Demons of Desire (Half-Breed Series Book 1)

By: Debra Dunbar

1

Most people don’t think of sex when they’re sweating in an airport baggage claim, but most people aren’t half succubus. I tried to keep my eyes on the endless parade of identical black bags, but my gaze kept drifting toward the three virile college boys staring at me. They’d been on my plane, and I’d been all too aware of their testosterone–fueled fascination for the entire two–and–a–half–hour flight.

Pick one, my naughty half urged.

Actually, she wanted all three of them, but I’d bartered her down to one. Not that I had any intention of screwing anyone in an airport. I’d eventually have to give in to her, but it would be on my terms. I was picky, where she most definitely was not.

Perspiration rolled down my back, gluing the light–blue tank top to my skin. The heat had hit me the moment they’d opened the aircraft doors, and the baggage claim wasn’t much cooler than outside. It was hot enough up in Maryland, but New Orleans was like being submerged in a hot tub. Of course, I would have braved the fires of hell to get away from Maryland — and away from him.

“So, what brings you to New Orleans?”

One of the college boys had finally worked up the courage to approach me. His friends stood back, watching and obviously holding their breath in anticipation of a smack down. Little did they know, my succubus side would never give a prospective partner the cold shoulder, and my elf side couldn’t tolerate rudeness in any way, shape, or form.

Did I mention I was also half elf?

I smiled. It’s not like I could help it. He was just so darned cute, and his attention so very flattering. “I’m here to visit an old college roommate. She transferred to Tulane a couple of years ago.”

“Cool. We go to Maryland — ‘Fear the Turtle’.” He gave a fist pump to emphasize the college’s sports slogan. “We’re here to party. Airfare is really cheap right now.”

Yeah. It was a million fricken degrees and hurricane season. If I hadn’t been escaping … no, I wasn’t going to think of him. Instead of replying, I turned to watch the bags circle by, concerned that I may have missed mine. Even my elf etiquette had its limits.

“We’re going to be down on Bourbon Street tonight. Maybe we can meet up?”

Of course they were going to be down on Bourbon Street. But even a first–timer like me realized the futility of trying to vaguely “meet–up” with someone on a street filled with hundreds of bars and wall–to–wall people.

“Sure,” I replied, watching the bags circle by. “I’ll look for you all.” My succubus side was irritated that I wasn’t already dragging this guy into the nearest alcove and having my way with him. I stalled her again with vague promises, well aware I wouldn’t be able to hold her back for long. I’d need to get laid in the next few days or she’d take control and I’d find myself with a less–than–desirable partner.

College Boy seemed to realize that the odds of actually running into me on Bourbon Street were the equivalent of winning the Powerball lottery. “We’ll be at Saints and Sinners.”

Channing Tatum’s place. It was on my short list of places to check out. I gave him another smile. “Okay. I don’t know what my friend has planned, but I’ll try and be there.”

That seemed to delight College Boy beyond all reason. He grinned and walked backward to join his friends. They hooted and slapped him on the back, casting quick glances at me as they walked toward the big glass doors. I waved good–naturedly then turned to see my bag coming down the line.

“Excuse me. Oh, crap!” I squeezed between two other travelers and reached for the handle, but my fingers slipped off. The bag dropped back onto the belt of the luggage carousel, firmly wedged between two black suitcases. I watched in irritation as my bag moved away. Now I’d need to wait for it to make a whole circuit before I had the chance to grab it again.

“I’ve got it.”

A tanned arm sporting a gold watch shot out and grabbed my bag, yanking it from the belt with a practiced grip. I followed that arm upward with my eyes. Trim guy. Fifties. Mostly bald with close–cut light–colored hair. Lemon–yellow polo shirt paired with khaki shorts. Business man, perhaps? Here for a convention or on vacation? He had nice, friendly blue eyes.

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