Page 38 of Legacy of Chaos

“Stubborn fool.” Masumi swiped the syringe from Cyan, uncapped it with her teeth, and plunged it so deeply into Stryke’s thigh that he shouted.

Ouch. “That was a little overkill, don’t you think?” Amusing, but still overkill, given that Stryke was clearly already injured.

“No.” Masumi tugged her robe tightly around her. “He can choose to have sex, or he can take an injection that mimics the effects of sex. It gives him the lifesaving boost of chemicals without having to stick his dick in a female.” She tossed the empty syringe onto his lap as he rested, slumped against the couch cushions. “Good night,Master.”

He cursed softly as she strode away, her body disintegrating into a pulsing, shiny fluid that slid inside the vase.

That was some crazy shit.

Stryke cleared his throat. His color was better now, and some of the swelling in his face had even gone down.

“Does sex—and whatever was in that syringe—help you heal?”

“In a way,” he said, sounding stronger. “The longer we go without an injection or an orgasm, the weaker we get, and the more our immune systems slow down. Once we get what we need, it boosts our bodies’ healing ability.” He pushed himself up off the floor and stood, steadier on his feet than she would have expected. “Thank you for helping me home. You can go now.”

“Wow. Talk about whiplash. You couldn’t have said that in any nicer way, huh? Didn’t we go through this already?”

“Go now,please.” He moved toward the liquor cabinet. “Better?”

She ignored his order and his sarcasm. “Why aren’t you making use of a succubus who is willing to help you?”

“Why aren’t you leaving?”

He had a point. She’d done her good deed for the day, and there was no reason to waste the rest of it with an ungrateful asshole.

“You know what? That’s a good question.” She pivoted toward the door but came to a stop when she saw that the entire front wall was one giant whiteboard. Equations in black and red covered it like graffiti. She was proficient in higher math and mechanics, but whatever he’d done on that board looked absolutely alien, and despite her annoyance, she wanted to smile.

He’d come to her college to speak once and had brought a portable whiteboard, which he’d used to explain why gravity differed in various locations inside Sheoul. She hadn’t paid attention at all. No, at that time, all she’d seen was a handsome, confident, smiling twenty-one-year-old male who had been passionate about science. His confidence flirted with arrogance, which she’d found to be a bit of a turn-on. He’d filled her mind with inspiration, and her body with heat. She’d fantasized about him for years after that.

Not anymore. He was much more likable from afar. Like, in her distant memories.

“You’re still here,” he pointed out in a bored drawl as if she was just. So. Tiresome.

“Fuck you. No, wait.” She wheeled back around. “I take that back. Nofuck you. I wouldn’t fuck you if you were dying, were the last man on Earth,andall the dildos were gone.”

Practically spitting with fury, she stormed out. Shanea would have said she’d flounced.

Shanea.

Yet one more reason for her to despise Stryke. She just hoped he hated her as much as she did him. Nothing would make her happier than knowing she got on his nerves. No, wait. Right now, champagne would make her happy.

Enough to make her forget she’d ever tried to be nice to a self-avowed jerk.

Chapter 9

Every day, for as long as Stryke could remember—and he remembered everything that had happened since he was a year old—he woke at precisely five a.m., no matter what time zone he was in. He’d always been able to get a lot done in the early morning hours, from schoolwork when he was a youth to research when he was in college.

Now, as an adult, he got up, drank precisely eight ounces of water flavored with half a lemon, and worked out in his home gym until six. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, he followed the workout with a forty-five-minute battle-training session with Ares, the Horseman of the Apocalypse known as War. Which was great because the guy was all about fighting and not talking.

Then he showered, dressed, and arrived at his office by seven-thirty, where, if it was a weekday, Kalis would have breakfast waiting for him. Always five pancakes with peanut butter and real maple syrup from Vermont. Four dry-scrambled eggs. A grilled tomato, saucy beans, and a bowl of berries…strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries. Except on Wednesday, when he wanted pineapple. If it was a weekend, he’d nuke a breakfast burrito she kept stocked in his office fridge.

But last night had been restless, plagued by erotic dreams of Cyan and nightmares about Chaos. He hadn’t been haunted by replays of Chaos’s death in years, but one had left himjackknifing up in bed, panting and screaming. Another had ended as he penetrated Popcorn Girl…except it hadn’t been the human. It had been Cyan.

Rolling over in bed, his cock throbbing, he’d fumbled for the syringe on his nightstand and jammed it into his thigh. As the liquid did its work, he drifted back to sleep, only to be transported back into an erotic dream involving Cyan, except this time she was in his bed. Her hot mouth had taken him deep, drowning him in pleasure. And for the first time since Chaos died, he’d let himself enjoy the sensation of being sucked and licked. Of seeing the pleasure in her expression as she brought him to the brink of release.

There had been nothing but bliss as he rolled her onto her back and settled himself between her creamy thighs. The dream took them to various locations in his house and put them in different positions. In the dream—and in real life—he’d been on the verge of orgasm, a wet dream that would soak the sheets.

But he was a Seminus demon, and no matter how hot the dream was, he couldn’t come unless he was inside a female.

---