Demon Possessed by Stacia Kane

with quickly,” he said, and a shiver ran down Megan’s back that had nothing to do with the fact that she was standing directly beneath an air vent.
     
    “I seriously doubt it will be the last discussion I have to have with him,” Greyson replied.
     
    “No, but—”
     
    “I’d rather you delay it. I need a few more days to prepare.”
     
    Carter shrugged. “If that’s what you want.”
     
    “It is.”
     
    Megan and Roc glanced at each other. Greyson hadn’t said anything to her about a meeting with Win, but then they didn’t discuss his business, so why would he? It didn’t concern her, and one of the best things about their relationship—one of the best things on a list she thought was rather embarrassingly long—was that they didn’t invade each other’s privacy.
     
    Private business apparently dealt with, they all headed into the dining room. Megan barely managed to suppress a gasp on entering; demons were into formality and luxury and didn’t believe much in the character-building powers of self-denial, but even some of the grandeur she’d seen in the last eleven months faded when compared with the room before them.
     
    Candles floated above the table, courtesy of the air demons—House Caelaeris—led by Baylor Regis. At her feet were flower petals, strewn from ivy-covered wall to ivy-covered wall.
     
    Ivory damask tablecloths peeked out from beneath an enormous silver centerpiece loaded with ivy and white roses; silver plates waited at every chair, surrounded by crystal glasses and solid silver cutlery. Demons liked to eat. She had no doubt this would be a meal to remember.
     
    And it was, but not for the reasons she expected. No sooner had they sat down than Justine Riverside, Gretneg of House Concumbia, turned to her, her succubus smile spread all over her perfect features.
     
    “So, Megan,” she cooed. “We’re all dying to hear about your plans for your Haiken Kra. When will you be doing it?”
     
    Had someone dropped a pin, Megan felt certain she would have heard it. She wished someone would. It would provide some distraction.
     
    But no one did. No one made a sound. Shit.
     
    “I don’t plan to do it, actually. There’s really no reason for me to, at this point.”
     
    Justine’s perfectly arched eyebrows shot up almost to her hairline. “No reason? I certainly think—”
     
    “Justine, Megan will make the decision she feels is right,” Winston cut in. Megan shot him a grateful smile, which he returned. “It’s not our place to say what she should do.”
     
    “It is! Just the presence of a human here creates a problem for us. Her mind is weak.”
     
    “She’s a psychic,” Greyson said. He squeezed her thigh beneath the table. “Nobody’s going to hypnotize or entrance her.”
     
    Justine frowned. “I think we should take a vote on it.”
     
    “Excuse me,” Megan said. “I don’t think it’s up to any of you. I don’t actually believe it’s any of your business.”
     
    “Human vulnerability is our business when it affects us.” Justine flicked her long hair, shining black in the candlelight, off her bare shoulder. “Look at that silliness going on in the hotel down the road, that flea-pit whatever-it’s-called. That ridiculous man claiming to heal possessed people. And they believe him. They flock to him. They give him money—hmm. Maybe that’s something we should look into.”
     
    A ripple of appreciative laughter flowed around the table at this. Megan didn’t join in. “Wait, what? What man?”
     
    “Some reverend man.” Justine’s shudder turned into a graceful undulation when the servants—not the hotel’s, but demons handpicked by each House—brought the first platter, loaded with appetizers, and started parceling them out. Apparently being seen to react horribly to something was not on Justine’s list of acceptable things. “He’s holding some sort of weekend prayer meeting at that hotel over there.”
     
    “The