Page 247 of Rage

My heart leaped in my chest when Raff pushed to his feet, and I saw how his lips were drenched with my arousal. "Fuck. She looks so damn good." He glanced in the direction of their trailer, then back at his brother. "Wonder if the boss would kill us if we decided to ditch and?—"

"You know the boss wouldn't dirty his hands with your blood, imps. He'd leave the honor of killing you to me," a new voice cut in, and I perked up as Daemon stomped over to us.

The small throng of troupe members that had gathered around to watch our impromptu backstage performance parted as they made way for the hellhound alpha. They knew better than to get in the way of Alistair's personal guard dog.

Daemon was always intimidating, especially when he wore his stage fit. The Bitch Tamer wore tight black leather pants that left little to the imagination and a harness that accentuated histattooed pectorals. His shoulder-length black hair was slicked back, with a leather biker-type cap and a whip in hand. It was that leather and ink-wrapped package that had the audience shaking in their seats with equal parts pleasure and fear.

I was a particular fan myself.

I held my arms out to Daemon and gave my hips a little wiggle. "Aren't you going to kiss your mate for good luck?"

Daemon's amber orbs practically glowed in outrage as he scanned my face. His attention snapped to the knife clutched in Riff's hand. “What did you do to her?”

Raff rolled his eyes. “Daddy, chill. She’s a supernatural, remember? She’ll heal by the end of the night.”

I’d been a part of Sinner’s Sideshow for six months now, though most days, it felt longer than that. It was a perfect dream I never wanted to wake up from. By now, the hellhound shifter had pretty much gotten over the whole possessive thing that was common among his kind—they weren’t used to sharing their mates.

Daemon had really warmed up to the incubi brothers. He even embraced his attraction to them, which I found especially fun on the nights he got to show off how good he’d gotten at the whole sharing thing. But he was still overly protective and probably always would be.

While the “imps”—as Daemon referred to them—had grown on him, he still thought they were reckless with me.

I didn't see the twins as reckless, at least not with me. They knew my limits, and they loved getting nice and cozy with that line. But they’d never cross it.

Alistair knew that. One day, maybe Daemon would too.

I hopped off the makeup table and turned to examine my face in the mirror. Riff had carved four delicate and fairly shallow lines into my face—two over each eye and two below toresemble harlequin makeup. Only, instead of makeup, he'd used my blood.

When I grinned, the lines of displeasure carving Daemon's features deepened. "I can't believe some of the shit you let them do to you."

"Oh, come on. You do some pretty dirty shit to me, too." I spun around and stretched onto my toes. He had to bend to kiss me. His growl was dark and delicious and snaked into my mouth, the taste of him renewing my lust. Raff was right. I was insatiable.

“If you kissed me, you could taste her other lips,” Raff offered with one of his signature grins and a wink. His lips were still wet with my arousal.

He’d been joking. Or, at least months ago, it would have been nothing more than a joke. A way to crawl under Daemon’s skin.

That line had long been blurred.

Daemon kept one arm around my waist while his other snapped out to seize the incubus by his throat. Raff wasn't a small man but he looked slight in stature compared to Daemon’s body-builder physique. Especially with his thick fingers and the way they easily swallowed Raff’s throat.

Before I could fully process what was happening, Daemon's mouth crashed into Raff's. To call it a kiss would be inaccurate. It was more like a battle for supremacy, which Daemon promptly won. The green-haired demon surrendered, allowing the alpha to lick at his lips—lapping up every last drop of me off Raff’s skin.

Raff hummed in approval, his palm smoothing over Daemon’s chest. I liked sharing my hellhound’s embrace with my other mates, it was just usually with Alistair. This was still pretty new territory for us.

"Shit," Riff muttered under his breath as he watched from the sidelines with the rest of the troupe. "Makes me think we should be selling tickets tothisshow."

Growing bold, Raff's hands slipped down the ripple of Daemon's abs. Then, one hand dipped into his pants. Before he could find what he was looking for, Daemon snatched his wrist and twisted his arm at an angle that would have any other man crying in pain.

Raff only grinned, his clown paint making him look truly deranged.

Daemon shoved his sneering face into Raff’s, putting on that big cagey caveman show he did better than anyone else. But there was no missing the lust radiating from Daemon’s aura. He was eating up every depraved second of this stolen moment before the show.

"You don't touch me unless I give you permission, imp.”

At that, Raff started to cackle like a hyena, and his brother joined in. "Yeah... See, I'm not the obedient little sub-type. You want me to behave? You're gonna have to get out the whip and paint me black and blue like one of your French girls, Jack."

With that, he ripped his arm from Daemon's grip and sauntered away with one last look that slid to me. "Break a leg, baby. We'll see you in the ring."

The hellhound stared after the clowns for several seconds before his gaze turned back to me, softening. "Why did he call me Jack?"

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