Is he Saint or Sinner—Devil or Angel? Is he only a handsome young dancer who performs nightly at the Lucifer Club on Hollywood’s famed Sunset Strip, or is he the ultimate Stealer of Souls? To others he is nothing more than a dancer in a devil’s costume, but to a legendary sex goddess of yesteryear, he is the devil himself.
After being taken captive by the old diva’s limo driver, Prince Durant wakes up locked in the tower room of her Hollywood Hills mansion, where he meets the beautiful daughter of a famed movie mogul. He soon learns that she’s in danger as well, and for him to save them both, the runway he must dance down now will be plagued with terror.
So in the midst of sacrifices, full moons, and lust darker than sin, he plays a role that would have won him an academy award. But he soon learns that there will be no award at the end of this nightmare. No applause, no fame, no glory, only a demented old diva who now signs her autographs in blood.
The year is 1989…
His devil’s costume glittered blindingly in the stage lights.
His loose hips revolved suggestively while his shifting feet kept time to the hot music. His wild, vulgar movements thrilled the women who watched, and he played to them with his sexy smile and slumberous eye contact. He was volatile, so absolutely gorgeous they couldn’t stay away, but ran down to the stage and recklessly reached into the simulated flames to intimately caress his cock.
All at once his dance began heating up, the music throbbing, pumping, blasting, building rapidly toward a fevered pinnacle that never failed to rob women of their inhibitions. The fires that depicted Hell surged upward in a giant swoosh while he danced. The women screamed out their appreciation and excitement while feeling just a touch of fright at this wicked spectacle.
It was almost time for him to strip, so he danced closer to the edge, his luminous blue eyes peering lazily at the women who gazed up at him worshipfully. They presented themselves to him, to the young, virile body that danced untamed through the leaping flames, to the pulsing male power, the gorgeous face, the bold blue eyes, and the wild, devilish movements that turned them all from mere wantons to hot, burning sacrifices that lay willingly on the corrupt, primal altar of Prince Durant—the Devil.
* * * *
She sat alone, watching, and when the music reached its most wicked, evil, and thunderous, she jumped to her feet with the others, mesmerized as he writhed obscenely across the stage. Her gaze followed his hands as, piece by piece, he undressed like the seasoned stripper he was, revealing strong, broad shoulders, a hairless rippling chest, and muscled abs.
While watching the shameful display, the woman who stood draped in darkness could feel an erotic warmth gathering in the deepest part of her groin. But her arousal only fueled her belief that what writhed before her wasn’t a man in a devil’s costume, but the Prince of Darkness himself. In her demented state, every flame of fire that surged forward to give the act its authenticity was a flame licking upward from the bowels of Hell, convincing her that he was no ordinary man, but a devil. A mad, obscene, gorgeous devil—who could make all her dreams come true.
* * * *
The moment the velvet curtain closed, Prince hurried off the stage to find that the other dancers had left, and he was alone. Since his was the last act, he wasn’t surprised they were all gone, but still, there seemed to be something in the air. Something foreboding. He felt a slight chill from an imaginary breeze, a breeze that brought with it an icy finger that slowly moved up his spine. He jerked his head around when he heard a fleeting laugh, a group of excited voices lingering in the air. Trying to shake the gloomy thoughts from his mind, he continued to make his way through the disturbing shadows to his dressing room. When he slammed in, he stopped abruptly, seeing a room full of inky darkness. He looked around the room at each dancer’s station, but they were all dark—even his.
He was puzzled. He’d remembered leaving his lights on when he left, so who had turned them off?
He turned quickly and flipped the main switch, but nothing.
He became suspicious. Something was going on. What was it? He slid his gaze around the room noticing that it was a scene perfectly staged, a scene he’d seen a thousand times in old movies. A door opens with no one on the other side. It was an invitation to danger, a challenge, a dare. It was a slice of drama that had audiences sitting on the edge of their seats fifty years ago! But it still worked, and now it was calling to him, inviting him, daring him to come closer. He knew he could back out of the room and go out the front, but he had to get out of his costume, get his things and take off his make-up. As he stood there a slight unease rippled through him until it dawned on him that it was a gag. Of course! Someone was pulling the mother of all gags on him.
Thinking he’d figured it out, he searched the shadows—for what? What was he looking for? A crowd of guys who were getting some kind of perverse thrill out of this? Or maybe some made-up monster from a B movie? A lunatic with round, glassy eyes and sharp teeth? Finally pushing himself away from the door behind him, he walked over to his station. He stopped when he thought he heard movement and looked around. Seeing nothing, he slowly inched down into his chair and sat in a rigid pose for a few heartbeats with his focus riveted to the mirror that reflected the deep darkness behind him.
Suddenly the lights at his station blazed on, and a face as pale as death appeared.
