The next demon to set foot on Terry’s lawn would burst into flames. She hoped it was Sariel.
Armen rolled over in bed and looked at the clock. She blinked a few times before viewing it again. Noon. She glanced over her shoulder to the other side of the bed, wondering where Terry was. She heard him faintly singing somewhere in the house. The blankets hadn’t been pulled off the bed. She hadn’t fallen to the floor. Terry hadn’t come to her rescue. What the hell? Her memories of Terry holding her in his strong arms and telling her she’d always be an angel to him regardless of her demon past were nothing but the fading eclipse of a dream.
“Figures.”
She sat up and carefully slid her legs over the edge of the bed. The bruise looked nasty, all black and blue and soon to turn several disgusting shades of yellow. The cane rested against the nightstand instead of the dresser like in her dream, and her clothes were missing. She frowned, and then saw a robe lying neatly over the blankets.
“Oh, that’s sweet.” She pulled the robe on and took great care in rising from the bed, reaching for the cane. She fussed with her hair a moment before opening the door and stepping into the hall.
Terry was in the kitchen, clad only in faded jeans, a towel draped over his bare shoulder as he washed dishes. Armen’s muffled laugh caught his attention, and he spun around, startled.
“Sorry.” She limped over to the kitchen table and sat down.
“It’s fine,” he said. “I just didn’t expect you to be up this early.”
“Eight hours of sleep, I guess,” she replied with a shrug.
He smiled and stepped in front of the stove. “Coffee or tea?” he asked, turning back to her.
Or me. She smiled. “Coffee’s fine.”
He pulled a cup from the cabinet and reached for the coffee pot. “So, how was that bed? Did you sleep well?”
“Like a dream after that crap this morning.” Especially with the dream I had. “Where are my clothes?”
“I’m washing them. Hope you don’t mind.” He turned around with a full cup of brew. “I figured you’d want clean clothes, since you don’t have anything else. We can go shopping for you later, if you’d like.”
She thanked him and took the cup. “Don’t you have to work tonight?”
He shook his head. “It’s my night off. Sent the report to the captain about an hour ago.”
“I can’t believe he let it go this long. It’s not normal for the man.”
“I know,” he replied. “That shit really shook him up.”
“That shit would shake anyone up—except you, for some odd reason.”
“It’s not all that new to me, Armen.” He sat down across from her with his own cup of coffee. “Remember, my father’s a demon wrangler.”
She held up a finger and shook it as she took a drink. There had been a demon wrangler present when she became flesh. Agares had nearly killed the wrangler, prompting Armen’s sudden attack of compassion and righteousness. “Yeah, I want to talk about that.” She lowered the cup to the table. “Are all demon wranglers former or current priests?”
“Yes, why?”
She’d stepped into the blade’s path and took Agares’ sword to its hilt for a demon wrangler—a man of God. What. The. Hell? The moment that the blade’s hilt touched her stomach played out and froze in time inside her mind.
Even Angels and Demons could die, but only if killed by one another. And she should have been dead. Something brought her back. But why?
“Just curious,” she replied and picked up her cup again. She thought back to the moment before she’d stepped into the blade’s path, struggling to recall the demon wrangler’s face. Oddly, he hadn’t been frightened; he was ready and willing to accept his Fate, trusting it to her Father.
“Then why do I get the feeling there’s more than mere curiosity there?”
Armen shrugged. “Maybe because you’re always reading into things.” It was damn near impossible to throw him off, even if she had tried to hide it. His muscles tensed noticeably. “Could you please put a shirt on?”
Terry smirked. “Why?”
She huffed. “Fine, never mind, then.”
He chuckled. “My being shirtless is upsetting you?”
“Shut up!”
“Wow, it is upsetting you,” he said. “I had no idea I had that effect on you.”
“Oh, please don’t think you have any kind of effect on me,” she snapped.
Terry’s eyes brightened. “I have an idea. When we go shopping later, you can buy another little black dress so I can take you to dinner tonight.”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re impossible!”
“Actually, I’m very possible, but only for you.” The dryer sounded its finish. Terry rose from the table and headed for the laundry room. “Lucky you; saved by the buzzer.”
Armen shook her head and sipped her coffee as her mind jumped back to the demon wrangler. Surprisingly, there had been no fear in his vibrant green eyes, and his strong-jawed face had been calm and determined. Armen’s eyes widened, and her gaze slowly swung to Terry, who had just come out of the laundry room with a bundle of clothes in his arms.
He dropped them on the table and looked at her. “What’s that look for?” He sorted through the clothes, pulling his out and placing them in a separate pile from hers.
She stared into her cup. “Nothing.”
He abandoned the clothes. “All right, what’s got you so on edge this morning with the stares and wide eyes and getting upset about me not wearing a shirt?”
Armen slammed her cup to the table, spilling the coffee, and stood. “I am not upset that you’re not wearing a shirt!” She snatched up her clothes, grabbed her cane, and turned to head out of the kitchen.
“Well, you’re certainly upset about something.” He seized her arm, jerking her to a stop. Her clothes fell to the floor.
She growled, wrenched her arm from his grasp, and carefully knelt to pick them up.
He followed her to the floor. “Did you just growl at me? Armen, seriously, I want to know what’s going on inside that head of yours.”
She picked up her tank and threw it over her arm. “Terry, please, I am not a morning person.” She reached for her jeans, but he grabbed them first.
“You’re not a morning, afternoon, or evening person.” He yanked the jeans away from her.
“Give me my pants!” She reached for them again, but he pulled them out of reach. “You’re lucky I don’t bite your head off!”
“Then talk to me!”
“I don’t feel like talking.” She took the rest of her clothes and stood, holding out her hand as she precariously balanced on one leg. “Give me my jeans.”
“Friends talk, Armen,” he said, holding the pants behind his back.
“Friends don’t hold clothing hostage.” She jerked her hand forward, fingers spread, waiting for the jeans.
Terry gripped her arm with his right hand and pulled her to him, his arm quickly snaking around her waist to keep her from falling. He looked deeply into her eyes. “I am not holding your jeans hostage.”
She arched a brow.
“Okay, maybe I’m holding your jeans hostage, but it’s only because you won’t talk to me.”
“We were talking just fine a while ago.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he said.
She lowered her head. “Terry, you want to know things I’m not ready to reveal to anyone, least of all you.”
Terry’s hand slithered away from her, and he took a step back. “Ouch.” He held out the jeans. “Here, take them.”
Armen could see the hurt in his eyes as well as hear the fine tremor in his voice. She took the pants. “Terry—”
He shook his head and went back to sorting his clothes.
Armen stepped forward. “I didn’t mean—”
“No, no, if there’s one thing I’ve learned about you, it’s that you’re perfectly clear on what you mean.”
&nbs
p; “Please don’t misunderstand—”
“How could I possibly misunderstand that?” The hurt in his eyes tripled. “Least of all, me. Not much misunderstanding in that one. I am at the bottom of the list of people you’d be likely to confide in. End of story.”
Armen stared down at the clothes on her arm and wanted to shrink away. Learning the English language’s nuances was one of her greatest hurdles, and she apparently needed a refresher. Terry continued to fold his clothes in silence. Finally, she turned to leave the kitchen.
“I think it’s best if I stay somewhere else.”
Armen dressed and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She ran her tongue over her front teeth and wrinkled her nose. A toothbrush would be in her immediate future. She limped to the door and opened it, finding Terry leaning against the wall, waiting, arms crossed over his burly chest. He’d actually put a shirt on.
“Two things,” he said, holding up two fingers.
She leaned on her cane. “What’s that?”
“Was it my father you saved?”
“I’m not certain,” she replied. “He looked like he could be an older version of you.”
“Probably was.” He straightened, pushing away from the wall, and placed his hands on either side of the doorjamb. “I don’t think any others have ever been saved from that fate. Thank you.” The last two words were a mere whisper.
Armen shrugged. She had no clue what to say. “You’re welcome” didn’t seem fitting.
“He never knew your name.”
“It wasn’t important for him to know.” She wasn’t sure she liked the idea of Terry knowing her true self. She leaned away from him.
“So, you’ve been forsaken from Heaven and Hell?”
Armen nodded. It wasn’t entirely correct but close enough.
“You weren’t kidding, then, when I asked you where you were from.”
Her ponytail swished along her back from the quick head shake.
“Damn,” he said softly.
They stood in silence for a while, and then Armen looked up at him again. “Is that all?”
“No.”
She waited, but he didn’t continue. “Well?”
Terry smiled. “You’re attracted to me, and it’s killing you to admit it.”
Her jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious!”
“See what I mean? You fight it. I’ve seen you struggle when you look at me. That’s why you were so damned upset that I wasn’t wearing a shirt.”
“Oh, you’ve lost it.” She pushed him out of the way. “Do you have a toothbrush I can use?”
“Yes, there’s one in the guest bathroom.” He pointed at her. “And I have not lost it. You were all cheery when you came into the kitchen, and now you’re pissed.”
She stopped in the hallway and turned to the side. “I’m pissed because you’re being an ass.”
“And I’m being an ass because you’re getting all bitchy on me.” His grin grew seven times too big. “Or maybe it’s just frustration.”
She growled again and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door.
Terry chuckled. “Come on, Armen, just admit that you have feelings for me, and everything will run more smoothly,” he said from the other side of the door.
“I’ll admit to nothing,” she replied with a mouth full of toothpaste. She leaned over and spit into the sink. “You’re delusional.”
“Oh, I am so not delusional.”
The world suddenly went deathly silent on the other side of the door. She hated silence.
“Did you have a dream about me?” His voice had deepened and was much closer to the door.
Armen stared into the mirror, wide-eyed, and suppressed a cough after she’d sucked back toothpaste with a gasp. She was quite glad he couldn’t see her face at the moment. She turned on the faucet and rinsed her mouth before she choked. “No!”
“Oh, I think you did. That was an awful long pause.”
“It’s called a mouthful of toothpaste, you jackass.” She could just see the look on his face. “You’re reading into things, as usual.”
“Hey, I’m only listening to my instinct, which is generally correct, I’ll have you know.”
“Well, it’s wrong this time.” She leaned over the sink and splashed cold water over her face, hoping it would drown out the sound of his voice if he continued with the topic.
“I doubt it. You’re just being stubborn, as usual. Seriously, Armen, would it be that bad?”
She flung the door open. “You know what I was! Your father is going to know what I once was. He’ll remember me, Terry. He’s a priest!”
“He was a priest,” Terry corrected.
“It doesn’t matter. Do you really think he’ll be happy if his son starts dating an ex-demon?”
Terry’s eyes brightened. “Does that mean you’ve considered it?”
“No, it doesn’t mean anything,” she said, frustration grinding out her words. “Will you drop this already?”
He pushed away from the doorjamb and stood in front of her. “No, I’m not going to drop it.”
“Now you really are pushing the boundaries of harassment.”
He moved fast, his hand hooking behind her neck. He pulled her to him at the same time, cradling her face with his bandaged hand. And the son of a bitch kissed her, his lips colliding into hers. She thought about pushing away, but he turned out to be her weakness, and she slipped her arms over his shoulders, effectively pulling him closer to her. His lips worked against hers, and she ended up returning the kiss with a moan. He slid his hands down her sides and gently lifted her from the back of her thighs, crashing her back against the wall and pressing himself against her. The cane fell to the floor. He rested one hand on her ass while the other slid up and cupped her breast. She moaned into his mouth. He bit her lip and worked his way down her jaw line.
Armen fought for her sanity in the sea of hormones, but it was long gone.
He pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. “Just thought I’d get that in before you start shouting harassment.”
“Bastard,” she whispered, slapping his shoulder.
“Actually, no, my parents were married.”
Armen growled again but didn’t make any attempt to lower her legs.
“You know, that growling thing you do is a major turn-on.” He gently kissed her forehead.
“It figures.”
Terry’s cell phone rang in the living room and he gently set her down before he moved away from her. “Aren’t you a lucky woman today? Saved by the bell again.”
Armen let out a short laugh. “I doubt luck has anything to do with it.”
He chuckled as he answered his phone. Soon after, his face went stone-cold serious. “Where, Dad? I’m on my way.” He looked at Armen, who still stood in the hallway. “Come with me?”
She shrugged. “If you think I’d be of any use.”
“Yeah, I do. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”
She turned to go back to her room, but remembered that her hoodie burned up in the fire. “Do you have a coat I can borrow, or something so I’m not freezing in just a tank?” Something in the sound of his voice gnawed at her, but she couldn’t quite place it, and she glanced back at him. Perhaps one of the churches had been attacked and that was why his dad called him.
“Yeah.” He pulled his sweater over his head and yanked the bottom down to his waist, then headed her way, going into his own bedroom. “You want a shirt, too?”
“Please.”
He tossed a long-sleeved jersey at her and walked back down the hall.
She joined him in the living room, pulling the shirt over her head. He’d grabbed a pair of boots and was wearing his gun.
“There’s a coat in that closet over there,” he said, nodding to the door near the front door.
“Thanks. So much for a day off, huh?”
He bent forward and tied his boots with short, sharp yanks. “To be honest, I didn’t really expect to have
the day off with all this shit going on.” He jumped to his feet. “We need to hurry.”
“Why?” She selected a pea coat and pulled it on.
Terry snatched his keys from the coffee table and walked to the front door. “Because I have a feeling this one is special.”
Armen froze in place. “What do you think it is?” Sariel’s words from the night before rang through her mind and sent a shiver down her spine. Wait until the next show. I shall make it special for you.
He just shook his head and opened the door.
Outside, Terry moved Armen’s Jeep, parking it on the outside of the garage before opening the garage door. “Thought you’d be much warmer in this,” he said and disappeared inside.
An engine rumbled to life. Terry backed out his black ‘65 Lincoln Continental and stopped in front of her.
“Cool car,” she said as he closed the garage door.
“Thanks. You gonna get in, or just stare at it?”
“I’m getting in.” She opened the passenger door and slid onto the leather seat, closing the door behind her. “Wow, Terry, I had no idea you had such a vehicle.”
Terry turned to her. “If I’d known cars were your thing, I’d have brought it out sooner.” He put the car in gear, giving her a once-over from the corners of his eyes. “You look good in my coat.”
Armen smiled and clicked the seatbelt into place. “Thanks, it’s warm.”
Terry headed down the narrow street to their next destination, and most likely another face-to-face meeting with Sariel. Worry gnawed at her. What was it going to be this time? She prayed that if it was Sariel’s little show, it didn’t involve anyone close to Terry.
“Tell me something,” Terry said as they drove down the interstate. “Why were you there, with my dad that day?”
Armen stilled at the query. “Someone summoned me.”
He hummed a reply before falling silent for a spell. Then he suddenly sprang to life again as he took a turn. “So, if asshole demon is an angel of death, where do you fall in the . . . levels . . . the ladder—”
Dusk of Death: an Armen Leza, Demon Hunter novel (Armageddon Trilogy Book 1) Page 6
