Deliverance from Sin: Sinners & Saints, #5

By Rosalie Stanton

If she learns the truth about what he is, there'll be Hell to pay.

Demonic trouble always finds Varina, no matter how far she runs. When she learns her late father left her something at their ancestral home, Varina is drawn back to a place she never thought she'd see again.

Ever since the world almost ended, Campbell, Sin of Pride, has been nursing scars both inside and out. Ashamed, he's determined to keep his head down until he's back to his old self. Yet when he learns that Legion, the biblically notorious demon, has escaped, Campbell has a choice—capture it, or advertise how low Pride has fallen.

Varina has been chased by too many demons to believe Campbell is a normal man. Yet she sees herself in his haunted eyes, and realizes he's like her—a demonic-possession survivor. Despite reservations, Varina lets her walls down, and slowly accepts the possibility that she might not have to go through life alone.

Though deception is part of the job, lying to Varina is the hardest thing Campbell has ever done. But as they get closer, and Legion gains strength, the truth is bound to come out. He just doesn't know what it will cost him.

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Buffy meets Good Omens. A tale of devils, angels, demons, and everything in between. Product may include sacrilegious humor, irreverent beliefs and explicit, too-hot-for-prime-time adult scenes.

This series is best enjoyed when read in order.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosalie Stanton
• Release date: Aug 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393169963

Rosalie Stanton

Rosalie Stanton is a multi-published erotic romance author, with emphasis in paranormal and urban fantasy. A lifelong enthusiast of larger than life characters, Rosalie enjoys building worlds filled with strong heroes and heroines of all backgrounds. Rosalie lives in Missouri with her husband. At an early age, she discovered a talent for creating worlds, which evolved into a love of words and storytelling. Rosalie graduated with a degree in English. As the granddaughter of an evangelical minister, Rosalie applied herself equally in school in the creative writing and religious studies departments, which had an interesting impact on her writing. When her attention is not engaged by writing or editing, she enjoys spending time with close friends and family. Rosalie is represented by Tish Beaty at the L. Perkins Agency.

Book preview

Prologue

There was no night or day. No concept of time at all. There was only a never-ending landscape of unchanging nothingness. A lesser being, she was certain, would have embraced madness by now, but Lilith was by no means a lesser being. Isolation was not a punishment as far as she was concerned, and even if it were, it wasn’t like she was truly alone.

No, she had the baby to think about.

A small smirk flirted with her lips as she ran her flat palm over her not-so-flat belly. The bump was incidental, but growing—it seemed—by the day. Soon it would be large enough to notice.

If there were anyone around to notice, that was. Purgatory had no beginning or end, no boundaries or spaces, no occupants of any kind. Her punishment for trying to end the world amounted to a cosmic timeout.

But Lilith was nothing if not patient. She had waited centuries for the moment to trigger the apocalypse, and she could wait centuries more. Time mattered not, and this personal hiccup could only last so long.

Lucifer didn’t have the stomach to kill her and he also lacked the strength to ignore her.

He’d come. And when he did…

The smirk on Lilith’s face stretched wider as she dug her nails into the soft skin protecting the bastard growing inside her. A sharp thrill of pain radiated outward, and it felt so good she dug deeper. The female body was truly a wondrous thing, and hers kept revealing heretofore undiscovered secrets, providing tools when she was stripped of resources.

Tools like the babe.

But that did not mean she had to suffer pregnancy with a smile. After all, the little leech was using her body to strengthen its own, and her body was the most prized weapon in her arsenal.

Though the parasite could not be killed—a lesson learned after those initial attempts to snuff it out—it could feel pain. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did. Mother’s instinct, perhaps. Whenever she dug in, she would almost swear she could feel it squirming.

So she dug. A little every now and then, sometimes more when she remembered the sensation of that angel of Jehovah’s—the whiny, weak little thing—shoving his holy cock into her body, of his throaty grunts and sweaty skin. Like all who had come before him, he had been easy to manipulate—filled with righteous fury but still oh so willing, if not eager, to prove himself a man where it counted.

It had been satisfactory, only in confirming that Jehovah could create no creature worthy of any world. The angel had gotten what he wanted—sex in exchange for defying his master. Lilith had gotten what she wanted…momentarily.

It was an eternal, annoying pattern.

Lilith dug her nails in deeper and, for the first time, sliced through her skin. It surprised her—not the wound itself, but the response. Her hand flew from her belly of its own volition, as though propelled, and for the briefest instant, the beige landscape of her prison flickered.

She tilted her head. For a long moment, she stood, surveying the bland nothing that surrounded her.

Then she dug in again. Again, she drew blood. Again, her hand was shoved away. Again, the world around her blinked.

Lilith stood very still for a moment. Then she smiled.

Now this was interesting.

1

A demon had just walked into the bar. His bar.

Fuck.

With any luck, it was one of the rarer breeds that knew what was good for it.

Campbell clenched his jaw and sucked in a breath as the signature’s owner approached. By the time the asshole was close enough to smell, he’d nearly convinced himself to find a dark corner and do his disappearing act.

But dammit, Rat Trap was his haven. It was perfect, obscure, and planted some twelve miles from the nearest interstate in a remote area that was one death away from being a ghost town. There was a cemetery, a gas station, and a gun shop within walking distance, but more substantial signs of civilization required wheels. Campbell loved it here. No one knew his name, and thank fuck for that.

The last thing he needed was some goddamned demon fucking things up.

Demons, however, were not the obliging sort. This one released a small sigh and drew up on the barstool beside him. Of course it did. Campbell held his breath and braced himself.

Fine. Fucking fine.

Look, he began, turning to stare the asshole in the eye. I’m really—

The words died the second their gazes clashed. For an asshole demon, she sure had pretty eyes.

Pretty…confused eyes.

Huh? The owner of the eyes—which were pale green—wrinkled her nose and furrowed her brow. Were you talking to me?

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Campbell felt a stab of something beyond self-loathing. If he didn’t know better, he’d call it embarrassment. Ahh, sorry, he said. I thought you were someone else.

The girl didn’t look convinced. She looked…well, Campbell couldn’t really say how she looked, but it wasn’t as he would have expected. As though she were trying to locate a memory, which led to a dejected frown whenever she found it. Every part of her seemed to deflate, resigned and beaten. She tugged on a loose tendril of her rust-colored hair, then tossed it behind her shoulder. He thought she might say something more—something about pitying whoever he’d mistaken her for, that he needed to get a grip, that he was fucking jumpy—but instead, she deflected and turned to the bartender, who Campbell realized had been watching the scene with a sort of dull interest.

Rum and coke, Carl, the girl said.

Carl nodded and went about filling the order.

Again, Campbell waited. The hum of the girl’s energy signature had yet to fizzle, but the more he analyzed it, the less convinced he became that she had any demon in her. It was too faint—a tug to let him know there was a story behind it, but nothing substantial enough to warrant an investigation.

By the time Carl had placed the rum and coke before her, Campbell had it figured.

The girl wasn’t a demon, but at one point had been possessed by one.

It had been a while since a genuine possession had crossed his path, but there was no mistaking that sensation. Now that Campbell felt it, he couldn’t unfeel it.

Just so you know, I’m not in the mood.

The words were spoken so softly, it didn’t register at first that he was their intended recipient. Campbell blinked and dragged his gaze from the countertop and back to his neighbor’s moss-colored eyes.

Which were now slanted in a glare.

Campbell blinked. What?

I’m achy, I’m tired, I’ve had a fucking awful week and next week doesn’t look to be any better.

There wasn’t any menace behind the words—not to match her expression, anyway—rather the tired honesty of the truly defeated.

And perhaps it was out of kinship or his tendency to get in his own way, but the part of him that had been dieting quite happily on a general attitude of fuck off deferred to curiosity.

Funny, he drawled. I don’t recall asking.

Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?

Notice what?

What you are.

He blinked. Confused?

The redhead stared at him for a moment, this time with more than just defeat. It wasn’t something one could miss, the spark that lit up her face, so he knew the moment he saw it that it hadn’t been there before. Campbell’s lips twitched and he did his best to hide a smirk. After the endless gray that had been his world since Rome, any diversion was worth chasing.

She leaned in, her lips pulled tight. I’m just saying, she bit out between clenched teeth, you cause shit, and we’re going to have a problem.

Campbell killed the smirk, though it went down with a struggle. He also leaned in, so close now her scent—a woodsy, fresh fragrance that made his stomach somersault—flooded his nostrils. His gaze fixed on her skin, which, he noticed, looked butter-soft. She had a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose and on her cheeks.

She was…well, cute.

And he would leave her alone, if he knew what was good for him.

Still, he was surprised at finding anyone cute right now, much less a woman whose face was contorted into a scowl so severe it looked damn near painful. His cock hadn’t shown interest in anyone since the world hadn’t ended. No part of him had shown any interest in anything, truth be told, except the alliance his tongue and liver had sworn to the god of alcohol.

For whatever reason, his cock decided now was the perfect time to get back in the game, and telegraphed the message to both his eyes and his mouth. It was the only way he could explain how he ended up staring at her lips. And I’m just saying, he replied at last, that it’s adorable you think you could cause me problems.

The words had their intended effect. She looked seconds away from detonation. Zero to off the charts. At least he hadn’t lost his touch.

Haven’t met a demon I couldn’t handle yet, she snapped. All I’m asking for is a little distance.

Could have sworn I was just minding my own business. Plenty of other seats around.

I know your kind, she replied. Just figured I’d be upfront before I got comfortable and you got any ideas.

A rush of annoyance, coupled with challenge, charged up his spine. He’d known, of course, that she thought he was a demon. Sins were much higher on the energy signature Richter scale than the average beast from Hell, and since she was transmitting a signature of her own, she’d know what one felt like.

Still, them’s fighting words.

I am not, Campbell said hotly, a fucking demon. Insult me like that again, and I’m not gonna be so nice, you hear?

You really think I don’t know one when I feel one? she retorted, flushed. This ain’t my first rodeo. And judging by the waves you’re giving off, you’re high on the paygrade. I know how to make the big ones fall, asshole. Don’t even fucking try me.

Campbell wasn’t sure what was worse—losing control of the conversation, losing anonymity in his favorite bar, or the fact that he was still turned on.

He didn’t have a chance to decide. Carl the bartender inserted his face between them.

We got one rule here, Carl said, his words wound thick around a heavy Louisiana accent. I don’t give no crap how good a customer either of you is. If you’re gonna fight, take it outside. Then he leveled a mean look at Campbell. Anyone throws a punch an’ it’s a lifetime ban, ya hear?

Campbell brought his hands up. I was just sitting here and the lady—

Shove it, the redhead spat.

Outside. Carl tossed a dishrag over his shoulder and pointed one beefy fist at the exit.

The redhead shot Campbell a look he could only assume others saw before she kicked their ass, but didn’t argue. Instead, she slid off the barstool and strode toward the door that led to the makeshift parking lot. Makeshift because it didn’t have much in the way of pavement—just some loose gravel and no fast rules on the way patrons decided to leave their vehicles.

Campbell watched her go, then turned back to his drink. You saw that, didn’t you? he asked Carl. She came up to me and started running her mouth about—

Shut up. I don’t know an’ I don’t care. Just go have it out.

I’m a good customer.

Carl nodded. And so is she. Older blood than you, too.

Somehow I doubt that.

Vee comes from a good family. She might not be round too much, but her folk own most of this area. Play nice, or you’re out a bar.

And there it was. The downside to the nice, anonymous country bar. Blood ran deep down in the Old South, and the right name in a lot of places went a lot further than the good ole American dollar.

But dammit, he liked Rat Trap. It was the only place he felt anything close to peace these days. So, if he had to kiss and make up with the hot would-be demon hunter to stay, he supposed he owed it to himself to at least try.

Besides, he had somewhat egged her on.

He stepped outside and into air so thick it practically qualified as clothing, because sometimes the Deep South could give Hell a run for its money. Hell was hot, sure, but it wasn’t humid. Not like this.

Not even the icy glare of a certain redhead could cool him off.

As he had inside, Campbell raised his hands in surrender and tried for a placating tone. It was hard because he wasn’t one to placate, especially when he’d done nothing wrong. But he really didn’t want to have to find another place to hang out, and he knew, most of the time, how to pick his battles.

Look, Campbell said, I think we got off on the wrong foot. But to be fair, you really shouldn’t go around accusing people of being demons.

The redhead—Vee, or whatever Carl had called her—crossed her arms. You’re not people. People don’t give off vibes.

People also don’t run their mouths about being demons. Campbell waited until she frowned at him before gesturing back to the bar. You came in, sat next to me, and started in on this demon bullshit. If you don’t wanna be bothered, the best way to accomplish that is to avoid picking unnecessary fights.

He watched her wrestle with that for a moment, and felt a vague surge of victory when her expression softened.

Then he saw something he wished he hadn’t. The foundation of her façade cracked, and he caught a glimmer of pain. It was there for less than a heartbeat before she tucked it away again, but the damage had been done. Campbell knew that look—the one that conveyed loss and confusion, combined with just enough anger to give the sober the rationale of the perpetually drunk. He’d been a walking embodiment of that look for weeks. Straddling two realities, caught in a loop where all he could see was a fury of motion, a sea of snarls, and the winking lights of consciousness against a too-black sky.

They had torn his insides out, or tried to. That night at the Colosseum. The night he’d nearly closed his eyes forever.

Campbell kept waking up from the same nightmare. The one where an eternity of noise faded to silence, and the world moved on without him.

I’m not a demon, he said. For starters, a demon wouldn’t have wasted this much time talking, or trying to convince you he wasn’t a demon. And for what it’s worth, you give one off too.

The redhead licked her lips. What?

A signature. A beat. Or…whatever, vibes.

Her brow crinkled. What? I do? I…but I’m—

I know.

You know.

It wasn’t a question.

Campbell exhaled. You get followed, right? By demons? They find you? He nodded to the bar entrance. That’s why you were all jumpy in there. It was experience talking.

She dropped her arms, then crossed them again, her chin wobbling. She didn’t reply.

You feel my signature, or whatever you wanna call it. Campbell waited a beat until she nodded, and another to see if she’d jump at his admission. When she didn’t, he continued, When a demon’s exorcised, it leaves fingerprints. That makes you a walking beacon for all other kinds of creatures. And I get that. But taking it out on—

How do you know this?

The question was harsh, borderline defensive, and the rest of her had followed. Again, her body was rigid with tension.

Diagnosis—struck nerve.

There were two ways to answer her question—the honest way, and the mostly honest way. The only advantage to the latter was if he wanted to keep talking to her after she stopped glaring again.

He thought about her butter-soft skin and those goddamned freckles, and his dick took over.

Experience, Campbell replied. Mostly honest it was. I know from experience.

The air between them thickened, the girl’s breaths at once audible and heady. He saw the wheels turning behind her eyes before they rounded with understanding. Experience, she echoed.

Yeah.

I…I’ve never… She sniffed and looked away. Her whole persona seemed to fold in on itself. I’d never… Ahh, I’ve never met anyone who… It’s not something there are many support groups for.

Campbell nodded.

But I couldn’t be the only one. Demon possession is…

Yeah, he said, stepping forward. I know.

She thought for a moment longer. I’m sorry, she said. For in there and…just sorry. You were right. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.

He waited for satisfaction and found emptiness instead. Yeah, well… He gestured back to the door. A drink and we’ll call it even?

Yeah, I’d like that.

Campbell offered a mute nod and tried to turn, but his feet refused, stalling on counter orders from his sluggish brain. There was something in her eyes, a soft vulnerability that hadn’t been there a moment earlier. It wrenched its way into his chest and twisted.

She was no one, or she should have been. Another face in an otherwise endless sea of faces. Campbell never took the time to get to know humans—he had no inclination to become attached, especially since those who went to his hometown in the hereafter weren’t exactly available for the occasional beer. Eternity was a long time to miss someone, and though the rare connection here and there couldn’t be avoided, he preferred his associates to be of the immortal variety. Life was best when devoid of complication.

It was a philosophy that had served him well.

So there was no reason whatsoever for him to stand there like an idiot as the redhead moved closer. No reason to be staring into her earthen eyes, or to feel his heart stutter. Nor could he explain the shock of electricity that buzzed his skin when she reached out and touched his hand.

Hell, it had been a long time since anyone had touched him—since he’d let anyone touch him. He’d hugged his sister when she’d turned up after the apocalypse-that-wasn’t, but he hadn’t been much of a touchy-feely guy before a horde of Hell Demons had tried to rearrange his insides. Now, the thought of skin on his skin was enough to warrant a week of sleepless nights.

Campbell inhaled, looked to where her hand touched his, then back again. To those perfect freckles and the face that surrounded them. It had registered the second he’d seen her that she was a pretty girl—casually acknowledged the way he might also accept the funky smell in his favorite bar—and even though his body had been primed, sending him all kinds of signals, it hadn’t hit him fully until that moment just how pretty she was.

Or that pretty was not the best word.

Then he took all of her in.

Campbell didn’t really have a type, or he’d thought he hadn’t until that moment. Either his tastes had changed as a result of his brush with death, or it had taken him the better part of two thousand years to meet the right type-defining woman. She was curvy in all the right places—her hips were made for grabbing, her breasts in the sweet spot between too small and too large. Her body, from what he could see, was firm and toned. Her skin was creamy. She wasn’t tall or short, making her the perfect height if wanted to…

Campbell licked his lips, and before he could stop himself, he drew the girl to his chest and claimed her mouth.

The second her taste hit his tongue, he remembered why living was so much better than the other thing. It made fuck all sense, he knew, but he didn’t care. He just wanted, so he took. And thankfully, the girl was on the same page. A whimper spilled from her mouth to his, and the next instant, she was against him in all the right ways. Her breasts molded to his chest, her hips curved into his. Her free arm, the one not held prisoner by his ironclad grip, wound around his neck and anchored him against her assault. Her lips were warm perfection, as though her mouth had been made for his.

It had been too long, he realized as his hands captured her head, tunneling through thick, perfect tresses. Much too long since he’d had a woman pressed against him. Since he’d felt soft flesh beneath his fingers, felt his gut tightening and hard tremors shuddering through his body. One taste lent itself to another, then another. Until his tongue was so wrapped in hers he didn’t know where he ended and she began. She tasted sweet—a concoction of flavors too well blended to be identified. Campbell growled into her mouth, his growing cock pressing against the fly to his jeans, and everything in him pushed toward a need to claim.

A car horn pealed through the air, and the next thing Campbell knew, his arms were empty. The girl had staggered back a few steps, her eyes a little glossy, her lips swollen, the skin around her mouth reddened from his whiskers. A door opened, and laughter—loud and intrusive—took over the quiet.

Campbell just stared at her, and she stared back. He ignored the calls of the kids, the teasing jibes as the moment-ruiners loped cockily into Rat Trap. In two thousand years, he’d been interrupted doing more embarrassing stuff than mauling a stranger with his tongue. But he knew, just as his cock—which began softening—knew, that the moment was over.

A pretty blush warmed the girl’s face. She looked away, licked her lips. Made him want to lick them for her, but he didn’t move.

Instead, he stood there as she pulled herself together, shook herself out of whatever spell had come over her, and disappeared inside without another word.

Oooh, rejected! one of the kids, who looked at least five years too young to be in a bar, shouted.

Need some ice for them blue balls? one of his friends asked.

The kids laughed and snickered, shoving each other in that knowing way common among teen boys who were desperate to be older than they were.

Campbell forced a tight smile, flexed his fingers. He briefly considered setting all of them on fire, but decided he didn’t want to mess with the paperwork.

No, he would much rather finish what he’d started with the redhead.

With that in mind, Campbell swallowed his biting remark, turned on his heel and stalked back through Rat Trap’s front door. He barely took time to appreciate the feeble greeting from the AC, or Carl’s grunt of acknowledgment. Instead, his gaze went to the bar, but the redhead hadn’t reclaimed her seat. She was close, though. His body hummed with awareness.

What had happened outside was likely a bad idea, but Campbell had run out of good ones.

If the lady was willing…

He shot a glance to the right, where sat an alcove that branched into the restrooms. Campbell’s gut twisted, and before he could stop himself, he had marched forward with intent, and barreled into the women’s room.

It was one of those single-room set-ups. No stalls, barely enough space for one person, let alone two. The redhead was at the sink, her hands curved around cracked porcelain, her pale cheeks flushed with heat. Her head whipped up the second he kicked the door open, and when their eyes connected, Campbell saw that same naked want that had enticed him outside.

He didn’t understand it, but something in him recognized something in her, and this was the first thing he’d craved in a goddamned long time.

Thankfully, the redhead was on the same page. She started moving when he did, and had her arms thrown around his neck, her mouth pressing hot to his in half a blink. Campbell tore at her lips—no gentle caresses, no soft nibbling. It was a full-out assault, and she gave as good as she got. In a flash, he had her against the sink and was between her legs, thrusting his denim-clad cock against her cunt. The soft little whimpers she poured into her kiss drove him wild.

He wouldn’t last, but he didn’t think he wanted to. He just wanted to take.

Campbell bit her lower lip, then pulled back to drag her shirt over her head. The redhead leaned back, a drunken, slaphappy gleam in her eyes. As soon as the offending garment was gone, she shot him a wicked grin and pulled his mouth back down to hers, continuing her harsh assault. Campbell allowed a groan of his own, his palms itching upward to cup her full breasts. She still wore a bra—a plain pink cotton that was all for comfort and not for show—and while a part of him hungered to strip her bare and lick her all over, the rest of him was in too much of a hurry. As though whatever had come over him could fall apart at any second.

He felt her hands moving between them, fighting with the buckle of his belt, then the buttons on his jeans. If she touched his cock, he’d lose it, and Campbell desperately needed to remain in control. So he pinched her nipples to gain her attention, then pulled back and lifted her ass so she was partially sitting on the sink.

Campbell paused then, breathing hard, and met her gaze. She still looked drunk. Her pupils were huge, a warm blush tinted her cheeks, and her lips quivered with each hard breath that pulsed between them.

Something in his chest twinged, but he shoved it aside. Campbell tore himself away from her face and refocused on her breasts, the proud nipples straining against the cotton. He leaned in and took one in his mouth, hot and hard, as his fingers busied at her pants. He stripped them down her legs in a heated flash, taking her shoes—or rather, her combat boots—right with them.

Campbell ended up on his knees in front of her, staring at the damp crotch of her panties. Her underwear was plain white cotton, freckled with polka dots of varying colors. Didn’t match the bra, and he decided he liked that.

Fuck, he murmured, then leaned in and nipped at her pussy through the thin fabric.

The redhead hissed and bucked into him, silently demanding more. Her heady scent invaded his nostrils, and as much as he’d like to bury his face between her legs and feast, his cock twitched in an aching reminder, and he couldn’t wait. Campbell shot back to his feet, seized her around the waist, and spun her around so she was facing the mirror.

Hurry, she whispered, thrusting her ass back against him.

Fuck, he said again, tearing at his jeans. Then his cock was in his hand, and he was pushing her underwear aside, lining himself up with her soaked pussy and…

Their eyes met in the mirror as Campbell buried himself inside her. And for the first time since Rome, the screaming inside his head fell completely away.

Holy fucking shit.

Campbell expelled a shaky breath, which seemed to reverberate through her. He watched her mouth fall slack. Her eyes fluttered shut, then open again, and she dragged her teeth over her bottom lip when he pulled back.

Do it, she urged. Fuck me.

No need to tell him twice. Campbell grasped her by the hips and set about a punishing rhythm, pounding hard into her hot cunt. He bent forward and sank his teeth into her neck, watching as her reflection went wild. He swirled his hips and struck home hard again and again, her pussy hugging his cock so tight it was a fucking miracle he didn’t spill on the spot. She was so hot, the sounds she made so perfect, and every time he pulled his dick away, she was pushing back, demanding that he give more, more, more. The wet smacks of their flesh hit the air, accented with dual grunts and moans that did more to make him feel alive than anything he could have reached for.

Fuck. Yes.

Then Campbell looked to the mirror again, and caught her watching him. Those big eyes shining like sparkling emeralds. She was so…

Beautiful.

Something tightened in his chest, and his pace broke, his