Sexy as Hell: A More Than Men Novella

10:02 A.M.

The demon who called herself Isra sighed and stretched her new arms over her head. Great Lucifer, it felt good to be out. She padded barefoot across the hardwood floors and cranked up the air-conditioning. The cool breeze blew across her bare skin, causing goose bumps to rise up and her nipples to tighten. There was nothing on Earth quite like modern air-conditioning. Whatever punishment Hell would hand out if she returned from her quest unsuccessful would be worth it if just to experience AC for a few short hours.

That, of course, was only if she returned.

She had less than twenty-four hours to capture a man's soul and extend her time on Earth. She had until sunrise the next morning, to be exact. If she failed, it was back to the fiery depths. She'd be assigned some miserable task to teach her a lesson. But if she were to conjure an incubus and pass along the immortal's essence, when she did return to Hell, perhaps her success would earn her a more glorious place amongst the demonic masses. A man's soul was simply a token. A day pass to stay on Earth a little longer. But the soul of the oldest immortal warrior was something else entirely.

Isra walked through the small and far too feminine apartment in search of a full-length mirror. She supposed some people might find floral fabrics and glass knickknacks comforting, but even an angel would turn up their nose at this place.

"No one asked your opinion, honey."

Isra smiled as her host, Camille, fought into her consciousness. The real Camille's soul was buried deep within her. She could feel her pure spirit spiraling in her gut. It frankly made her nauseated. It wouldn't last long, though. Even a pure spirit would corrupt in time. Once they shared the rush of seducing a man and stealing his soul, they would be addicted to it. The voices in her head would no longer plea for mercy, but urge her on so they could ride the surge they both craved.

Defaming her host was almost as much fun as sucking out a man's soul. Almost. She scanned the picture frames and lace curtains with distain. Breaking this one would be especially delicious.

"You're not gonna break me." Camille spoke boldly with a distinctly southern accent. Georgia, maybe. The sassy belle acted as though she had the slightest clue who she was really dealing with.

Isra laughed and kicked a pillow that had slipped onto the floor. It slammed into a shelf and tipped over a cherub statue, breaking off its head. "You have no idea what you're in for."

"I'm not going to let you hurt anyone."

"You don't exactly have a choice, darling. What I do, you do. So get used to it. Where's a damn mirror in this place?"

The responding silence only seemed to fuel Isra's irritation. Going to pout, was she? Isra walked over to the far wall and pulled an old family portrait off the wall. She held it up, seconds from letting it fall to the ground with a crash of broken glass.

"On the back of the closet door."

That was more like it. She sat the picture down on the kitchen counter and went in search of the mirror. Upon entering the bedroom, she scowled at the pink and yellow patchwork quilt on the bed. There were ivory eyelet pillowcases. It didn't exactly scream seductress. She had a lot of work to do before Seth arrived.

The mirror caught the corner of her eye.

The mortal's body that reflected back at her was adequate, although she wasn't quite certain what was special enough to get Seth's attention. The blonde strands of her hair were straight and long enough to tickle the middle of her bare back. It framed the almond-shaped eyes that she was certain had been a clear blue at one time. Now they were a deep rose color that would deepen to blood red as her prey's soul was absorbed into her.