurt her, but he wouldn’t spare her, either. And he sure as shit wasn’t going to let her call the shots. She hated and feared not being in control more than anything, but she’d pushed him too far, and she knew it.
    When he took her roughly down to the hard floor and ground his mouth onto hers, she didn’t protest.
    Not even when he murmured Slake’s name against her lips.

 
    Slake had dreamed of Raze all night long. Then he’d thought about him all morning as he got his ass ready for the day. Now it was early afternoon, and he was still thinking about him.
    It pissed him off. He never let his lovers occupy important space in his head, let alone dreamed about his lovers . . . or potential lovers. Not since Gunther. Not since Slake had been a different person. Very different.
    Snarling to himself, he put his vampire ex out of him mind, but he kept Raze front and center as he fondled the smooth length of enchanted rope in his jacket pocket, one of the few objects that could immobilize a demon of Fayle’s species. Without it, she could hypnotize him or, if the rumors were accurate, she could shift into a dragon-like beast and swallow him whole.
    Not cool.
    The Harrowgate he’d entered a moment ago opened, and he stepped out into the bustling emergency department at Underworld General Hospital. He’d never been here before, but like everyone else who didn’t live under a rock, he’d heard about it. A hospital run by demons, vampires, and weres that existed under the streets of Manhattan, right under human noses, was sort of a big deal in the underworld community, even if a large percentage thought it was a stupid concept.
    Personally, Slake thought that it and its London-based clinic were a good idea, and not even so much for the medical aspect. The hospital and clinic provided jobs and education, not to mention sanctuary, inside their no-violence-allowed walls. Which wasn’t to say that UGH’s and UGC’s staff were a bunch of saints. Apparently, pain meds were optional for patients who were assholes, and the concept of bedside manner was a totally human notion.
    Whatever. Slake didn’t plan to ever be a patient. Besides, there was only one kind of bedside manner that worked for him, and it damned sure didn’t include needles or sutures or antiseptic.
    Although . . . he wouldn’t mind if “bedside manner” involved a certain male medic.
    On the topic of a certain male medic, he did a quick scan of the emergency department. At the reception desk, a vampire was arguing with a chubby, ratlike demon in scrubs, and across the room under rows of caged lights, several patients of varying species waited for their turn to see a doctor. And there, in one of the exam cubicles, his gloved hand resting on a patient’s distended abdomen, was Raze. As Slake watched, the glyphs on Raze’s arm began to glow, and the female patient cried out before sighing and relaxing.
    Raze said something that made her smile weakly. He smiled back and took her hand in his with a tenderness that left Slake in awe. In Slake’s world, there was no room for kindness. He showed none and received none. Sometimes, he didn’t believe it existed.
    But