The Unlikeable Demon Hunter_Crave

by Deborah Wilde

  Leo was my best friend; Rohan was Drio’s. The talk should have flowed fast and furious.

  Dead. Silence.

  We all studied our menus way too carefully. It wasn’t until I’d surreptitiously checked Ro out for the fifth time, Drio had wrenched his eyes from his date yet again, and Leo had given her third quiet sigh, nibbling her bottom lip, that I clued in to how our collective sexual tension could power the next Mars mission but was doing sweet fuck-all for scintillating conversation.

  “Would you care for something to drink?” our waiter asked.

  “Wine,” we all chorused.

  The waiter smiled. “That type of day?” He recommended a Malbec. “I’ll bring it for you right away.”

  “That was pathetic.” I wiped away tears of laughter and rubbed my finger. “My mascara is smudging.”

  “Waterproof. I keep telling you. It’s an amazing cosmetic technology.” Leo stood up and smoothed her skirt down. “Come on, we’ll go fix it.”

  Drio shot her a wry look. “That’s code for they want to talk about us in private.”

  Leo planted her hands on her hips and arched an eyebrow saucily. “Anything we could possibly say about you, Ricci, could be said before we left this table. There’s just not that much there,” she said.

  Drio put his hand to his heart and fell back, mock wounded, a smile so sweet on his face, that I checked for cameras to see if I was being pranked.

  Rohan wore the same gobsmacked expression that my face had frozen in. Drio shot me the finger, but when he turned to Ro, he shifted in his seat, his eyes dropping to his lap.

  “Oh. No, man.” Ro clapped him on the shoulder, without a word. Some unspoken message passed between them, some permission granted, then Drio nodded and relaxed, smiling at Leo again.

  Leo looked as lost in this little exchange as I was, though she also preened under his attention.

  “Snap out of it,” I hissed as we scootched sideways through the tightly packed tables.

  Smirking, Leo skipped her way into the restroom.

  “How serious is this?” I said.

  Leo wagged a finger at me. “Uh-uh. I can see the hearts and flowers dancing around your head. Not all of us are you and Le Mitra. Or want to be. Boy toy. That’s it.”

  “That’s fine.” Better than fine, because Leo had a small chance in hell of keeping her demon secret if the two of them stayed casual.

  She uncapped her lipstick. “I don’t think I’ll sleep with him tonight.”

  I blotted my smudged mascara with a paper towel. “I can see that. Those piercing green eyes, that olive skin against his blond hair, that hard body. Meh.”

  Leo paused to glare at me in the mirror. I grinned. “I didn’t say I didn’t like him or want him,” she said. “I’m not dead. I said I wasn’t going to sleep with him tonight. You made Rohan work for it.” She gasped theatrically, covering her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide. “Oops. Sorry. Wrong friend.” She smirked. “You rolled over like a cat in heat.”

  I threatened her with my mascara wand. “Piss me off and your friend base goes into negative numbers.”

  “I have plenty of friends. Drio is my friend.”

  “Drio may be many things, kitten, but friend?” I screwed up my face.

  “Harry.”

  “Harry is your boss and mentor. Different dynamic. I’m it.” I puckered up. “Give me some sugar.”

  She twisted her lipstick into the tube, popped the cap on, and dropped it into her small clutch. “Drio has a masochistic streak. I make him work for it, things go very nicely for me.”

  “Gross.”

  She snapped her fingers. “Kane is my friend. Kane who tells me all sorts of TMI things.”

  “You’re a pervy voyeur and you’re not allowed to gossip about me.”

  “Pfft. Whatever. You’re a raging exhibitionist.”

  “True.” I dropped my mascara back in my clutch, then checked the stalls to make sure we were alone. “Get this. I’m a witch, not Rasha.”

  “Reaaaaallly? That ought to liven things up. Can you give me bigger boobs?”

  I grimaced, remembering the frog fiasco. “No. There’s more. I met Lilith.”

  “You met Sarah McLachlan?”

  “Why would I have met Sarah McLachlan?” I scrunched up my hair, plumping my curls.

  “You met Lilith. Lilith Fair? Sarah founded it and she lives here in Vancouver.”

  “Garden of Eden Lilith.”

  Leo tugged up her sweetheart neckline. “Oh.”

  “Meeting the person out of the Old Testament is less exciting?”

  “Those SPCA videos Sarah does?” She sighed and patted her heart.

  I shook my head and headed for the door. “Why do I bother?”

  “You gonna give me more details later?”

  “D’uh.” And with a wink, I left the bathroom.

  Ro and Drio were almost finished their first glasses of wine. Drio had switched seats to be across the table from Rohan.

  “What’d we miss?” asked Leo brightly.

  “Me.” Drio stretched his arm out along the top of the booth.

  Leo dropped into Rohan’s lap, curling a finger into his hair. “Not so much.”

  Rohan wrapped his arms around her, mugging at me.

  “Bella.” Drio’s purr rumbled through me, so Leo, as its intended target, was probably creaming herself.

  On my boyfriend. Ew.

  I jerked a thumb at her. “Off.”

  Then I sort of got distracted by Drio shrugging out of his jacket, revealing a tight black shirt that was kind of shiny and somewhat see-through, but not in a cheesy way. I swallowed, mesmerized by his intensity as he tipped his head to watch Leo from under his fringe of lashes, before flicking his hair out of his eyes with strong fingers.

  “Ahem.” Rohan tugged me down beside him.

  I hadn’t even noticed Leo vacate his lap and plant herself at Drio’s side. He tilted his head down to murmur something to her. Leo blushed, caught herself, and said something back to make him laugh.

  “You really want to remind me he’s your type?” Ro said.

  “You’re my only type.” I patted Ro’s abs absently, my eyes locked on Drio’s physique.

  “At least look at me when you’re being patronizing, Sparky. Put some effort into selling the lie.”

  “His shirt is just so shiny.” I tilted my head, all the better to see the light catch the translucent fabric, and the teasing glimpse of olive skin stretched taut over sculpted abs.

  Ro clapped a hand over my eyes.

  “Looking is allowed,” I said.

  “Is it? I’ll remember that.” He removed his hand.

  A flare of jealousy for this wholly fictitious girl spiked through me. I tore my eyes from Drio and hooked my fingers in Ro’s belt loops. “Try it and I’ll gut you like a fish.”

  His answering smile was a tad smug.

  The waiter carried over a tray laden with plates.

  “You ordered for us?” Leo said.

  “Appetizers.” Drio rearranged the wine glasses to make room for the crab cakes, beef carpaccio, seared scallops, and oysters.

  “Is there anything you guys didn’t order?” I said.

  “We figured we needed energy.” Rohan threw me an exaggerated wink.

  “Less so with every passing second,” Leo chirped, but she speared a scallop and held it out for Drio to eat off her fork.

  I kicked her under the table because the expression on her face was pure infatuation.

  “Ma che cazzo!” Drio kicked me back. “Did you just kick me?”

  Leo, who’d just eaten her own scallop, began choking with laughter, then actually choking. Hurriedly she downed a glass of water.

  “Don’t think so,” I said.

  Rohan held a paper-thin piece of carpaccio out for me, his eyes twinkling. “Oh, how she lies.”

  I ate the beef, pleasantly surprised by the tangy, citrus reduction drizzled on it, then held up my glass of Malbec.
“Eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we die.”

  Drio dropped his napkin and swore. Leo’s fork clanged against the china plate. I could swear that even the restaurant dimmed, conversations petering out around us as the candles fluttered nervously.

  “Lovely, Nee.” Leo topped me up. “Only happy drunk girl allowed tonight.”

  “Sorry. The saying just popped into my head. And well, let’s face it, we don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. We never know.” I raised my glass in cheers. “I know it’s sappy, but there’s no one else I’d rather be with.”

  Drio was the first to clink his glass to mine.

  Rohan took my hand. “We’re gonna make it.” I didn’t know if he meant us personally or the general us versus them, but either way, I agreed.

  Drio slurped an oyster. “Let me tell you about the time I had to track a lunatic troll from Oslo to Rome.” Soon he’d swept the somber mood away with his witty tale. I never thought I’d hear about Drio in a fur coat disrupting a Vatican tour by climbing out of a sewer, but here we were.

  “He’s being charming,” I whispered to Rohan. “Should I be scared?”

  Ro looked relieved. “No. This is what he’s really like.”

  Well, damn.

  18

  The rest of the night panned out according to expectation, with a lot of banter and laughter. Time flew by after that until it was 10PM and the real games were about to begin.

  Shocker, Leonie totally took Drio home. It was a good thing she could use the excuse of wanting privacy to never come back to Demon Club, because as a half-goblin she couldn’t cross the wards without help from one of us. One bounce off those invisible shields and Drio would know the truth and kill her. I didn’t think that his feelings for her outweighed his intense hatred of all things demons.

  Rohan dropped me off in front of the Robson Plaza Hotel, a snazzy boutique accommodation at the bottom of Robson Street, our main shopping district downtown. It was within walking distance of Stanley Park and my favorite beach, English Bay.

  I retrieved the suitcase from the trunk and handed him a gift bag. “Come back in one hour.”

  The suite I’d reserved was perfect for my needs. I hurried to set everything up and get myself ready.

  Rohan knocked on the door sixty-one minutes later.

  I smoothed down my clothes about four times more than I needed to, resisting the urge to run for the bathroom and change. This was our chance to step out of being us for a night. To connect without all the other bullshit and reset things, get back to what was great about our relationship without the stress.

  I opened the door, only sticking my pigtailed head out.

  He held up the mask I’d gifted him with. The rest of the costume was nowhere in sight. “Whatever are you up to, Sparky?”

  My heart sank at the sight of his regular clothes, but I mustered up a smile and stepped aside to let him into the short entrance hallway of our suite. “Call me Harley.”

  Rohan gaped at my red and blue satin short shorts with the black hip belt and T-shirt reading “Daddy’s Lil’ Monster.” Blessings for online cosplay stores. “Harley Quinn hates Batman,” he finally said.

  My cheeks flamed. I toed at the ground but it didn’t conveniently open to swallow me whole. “Plenty of fans ship them.” I’d checked.

  My boyfriend stepped back like I might infect him. “We’re roleplaying fanfic? It’s not canon. It’s wrong. I mean really wrong. Weirder than that alternate universe with the zombie Alfred.”

  Save me from fanboys and screw you, buddy. I’d subsisted on Chickeny Delight to save up the cost of hotel rooms and cosplay outfits, not to mention stepped way outside my comfort zone in dressing up in the sexual foreplay miscalculation of the century. We needed this night.

  I needed this night.

  Except Rohan was still frowning at me. I wasn’t getting this night.

  “My bad.” I gestured for him to head into the main part of the suite, ripping out one of my pigtails. Would it be too much to skip the glass and just stick a straw directly into the champagne bottle chilling in the stainless steel bucket over in the corner on a stand?

  He did a double take at the bed’s spiffy little addition of an under-the-mattress restraint system. Four nylon and Velcro cuffs, one for each arm and leg, were connected with cords under the mattress. No headboard or footboard needed. “You were going to let me tie you up?”

  “Yup.” I slingshot a blindfold onto the bed.

  “Fuck canon.” He turned the Batman mask over in his hand, then stuffed it in his pocket, and poured us each a splash of champagne. “Breaking into my home? You can’t get to Wayne Enterprises that easily, Dr. Quinn.”

  Bruce Wayne, the guy who didn’t want to reveal himself.

  I accepted the glass. “I never thought anything about you was easy, Bruce.” I swallowed my champagne, savoring the fizziness dissolving on my tongue, and ran a finger down his chest. While he was distracted, I whipped out the miniature wooden toy bat I’d had tucked against my back.

  Rohan disarmed me in a second. He spun me, pulling me tight against him, the bat to my throat. “Nice try.”

  His voice vibrated up along the base of my neck, into my skull.

  My nostrils flared, my empty glass bouncing onto the plush carpet. I rubbed my ass back against him. He was half-hard, his biceps tense as he kept himself in check.

  “Safe word,” he whispered.

  Ms. Clara had discussed this with me, had patiently answered my many, many questions about what I could expect, but happily imprisoned against him like this, damned if I could remember the word I’d come up with. “Chair?”

  He chuckled, then his grip on me tightened, back in character once more. “Didn’t think I could get to you that quickly?”

  “No,” I said hoarsely. “I thought I had more of a chance against you.”

  “This game was decided the moment you invaded my space.” He forced me to the bed, cuffing my wrists above my head. “Too tight?”

  I tugged on them. “No.”

  I swung my legs in a scissor kick, catching him around the waist and locking him tight. “I’m not that easy.”

  “I never thought you were.” Rohan pulled the metal, bat-shaped throwing star that had come with his costume out of his pocket and sliced my shorts off me. I was so surprised I dropped my legs, allowing him to catch my feet and cuff me, spread-eagle.

  My heart pounded.

  Rohan stood at the foot of the bed, his hooded gaze on me.

  The straps were pretty comfortable. And strong. No matter how much I jerked and strained against them, I couldn’t get free. Believe me, I tried. Laying here, naked from the waist down was a vulnerability I hadn’t counted on.

  “Any time you need to, say it.” That was my boyfriend, not Bruce.

  “Got me where you want me?” I asked in a throaty murmur.

  “Not even close.” Ro wielded that throwing star like a pro. Okay, more professional chef than ninja, but he got the job done. The rest of my clothing fell off me in tattered shreds, leaving me in only the hip belt. Remarkably, there wasn’t a mark on me. He picked up the blindfold that had fallen off the bed, twirling it around his finger.

  I jerked my chin up. “You can strip me but I won’t break, Wayne.”

  He slid the blindfold over my head. “I don’t want you broken, Harley. I want you desperate.”

  I took a deep breath, my ribcage tight.

  My lack of vision made everything more intense: Rohan’s cologne, the air conditioning humming over my skin, the scrape of the belt along the base of my spine.

  Rohan ran a finger down the side of my neck and along my collarbone. I suppressed a gasp at the contact. He whipped the belt off me, using it to stroke me everywhere: toes, hands, stomach, legs, breasts, mapping my body.

  Goosebumps trailed in its wake.

  The leather creaked and then the buckle clattered against something. “Next time, Harley, bring leather, not this cheap shit that f
alls apart.”

  “You seem pretty sure there’s gonna be a next time.”

  He gave a dark laugh that shivered through me. “I’m fairly confident.”

  My nipples hardened.

  I canted my hips. His hand splayed over my stomach, pinning me in place. A bite where his hand had been, then nothing. The sting of his teeth faded quickly. I strained to hear a footfall, to pinpoint his location, but the carpet was too thick and Rohan too practiced at moving silently.

  The minutes ticked by. I rubbed my ass against the mattress, seeking relief and finding none.

  My stupid boyfriend crunched ice instead of getting me off.

  “Desperate yet?” His cold tongue swiped a line from between my breasts to my pubic bone.

  Ooh. I arched off the bed. “You’ll have to work harder than that.”

  “Can’t ever be easy with you, can it?”

  “Wouldn’t want you losing inter-eeest.” My voice jumped two octaves because he’d rubbed an ice cube against my clit.

  “Not a problem.” The ice against my clit disappeared. “More? Use your words.”

  “I’m not begging for anything.” Didn’t need to. My writhing worked just fine as consent.

  “Your first strategy doesn’t have to be war.” He ran the cube over Cuntessa in slow, even strokes. “Haven’t you heard you can catch more flies with honey?”

  Cuntessa pulsed with a vengeance. The ice was rapidly melting, running down and out along the crack of my ass. “But you don’t want honey. Maybe you did at one time, but now? It’s too sweet for your tastes.”

  My thighs were soaking and I had no idea how much of that was the ice. I dug my heels into the pillowy mattress top, muscles clenching.

  The ice melted and his strokes stopped, leaving me on the brink. I arched my back, clamping my mouth shut so I wouldn’t whimper for more. My pulse thudded in my ears.

  He drizzled sticky grape-juice-smelling liquid over my tits. The champagne. “You think you know what I want?”

  I barely had time to register the fizzy booze sticking to my skin before the cool liquid was replaced by the heat of his mouth, licking and suckling in exquisite torture. He squeezed and pinched my breast, thrusting the fingers of his other hand between my lips.