Sebastian

Teaser was still shaken up over seeing a pureblood incubus wearing his face. So Teaser was watching over Lynnea—and Philo was watching Teaser.
    As he approached, he saw Teaser step up to the edge of the courtyard. The incubus raised a hand in greeting and almost had his usual cocky smile.
    "Was told to keep watch for you," Teaser said, his blue eyes twinkling. "There's a lady here who thinks you should rest your feet and have a bite to eat."
    "The lady is right," Sebastian replied, looking past Teaser to watch Lynnea come into the courtyard to serve a table of four bull demons.
    Teaser looked over his shoulder and grinned. "Guess she didn't have a chance to tell you about that. The Sebastian Special is a treat, as far as the bull demons are concerned. And since they paid for the meal with a jar of ripe olives swimming in oil, I thought Philo was going to weep with gratitude."
    Olives? You couldn't even buy them on the black market most of the time. And how many times had he heard Philo grumble that a particular dish just didn't have quite the right flavor because he couldn't get his hands on any olive oil? What had the man concocted that the bull demons liked so much?
    "Sebastian Special?" That part finally sank in.
    Teaser grinned. "Vegetable omelet. Apparently Lynnea told the first bull demon who got one that it was a special dish she made only for you. Therefore, the Sebastian Special. But the bull demon liked it, and now he's gone and told all his friends, so—"
    "We're never going to get another omelet, are we?" Sebastian said, suddenly feeling wistful about eggs he'd never know. "If the bull demons are willing to pay for them with olives, Philo won't give up a single egg to the rest of us."
    "Well, you might still get some, since Lynnea's the one who makes the omelets. As for the rest of us, I'm hoping your farmer friend can add eggs to the supplies he's already promised to bring to the Den."
    Sebastian grinned. "I wonder if William Farmer has ever tasted olives. This might end up as a very good deal for us."
    That was the moment when Lynnea, having delivered her tray of omelets and toast, turned and saw him
    —and everything about her lit up with pleasure.
    The warmth of her feelings flowed through him, and he dropped his guard, just a little, to fully embrace those feelings.
    That was when a different kind of feeling flooded through him. This had claws that tried to pull him under, drown him in sensation. He felt the power or the incubus unfurl inside him, but it was primitive, furious, viciously hungry.
    Lynnea froze and stared at him. Teaser made some inarticulate sound and took a step back.
    "Protect Lynnea," he whispered to Teaser. Then he turned to face the street.
    All four of them were moving toward him. All of them hammered at his emotions, at his wants and needs, trying to find a way in that would leave him seduced by their power, vulnerable to whatever they intended to do to him.
    "Sebastian," one of the succubi purred. "Join us. Rule the Den with us. This is your only chance."
    Sweat beaded his forehead. They moved toward him, shoulder-to-shoulder, their matched steps a sinuous dance humans could never imitate. And behind them a crowd was growing, their faces dark with ugly emotions.
    "I already rule the Den," Sebastian said, each word an effort of will. How long could he hold out against them? How long before the lure of being glutted by emotions became impossible to resist?
    "He rules the Den," an incubus said, mocking. Its eyes glittered with malice as it turned its head slightly to address the crowd. " He's the one standing in the way of your pleasure. He's the one preventing you from getting what you deserve." The incubus looked at Sebastian. " He's the one who needs to be eliminated."
    Mutters from the crowd as the men moved closer, spreading out to surround him. "Run him off!"
    "Show him who's really in charge!"
    "Bastard thinks he can make the rules and tell me what to do? Bury him!"
    Sebastian stared at the four purebloods. During the hours he'd spent searching for them, they had fed the dark emotions of the Den's visitors. Now those men were convinced there was nothing wrong with killing him in return for all the pleasures that had been promised to them. Pleasures that would end up killing them.
    He felt the crowd stir, glanced around quickly. Some of the men were holding broken chair legs as clubs.

    Some held pocketknives. All it would take was one lunging at him to have them all