Our server explained the philosophy of the South-Asian fusion street food and how we should choose dishes from each of the five sections of the menu to be taken on a culinary journey. He didn’t need to tell me twice.
The food was incredible. Rohan didn’t ask me what was wrong, but he did make sure the conversation was light-hearted. I felt myself relax, any residual hurt from my talk with Leo disappearing in the enjoyment of the evening.
Ripping off a piece of naan, I dipped it in my lamb and eggplant curry. Some of the spicy sauce dripped on my thumb so I dragged the pad across my teeth, my tongue flicking out to catch the errant drop.
Rohan froze, the grilled shrimp in his chopsticks forgotten, his eyes on my mouth. He cleared his throat. “That curry reminds me of this street vendor that I kept going to in Delhi.”
“When was that?”
“I was about fifteen? Before the band hit. Mom was mixing an album for this group that blended traditional instruments like tabla and sitar with electronica. I’d grown up sitting in on her studio sessions but this was the first time she ever asked my opinion about something. Really listened to what I had to say and then incorporated one of my suggestions.”
His eyes lighting up as he recounted the story was the sexiest thing about him and trust me, there were a lot of options on the Mitra sex appeal drop down menu.
“Did Maya mix any of your albums?”
“No. She swore there wasn’t enough money in the world. Since her teaching me to ride a bike ended in bloodshed, Mom said our level of head-butting would lead to flat-out murder in one session.” He held out the last, tiny, tea-infused duck roll in his chopsticks for me to eat.
I leaned across the table, grasping his wrist to tug him closer. The muscles in his arms and chest tensed as he leaned in.
“Open up.” His voice was a husky murmur. He placed the roll in my mouth and I obediently chewed.
“Good?” he asked.
“Incredible.” I didn’t dare shift my weight, worried the sweat trickling down the backs of my thighs would make me creak against the leather seat.
“More tea?” Our friendly server broke the spell.
“Please.” I held out my ceramic mug.
Two sips of tea and one bathroom dash to splash water on my face later, I’d regained my composure enough to continue our conversation. “You have to tell me the bike story. Were you pushing her to let you ride it before you were ready?”
He ducked his head, the fringe of his sooty lashes fanned against his cheek. “Not exactly.”
“Snowflake,” I prompted. “What did you do?”
He lay down his chopsticks. “I told her I wasn’t ready but she kept insisting that I was riding my bike just fine.” When it was clear I wasn’t going to let this drop, he huffed at me. “Okay, but laugh and die.”
I crossed my heart.
“To prove my point that I couldn’t ride, I rode my bike with expert precision into some very thorny bushes and then screamed bloody murder when I got all scratched up, yelling ‘I told you! I can’t ride!’”
“My God. Your control issues started so young.” I pressed my lips together but couldn’t help the laughter escaping me.
“You promised.”
I stuffed some noodles in my mouth. “Chewing,” I mumbled around a mouthful of food.
Rohan pointed his chopstick at me, an evil twinkle in his eye. “So. Dead.” Then he leaned back with an affectionate shake of his head.
Clearly Rohan and I were friends. Possibly better than friends. Friends plus. But why the pressure to quantify it beyond that? Funnily enough, something had shifted. Rohan had gone from being the most obtuse person about the two of us to the only other one to understand us. He did understand, right? I felt like the ugliness of the past couple days had blown things open and allowed us to settle in this happy easy place and hoped he did too.
Dinner stretched out and a delicious state of coiled anticipation about how this night would end grew. Every glance, every touch, every shared bite of food was underscored with the mutual knowledge of two people who wanted each other but wanted to prolong the wanting until it was almost painful.
Truth be told, much as I enjoyed the simmering build, it was time to get on with it already. This European vacation had been lax on the saucy antics.
“I don’t want dessert. You?” Rohan asked. He sat back in his chair, eyes hot, voice calm.
“I’m good.” My words were at odds with my jittering leg. Once again, he insisted on treating.
I stepped outside while he finished paying, thankful for the brisk wind on my very flushed cheeks. No one else was out here. The night was quiet and still.
Rohan joined me a couple of minutes later. “They called a taxi for us but it’s going to be about twenty minutes. Want to stay outside?”
Before I could answer, a demon bobbed into view under one of the parking lot lights. Roughly my height, fuzzy, charcoal-colored, and sausage-shaped, the demon boasted one cyclops eye and a red sneer of a mouth. Both its fingers and toes were long and sloth-like. A two-foot long external metal spine ran down its back with jagged spikes jutting up like a stegosaurus.
The demon swiveled its eye to look at me.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Most of it is a gogota demon,” Rohan said. He tossed his jacket on a bench beside the restaurant door, his forearm blade extracting. “Dumb as a sack of rocks, but it’ll focus on a task’s completion until it’s dead. The metal upgrade is new.”
“Vashar! Vashar!” The demon screeched in a high reedy voice. It wobbled as if not sure how to accommodate its additional weight.
Rohan swore. “Someone has deliberately messed with it. A gogota’s sweet spot is dead center of its back.” Where we could no longer access it thanks to the metal spine. “Get it into the shadows.”
Right. We didn’t want the patrons to look out and see this.
The demon charged us, a blur of motion for such a slug-like shape. Rohan jabbed the blade along his arm into the gogota’s belly, forcing it back into the dark reaches of the lot. The demon left a trail of sticky, silver goop that glistened in the moonlight.
Busy slicing and dicing, Rohan blocked the front of the demon from me, so I couldn’t blast the gogota without hitting Rohan. I also couldn’t sneak up from behind because the demon was backed up against the complex’s fence.
It threw Rohan off, angling its body to smash Snowflake’s head with one of its spikes. Rohan staggered back and, in that moment, the demon whizzed over to me, wrapping its fingers around my wrist. “Vashar,” it insisted. Less like it wanted me dead and more like it wanted me to do something.
Blasting it failed to loosen its grip.
The demon dug its fingers into my jacket pockets. Its hands wandered over my body, probing me.
“Get off!” Even though parts of the demon were starting to shrivel and fall off under my attack, it ignored my demands. The damn thing couldn’t even stand upright anymore but that didn’t matter.
It pressed up against me, its blobby body expanding, secreting the sticky substance to keep me pinned to it as it continued its exploration of my person. The more I blasted it, the more it expanded, gluing me to its body that much harder.
Rohan tried to rip me off of it, but I was stuck fast.
Closer and closer it pressed into me, smelling of baby powder and sweaty baseball mitt. Soon the gogota would suffocate me, leaving it all the time in the world to violate me with its creepy touches.
My eyes glued shut from its sap. I could hear Rohan’s cursing and labored breathing as he tried to free me. The metallic smell of my magic filled the air.
The demon’s finger entered my mouth. “Vashar!”
Gagging, I jammed my right fist into the gogota’s belly as hard as I could. Then I twisted my fist even deeper into it before firing a blast off my closed hand. A rumbled charge from deep inside me blew through my arm at the motion.
The demon ripped free, fresh air cascading arou
nd me. I reached out blindly. “Rohan?”
He grabbed my hand. “Got you.”
I leaned on him, my legs rubbery. “Is it dead?” I had to pry my eyes open given the goop coating them. Once I had, it took me a second to figure out what I was looking at.
The gogota was stuck to a metal pole by its spikes. Not just stuck. Its spine was totally mangled, all twisted and melted, leaving the demon half-crushed in the deformation.
“Vashar!” Its fingers wriggled feebly in my direction.
“Why is it stuck to the pole? Is it glued?” Every one of my blinks was sticky with slime. I didn’t think I’d hit it hard enough to send it that far back.
“It looked like a giant magnet turned on. The demon shot off you, sucked backward to the lamp post.” Rohan approached the creature. Staying out of arm’s reach, he examined the spine. “It’s not the secretion holding it in place.” He pried the tip of one spike off and released it. It immediately clanged back against the lamp as though magnetically charged.
“Did I do that?” Was this some new facet of my power?
“Yes?” He extended a blade from his fingertips. Holding a bent piece of spine away from the demon’s body, he stabbed the gogota in the center of its back.
The demon gave one last cry and disappeared in a tiny whirlwind of gray dust. The twisted metal spine remained, attached to the post. Rohan tried to pry it off but it was stuck fast.
I stood there, chest heaving, doing my best to wipe off my face with the hem of my skirt. Beyond caring if anyone saw me with my dress up around my head. “It almost had me. It was unstoppable.” A wave of tremors coursed through me.
Rohan draped his arm around me. “It’s gone.”
“Was this an isolated attack? Did Samson send it? You think he’s on to us?”
Rohan scanned the darkness for any other threat. “Don’t go tomorrow.”
“I have to.” I shook my head at him when he looked about to argue. “Samson might not have sent the demon. In which case, standing him up is only going to annoy him. Even if he did send it, there’s nothing in his M.O. that shows him directly attacking or killing people. He won’t try to take a Rasha down with so many other witnesses around.”
“He doesn’t have to,” Rohan said. “All he has to do is work you into a depressed enough state that you take care of things afterwards.”
“Well,” I smiled up at him, “you could personally ensure I’m in a good enough mood tonight that it carries me through any bad vibes tomorrow.” I got an automatic smile in return but I could tell I’d lost him. Rohan was already thinking through all the ways tomorrow could go wrong, instead of the ways tonight could go right.
The cab pulled around the corner of the restaurant, slowing to a stop before us. Rohan, preoccupied, climbed in. Way to kill sexytime, you dumbass demon.
Chapter 21
I grew angrier and angrier all the way back because it was clear from the way Rohan handled me with kid gloves that sex was off the table. At this point, I would have taken any handling, kid glove or otherwise. He spent the ride back talking me through various scenarios for tomorrow, spoken in a low voice so the driver wouldn’t hear. My only break was when he had the driver stop at a store to get us each a couple of sports drinks, which I downed in no time.
I tried to concentrate on what he was saying but even being attacked by a demon mutant hadn’t killed the heady mixture of adrenaline and desire I’d felt in the restaurant. If anything, I needed that release more than ever. I crossed my arms over my boobs, trying to get some relief from their heavy sensitivity without it seeming too obvious what I was up to.
This time when I entered the hotel lobby, I had my shoes. That’s about all I could say for my appearance because I looked like an elephant had jizzed on me. Sticky silver slime cobwebbed between my fingers. It had hardened on my face and neck, matting my hair into unsightly white girl dreads.
Unable to help myself, I glanced at the front desk to see who was on duty this evening. Incredibly, it was a different employee, a stylish brunette. Given how she looked at me, like she wished she could snap my photo and pin it to a “do not allow” board, I’m guessing the staff talked. Let the haters hate. I had one objective here: get myself off. Inappropriate? Perhaps. Necessary? Understatement of the year.
Rohan finally finished talking.
“Great. See you tomorrow, boss man.”
He narrowed his eyes at me but I didn’t care. If he wasn’t gonna be a help then he didn’t get to be a hindrance. I was outta–
“Hi, Ro. Lolita.” Lily bounded over to us.
Sunnydale wasn’t the Hellmouth. This lobby was.
Lily’s eyes widened at my appearance, one hand smoothing the skirt of her cute blue dress. I looked down at my own dress in dismay. It had been cute once. My hair had been flirty.
“Drunk guy. Science experiment.” I widened my hands making an explosion sound.
“Oh. Okay.” Lily still looked confused, but screw it. That was as good a lie as I had in me.
I clenched my teeth against a hot spurt of anger at all pretty people. That included Rohan. His shirt had taken the worst of it and since he wore his jacket over top again, he looked just dandy. The bastard. Fuck, I wanted him badly. A rage fuck would have been awesome but I’d settle for a rage wank.
Cuntessa throbbed harder, demanding I do something about her stymied predicament. I mentally fired back that I couldn’t exactly rub one out standing here, could I? I had to get through the small talk first.
“Good conferencing today?” I tried to sound like I genuinely cared. Lily was nice and despite the shitty demon interruptus, or her lofty status in Rohan’s eyes, she didn’t deserve me being bitchy to her.
“It was.” Her hands did half the talking for her. “Do you know how many physicists these days are studying cloud movements and wind? It’s so cool. Oh, and this morning I got invited to a rocket launch when I get back to the States as part of an experiment they want my expertise on.”
That was pretty awesome so I stuck around to ask more about it.
“I was going to get a drink.” Lily pointed over to the bar. “Want to join me?” She included both of us in the conversation.
“Love to,” I said. I’d drink with Satan himself at this point.
Rohan didn’t answer her. He watched us converse with an odd expression on his face. Like this was the first time he’d really looked at us side by side and the differences were staggering.
The world blurred. I tossed off, “Give me half an hour to change,” then barreled across the lobby, blinking rapidly. Stuck waiting for the elevator behind a porter and a cart of stacked luggage, and painfully aware of Lily and Rohan standing behind me, I lost my battle with my cool facade. I ran into the washroom next to the restaurant, slamming and locking a cubicle door.
I used a steady stream of toilet paper on my stupid leaking eyes, familiar with this emotional overload. Same thing used to happen to me before a show, when I’d been pushing myself too hard. Breathing was key. I closed my eyes, embracing the emotions, drawing them inside myself to fuel tonight’s performance. A good night’s sleep and one healthy meal and I’d be dandy.
Three flushes of toilet paper later, I ran dry. Shoulders slumped like Quasimodo, I contemplated opening the lock, not yet ready to walk past Rohan. That moment before I went on stage was an intensely vulnerable one. The last flash of me in my most honest state before I pasted a smile on my face, stepped through the curtains, and dazzled.
Giving myself my “I am fabulous” rallying cry wasn’t going to provide the jolt I needed to get out there. Yanking down my underwear, I plunged my fingers inside me. My head tipped back at the sweet ecstasy.
I rubbed Cuntessa, arching my hips for better access.
Someone knocked on the door of the stall.
“Occupied,” I said, trying not to moan. God, yes, it was happening. I rubbed faster, harder. My muscles tightened, my body trembled.
Again with the knocking. “S
omeone in here!” I bit my lip, closing my eyes and trying to keep out all distractions as I reached for the shiny finish.
The woman on the other side of the door rapped again.
“Find a different fucking stall,” I snarled. With that, I came hard, muffling my groan with the flush of the toilet. I sat there a second, letting my racing pulse subside enough to be able to pull my underwear up and straighten my dress.
My entire body was infused with a calm, centered clarity. Now I was ready to step into my role once more. I flung open the door, my sharp retort dying on my lips at the sight of the elderly man staring at me. Two other guys twisted around from their respective urinals to glance at me.
Whoops.
“Ladies was full.” I marched over to the sink, refusing to rush the washing and drying of my hands. The glare the desk clerk shot me as I strode through the lobby to the elevator barely rated. I was re-upped and ready to shine. Except I needed a quick make-up and wardrobe fix.
Once showered and changed, I got to the bar to find Lily sitting alone, checking her phone. I sat down across from her, a red glass lamp casting a mellow glow over us. “Where’s Rohan?”
Her perfume, light and sweet, teased my senses, making me feel like I was in a meadow on a bright sunny day. “He got a call from the director about something.”
Me and Lily alone? Oh yeah, shots were in order big time. I ordered vodka for me and Lily asked for a rum and coke. Not even diet because she didn’t need to worry about the calories.
Meow, Nava.
“How do you know Ro?” she asked.
We’d never prepared an answer to that question since most people weren’t interested in how a groupie came into a rock star’s life. Lily was not most people.
“We met at an industry thing.” You know, amazing chick kills first demon, annoying dude accosts her and presents self as leader forcing chick to show remarkable restraint in not clocking him. That kind of industry thing. “What about you?”
The Unlikeable Demon Hunter Collection: Books 1-6: A Complete Paranormal Romantic Comedy Series Page 47
