No Angel

by Vivi Andrews

  Sasha ground her molars and reminded herself that matricide was morally wrong, no matter how appealing it sounded. “We’ve been over this.” Repeatedly. “Jay can’t make it.”

  “Well, yes, you did say that, but I thought you would come to your senses. Just the thought of that poor boy all alone on Christmas Day with no family…”

  Sasha pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on. The ache was familiar—the pain of dealing with a woman no one in the world ever said no to. “Joan, nix the dramatics.”

  “I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. I can’t stop thinking about his sad, lonely Christmas. And the more I think about it, the more I wonder why my baby refuses to introduce her boyfriend to her mother. Which one of us are you ashamed of?”

  Sasha groaned. No one could guilt trip quite like a professional drama queen. “Neither. It isn’t a conspiracy. He just can’t come.”

  It wasn’t like she hadn’t asked. And asked. And asked. Never let it be said that Sasha Christian gave up easily.

  “Is he deformed?”

  “Oh for the love of God. No horns. No cloven hooves, I promise. He just has other plans.”

  Which he refused to tell me about. But she wasn’t going to read anything into that. It wasn’t a red flag that he wanted out of their relationship. It wasn’t, dammit.

  Jay was the first guy she’d met in years who wasn’t using her to get close to her famous family. The first guy she’d trusted enough to actually start caring about—with all the frustrating vulnerability that entailed. But she refused to entertain any fears of being dumped on Christmas Eve.

  So what if he’d been acting edgy and evasive for weeks? It was just holiday-induced weirdness, nothing to worry about. Yes, lately she had been self-medicating with compulsive holiday baking as she waited for the ax to fall on their relationship. But everything was fine.

  Even if he was too damn nice for her.

  And even if he had said he wanted to come over tonight because they “needed to talk.” Because conversations starting with those words never ended badly.

  “Six months,” her mother wailed, clearly enjoying her own dramatics. “Six months and I haven’t seen anything more than a blurry picture of the latest hot biker MBA.”

  “He isn’t a biker. We met in a library, for Chrissake.”

  “I thought that was just a cover story to tell your father. Mythical librarians aren’t usually your type, are they, sweetie?”

  “I don’t have a type.” Which was a bald-faced lie and they both knew it. Sasha was a sucker for bad boys. All hot leather and tough-guy sex appeal. Jay was…a boy she’d met in a library. Sometimes even she wondered what she was doing with a cupcake like him. “And he isn’t mythical.”

  “He’s mythical until you introduce him to me.”

  “He exists, Joan. Shockingly, reality doesn’t hinge on your awareness of it.”

  “I see, therefore he is,” Layla announced theatrically. “I want to meet this boy, Sasha. I won’t be stalled.”

  “Do you want a bag for this, Miss Christian?”

  Sasha looked up to find the cashier watching her expectantly, holding her molasses. “Crap. Joan, I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow around ten, okay?”

  “With Jay.”

  From the way Jay’d been talking lately, seeing him tomorrow morning would be a bona fide Christmas miracle. Sasha was just hoping she wouldn’t be crying into her eggnog.

  “Goodbye, Joan.” Sasha punched the end button and smiled at the cashier. “Sorry about that. No bag, thanks.” Then she realized the cashier was scanning Miss Tulsa’s items. “Oh sorry, I’m just the molasses.”

  She pulled out a ten, but Miss Tulsa the Angel Lover caught her wrist. Sasha stiffened. She hated being groped by strangers—a lifetime of being jostled by paparazzi could do that to a girl.

  “No, no, sweetie, you let me get this for you,” Miss Tulsa gushed.

  “Thanks, but I would rather—”

  “I insist,” she cooed. “How often does a girl get to chat with someone who knows the Layla Christian?”

  Sasha forced a smile. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I would really prefer to pay for my own mo—”

  “Nonsense!” Miss Tulsa barked, her Midwestern wholesomeness cracking a bit under the force of the word. “You’re going to let me get this for you. In the spirit of Christmas.”

  Sasha wanted to believe this sudden fit of charity was motivated by the Christmas spirit. She really did. But life had taught her there was no such thing as free favors. Every good intention came with a price. Miss Tulsa’s came out of her shoulder bag in the form of a homemade DVD in a pink jewel case.

  “Oh, look at that! I totally forgot I had this with me.”

  God, she was a terrible actress. Even being cute wasn’t going to help her in this town if she couldn’t lie any better than that.

  “You will let me give you my reel, won’t you, Miss Christian? Like a gift.” She giggled. “After all, it is the season of giving.”

  Sasha gritted her teeth as she smiled, somehow managing not to give Miss Tulsa a mouthful of knuckles.

  Chapter Two

  Mistletoe & Mephistopheles

  Jay leaned against the hood of his car, staring across the street at Sasha’s apartment building. She’d been expecting him ten minutes ago and for the past six months he’d made a point never to be late. Not once.

  Since the second he’d laid eyes on Sasha, Jay had redefined his standards for best behavior. He’d been the considerate boyfriend. The good listener. The new Jay made Dr. Phil look like an insensitive prick.

  And it was all a fucking lie.

  He’d arrived early, as usual, and for the last twenty minutes Jay had gazed at her building with stalkerish intensity. He needed to go over there and confess everything before the neighbors called the cops, but his feet refused to move.

  Guilt-induced paralysis.

  Jay hadn’t intentionally broken the first and only rule in his dating book: Thou shalt not lie to your girlfriend about the fact you are half demon. But it just sort of happened. Accidental deceit. And somehow he didn’t think Sasha would accept “I’m sorry, baby, I really meant to tell you my mother is a soul-sucking demon queen” as a harmless little misunderstanding.

  Knowing demons exist in Hell and take periodic field trips to the mortal plane to cause mischief is one thing. Dating a guy with a demonic pedigree is something else entirely.

  It didn’t help the situation that demons had the crappiest PR image in the history of the world. The holier-than-it-all angels worked the press, keeping a sparkling reputation in spite of all the shit they’d done over the millennia. They rubbed elbows with celebs and lapped up adoration as if it was their due.

  The demonic approach had always been to cloak yourself in mystery. The less your enemies knew, the greater your strategic advantage. But secretiveness as a public-relations tactic sucked. Deserved or not—and yeah, sometimes it was deserved—demons had become the public face for all things evil.

  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 nev
er 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 sweet 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.