The Unlikeable Demon Hunter: Sting (Nava Katz Book 2)

by Deborah Wilde

“Ro,” I purred. I tilted my face up to his. “You have the best lips.”

  His face screwed up like he was in pain. I thought he said, “Not like this,” and then, body tense, he twisted himself away from me.

  I pouted at him, my hips still shimmying. My head still bobbing.

  “Drink your water,” he ordered and disappeared into the crowd.

  I pressed the bottle against my chest for a minute before chugging it back. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t see Rohan. An invisible thread connected us. Red. No, sunset orange. Winding around the other dancers to anchor deep inside our chests, I could let myself go and I wouldn’t fly off. I tipped my head up, grinning.

  A pair of hands slid around my waist and I lit up, thinking he’d come back. But it was Samson. He nuzzled my neck.

  None of that, demon boy. I disentangled myself, dancing deeper into the press of bodies. Flirting was fine but there wasn’t a dose of ecstasy large enough to make me forget myself enough to hook up with him.

  Of course he followed me, looking irritated.

  Leading him on a chase was all well and good, but the possibility of the catch was important too, so I crooked a finger, beckoning him closer.

  He obliged.

  I put my hands on his hips. At least this way I could control the distance between us. “Keep up,” I shouted over the music.

  Then I closed my eyes.

  I have no idea how long we danced. Samson didn’t press his luck, keeping a slight distance between our fronts. His hands, however ran up and down along my sides. Over and over again. It went with the music so I let him continue.

  He smiled at me, his hair plastered to his forehead. His shirt had been discarded at some point and beads of sweat trickled down his abs. A lot of people, men and women both, were doing their share of looking and I had no doubt that a lot of Instagram streams featured new pics of Samson ‘dancing fool’ King.

  I started giggling.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  I bit off my laughter at the sight of Rohan sandwiched between two girls, his jacket discarded. Heat pooled in my belly watching him, one hand splayed against a woman’s waist, his hips rolling and grinding in perfect harmony with his partners.

  The bass wasn’t the only thing throbbing. I fanned myself with the neckline of my dress, realizing that I stood stock still in the middle of the dance floor. I quickly turned my attention back to Samson only to find him fixed on Rohan with an expression of pure hatred. I laced my fingers through his and squeezed to get his attention. Not the hand with my Rasha ring. I had enough presence of mind not to blow the glamour.

  Samson focused back on me and I mimed getting water. I had no idea where my shoes were, so I made my way over to the bar in bare feet, keeping a close hold on my target.

  We passed a woman in fairy wings reclining on a couch in the back corner, a sensual smile on her face as she watched her girlfriend dance. It was sexy until the dancer turned, revealing the panic in her frozen features. Her movements were jerky, as if she was fighting them. As if she was trying to stop and couldn’t.

  The woman on the couch tipped her head back, her eyes glazed in cruel lust. Shit! Demon. I sped up, veering for the dancer.

  The demon shuddered and the dancer collapsed. That got the attention of the people around her, who came to the fainted woman’s aid.

  The spawn slunk off through the press of bodies.

  “She should have paced herself,” Samson said into my ear.

  I’d bet a million bucks he knew exactly what had just happened but I didn’t let on. “That’s why we’re hydrating,” I said. I prayed the dancer would be okay.

  I consumed several glasses of water before pressing one into Samson’s hand. “Drink.” I wasn’t sure if evil fiends suffered from dehydration but in case he was one, I wanted him in good health when we killed him.

  Samson ran his fingers over my sunburst. “You’re melting.” It was true. All my sweat had smeared the sun.

  I stared at his hand, drawing small circles over my skin. I didn’t want it to feel good but I was on E.

  Samson grew bolder, tracing along the neckline of my dress. Then he punched me. Not intentionally, but someone jostled into him, and as he crashed into me, his hands folded over into a fist, bopping me on my right boob.

  “Ow!” I rubbed my chest, spinning to berate the clumsy dolt that had hit us.

  Rohan gave me a crooked grin, his drink splashing everywhere.

  My brow creased. Mr. Control looked plastered. Something about that didn’t feel right.

  He waved the drink at me, draping an arm around my shoulders. “Found you.” His eyes were a bit too bright. His voice a bit too loud. “Time to go.”

  “Okay, bye,” Samson said. To Rohan.

  Rohan stumbled between Samson and me, his back to King. The grin fell from his face. His eyes were cold.

  He was totally sober and not kidding about us leaving.

  I stepped around him with an apologetic smile to Samson. I was tired, and beyond the sun tattoo, I hadn’t learned anything useful about our target. “Talk tomorrow?”

  Samson’s expression hardened. “I’m busy.” Adieu, our tenuous connection.

  “Maybe we could stay a bit longer,” I hedged.

  Rohan fell against me, back in drunk-mode. His fingers dug into my skin. “Don’t keep me waiting, baby,” he slurred.

  “Staying or going?” Samson asked when I still hesitated.

  The crowd roared as the DJ wound them up, their collective energy rippling through the room in a sinuous pulse.

  I threw Rohan’s arm off of me, despite his fumbled attempt to keep me close. “I’m still not over my jet lag.” I spoke directly into Samson’s ear since the music was almost deafening now. “I need to sleep. A rain check. Please? I promise to make it up to you.”

  “Tomorrow.” His barked word was a reprieve and a warning. I’d not get a second chance.

  12

  “Soon as I wake up, I’ll call you,” I told Samson.

  Rohan waved a hand in farewell and dragged me toward the coat check.

  I put on my jacket then tried to go back. “I have no shoes,” I explained.

  He swung me into his arms, ignoring my yelp of protest. My smacks to his chest were half-hearted since my feet hurt.

  I held my tongue until we were safely in a cab going back to the hotel. “You almost ruined everything, you faking bastard.”

  “I pulled the plug on your night. Tough shit. This isn’t about enjoying Samson’s attention. Or him enjoying yours.”

  “Why should it matter? This is just a hook-up.”

  “I was talking about the job.”

  “So am I. You shouldn’t have made me a groupie if you couldn’t deal with me embracing the part.”

  “My groupie.”

  “As you keep reminding me.”

  Rohan’s grip tightened on the seat belt strapped across his chest. “I’ve given you a lot of leeway, Lolita, but going home with King was not part of the plan. Especially not with you primed to make stupid decisions.”

  I crossed my arms. “That was never going to happen.”

  “Apparently neither was a thank you.”

  There was no talking to him in this mood. I peered bleary-eyed out the window at the silent streets, the occasional passing car disturbing the stillness of deepest night.

  My three minutes of good mood ended when we pulled up to the hotel and Rohan unceremoniously scooped me up and carried me inside. He deposited me on the lobby floor, both of us bristling at each other.

  That’s when we ran into Lily, clad in cute pink sweats, glowing with fresh-faced beauty, hair in a neat bun, and her glasses perched on her nose. Versus the dirty girl vibe I rocked in the all worst ways: sweat-stained hair falling over in a mess, smeared body paint, and lack of shoes.

  My night was complete.

  “Hey guys! Just getting in?” Her bright smile leeched the last of my energy. “I couldn’t sleep. Came to get
my fix.” She held up a small cellophane-wrapped package of tea, the motion causing the sleeve of her hoodie to shift. A very familiar silver bracelet with a stylized design inlaid in onyx was on her wrist.

  “You have the same bracelet?”

  Lily glanced down at hers. “The Om? Yeah. I gave it to Ro–”

  “Right before his first tour. I heard.”

  Rohan one-arm hugged her. “I charmed you into buying it for me.”

  Lily snorted and ducked out from his hold. “You’re lucky I didn’t throw it at your head. You were such a jerk that day.”

  “I was cranky from lack of sleep.” Rohan gave her a pointed stare and Lily blushed.

  Kill me. The E was wearing off, leaving me with an edgy restless thread coursing through my exhaustion. “Well, it was a very long night and it’s way past my bedtime.”

  “It looks like you had fun.” I tensed at her words but she didn’t sound snarky. In fact, I’d swear a wistful expression crossed over her face. What was certain was the brief glance she turned on Rohan.

  Ah.

  Rohan saw it too. His expression softened. “You wouldn’t have enjoyed it, Lils.” He took her hands in his. “Besides, I want to hang out where we can talk. I miss that.”

  I dug my nails into my palms. I’d forgotten that coming off E always left me emotionally wide-open. “I’m off. Have a good night.”

  “Sleep well, Lolita,” Lily called out.

  I was really starting to hate that name. At least I’d gotten better about not looking back, though that left me making eye contact with that darling desk clerk as I made my way to the elevator. Any pretense of professionalism was beyond him. He scowled at me like I was a plague who’d infested his pristine realm. I’m sure we were both wondering what twist of fate made him present for all my best moments. Sighing, I kept my head held high the entire time it took for the world’s slowest elevator to get to the lobby and then crawl up to the third floor. Just because I was alone in the elevator didn’t mean I didn’t have my pride.

  I stepped out to find Rohan waiting for me by the stairwell door. Doing my best not to slump in exhaustion, I stomped past him, the carpet scratchy underfoot.

  Rohan’s arm shot out to the wall, blocking me. The two of us faced in different directions. How apt.

  “Move,” I said

  He didn’t budge.

  I stared resolutely ahead.

  Finally he dropped his arm.

  I pulled my keycard from my coat, walking directly to my room. No passing go. No collecting $200.

  “Don’t leave.” He spoke quietly but in the silence of the corridor, I had no trouble hearing him.

  My hands balled up. Hadn’t it been enough for one night? That thread between us that had felt so comforting earlier threatened to strangle me now. Anger fueled my turn. I would have welcomed a corresponding anger in him, but the naked longing on his face and the defeat in the slope of his shoulders undid me. That and his sincere, “I love watching you dance.”

  The hallway was empty but it suddenly felt hard to breathe.

  He held out a hand.

  I leaned back. The magnetic push/pull between us demanded a certain distance, a certain resistance, as much as attraction. Wrung out on every level, I couldn’t afford to let Mr. Force-of-Nature Mitra take advantage of my weakened boundaries to redefine our hook-ups into whatever vision he had of them.

  The air conditioning kicked in and I wrapped my arms around myself.

  “When you see my shower, you’ll thank me.” He scrunched up his face, a lock of hair falling boyishly over his eyes. “Nothing happens. Just sleep.”

  I wasn’t sure if that sweetened the offer or not, but I nodded.

  We rode in silence up to his floor. A hushed bubble that continued to encapsulate us as we entered his dark suite. Rohan snapped on a light, dimming the brightness down to a more tolerable level. “Want me to start the shower?”

  I reached around to the back of my dress and tugged on the zipper. It didn’t budge. I grasped the fabric on either side with one hand and tried again. “Help.”

  He stood behind me. Not touching me at first.

  My heart hammered in my throat. I lifted my hair off my neck.

  He rested his hands on my dress but it was only to try the zipper. “How attached are you to this?” He ran a finger between the top and my skin. “I might have to rip it.”

  I swallowed. “Do what you need to.” One of his finger blades pressed against me through the thin cloth and then the dress fell open as he cut the zipper away. Tiny goosebumps dotted my skin, cool air rushing against my back. My sweat had gotten to the clammy stage and I really wanted that shower. Really wanted to sleep.

  Neither desire was enough to get me moving, my every nerve tensed in anticipation. The yawning nothing that happened as we both stood there was a much better incentive. I dropped my hair, twisting around. “Thanks.”

  Rohan gripped my hips, keeping me still. With the lightest touch, he hooked his fingers under my straps, sliding them off my shoulders.

  My lids shivered closed, my heart practically straining out of my chest waiting for his next move, but there was just the feel of his hands clasping my forearms and his warm exhalations against the back of my neck.

  “I’ll run the shower.” His voice was strained, shaky, but by the time I caught his arm, he was back to his usual level of control.

  I let go. “Make it hot.”

  I stepped out of my dress and under the spray. Another outfit ruined. Oh, well. I sighed in bliss, letting the heat ease my sore muscles. I must have stayed under the water for a good half hour. It took a while to wash the body paint off. Longer than that for my head to clear.

  Clean and wrinkled, I stepped onto the bath mat with shaking legs, wrapping a towel around me. Either steam now choked the room or the remnants of the E in my system had turned the world hazy. Spying Rohan’s cologne on the counter next to his black toiletries bag, I cracked the cap and sniffed it.

  Rohan rapped on the door and I hastily and silently slid the bottle back where I’d found it.

  “Do you want a robe?” he asked.

  Yes, since I had nothing else to wear right now. I cracked the door, taking the fluffy terry cloth robe from him. I tightened the belt so it was the cloth, and not Rohan’s presence wrapped around me, then I stepped into the adjoining bedroom in a billowing cloud of steam, my damp towel in hand. “Should I leave this in the bathroom?”

  Rohan had stripped down to boxer shorts and a clean T-shirt. He took the towel from me, going into the bathroom to toss it on the counter. When he returned, he held a dry towel. “Sit.” He motioned to the bed. The king-sized bed. Thick and plush, it was piled with cozy blankets, long pillows, and an obscene thread count that I itched to mess up.

  I sat down on the edge, smoothing a hand over the pillowcase.

  Rohan nudged me into the middle of the mattress then sat down behind me and proceeded to dry my hair. He twisted strands between the towel folds, gently yet briskly drawing off excess moisture. His ministrations slowed, his fingertips massaging my scalp.

  I pressed backward into his palms. My hands rested on his calves, his legs splayed out on either side of me. The light dusting of his calf hair was scratchy under my fingers. “How come you never mentioned you provided this service?”

  “It’s only available to a select clientele,” he joked.

  Like Lily? “We chosen few appreciate it.” I yawned.

  “You should crash.”

  “Do you want me to take the couch?”

  “No.” He stood up. “I have a few ideas I want to work on.”

  Didn’t have to tell me twice. Still in the robe, I crawled under the covers, half-asleep by the time my head hit the pillow. Out in the living room, Rohan played a soft melody on the piano. It was quiet enough that I had to concentrate to hear it, eyes closed, a caress that lulled me all the way into sleep.

  I woke up groggily to find myself laying half on top of him, our l
egs tangled up together. No light peeked around the curtains yet, the world still slumbering around us. My hand rested on his stomach where his shirt had ridden up to expose a warm strip of skin.

  I tensed. He was supposed to stay at the piano. Nap on the couch. Not be here. I didn’t sleep with guys. Not even after sex. If I wanted to cuddle, I had my pillow. I pulled myself free, needing to kill this incredible intimacy because this type of feels were not part of the fucking deal.

  “Stay,” he mumbled.

  I flung the covers back. I knew where that was coming from. Any body would do at this time of night and I was the closest one. If you can’t be with the one you love… Not finishing that. “Because you want company.”

  I swung my feet onto the floor.

  He snagged the back of my robe. “Because I don’t want to be alone in the dark.”

  Rohan let go of me but I didn’t move, my head bowed. No one wanted that. It was the reason humans huddled around a flickering fire, pressed close to keep the shadows at bay. But you didn’t voice it. You said, “Because you’re warm.” Because any one of a million excuses that didn’t expose your vulnerability.

  Rohan never exposed his, so what was this? Another game? Except, that wasn’t right. He’d bared his soul to me when he’d admitted that cutting off his music had been denying an essential part of himself. It’s why I’d pushed so hard for him to write the theme song.

  I had no idea if I wanted to stay or to run away as far as I could. A simple repeat fuck had gotten tangled up and crazy complicated. Icy panic clawed at my throat at what that meant or what I wanted it to mean or hoped it didn’t mean.

  “Stop thinking.” He loosely laced his fingers through mine, but it was clearly my call to stay or go.

  I glanced back at him. Big mistake.

  Rohan watched me intently, his expression soft and open. His eyes begging me to stay.

  Each heartbeat pulsed along my skin from my chest to the top of my head. I forced an exhale, my hand tightening on his.

  He tugged me into his side, tucking the covers around us, his head resting on mine. My remaining tension melted away under the steady comfort of his touch.

  I snuggled closer. Because you’re warm.