Read Online Pure & Sinful (Pure Souls) by Killian McRae - Free Book Online Page A

brief.”
    “I’ve lived a long, varied, and fruitful life, Marc. You haven’t known me all that long.”
    Marc chuckled. “Four years isn’t long?”
    “Relatively speaking? No.” The magazine closed as Dee took a very sincere posture. “Just how old do you think I am?”
    From tip to toe, Dee was the embodiment of mature, yet youthful rock-hard muscle. Not a wrinkle or a grey hair breached his exterior. He could drink like an Irishman and pop up as fresh and sober as a Japanese executive the next morning.
    “Thirty-five?”
    The demigod was clearly amused. “Sixty-eight.”
    “No, really…” Marc’s voice dissolved into a dismissive cackle. When Dee didn’t join him or let him in on the joke, he realized he was being sincere. “Holy shit, Dee. How the hell is that possible?”
    “Good genes. Godly, even.”
    “So you … You’re what, immortal?” Sure, he knew his demigod friend had some great genetics going on, but since Dee didn’t like to talk about his Greek relations and everything their existence culminated in, the topic had never come up.
    Dee folded the magazine and put it under his arm. “Hell, no. Ain’t no such thing. Even the members of my divine family tree will die eventually. Some of them I kind of wish would sooner rather than later. But me? I just age slower. About twice as slow, actually. Side effect of the half-god thing. Why the hell do you think Sophia Loren looked so damned good well into her senior years?”
    Marc was more than a little jealous. “Awesome.”
    “Like hell!” The folded magazine dropped to the floor as Dee rose to his feet. “You try getting a date for prom when you look like a reject from the Barney school gang. Look, Marc, there’s no problem letting you in here like this before we open, but it’s still a business and I got some stuff to take care of. You mind if I…?”
    Marc gave him a go-ahead wave. “I don’t need babysitting, Mr. Zitka.” A wry wink resulted in Dee’s giving him an encore of As the Eyes Roll . J ust to prove how capable he was and all responsible and stuff like a big boy, Marc stood as Dee exited, leaned over, and wrapped his hands tightly around the cool metal of the barbell. “I’m just going to do one more set… and then… hit…” grunt “…the…” groan “…showers. Ow!  Motherfffff…fig tree!”
    Ripping, burning, all-out pain overtook Marc as his muscles spontaneously formed a labor union and declared a strike. His right arm felt like it just been tossed to a pit bull to be used as a chew toy.
    In a blur, Dee jumped back through the door. “What? What happened? Demon? Goblin? Scientologist?”
    The good father massaged his ego and his arm, clutching at both and whining with a level of expertise often displayed only by teenage girls and Democrats. “Arm. Hurt.” 
    Some silent prayers may have been whispered as well. Though, frankly, Marc knew from a lack of winning lottery tickets and an inability to wake up without a hangover and a hard-on the fat lot of no good that did.
    “Let me see it, you big baby.”
    Dee eyed the injury up close. For a moment he sighed, then closed his eyes as his lips began to move in a silent invocation.
    “Tried that already.”
    “Shh!”
    Venom filled his glare before Dee’s eyes closed again and his soundless recitation resumed. Marc obeyed, holding his tongue while Dee held his arm. Each moment, the pain grew more demanding, intense, until, before he knew what was happening, the flow reversed. Dee’s chanting became an audible chanson, the words ancient and obviously magical. Finally, after several minutes, all traces of pain subsided, leaving the priest relieved and more than a little mystified.
    Marc’s arm fell back to his side, good as new. “Thank God.”
    “Well, only a demigod, but you’re welcome anyways.” Dee grinned conspiratorially.
    “How did you…? How did you do…?”
    The demigod fingers planted themselves into Marc’s chest. “ Shht! No one