It was a wonderful, swaying dance, a pulsing heartbeat rhythm, a tangle of suggestion with the static energy of needy bodies growing more and more intent all around them. Their knot was not, yet, on that verge. But the gentle touch to draw him in closer was pleasant, wonderful, enticing.

He lifted a dark, clawed hand to twist around the curve of a lovely, tempting horn, feeling the texture and slight warmth as he worked down to the jewelry that hung from it. Even in Hell, horns were slightly unusual, and Kavinsky couldn't help himself being drawn to them.