How to Capture a Demon's Heart

  How to Capture a Demon’s Heart

  How to Date A Supernatural Book 2

  Graceley Knox

  D.D. Miers

  Chaotic Press, LLC

  How to Capture a Demon’s Heart Copyright © 2019 by Graceley Knox & D.D. Miers

  All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Cover Design by: Covers by Juan

  Praise for Graceley Knox & D.D. Miers

  “The dawn of a new age of vampire.” - Crafting Geeky Bibliophile

  "Thirst is the first in a new series from the writing team of Graceley Knox and D. D. Miers. Whatever they are doing, they are doing it right because Thirst had me riveted." - Tome Tender Book Blog

  "The premise for Thirst is so unique... And these aren't just vampires, they are Kresova." - IB Book Blogging

  "A CRAZY, WILD, INSANE RIDE THAT KEPT ME ON THE LEDGE" - Marie's Tempting Reads

  “If you haven’t read any books by Graceley Knox or D. D. Miers well get busy because you are missing out on two very gifted story weavers!" - Goodreads Reviewer

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  The Legend

  Chapter 1

  Also By Graceley Knox & D.D. Miers

  About the Authors

  Chapter 1

  Darcy

  Paris wound her way through the congestion as she dragged her roller-luggage, her mouth moving in muttered curses I could almost hear even from the baggage claim. I caught her eye and stuck my tongue out, and she flipped me off as a huge grin split her face.

  “Deedee!” she squealed, throwing her arms around me in a bear hug. “Let’s get the hell out of here and get some food. I’m starving, but I overslept and didn’t have time to grab food before I left.”

  I checked my watch. Three-thirty. “How long was the flight?”

  She groaned and shook her head. “Darcy, I can’t even. Non-stop it’s four hours. I had a twenty-minute layover, so four and a half. And no, twenty minutes wasn’t enough for me to eat, because the food was all at the far end of the concourse and I was terrified they’d leave without me.”

  “No, you just decided it was prudent to wait for good sushi, a decision I applaud. Come on.” I tried to take her suitcase, but she laughed at me. “I’ve got three inches and twenty pounds on you, chicka. I can handle my own bag.”

  I snorted. “I was just trying to take some of the load off you. That duffle bag you call a purse looks full to bursting.”

  She cackled at my familiar griping and followed me to the car, demanding I let her pay for the parking. “I brought you a present, do you want to see it now, or later?”

  “I want it now, but let’s get to the bistro first, I want a proper sake before I go into work.”

  Paris huffed at me, her face screwed into a pout. “Did you just declare me the designated driver?”

  “The price you pay for having me come get you, is one ride to work. You’re planning on coming in later, right?”

  Paris stuffed her suitcase in the trunk and slammed it shut with a grunt. “Yeah, of course. Sushi is technically my breakfast, and I’m not cooking for myself tonight, so Orson gets to.” She tossed her thick blond hair over one shoulder. “And if I play my cards right, he’ll pay for it too.”

  “I wish you two would stop dancing around it and just get a room, for real.” I pulled out of the parking lot and down the spiraling ramp to the ticket booths. “Just don’t take him on the kitchen floor, okay? We’re trying to run a business.”

  Truly I thought Orson was a catch for any woman, any woman except me. He’s my cousin and feels more like my brother. But at six foot four inches and built like a wrestler, his heart is still bigger, and as soft as any teddy bear’s. He wasn’t shy, just oblivious to subtle flirtation and too focused on making O’Shay’s more than just a beer hall to put any effort into dating.

  Paris was still giggling when I pulled into our favorite Asian fusion bistro, the Red #8. It was between Paris’ apartment and the bar. Not efficient to get her home, but it was the best sushi in town. Worth the extra drive time.

  We sat at in our usual booth without waiting to be seated by Nana, the head server and daughter of Mr. Yeo, the owner. She saw us and waved, and after a flurry of Mandarin, her younger brother brought over glasses of water and delicate sake cups.

  I looked around, surveying the differences between the upscale eatery versus O’Shay’s. Not that I minded the roughhewn tables and sawdust covered floor. We were located just off the industrial park. Our patrons were mostly the men and women who stopped in for a few beers after work. Some of them stayed until I chased them out after last call, taking keys when necessary, escorting swaying men to their Ubers. Others nursed a single beer as they bitched a little about their families, only to rush out after one beer to get home before the missus worried.

  Not the crowd you’d see at the bistro. Here were men and women in business casual or just plain business dress, eyeing the food like they were all critics. Orson would hate these guys, but when I looked at them, I just saw money.

  We had a deal with Nana that we would pay only the base price for sushi and she’d serve us rolls that weren’t on the menu. So I wasn’t surprised when she plunked a bottle of hot sake down in front of us and said out food would be out in a few minutes.

  “So, show me what you brought me, Mom,” I teased as we sipped our warmed rice wine and waited on our (bound to be delicious) sushi surprise.

  She rolled her gleaming eyes and removed a box from her bag. I hadn’t been exaggerating by much when I called her purse a duffle bag. The beribboned box was almost ten inches long, and five deep, nearly spanning the width of the narrow table between us.

  “Holy crud. Not exactly what I was expecting. How many NoLa shot glasses did you bring me?”

  Paris stabbed a finger at the box. “Open. I can’t tell you the story until you do.”

  I untied the crimson bow and lifted the top off the box. Nestled in layers of foam and then tissue was a blown glass bottle. It was fluted and corked, and the glass looked like an oil slick, purples and blues swirling into either black or green as I tipped the bottle first one way, then the other.

  Cautiously, I lifted the cork a little and sniffed, but there was no smell to the murky liquid inside and I closed it tightly again. “Okay, I give. What is it?”

  “Well, I was all over Louisiana, right? At one stop, I found this cute shop, which I thought was, like, a patisserie.” She paused for effect, “oh no, not a bake
ry, but an occult shop, with a white and pink sign on the front that just says, ‘Love Boutique’, in a peppermint scrawl.”

  “And what, exactly is a love boutique?” I asked, playing along.

  Paris’ hands were everywhere as she described the interior of the kitschy boutique, that mixed magic with handmade candy shaped in Mardi Gras themes. “This hot lady comes out, Dark hair, almond eyes, petite. I hated her, and wished I was into women at the same time.”

  “Oh geez, Paris,” I groaned and hid my face in my hand.”

  “As I was saying,” she continued. “She was quiet, and so calm, but just…vibrating with some kind of, of otherworldly energy, and points to this bottle. Not the super expensive jewelry, not the garish colored glass beads that have a thousand percent markup…This.”

  “Let me guess, one of a kind?”

  “You got it. I suspect she does this all day with tourists, has a whole stash of ‘em in the back.”

  I scoffed. “But you bought it, because why the hell not, right?” I turned the bottle in my hands, watching the dark liquid inside roll up the sides. “I wonder if the glass is what makes it look dark, or if the fluid itself is black?”

  “I think it’s clear. She said she was told it was a love potion, her husband had picked it up in Morocco.”

  I sipped my now cool rice wine and cupped the bottle in one hand. It felt warm to the touch, not from being handled, but from whatever was inside. “Damn. She must be one hell of a sales woman.”

  “She is. She also told me to jump on the broad-shouldered chef back home, because he was, uh, ripe for the picking.”

  I coughed on sake and set down both the empty cup and the glass bottle. “That’s pretty damn specific, Paris.”

  She nodded her head, a grin splitting her face. “I know, right? So I’m happy to come back with your car tonight, because come hell or highwater, I’m going home with the cuz.”

  “Gross.” I gasped as a platter full of nigiri and sushi rolls appeared at my elbow and Nana set it down between us. “This is amazing. We can’t eat all this.”

  Nana nodded and set two go-boxes at the edge of the table. “Orson called in, says to bring him your leftovers, he spent all morning testing burgers and needs something to eat that isn’t beef.”

  Paris reverently touched the bottle and raised her hands in mock prayer. “What did I tell you? Tonight, is my night with the gentle giant, and you, my dear friend, are next. Don’t waste that potion on just anyone.”

  “Right, because it’s one of a kind.”

  “And if she’s that good at what she does in a five-minute interaction, imagine the power of persuasion she’s got packed into that pretty little knickknack of yours.”

  Chapter 2

  Darcy

  Two hours later I was bussing tables and cursing Kurt, who was late for the thousandth time. When he arrived, I already knew I’d threaten to fire him, and he’d go running to Orson, who would remind me that Kurt’s mom was in hospice and Kurt was trying to hang on to her home.

  In other words, Darcy, don’t even bother. I’d hardly managed to think the words before the offending busboy burst through the front door, his apron in his hands.

  “I know, I know, I don’t deserve my job. The bus was late again, Ms. Darcy. I’m really sorry.”

  I shrugged and sighed. “Let’s skip the ass-chewing today, okay? Just head on back to Orson and tell him you need a raise so you can buy a reliable car instead of being caught between me and the Portland bus system forever.”

  His eyes lit up and I ducked my head as they glassed over with tears. It’s not my job to be the nice guy, Orson likes to hoard the good opinions of our employees and customers alike. But I couldn’t stand to be the bad guy again, when it just meant I’d probably be pulling double duty even longer.

  I scrubbed the table I’d just cleared and carried the bin of beers and glasses into the kitchen, avoiding Orson’s look of amusement as I emptied glass bottles into the glass recycling bin.

  “Love you, cuz,” he called after me as I slipped out the door. He laughed as I flipped him off and grabbed the cut limes waiting for me. The day shift at the complex was over, patrons were already beginning to filter in, and the kitchen smelled like a five-star restaurant, not the dive bar we really were.

  Guys in coveralls and Dickies trickled in, calling out their hellos to each other and to me. Dave, a newly wed father-to-be, sat at the bar to show me the latest pictures of his quickly swelling wife and the last of the ultrasound pictures on his phone.

  “They said by next appointment, there’ll be no point in pictures, because he’ll be too big,” he reported, his chest puffed out in pride.

  “Oh, man, don’t be showing her those baby pictures, man,” a familiar voice scoffed from behind him. “She hates kids.”

  I rolled my eyes, then winked at Dave. “No, Shawn, I just hated the idea of giving birth to yours.”

  Dave laughed aloud and grabbed the beers I set on the counter for him. “You go girl. I never did understand what you saw in that guy.”

  I shrugged and looked straight at Shawn and the big-breasted bottle-redhead on his arm. “It was a weird year for me, Dave. I got better, though.”

  Still chortling, Dave took the beers to his table and left me and my ex-boyfriend in a staring match. Usually, I fought him until he looked away. But for some reason my mind turned to the bottle sitting on my desk, and I turned my back on him, counting the bottles and making a list for Kurt to bring up from the cold storage downstairs.

  “Can’t stand the pressure, Darce?”

  I glanced over my shoulder. “I can’t imagine why you want to stare at me, when you’re with someone else. I have no reason to participate in your disrespect. However, I’ll make sure someone gets to you quickly to take your order.”

  He scoffed and whispered something to his companion as I faced them again, handing the list to Kurt and signaling Abby to their table. She snickered, her thin lips disappearing in a sneer that left burgundy lipstick on her front teeth.

  Abby cruised past the bar, depositing empties and giving me an eye-roll. Shawn and I had broken up months before, yet he still came in, usually with a new woman on his arm, and sniped at me until his angry date made him leave. I could see the beginning of that stirring in her eyes, her glances toward me more hateful by the minute.

  “Abby, get them their food, and get them out of here. Shawn pisses off the regulars, and I don’t want them not coming back.”

  Across the room, our only other server, Gloria, raised two middle fingers to their backs and got a round of laughter from her tables. I managed a scowl in her direction, but as long as the patrons loved her antics, I knew nothing I could say would stick.

  Abby hadn’t caught Gloria’s gesture of solidarity, but she nodded at my directions and sashayed over to the table, leaning forward so he got an eyeful as she took their orders. Even the greybeards who preferred skulking in the corners were beginning to enjoy the show, as Shawn’s date wriggled in her seat, lavishing him with attention as she tried to regain his.

  Thankfully, the supper rush started in earnest, and I was too busy tending bar and helping Abby, Kurt, and Gloria get plates and platters of barbeque and burgers to the hungry men, and fresh pitchers of beer to replace the empties.

  “I’m going to slap that woman if she calls me waitress one more time,” Abby hissed as I took bin of dirty dishes from her. “I gave her my name twice. Now she stresses waitress like it a dirty word. Why won’t he leave us alone?”

  God. That is the question. Shame flooded through me. Shawn was my problem, not theirs. But since I’d blocked his number and stopped answering the door when he showed up unannounced, he’d started dragging everyone I knew and cared about into his pettiness.

  “I’ll deal with it. Ignore his table, I’ve got them.”

  “Hey, waitress, do you think we could get a little service over here?” A whiny, nasal voice caught my ear as I rushed back to the kitchen to warn Orson o
f a tour bus I’d seen pull into the parking lot. “Waitress, do I need to speak to your boss?”

  I heard Shawn shush her, but I was pressed for time and patience. “I’m the owner. We have servers here, not waitresses and if they give you a name to call them by, that name, not waitress. And if you need something, I will see to it myself, so as not to subject my employees to you or my stalker ex-boyfriend any longer.”

  Her look of shock was almost worth the evil glare Shawn gave me, but the feeling of victory didn’t last long.

  “The service here has really gone downhill, Darcy. Used to be a guy could come here on a date and have a good time.” Shawn stood, knocking his chair back. He leaned across the table, knuckles white against the dark stain of the wood. “Maybe people need to hear how unhygienic the kitchen is.”

  It was a threat he’d used frequently since I dumped him for sleeping with someone else in my bed. Just one of the joys of breaking up with a United States Marshall of the paranormal unit, was that I’d broken up with all his cop friends too.

  “Maybe you need to get over the fact that I’m never going to blow you in my office again and find a new hangout, Shawn.”

  His face finally registered something other than arrogance, and I wished to God in that moment I could have shut my stupid mouth. His eyes turned to ice, his face reddening with rage that poured out of him until his body shook with the effort not to attack me.