The Unlikeable Demon Hunter Collection: Books 1-6: A Complete Paranormal Romantic Comedy Series

by Deborah Wilde

  “Despite Mandelbaum’s claim that the witches are behind it.”

  “Heard that, did you?”

  “You’d be amazed at what I hear.” His eyes narrowed. “And?”

  “And nothing. I don’t have the spine yet. But I don’t think the witches are to blame. Hence me checking. If the spine is the mechanism by which someone is binding demons, then there’ll be magic traces on it.”

  “So you want to perform a spell on it?” Rohan snagged a piece of paper-thin ginger, his strong fingers handling his chopsticks with deftness and certainty.

  Shoot me now. I was envious of condiments.

  I grasped my sushi too hard and it slipped with a plop onto my plate. “Yeah. I’m hoping that will give more insight as to who orchestrated all of this. Like the Brotherhood.”

  “Unless the witches have figured out a way to control demons,” Rohan said. “Their abilities are a giant question mark.”

  “Maybe if the Brotherhood had played nicely with them, they wouldn’t be such strangers.” I reached for my water.

  He gave an exasperated huff.

  I expected a lot of bad behaviors from Rohan, but sexism was not one of them. I took a sip, feeling oddly disappointed. “You’re right. The women must automatically be at fault.”

  He lay his chopsticks down. “Could you stop being so damned prickly for a second? If the Brotherhood could control demons, why wouldn’t they pass that info on to their hunters?”

  “Because they want it for their own nefarious plans.”

  “Which are what?”

  “Gee, how about taking out a Rasha who doesn’t want to go quietly?” I clamped my lips shut.

  His expression softened. “That is never going to happen.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Besides, you’ll be back in L.A. soon.”

  Rohan’s mouth pulled tight with frustration as the waiter arrived with our final dish, a beautiful piece of marinated sablefish.

  “Back in Gelman’s hotel room,” I said. “You believed it was the Brotherhood behind the attacks, didn’t you?”

  His “yes” was a pained exhale.

  I ticked items off on my fingers. “Because the attack wasn’t random, it wasn’t on Samson’s orders, and it didn’t make sense that other witches would attack me or Dr. Gelman. Our gut instincts were pointing us to the same culprit. The Brotherhood.”

  “We do nothing without hard proof. Making assumptions could get you killed.” He took half of the sablefish, chewing thoughtfully. “Does Ari know about any of this?”

  I shifted in my seat in order to jiggle room in my belly. “He doesn’t want to be involved.”

  “Who else knows?” The gleam in his eyes inched a few more points up the “Danger, Danger, Will Robinson” thermometer.

  Unconcerned, I fit a last piece of sushi into my stomach like the Tetris Grandmistress of Food that I was. It was taking me longer to set him off. Either he was getting inured to me or I was losing my touch. “Other than certain pushy people at this table, no one. I have a burner phone and I’ve been careful. I know what’s at stake here. Give me some credit.”

  “I’m giving you sweet fuck all.”

  I blinked at his words.

  “You want to blow either the Brotherhood or a cabal of dangerous witches wide open and you’re going to do it on your own?” He leaned in, his voice low and hard as steel. “Are you crazy or just psychopathically egotistical?”

  I sat up ramrod straight. “How dare you? This isn’t ego. I’ll bring people in when it’s safe to do so. When I have proof.”

  “Right. When you have the spine. When you do a spell that, by the way, you have no training in. You tell yourself that you’ll bring people in, but you’ll find another reason to keep all of us out of the loop and you want to know why?”

  “Mansplain it to me, would you?” My magic frothed inside me like a million pinpricks.

  “Because you want to do everything, have everything, on your terms.”

  Yes! Exactly! I was arranging my life to my satisfaction after so many years of feeling like I was at the mercy of the universal goddess of suck-ass. That was a good thing, not the rampant narcissism that Rohan made it sound like.

  Blood pounded in my temples. Rohan had walked away from his dreams, not had them ripped from his grasp like I had. Even becoming Rasha had happened with the full support of his family and the Brotherhood. While the demon-slaying lifestyle hadn’t been my choice, it could still be my opportunity, provided I was able to oust Mandelbaum and get some real change in the organization. I’d made a plan, I was collecting evidence, and I was going to see it through one careful step at a time. As the lone female in this situation, I knew better than anyone how this had to be played and if Rohan couldn’t deal with that, that was his problem.

  I gripped the table and counted to ten. “Like I said, I need proof. I won’t risk bringing anyone into it until then.”

  “You can’t bring me into it? I was there.”

  My skin stretched tight from the strain of containing the wild hum of my magic. “You were gone,” I shot back.

  “I was on assignment–”

  “Child’s Play wasn’t your assignment!”

  Rohan’s blades slid out of his fingertips for a fraction of a second before he forced them back under his skin with visible effort. “And you’re pissed that I didn’t bring you along to screw your way through the performer list.”

  “Fuck you.” I jabbed a chopstick at him. “You don’t get to be mad because I didn’t tell you what I was up to when you didn’t even bother dropping me a line to, I dunno, say hello. Let me know you were alive. Since I’m fairly certain London has means of communication.”

  “I was going to contact–”

  “But what? A kraken ate your letter? Well, I’m here now so lay it on me. What happened with Lily to make you come running back and kiss me?”

  Silence reigned.

  I pushed the eighteen grains of soya-saturated rice on my plate into a passable small “n.” “Feel free to speak.”

  “What’s the point? You’ve obviously figured it all out.”

  I nodded. “I did have a month to come to my conclusions.”

  Rohan spread his hands wide, his suit jacket bunching tight around his flexed biceps. “Enlighten me.”

  “I can’t bring you into the light and I don’t want to stay in the darkness anymore just because you want company. I can’t fix you.”

  Two white spots appeared on his cheeks, his eyes going hard. “You think I need a crutch? Or saving?” He laughed an exhale. “I can’t tell if you think less of me or yourself.”

  “Trust me.” I smiled sweetly. “I don’t think less of myself.”

  “No?” He cocked an eyebrow, tossing his linen napkin on the table, and reaching for the sake. “Not even if you were my second choice?”

  Only sheer gritty tenacity kept me from flinching. “Aw, baby,” I purred. “You don’t think you were mine?”

  Rohan froze in mid-pour, setting the carafe down with careful precision. “Meaning?”

  I tossed my hair, a hard smile sliding across my face. “I hooked up with Drio. In Prague. The night of your wrap party performance.”

  Rohan pushed away from the table, standing over me. Of all the responses he could have given me–anger, outrage, betrayal–the last one I expected was a smirk. “Drio told me the next morning.” His lips brushed my ear as he whispered, “Didn’t conclude that, did you, baby?” and was gone.

  Chapter 10

  Slamming my car door wasn’t particularly satisfying. Rohan had known about me and Drio and hadn’t cared enough to comment. I was such a fool. I really had been his second choice. Beating on my steering wheel and screaming curse words was slightly better.

  Drio and I may have started out as the worst of enemies but we’d grown into an odd sort of friendship and mutual respect. Yet boy, had he killed it with his blabbermouthing to Rohan.

  I hit speed dial, not bother
ing with greetings. “You kissing and telling motherfucker!”

  “What is your problem now?” Drio’s Italian-accented English was a low rasp, his voice thick with sleep. Even given the time difference between Vancouver and Rome, where he was currently on a mission, it wasn’t that late. Wonder what he’d been up to?

  “You told Rohan about us?”

  There was silence for a moment. “Oh. Not much of an us considering my blue balls that night.” He scratched some part of his body with a loud scritch. “That upset you?” Given the glee in those words, he’d unleashed the sadistic grin that always preceded demon torture time and was bestowed on me about thirty-five percent of the time. He and I had come a long way from the ninety-nine percent I’d first rated.

  I repeatedly shot the phone the finger. “It was none of his business! Do something useful for a change and make him go back to Los Angeles.”

  “He should be soon. Rabbi Mandelbaum always personally greets new Rasha so he came to see your brother–”

  “And me. My greeting was definitely personal.” I wrenched the ignition key on.

  “…and since Ro had to go back to Vancouver to pick up his things, they had the debrief there.”

  Debrief and clothing retrieval. I gripped the wheel, not yet releasing the parking brake lest I drive off in a homicidal rage. “As we’ve both moved on from our little fling, the sooner he leaves, the better.”

  “Quit toying with him.”

  “Other way round.”

  He gave a pffft of disbelief.

  “What’s the deal with you two?” His loyalty to Rohan was a dark fierce bond. One day I’d figure out their relationship which I’d shortlisted down to a top three of blood brothers, lovers in a hard, rough one night stand, or co-perpetrators in some heinous crime. God knows, I had my preference.

  “I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you, bella,” he purred.

  All righty, I was one twisted dudette because fan me now, that was hot. “I hate you.”

  He laughed and hung up. Death by testosterone. It was pretty much a given in my future.

  Enough of him and his annoying BFF. I called Cole, snorting at the irony that he was my least stressful dynamic these days. “Come bowling with me. Now.”

  “What’s with the sudden need for five-pin, Avon? Feeling sentimental?”

  “Just felt like flinging some balls, looking for an easy score.”

  “Not so easy anymore.”

  Truthfully, we’d both been pretty terrible bowlers. I should have met up with Ari and kept investigating but he’d text me if he had any leads. Probably. Until I worked off some of the anger pumping through my veins, I’d be no good to him. Plus, I couldn’t be responsible for what might happen if Ari looked at me sideways when I was in this mood.

  “In or out, Harper?”

  He chuckled. “See you there.”

  Once I’d exchanged my heels for bowling shoes, I headed up the narrow staircase, grinning at the disco music growing louder. I stepped into the darkened room. Glow-in-the-dark flowers and paisleys painted on the wall and a dim purple light were the only illumination for the ten lanes up here. I sidestepped the gaggle of small children that seemed to be here for a birthday party given their identical pirate hats, and headed for Cole, already waiting for me at our lane by the far wall.

  “Should have said the dress code was semi-formal,” he teased.

  I smoothed down my dress, about to reply that he looked just fine in the T-shirt stretched tight across his pecs when my brain got past these new changes to Cole’s frame enough to process it was a Twenty-One Pilots concert tee. I growled.

  His brows creased in a feigned look of confusion.

  “Oh, you bastard. You did steal my shirt.” I jumped on his back. “Give it.”

  We wrestled for it, me laughing and beating on him.

  “Ouch!” Cole shook out his arm. “Electric shock.”

  I slid off him, hands clasped behind my back. “Yeah. Ouch.”

  The curve of his spine and his head dipped close to the score keeping machine as he typed in our names was a familiar and comforting sight, as was the TV screen mounted above us lighting up with Avon and Cold-Hearted, the bowling moniker I’d given him due to his constant refusal to let me use kiddie bumpers.

  I smiled and motioned him to the balls with an arm flourish. “Prepare to meet your doom.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Cole bowled his third straight strike, annihilating me.

  “Huh,” I said, watching the fallen pins reset, “that didn’t go as planned.”

  “Did I forget to mention I’m on a bowling league?” He strutted back to the hard orange plastic seats.

  “Awwwww. Do you wear matching button-ups with your names embroidered on them?”

  He shook his head. “Strike Force wears black T-shirts, thank you very much.”

  “Of course they do.” I toed off my shoes.

  He jabbed a finger at me. “For that diss, you’re buying me a double scoop.”

  We hit up my favorite gelato place in separate cars. Walking inside, Cole shook his head at the panels behind the counters boasting colorful chalk murals of the Seven Wonders of the World. “Tacky as ever,” he said.

  “Fabulous as ever.” I trailed Cole around the store.

  “How’s it going getting Davide’s family some money?” he asked, sampling some moccachino chip.

  “We’re pursuing some very promising avenues.” With every lie today, my place in Hell was that much more assured.

  “I’m glad. His family are good people. They deserve something out of this loss.” He gazed off, a wistful expression on his face, the tiny pink sample spoon clutched in his fist. “It’s so crazy. Davide was convinced that if he ever died young it would be because he fell in a climb. I guess dying at home is better than your family having to identify bits of you at a morgue.”

  “The morgue!”

  “What?” He tossed out the spoon.

  Okay, yes, I had said that with a bit too much enthusiasm, but Cole had just given me an excellent idea. I schooled my features to look chagrined and somber. “I just thought… how awful for them to have to go to the morgue and see him in any circumstance. Sometimes working on cases like this really brings it home.” I shook my head. “You must miss Davide a lot.”

  He tucked an errant curl behind my ear. “I do.” He met my eyes. “I didn’t realize how much until he was gone.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty awful when people go away.”

  Cole dropped his hand.

  Transitional. “So what flavors do you want?” I asked brightly.

  He settled on cherry cheesecake and coffee.

  “My grandfather used to really like that combo, too,” I said.

  “At least I try new things.” Cole pushed me toward a case on the other side of the store. “Stop drooling. Go get the chocolate raspberry.”

  “Nope,” I said, quelling a longing glance at my favorite flavor. “I’m all about new experiences these days.” I ordered a lemon sorbetto, my second favorite, but what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt me.

  We stood in the store, munching on our cones, and watching the blustery clouds through the glass doors. “You and Ari still play that disgusting ‘what’s that flavor?’ game?”

  “It’s the best game and not lately. We’ve both been busy.”

  “Yeah? Is Ari doing summer semester?”

  “Kind of a work study thing,” I hedged. Really mastering the art of spewing utter bullshit, Nava. Thankfully, Cole had no idea that I was, and probably wouldn’t have challenged me if he had.

  I never thought I’d need to prepare a cover story because I was hanging out with him again. Our interactions were going to have to get a lot less verbal.

  I finished the last bite of my sorbetto. “Thanks for the bowling. I needed this break.”

  “Play hooky. We can grab dinner later.”

  “I can’t. Work beckons even on a Sunday. How about tomorrow?”

&nbs
p; “Tomorrow it is. I’ll text you.”

  “Sounds good.” I paused, my hand on the door. “Hey, Cole?” He looked over at me, the sight of his tongue darting out to catch a drip on his cone distracting me for a second. “I will be getting that shirt back.”

  He grinned. “We’ll see.”

  I bounded out to my car in a much better mood.

  The Sunday evening plans I wouldn’t break for Cole involved a light bout of B&E at our local neighborhood morgue.

  To be fair, I would have told my brother but his phone kept going to voicemail and when I went back to Demon Club to find him, Kane was surprised that I wasn’t with him, given Ari had gone off to do something around the investigation. I didn’t need to be in charge but his refusal to even treat me as an equal was going to end up biting him in the ass when I cracked this case first. The look on both his face and Mandelbutt’s would be worth savoring.

  And capturing in photo form for multiple viewings and possibly a Hanukkah card.

  A few hours later, I drove past the row of buildings comprising the large Vancouver General Hospital complex in mid-town, parking the car around the corner from the entrance to the emergency ward. I tucked my key inside my bra under the nurse’s scrubs I’d purchased after leaving Cole, and put a fake employee lanyard around my neck.

  Walking with purpose, I crossed the small drop-off area, past the couple of ambulances parked there and entered the sliding glass doors under the neon Emergency sign with a measured stride. The sting of disinfectant with a top note of vomit assaulted my nostrils.

  From my own visits here when I’d been dealing with my Achilles injuries, I knew that the security doors immediately to the left of the admittance desk led to the ER ward itself while to the right was a waiting area.

  I curved around the desk, skirting the plastic lounge chairs that at 3AM on a Monday morning were only a quarter full.

  A janitor mopped up a puddle of something I had no desire to identify.

  Not having a magnetic access card to get me through the double doors where the elevators were, I checked for any security camera and finding none, zapped the keypad. A small current snaked over the pad before it shorted out. I pushed through the metal doors, finding myself in a quiet hallway with linoleum floors painted with multi-colored lines leading to different departments. I headed for the bank of elevators at the end of the hall, passing more exam rooms.