by Lee, Kimber
I sat up, rubbing sleep out of my eyes and kicking the covers off. I instantly regretted standing when the pounding in my head started up full force. Wincing, I quickly used the bathroom before snatching my Rampuri knife from the vanity table and padding to the source of the music—my kitchen.
What intruder plays dance music at full blast during a break-in, Rae?
But then, stranger things have happened.
Still, it was a shock for me to find Temp sitting on a stool in front of the island, casually flicking through the Sunday paper while Nicole—little, bitchy pubescent Nicole from outside the club—puttered around my kitchen like she belonged there. I was greeted by this strange sight, coupled with the tempting smell of breakfast.
“Bonjour, Baby Phat,” Temp greeted without looking up from the paper.
Nicole turned away from the stove, beaming at me. “Good morning, Baby Phat,” she said over the music.
“It’s Rae,” I muttered mechanically, squeezing my eyes shut and opening them again.
Nope, she was still standing in my kitchen and Temp was still relaxing in his seat. This wasn’t a case of hangover-induced hallucinations.
“What the hell’s going on?” I asked, marching to the radio perched on top of the refrigerator and turning it off. “To what do I owe this intrusion?”
Temp put the paper down. “Nicole wanted to apologize. Her mom’s some kind of kickass chef, so she knows her way around a kitchen.”
Nicole nodded, handing me a plate piled sky-high with bacon, pancakes and some sort of pastry. “I am so sorry for my behavior last night. Please accept this?”
I automatically took the plate, blinking at her. “Um, thanks?” Bacon was the surest way to my heart, as embarrassing as that was.
Nicole grinned, moved away from the stove, and went to stand beside a seated Temp. She placed a hand on his forearm, looking at him reverently. I felt a little sick right then.
“Temp?” I said, suddenly thirsty. “Did you… sleep with her?”
Temp arched a brow. “Prying into my sexual affairs, Rae?”
The dreamy look Nicole was giving him answered my question. I swallowed bile. What was wrong with me? Wasn’t I exactly like her, spreading my legs for orgasm after orgasm with a creature of Satan?
“Honey,” I said gently, setting my plate on the counter, “was that your first time?”
Nicole reluctantly dragged her gaze from the object of her affection. “It was… magical.”
“And… and what did he want in return?”
Nicole shrugged. “A century of service after my death. No big deal.” She paused, looking at Temp. “Is that the correct term?”
Temp nodded, pulling her to him at the waist. “Yeah, babe. No big deal.”
“But you’ll go to hell, Nicole,” I sputtered, unable to contain my indignation. “Was being with him worth it?”
“Would you listen to yourself, Rae?” Temp gave me a grin. “Talk about the pot calling the kettle a demon-shagging ho.”
I flushed, balling my hands into fists. “You’d better stop throwing that in my face before I throw a fist at yours.”
“Word is he was raising hell in Vegas last night, probably after he left you.” Temp winked at me, unfazed by my threat. “Got into unnecessary fights. Beat the shit outta people for looking at him wrong. I recognize a sexually frustrated man when I see one, Baby Phat.”
I blew air out of my mouth. “You’re telling me he beat people up because of his blue balls?”
“Honest to God,” he replied, before laughing. “Right. Why would I be honest?”
“And how did word get out so fast?”
He shrugged. “Demons gossip just as much as humans do.”
I poked at a rind of bacon before tentatively devouring it. Delicious, fatty goodness exploded in my mouth. “I need to find a gym,” I mumbled to myself, munching on another sliver.
“Andrei isn’t helping you work off those calories?”
I shot Temp a dirty look. “Hilarious. Why don’t you let yourself out?” I directed that to Nicole, too.
It was obvious that she was a lost cause. Besides, it was too late for me to do anything—at least that’s what I told myself. I didn’t want to think about what “a century of service” entailed because fear constricted my throat whenever I glanced at Nicole’s content, dreamy face.
Fear for myself.
Chapter 8
“Ana, I promise you, I’m still looking into this whole thing,” I said into my earpiece, nimbly dodging a biker on steroids and turning to Parishville Park. “I’m only in London for the weekend. Back by Monday, I promise.”
“It’s just that I’m worried, Miss Erickson,” she murmured.
I let out a heavy sigh into the cool, morning air. “I know, I know. I promise you, I’ll get to the bottom of this mystery.”
She went on for a little while before I cut her short with a gentle goodbye. Then, I paused beside an oak tree and clicked off, returning my phone to its place in the hip pocket of my running shorts. Lying to Ana Fontaine all the time was beginning to get to me. I was no closer to solving “the mystery” now—if there even was one—than I was a month ago when I started looking into it.
To be honest, I hadn’t seen anything that warranted Ana’s suspicion of foul play, except for JP’s short temper and shallow taste in bottle blondes and fake tits. I was beginning to wonder if this was just a big waste of my time, and if I was just feeding the flames of an obsessed and overprotective big sister’s ridiculous paranoia.
Bending over and touching the toes of my white Reeboks, I pondered if there was any way I could prolong my stay in town. Despite Parishville being archaic, boring, and woodsy at times, it did have one thing going for it: peace.
There were no out-of-control frat parties leaking out onto the streets, no huge smoke-emitting trucks, no random flash mobs in town, or grisly murders happening every day. The streets were cobbled, for Pete’s sake! And everything was in walking distance. Sure, I loved the fast pace of cities like the Big Apple, Paris, Rome—the list was endless. But sometimes, I just want to close my eyes and shut down for a while. I was allowed that, was I not?
“You OK, Rainelle?”
It was then that I realized I’d been bent over for an odd period of time. Straightening, I wiped moisture off my brow before staring into a gorgeous pair of inquiring honey-colored eyes—Daniel’s eyes. For a split second, all I could do was gawk because he’d obviously been running and his T-shirt was clinging to his chest like white on rice—appropriate, since it was a white T-shirt—and his navy running shorts were obviously being battered by the wind, which left little to the imagination when it came to Daniel Junior’s size.
He was sweaty and he was hard.
God, help me!
“Ah.”
“Stitch?” he asked, his voice thick with worry.
“Um,” I muttered as I shook my head to indicate “no”.
This was beginning to piss me the hell off. If I kept up my monosyllabic answers, I’d be reciting the freaking alphabet.
“Rainelle?” Now he just sounded annoyed.
“I’m… good,” I practically choked, aware of his nearness when I noticed the day-old stubble peppering his very manly jaw. I cleared my throat and dragged my eyes away from him. “Just stretching. Don’t mind me,” I added breezily.
Excellent, Rae. You found your tongue. Guess it was in hiding with your dignity.
A slow smile spread across his face. “Sort of hard not to mind you when you’re bending over like that.”
Daniel Lawless was fucking flirting with me! What the hell was I supposed to do?
“Oh, I bend over a lot.”
He arched a dark brow and I flushed. The stupidity of what I’d just uttered overwhelming me. Could I sound like more of a whore? A whore that likes anal.
“I–I don’t mean like…”
“Does your job entail a lot of… bending?” he interjected in that deep, lilting voice of
his, looking like he was five seconds away from bursting into a fit of laughter.
“I’m a writer,” I mumbled miserably, the lie easily escaping my mouth. “I mostly just sit all day. Anyway, by bending, I meant stretching.”
“Sure,” he said, flashing me an unlawful grin. He brushed a sweat-soaked hank of hair off his forehead. “See you around, Rainelle.” Then he started in the opposite direction.
“Um, yeah. Later, Daniel.”
And then he called over his shoulder, “Don’t bend over too long. Might hurt something. That would be a fucking pity.”
“When I say freakin’, you say weekend! Freakin’!”
“Weekend!”
“Freakin’!”
“Weekend!”
“Woo-hoo!” I called out. “George’s, you’ve been great! I love you!” Someone, I couldn’t see who, helped me hop off the bar with minimal drink spillage on my part.
Once I was on the ground, I finally realized just how many beers I’d consumed because the entire St. George’s was spinning and I was seeing double of what looked like a tall, dark-haired man in a vivid orange T-shirt.
Orange, I thought, wrinkling my nose. What grown man wears orange?
“Freakin’ weekend?” the man quipped, a laugh in his voice. He still hadn’t relinquished his hold on my hand.
“They wer-r-re playin’ R-r-rihanna,” I murmured, slurring most of my letters. “App-r-r-ropriate.”
“Christ, Rainelle. How much have you guzzled?”
I know that voice, I thought, simultaneously mewing and groaning internally.
“Daniel? Followin’ me, love?” I put on an awful Cockney accent that suspiciously sounded like an Australian one to my ears. Being sober did nothing to my poor impressions.
Daniel led me to a quiet corner and made me sit down on a battered wooden chair. The world stopped spinning considerably and I was able to blink a few times to clear my vision. And I saw that yes, he was wearing an orange T-shirt with some sort of childlike lettering on the front and a pair of well-worn blue jeans that were ripped at the knees. Also, his hair was rumpled, like he’d been standing outside in the wind or something. I itched to touch his hair. Maybe I had a fetish.
“Imagine my shock when I walk into a pub for the first time in years and find my normally put-together neighbor standing on the bar giving her version of Rihanna’s Cheers for the patrons,” Daniel told me, cupping my chin and tilting my face upward. “Just how much have you had to drink?”
I jerked my head away, glaring at him—sort of. Inside, I was shivering because Daniel “fucking” Lawless just touched me and it felt so good. I prided myself on my sexual confidence. But with Daniel, I couldn’t help these clumsy, teenage hormones.
“You’re not my father,” I murmured, standing.
A strange look crossed his face. “No,” he said softly, “but if he were here, I’m sure he’d want me to take you home.”
I snorted. “I can walk. It’s close.”
“You can barely nod your head, let alone walk home at one in the morning, Rainelle,” he said sensibly.
And just for argument’s sake, I nodded my head. “Then what the hell was that?” I nodded my head again to prove I could do it.
His eyes rolled skyward before he grabbed my upper arm and turned, dragging me along with him. I squealed, from the abrupt manhandling and from the shock of awareness at the feel of his cool fingers wrapping around my arm.
I definitely needed to get laid soon. I was in withdrawal after the incessant “Andrei attack”.
“I thought you were nice,” I muttered childishly once we were out the stuffy club and the cold night air assailed my skin. “But you’re a bossy dick.”
Daniel looked down at me, his eyes interested. “Ah, you thought I was nice?”
I nodded, the motion making me a little dizzy now. “Yeah. I mean, maybe Dream Daniel was just that, a dream, and Real Daniel’s a controlling ass with… with poor taste in clothing. I mean, orange?”
“Dream Daniel,” he said to himself, steering me out of the way of a staggering couple. This move brought me smack-bang into his side, sending a shiver of unabashed delight up my spine. “You dream about me, Rainelle?”
“I used to,” was my reply, at the same time, the voice in my head hissed, Shut the hell up!
“I see,” he said, his hand skating down my arm and gripping my hand. “Aren’t you a bundle of surprises, Rainelle Erickson?”
Our fingers were lacing. Shit! When was the last time I’d laced fingers with a guy? And why are you wondering what Andrei’s fingers would feel like lacing with yours?
“I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“Drinking like a teenage lout will do that to you.” Daniel’s voice was scornful.
I almost expected a spanking. Then I started thinking about his hand on my ass and all my thoughts took a nosedive into the gutter.
I had the element of surprise on my side when I stopped abruptly and jerked Daniel to me in one swift motion. The sandalwood scent of his aftershave, cologne, or whatever it was—wafted into my nostrils as I pulled myself up onto my toes and pressed a kiss somewhere under his bristly chin. He froze and my lips migrated to higher territory—his lips.
I was kissing Daniel Lawless, the Adonis of my dreams. Where were the stars I was supposed to be seeing? The holy fanfare I should’ve been hearing? Instead, all I got was a big fat nothing.
At first, I gently snagged his lower lip between my teeth and suckled it, mashing my heavy, aching breasts against his chest. Drunk or not though, I was lucid enough to know that this was probably my only chance to do this. And so without further warning, I slid my tongue into his mouth, tangling it with his and tearing a low groan from his throat.
And then he was kissing me back!
With one hand around the back of my neck and the other still holding my hand, he tongue-fucked me until… until guilt wrapped an icy hand around me. I should have been a quivering, moaning mass of need out here, under the bright moonlight. My panties should have been damp and my poor, deprived cunt should have been yearning to have him give her some attention, too.
But nothing. Nothing but a strong feeling of remorse… all because of Andrei.
When Daniel pulled back, a look of pure lust mixed with one of blazing anger was on his face—but I couldn’t even bring myself to care.
“What the fuck?” he snarled, lips deliciously swollen from my assault.
Before I could say something to diffuse the situation, Daniel spun around, his tall frame visibly tensing in the moonlight.
“What’s wrong?” I asked curiously, following his gaze. I finally realized that we were cutting through the park, which was, understandably, empty at this time of night.
“Shit,” was Daniel’s enlightening response. “Get away from me. Now!”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Excuse me?”
He turned to look at me. “For fuck’s sake! Run!”
And that was when someone lunged at him from out of the darkness.
I could have screamed, I could have whimpered—but I sure as hell did not run.
Daniel and whoever it was tumbled to the ground in a messy tangle of arms and legs, rolling about until Daniel got the upper hand and landed a punch in the other man’s face. In that moment, I was able to see a set of glowing, scarlet eyes beneath Daniel’s frame as he straddled the man. My breathing stopped and my head started spinning again.
A demon. That’s a demon!
Panicked, I tried to voice those exact words, because Daniel was so going to get hurt. And it was going to be my fault. My fault for not knowing any banishing rituals. My fault for being useless when it came to this. My fault for getting this Adonis killed.
“Daniel,” I managed, knowing that no amount of blows to the demon’s face was going to kill it.
“Didn’t I…” His fist connected with the demon’s nose. “… say…” Then, he kneed the creature in the gut. “… get the hell away?!”
&
nbsp; I squealed when the demon—who had the physique of a lanky eighteen-year-old and the resilience of a wrestler—maneuvered his way out of Daniel’s clutches and rained blows on his face as Daniel struggled on his back. That kicked me into gear. Without thinking, I threw myself at the thing, knocking it off Daniel and unceremoniously landing on the absolutely unwelcoming ground with an “Oomph!”
So many places instantly hurt, some of which probably never hurt before.
“Andrei’s,” the demon rasped into my ear, its entire body keeping me down on the grass.
I squirmed, horrified by the close contact, as well as by the demon’s insinuation that I was Andrei’s. At least, that was what I thought he meant. For all I knew, the demon could’ve been saying that it belonged to Andrei, and that it had been sent by him to teach me a lesson.
Thinking these worrying thoughts distracted me that I nearly didn’t hear the creepy chanting starting up above me. It took me exactly three seconds to realize that it was Daniel’s voice, uttering words that remarkably sounded like Latin.
His voice was deep and clear as he repeated, “Vade retro satana… Vade retro satana… Vade retro satana…”
I recognized the old Catholic exorcism chant. And for a second there, I couldn’t understand why Daniel would even have the power to successfully get rid of a demon. Meanwhile, the demon writhed on top of me and I spotted a glint of silver in Daniel’s hand, an amulet of some sort that looked all too familiar in my quickly sobering state.
“Just get the fuck off her!” Daniel snarled.
And slowly, I felt the heavy weight lifting.
“Vade retro satana, you piece of godforsaken shit!” Daniel said as he picked the demon up and threw him off to the side like yesterday’s rubbish.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I felt hot tears spill down my cheeks as I quietly sobbed, every part of my body screeching with pain. I opened them again when Daniel’s arms came around me, helping me sit up.
“You’re… you’re a hunter,” I whispered, unable to muster any astonishment in my voice.
