Winter Wishes

by Vivian Arend, Vivi Andrews

  Jay wasn’t usually squeamish about facing the music—a demon didn’t last long in Hell if he couldn’t lie his way out of trouble—but he wasn’t usually facing someone he would rather cut off his arm than hurt either. Dread locked his muscles into immobility at the thought of coming clean, but he couldn’t put it off any longer. He had a deadline—emphasis on dead. Fucking Christmas.

  His cell phone rang in his pocket and Jay dove for it with cowardly enthusiasm. “Verin.”

  “I thought I told you never to use that freaky-ass psychic shit on me,” his cousin’s raspy alto grumbled in his ear.

  “Caller ID,” Jay lied. “You back already?”

  “Home for the holidays. Deck the Hells.” Verin gave a short, wry laugh at her own quip. “I thought you might like to know your mother is having a shit fit because you aren’t here kissing her ring for everyone to see.”

  Jay winced. “What’s the damage so far?”

  His mother had never been a particularly maternal creature. He didn’t delude himself that she actually wanted him by her side for any reason other than to solidify her political standing. Jezebeth had always been ambitious, but in this last year her grabs for power had been surprisingly successful, finally resulting in her new marriage and a tenuous position of power at her husband’s side. Her only child refusing to come home to pay homage must burn like acid.

  “A few priceless relics shattered against the walls. Antique furnishings thrown into the fire,” Verin said. “But if I were you I’d be more worried that she went quiet about an hour ago and no one’s seen her since. What are you still doing up there? I suppose sweet Sasha took the news badly.”

  He considered lying, but a part of him actually wanted Verin’s advice—useless though it would probably be—on how to broach things with her. “I haven’t told her yet.”

  Verin’s laugh rippled in his ear. “You are such a pussy. Better get that ass in gear, cos. The clock is ticking.”

  “I know.”

  “What’s the hold up?” Verin’s impatience crackled in her voice. “Lucifer’s boots, Jevroth, don’t tell me you like her. A little human fling is one thing, but don’t start going native on me. You’re the only semi-tolerable part of family gatherings. I’d hate to see you incinerated by the wrath of God just because you started doing your thinking below the belt.”

  “I’m not going native,” Jay growled. He wasn’t a fucking idiot. He knew the consequences better than anyone, but… “I don’t know how to tell her.”

  “What is there to tell? Break it off, come home, never see her again. Easy. Use ‘it’s not you, it’s me.’ That’s one of my favorites. Or if you need to give her a story, tell her you’re a Russian spy. Or married. Or a married Russian spy. Who cares what you tell her?”

  I care. Which was new. And distinctly unsettling. “She needs to know the truth.”

  “Do you honestly think learning her beloved shnookykins is hellspawn is going to make her remember you fondly when you’re gone?”

  “It’s not when I’m gone I’m worried about.”

  Verin groaned into the phone. “Jay. Buddy. You can’t see her again after this. You know the rules. There’s no coming back. You had your sabbatical. Tell her you’ll always have Paris or whatever, but get the fuck out of there.”

  Jay did know the rules, but the beauty of Hell was that every rule could be bent and most of them broken. He had a plan. Blackmail, manipulation, whatever it took, he was going to be back on the mortal plane after Christmas. Back with Sasha.

  A crash sounded on the other end of the line. “Shit. Better make it snappy, Jay,” Verin said, “before Auntie Jezebeth breaks out the torture devices to cheer herself up.”

  “I’d be snappier if you weren’t keeping me on the phone.”

  Verin snorted. “Excuses, excuses. Tick, tock, dumbass.”

  “Love you, too, cos.”

  Jay disconnected and shoved the phone back into his pocket, his feet still rooted to the ground. He was late enough Sasha had probably filed a missing person report by now, but he couldn’t make his feet take the steps that would end their relationship.

  If they ended it. Maybe Sasha would understand. Maybe she would be cool with his unconventional background. And the fact he’d lied to her for six months.

  Surprise, baby. I forgot to mention I’m a demon-human superhybrid being used as a pawn in a political battle in the demonic realm and my visa to stay on the mortal plane just expired. But don’t worry, just because I’m demonspawn and forbidden from remaining on the mortal plane on Christmas Day doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. I just have to return to Hell by dawn and I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to get back out again, but it’s nothing to worry about.

  Yeah, that was gonna go over like a dream. She’d have no problem whatsoever with the fact he was spawned of pure evil. What girl wouldn’t want to take that home to Mother?

  Jay pushed off from the car, glancing both ways before jaywalking. He was halfway across the street when a silver sports car skidded around the corner at NASCAR speeds. Jay grinned—even if he hadn’t recognized the car, the driving was unmistakable. He paused on the grassy median, a smile on his face as he watched Sasha’s car rock on to two wheels when she pulled a tight U-turn into her parking space. She was out of the car before the engine had stopped making the whirring jet-engine noise and he could hear her swearing like a dockworker as she took the steps up to her place two at a time.

  Damn, he loved that woman.

  His mouth went dry and his heart lurched at the sudden, sharp clarity of the thought.

  Fuck. That was trouble. Six months ago, his impulse to stay on the mortal plane had been based on a whim, a fleeting desire for a holiday from the court intrigues and manipulations that dominated the demonic realm. He’d half expected to grow bored with living as a human, but then he’d met Sasha.

  He’d sensed the light in her and thought he could use her to stay on the mortal plane, but he hadn’t expected to actually like her. And he certainly hadn’t meant to fall for her.

  The constant tug-of-war between her dark, sarcastic humor and the better angels of her nature had instantly fascinated him. She was slow to trust but quick to laugh, and his fascination slowly developed into something deeper. Something he hesitated to put a name on.

  Sasha complicated everything, making the impossible seem possible and giving him a reason to want it.

  Jay jogged across the street and up the stairs. The key she’d made him was in his hand, but she’d left the door unlocked. He pushed it open, ducking to avoid gouging his eyes out on the spears of mistletoe tacked to the frame.

  A muted litany of curses flowed through the door to the kitchen, apparently centering around the city of Tulsa and Joan Crawford and providing an odd counterpoint to the jeering cheerfulness of “Jingle Bells” playing on the stereo.

  Jay tossed his keys on the hall table and followed the sound of Sasha’s voice, pausing for a moment in the living room to stare out the window. The apartment was small enough to be a testament to her stubborn independence from her family’s wealth, but it had a million-dollar view. Through the bay windows, the sun dipped low over the Pacific, painting the cloud and smog cover with ambers, pinks and purples.

  You didn’t get sunsets like that in Hell. It might be the last one he saw in who knew how long, but he couldn’t stop to admire it. The clock was ticking.

  Jay rounded the living room couch and stepped into the kitchen doorway, leaning his shoulder against the frame. Sasha stood at the island, muttering viciously about blowing up Tulsa for the good of humanity.

  Jay smiled. “You got something against Oklahoma?”

  Her monologue cut off midcurse. Her head snapped up and wary eyes locked on his. “Jay.” Hands covered in sticky brown goo froze in the glass mixing bowl.

  Six months and she still reacted when he walked in the room. He knew the feeling. Six months and the sight of her still hit him in the gut.

  The swee
t dimples, softly curved face and naturally high eyebrows made her always seem delighted by life. He loved the deception of that angelic face. Her wit was quick and vicious, her temperament volatile, but there was a core of goodness in her that made him feel like he could never quite be good enough, nice enough, pure enough for her. He was a demon, after all.

  She’d swept her auburn waves into a messy topknot and wore her standard uniform of ribbed black tank top, snug jeans and high-heeled black boots—the only variations were a Santa-red scarf twisted around her neck and a wide, gaudy belt with I’ve Got Your Ho-Ho-Ho Right Here bejeweled into the red leather. Her Kitchen Bitch apron had been thrown aside and hung crookedly over a barstool.

  Her eyes flicked over his face, reading every nuance of expression there. He didn’t know what she saw, but it made her jaw tighten for a fraction of a second before a wry smile twisted her lips.

  “My mother’s starting to think I made you up,” she said lightly, the words landing somewhere between a joke and an accusation.

  The comment was a test. He’d been through enough tense diplomatic negotiations in Hell to recognize that much. It was up to him to decide how he wanted to take it. She looked down at her hands, as if she didn’t want to influence him one way or the other, kneading the brown dough.

  Instinct urged him to say what needed to be said and go, get it over with, even if it meant getting them over with.

  But he was selfish enough to steal a little more time. He came around the narrow island to stand behind her, sliding his arms around her waist and pressing his face into the curve of her neck. “Your mother has talked to me on the phone.”

  “Hmm.” Sasha tipped her head to give him better access, though she didn’t stop kneading the dough, and she didn’t lean into him. Always standing on her own two feet. Never letting him support her.

  The scent of her skin mingled with the smells of the kitchen, a combination that had insinuated its way into his definitions of home and happiness over the last few months. He tried to memorize this moment, the texture of it, so he could find his way back here again.

  “Tulsa’s getting nuked?” he murmured against her skin.

  Sasha punched the gooey dough. “Another stars-in-her-eyes hopeful from Oklahoma made a spectacle of me at the supermarket. Same old, same old.”

  She shrugged as if it didn’t touch her, but he could hear the tension in her voice, the frustration. He tightened his arms, wanting to wrap her in comfort and battle all her demons—but he was the only demon here.

  It was probably wrong to want one last night with her before he told her the truth, but his moral compass had never pointed due north and Sasha defined temptation. He slipped his hands beneath her shirt, over the smooth, soft skin of her stomach.

  “I could have paid some guy off the street twenty bucks to pretend to be you on the phone,” she said, bringing the conversation back to her mother. Again.

  The same mother who would probably peg him as a demon at thirty paces. Layla Christian might look like an angel, but Jay didn’t fool himself that she wouldn’t rip out his entrails with her bare hands when she found out her baby had been seduced by demonspawn.

  Jay’s hands stilled.

  “I suppose I could do that for tomorrow,” Sasha mused. “You can’t walk two feet in this town without bumping into an actor. They’d probably pay me just for the chance to be in the same room with my mother. Playing you would be the ultimate method-acting exercise.”

  “You aren’t hiring anyone to be me,” he grumbled against her neck, his body close enough to feel the shiver that rolled down her spine in reaction.

  “No? Somehow I doubt that means you’ve changed your mind and decided to have Christmas with us.” She shrugged him off, making it seem like she was only reaching for the rolling pin, but he could tell she was hurt by his refusal.

  Sasha didn’t let people in easily—asking him for this was as vulnerable as she’d let herself be in the entire six months of their relationship. It killed him every time he had to say no and watch her walls go up again, higher each time.

  And they were definitely up now. So much for one last night. She rounded the corner of the counter and Jay didn’t try to close the distance. He doubted she would want him touching her for what he said next. Better get it over with…

  “Sasha, I might have to be out of touch for a while. I’m heading out of town,” he began, meaning to work his way up to the whole demonspawn thing. Frustration at what he had to do roughened his voice and gave it a brutal edge.

  Sasha stiffened, her gaze locked on the wad of brown dough, her knuckles going white with the force of her grip on the rolling pin. “That’s right. How could I have forgotten? We ‘need to talk,’ don’t we?”

  Jay took a step back to get out of rolling pin range. Okay, clearly he should have phrased that differently.

  “When do you leave?”

  “I have to go tonight.” Or I’ll be smote to the lowest level of Hell by the wrath of God because I’m evil-begotten. Probably best to save that tidbit until she wasn’t armed.

  “Are you coming back?” The question was a projectile, flung at his face.

  “Yes.” Unless he couldn’t. Nothing was certain in Hell. “I want to. I’m going to try.”

  “Right.”

  Jay winced at the bite in her tone. He’d been hoping to ease her into his revelations a little at a time, but he should have known better. Sasha never took the easy way.

  * * *

  Sasha didn’t know what it was that made her want to pounce on Jay and start a fight.

  Maybe it was a reflexive dump him before he can dump you. Maybe it was defensive anxiety because he was the only man she’d ever met who could make an ache start up in her chest when he walked into the room or her fingertips tingle every time he touched her. The only one she’d let get close enough to hurt her.

  Maybe it was just the knowledge he’d always been too sweet for her and she’d always known it. He was too gorgeous. Way too nice. Too much of a good guy for a temperamental bitch like her. Saint Jay.

  Saints belonged with nice girls—and nice girls didn’t fantasize about bludgeoning strangers with canned goods or ripping the fingernails off Hollywood hopefuls from Oklahoma.

  So what if she might be a little head over heels for him? It’s not like he was perfect. He couldn’t commit and he was too inclined to let her walk all over him, though sometimes she got the strangest sense he was forcing himself to be a doormat.

  It was almost like he was two people—the Jay who was the poster child for thoughtfulness and responsibility, and the one with the wicked smile and subtle manipulations. Those little hints of devilishness that made her feel like he understood every dark corner of her soul and loved her vices as much as her virtues.

  Sasha wasn’t the kind of girl who had the milk of human kindness flowing through every vein—and she needed to be with someone who wasn’t going to make her feel guilty for the lack. She wanted someone who pushed back when she pushed, a tough guy who could give her the friction of pitting her will against his—though lack of sexual friction had never been a problem for them.

  When Jay had appeared in the kitchen, for a second she’d forgotten to be defensive. Forgotten to brace for the worst. Forgotten “we need to talk.”

  The sunset streaming in the windows behind him made Jay look like an angel stepping out of a beam of light. It accented the muscular curve of his shoulders and caressed the matinee-idol slant of his jaw. The words tall, dark and handsome had been invented for this man. His hair and eyes were both wholly, deliciously black.

  With his dark, sculpted features, he looked like sin. But looks could be deceiving. Jay was the nice one.

  And she was the one spoiling for a fight. Anger would keep her strong, keep her from sniveling all over him. If he was leaving, she wasn’t inclined to make it easy.

  “So. Going out of town. Is that like ‘I have plans for Christmas’? Some kind of guy code? It’s not me, it�
�s you, right?” She looked down at her hands, remembering the gingerbread dough. Baking therapy. She focused on it so she wouldn’t have to look at him, rolling it out with short, aggressive strokes.

  “Sasha…” His voice was low, serious, without any of the usual laughing undertones that could make her smile even when she wanted to be mad at him. “It’s complicated—”

  That empty tone, more than anything else, sounded the death knell of their relationship. He really was about to break up with her. On Christmas fucking Eve. No way. Her throat closed off and her hands tightened convulsively on the rolling pin.

  “Oh, I know it’s complicated.” She heard herself cut him off, shoving words into his mouth, even though she had fully intended to let him speak. But once she was started, the words just kept coming, punctuated by the repetitive thump of the rolling pin hitting the dough. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you the best lies are simple, Jay? It’s the complicated ones that trip you up. Like you really shouldn’t tell your girlfriend an elaborate story about not having any family left in this world and how you never do anything special for Christmas, and then expect her to buy some bullshit excuse about mysterious long-standing plans when she wants you to meet her family.”

  She’d rolled the dough too thinly but didn’t bother to redo it. Instead, she grabbed the little man-shaped cutter and attacked the dough, flipping ginger men onto a cookie sheet.

  “You’ve been acting weird ever since I brought up Christmas. If you’re freaked about committing, that’s cool. We don’t have to be official. You don’t have to meet my mother. But if you want to be with me, you have to stop with the lying and evading. If you want to break up, fine. But at least be man enough to admit it. None of this bullshit hiding behind having to go out of town suddenly, out of the blue and for no reason.” Sasha balled up the dough fragments and started rolling the scraps out, forcing herself to stop talking.

  “You done? Can I explain now?”