The Unlikeable Demon Hunter Collection: Books 1-3 (Nava Katz Box Set)

by Deborah Wilde

“No. But from now on, we should find another way to maintain contact.”

  Given the schedule for the Samson job, I figured I’d be back in Vancouver by Saturday. We arranged a time for her to phone Leo’s place. The Executive didn’t know about her. If I wasn’t back, she’d phone at the same time each day until she reached me.

  “Thank you so much,” I said.

  She reached a hand up, briefly touching my cheek. “We’ll talk when you get home.” The conversation was over. Probably a good thing. I’d had my share of bombshells for the day.

  I walked back to the hotel, my mind swirling, amazed at the people talking, eating, and shopping around me. Amazed at how normal their lives were. Just over a month. That’s how long it had been since my world had been knocked off its axis, and I’d become Rasha. Given such a short adaptation period for such a massive life transition, a transition the rest of them spent twenty years to prepare for, I was not just coping, but thriving.

  Thanks to me, we’d cracked the mystery of Samson’s identity. Thanks to me, Ari’s initiate status had been confirmed and he’d soon be inducted. Not to mention, I’d helped take out the demon Asmodeus, his spawnlings, and the vral. It was fucking unfair then, that every time I found my footing, the floor dropped out from under me.

  I stopped at a red light. A little girl in a bright yellow coat watched me. Her dad’s hand rested lightly on her head, and her mouth was smeared with chocolate. She grinned at me.

  I grinned back. That’s how I’d deal. Knowing that doing my job in the dark let kids like her live in the light. We crossed the street and she skipped off ahead with her father. Rohan was wrong about me not knowing what I wanted. Kill demons and get Ari Rasha’d. My personal life had sidetracked me and it was time to reset things to a less complicated state.

  Look at that. Meeting Gelman had let me forget about Snowflake for an entire hour. I wasn’t to be given a second more, however, because I entered the hotel to find Rohan and Lily, their heads bent close together, cheeks flush with cold, and identical expressions of happiness on their faces as they laughed over a shared joke. A perfect couple.

  I tried to sneak past them, but no such luck.

  “Where have you been?” Rohan asked.

  “Breakfast with a friend at Café Louvre.” Let him stew over which friend.

  Lily clapped her hands together. “Did you have any of their cakes?”

  My heart sank. Not fair. I don’t want to like you. “Sacher torte.”

  She nodded sagely. “That’s one of the best.” Her phone beeped. Lily checked it. “Oops. Gotta get to the conference.” She kissed Rohan’s cheek. “See you later.”

  He kissed hers back. “Have fun listening to physicists, you giant nerd.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him.

  I returned her good-bye wave. “Seems I wasn’t the only one breakfasting with friends,” I said. “Up early, were we?”

  “Up late.” Rohan glanced at Lily’s departing back.

  My stomach twisted. I saw his hand on her naked back. Her face soft and suffused with ecstasy under him. The wicked glint in his eyes as he slid into her. Was he gentle with her? Did he growl her name, the way he did mine?

  Rohan snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Hey, spacey. You all right?”

  They probably had movie sex: the lightest sheen of non-odorous sweat, low cries, and mutual orgasm. Two beautiful people basking in post-coital radiance together.

  “Is there anything you need me for today?” I asked, because if there wasn’t, I wanted to go to my room and torture myself further.

  “There is,” he said.

  “What?”

  Rohan frowned at my sharp tone. “What crawled up your ass?”

  I stuffed my hands into my pockets so I didn’t punch him. My fingers brushed the wrapped item I’d been given. Examining it was a much better use of my time than obsessing over the sexual proclivities of the dummy in front of me.

  I stalked off into the elevator, Rohan dogging my heels. I didn’t speak until we’d gotten inside my room and I’d locked the door. Rohan watched me, confused, as I tossed the vials of dirt and water on the bed. Then I ripped open the package Dr. Gelman had given me.

  An amulet. There wasn’t much to it. About the size of a Canadian two dollar coin but thicker, it was made of swirled green glass. The only noteworthy detail was a hamsa etched on the inside. I ran my fingers along the edge but there was no clasp, no hinge, no discernible seam.

  Rohan leaned in to look at it. “What does it do?”

  “I don’t know.” I tapped the stoppered containers. “We need these for the induction ritual. I’m guessing the amulet is part of it as well, but Dr. Gelman didn’t tell me why.” I held the disc up to the light, twisting it in between my finger and thumb. “She seemed very concerned that no one see me take it from her.”

  He held out his hand and I dropped the amulet in his palm. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Do you want me to research it? Discreetly?”

  “No!”

  Rohan handed it back. “O-kay.”

  I gripped his sleeve. “I am trusting you with my life by telling you this.”

  His expression hardened. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning if the Brotherhood finds out that I’ve discovered a way to induct a Rasha that they haven’t sanctioned, they’ll kill me and Ari.”

  Rohan spun off the bed, cursing. I sat there, plucking at a loose thread in my skirt until he ran out of steam.

  “You can’t tell anyone,” I said.

  “Fuck, Nava.” He punched the wall and I flinched. “I think that goes without saying.” He rubbed the side of his hand over his forehead. “That’s who you were with, wasn’t it?”

  I nodded, gathering everything up and placing it all in the tiny safe in my closet.

  “Is Ari worth it?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said, but my hands shook as I locked the safe up.

  Rohan turned me into his arms. I tensed again. “I didn’t spend the night with her,” he said.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Anyone.”

  I lay my cheek against his chest, relaxing into his embrace. Needing this comfort like a balm. “Stick it in whoever you want, Snowflake.”

  “Your permission is duly noted. For the record, I watched a Breaking Bad marathon. Heisenberg is either way scarier or not at all in Czech.”

  “I know. I couldn’t decide either.”

  His heart beat in time with mine. “The other night…” he began.

  I inhaled, letting his presence envelop me on every level. “No point rehashing it.”

  Rohan tipped my chin up so that I had to meet his eyes. “No more knives. I promise.” His voice held a quiet sincerity that led me to believe him. Besides, the faster this was all put behind us, the faster we could continue as I meant us to go on. Fuck buddies and fighters.

  “We’re good. Drio told me why you had to get drunk.” The way he searched my face had me wondering if he was worried that Drio had told me too much.

  He slid his hands down my arms, stepping away. “Come on.”

  “Where?”

  He grinned. “Do you trust me?”

  “Situationally.”

  He held out his hand. “Good enough.”

  19

  Rohan pulled a navy knit cap over his hair, slid on a pair of shades and buttoned up his long, wool coat.

  “Incognito-level achieved?” I slid on my own heart-shaped sunglasses, keeping my expression bland.

  “If I’m lucky.” Rohan saw the glasses and mimed having a heart attack. I giggled. He jerked his head to the road running left from the hotel. “This way.”

  “For someone who hates fame so much, you’re not an asshole to fans.”

  “The other night notwithstanding,” he said with a wry twist of his mouth. “My mom made sure I understood what a gift of time, love, and money fans gave me. But this is about you. You’ve been dealing with a lot and you need a break. Luckily you’re in the
perfect city, with the perfect tour guide.”

  “Luckily.”

  Rohan’s disguise worked because we weren’t given a second look as we crossed the street into the middle of the rectangular plaza. “Wenceslas Square,” he said.

  “Of Christmas carol fame.”

  “Of revolution fame.” He pointed up to the top of the square. “Imagine this entire space filled with Communist tanks. That’s what happened in the late 60s.”

  I shivered, imagining row upon row of Soviet tanks looming large under a gray sky. The image faded, replaced with the reality of food trucks and art deco hotels. I cocked my head, taking in the most majestic building. “That hotel is probably a hundred, hundred and fifty years old. Vancouver pre-dates it by a bit. But we don’t have anywhere near the sense of history that infuses Europe.” I loved the idea of being deeply rooted in something.

  He let me admire it for another couple of minutes before cheekily saying, “Stay with the group,” and walking off. He led me down to the river and these two weird modern buildings that stuck out amidst the surrounding architecture. The one on the right was a round cylinder with rectangular windows all the way around. The building narrowed at the bottom, a single pole protruding from the bottom like a leg.

  The building to the left was made of glass, its middle bent in toward the first building, pressing up against it. A triangle jutted out from the glass toward the cylinder, almost like a hand, while it was supported by struts like legs.

  Rohan watched me expectantly.

  I bounced on my toes. “It looks like a couple dancing!” The glass building had a woman’s shape, and looked like she was about to be swung around by her partner. The energy and dynamism in them was astounding.

  “Dancing House. Nicknamed Fred and Ginger.”

  I pressed a hand to my heart. “Stop. I’m not going to be able to leave this city.” I made him take a selfie with me in front of it then took one last fond look at Dancing House before we trekked back to Old Town Square, a huge cobblestoned space whose edges seamlessly blended into numerous restaurant patios. The square was anchored by a bronze commemorative statue of some guy standing on a large stone base. Tourist central on this sunny day.

  Rohan dodged the many tour operators marching their charges from attraction to attraction. He might not have been recognized but he was certainly noticed. I was shot more than one dark look at my audacity in being with him.

  He stopped in front of this crazy clock tower running up the side of a very old building at one end of the square. Two large clock faces, one a swirl of color, the other gold, were adorned with small figures and astrological symbols. “It’s a medieval astronomical clock.” He checked his watch. “Give it a sec.”

  The clock began to ring. Two small panels at the top slid open, revealing a parade of moving figures. Saints or something given the crosses some held. Rohan nudged me, directing my attention to the skeleton ringing a bell along the right side of the tower. “Death.”

  I pressed my hands together by my cheek. “Awww. That’s so sweet.”

  A minute later it was over. Rohan pointed at the twin gothic spires visible behind the small modern art museum at the opposite end of the square. “Tyn Church.”

  “It looks like the nightmare version of the Sleeping Beauty castle.”

  “Some say it was Disney’s inspiration.” He gazed up at it. “It inspired me. I wrote the song ‘Slumber’ about it.”

  One of Fugue State Five’s later hits. “‘Trapped in a limbo with no way out but down.’” I shook my head at the first line of the chorus. “Hard as it is to believe, you’re a ray of sunshine now in comparison.”

  “I work my issues out in other ways.”

  “For which we are all thankful.”

  His eyes roamed my body like tiny licks of flame. “How thankful?”

  My stomach growled before I could reply.

  “Feeding time,” he announced cheerfully.

  It took me a second to get my feet to move. How he switched on and off like that was beyond me. Unless, of course, it was more game playing and didn’t matter one way or the other to him.

  Reset.

  We wove our way through twisted streets, coming out at the foot of the Charles Bridge. Passing under a heavy, dark tower, we stepped onto the pedestrian-only bridge that was thronged with tourists taking selfies, browsing the photo and jewelry kiosks that lined either side, having a caricature drawn, or watching the occasional busker do a marionette performance.

  It took longer than I expected to walk its length. “Malá Strana,” Rohan said, waving a hand at the neighborhood we found ourselves in on the far side. “Lesser Town.”

  The architecture here was astounding as well. I could have happily wandered the streets for hours staring at the old church spires, red tiled roofs, and arched windows, but Rohan had a specific destination in mind. We entered a nondescript hole-in-the-wall. Dimly lit with rickety wooden tables and chairs, the restaurant was bustling with locals.

  Rohan pulled off his knit cap. A lock of hair flopped into his eyes, so he raked his fingers through, pushing back the curl and tousling his hair further.

  A harried waiter showed us to the last table, crowded into a back corner. He tossed down a couple of menus.

  Rohan handed them back, checking with me. “Did I do well enough the last time I ordered for you that you situationally trust me to do it again?”

  “Sure. But if you disappoint, you will be killed.”

  “Svickova.” He held up two fingers. “I’ll also have a Pilsner.”

  “You want a beer?” the waiter asked me.

  “Lemon radler.” Rohan looked horrified at my order. “Some of us are concerned about getting our daily fruit content,” I said.

  “Oh no. Not even you can convince yourself of that.”

  “That’s cute. You have no idea what I can convince myself of.” I ran my finger over the walls, every inch covered in scratched initials. “Points for local color.” I folded my hands primly on the table. “Tell me the history of this fine establishment.”

  He took a drink of the beer the waiter had brought. “No clue.”

  “Tour guide fail.” I said, before trying my own drink, which was nicely chilled.

  “Never enough with you,” he grumbled. “Okay. Here’s a fun Prague fact. There have been two defenestrations in the town’s history.”

  “Based on the French root in that word, I’m gonna guess it has something to do with windows. Out of windows?”

  He clinked his glass against mine. “Very good. The act of throwing someone or something out a window. Don’t piss off a Czech unless you’re on ground level.”

  “You’re chock full of macabre facts, aren’t you?”

  “I excel at playing to my audience. Giving them what they want,” he leered.

  I moved my radler, allowing the server to place my food in front of me. I waited until he’d gone to speak. “You were unbearably arrogant as a rock star, weren’t you?”

  Rohan picked up his cutlery. “I’m shocked I rate past tense.”

  “Well, you’re old now. You’ve mellowed into insufferably cocky.”

  “Thank you. I know how much you appreciate cock…y.” He snickered.

  “The emotional maturity of a twelve-year-old,” I said, cutting into my lunch. A braised beef, it was served in a creamy vegetable sauce with dumplings on the side. I moaned, swallowing my first bite.

  Incredibly, he didn’t comment.

  I decided that I liked a man who didn’t need to fill valuable eating time with small talk. Plate cleared and practically licked clean, I sagged back against my chair, my hand on my belly. “If I had a button, I’d totally pop it open right now and nap.”

  Rohan paid the bill. “Nope. We’re going to walk off the carbs.”

  I groaned but pushed my chair back and followed him outside. “Thank you for lunch.”

  He tapped his cheek.

  I rolled my eyes, then leaned in and gave him a pec
k. “That was a thank you appropriate to any family member. To be clear.”

  “You’ll be expressing your thanks in a highly inappropriate manner later. To be clear.”

  I stumbled at his words. But my nipples went rock hard so he wasn’t wrong. Necessarily. See this? This was good. Fun easy banter followed up by promises of hot monkey sex. Reset achieved. Poppy could rot in Hell. I let out a breath, my rib cage easing out of its tight lock, and skipped after him to catch up.

  Our final stop, Rohan informed me, was Prague Castle. A massive complex, we were herded from line-up to line-up, marveling at the magnificence of St. Vitus Cathedral, the fascination of the palace room covered in painted coats-of-arms, and the delight of the tiny colored houses on Gold Lane.

  “Enough,” I said at last. “I’m sight-seed out.”

  We exited the grounds into a large square near the top of the palace. People took photos of the city skyline over to one side, while one especially stunning neighboring building boasting a tiered roof and intricately painted vines and flowers along a high frieze advertised a Baroque art collection.

  I tugged on Rohan’s sleeve. “Selfie time.” He grumbled good-naturedly but obliged, following me as I elbowed our way to the front of the crowd. I held up my phone, adjusting it to get both us and the maximum amount of the city in the shot. “Smile.”

  A split second before I took the photo Rohan murmured in my ear, “All of Prague laid out before us.”

  My breath caught. I lowered the phone, not wanting to see the expression on my face in the picture in case I’d embarrassed myself. I also had to step away before I did something bad, here, in this very public place.

  I walked back into the center of the plaza, wishing for a distraction. Some higher power decided to take pity on my sexually frustrated state because the perfect one zoomed into view. Waving furiously at Rohan, I broke into a run.

  The old-fashioned mini tourist train consisted of the engineer’s car pulling two passenger cars with even rows of benches. Open on one side for easy entrance and exit, hard clear plastic formed windows on the outer side.

  Rohan eyed the green locomotive. “No.”

  “Oh yes.” I climbed into one of the hard-topped cars, sitting down on the wooden bench. “Come on. The sign on top says it goes back to the square in Old Town.” I loved these mini trains, going back to the one in Stanley Park in Vancouver that I rode throughout my childhood. We visited that park year-round and my parents learned to anticipate my pleas to go again. They’d board me with a strip of tickets in my hand so I could ride to my heart’s content while they took Ari to feed the goats at the petting zoo next door.