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

by Deborah Wilde

  I sucked the rich, slightly spicy glaze off chicken skin that was so crispy it crackled when I bit it.

  Kane looked over. “You know them?”

  I dipped another wing in the tangy ginger sauce. “No.”

  “Nava hates lots of people she doesn’t know.” Ari nodded his thanks as I topped us all off with more beer. “It’s her special talent.”

  “I’d settle for them turning off the baseball game and Grease.” Kane glanced at the muted TV screens hung above the bar, dipping his sauce-coated fingers in the small bowl of warm water that had come with our order. “Sports and musicals, the seventh level of Hell.”

  I gasped, hand to my heart.

  Ari facepalmed. “Now you’ve done it.”

  “Grease is the seminal cinematic exploration of teen culture,” I said.

  Kane grabbed a napkin. “No way. Cruel Intentions.”

  I eyeballed the remaining wings, pulling my generously estimated third into a pile. “Wanting to fuck late 90’s Ryan Phillipe does not make something seminal.”

  Kane and Ari both leaned back, arms identically crossed. “Says you,” they said in unison.

  Perhaps bonding over their mutual interest in screwing a third party was not the way to foster romance. Hmm. Further thought was required.

  I nibbled on a wing. “I’d argue that contrary to popular belief, Grease doesn’t have a happy ending.”

  Ari paused, his glass halfway to his mouth. “Criticizing the movie? Are you concussed?”

  “No. It’s still a mostly perfect film. I’m merely older and wiser,” I said. “See, it ends with Sandy sewing herself into a catsuit that makes peeing impossible. She’d totally rather be in her ponytail and poodle skirt but she’s so sweet that she’s not going to say anything, letting her bitterness build until it manifests in a brain aneurysm. Don’t hog the sauce,” I berated Ari, pulling the bowl closer.

  “Much as I cannot believe I’m encouraging this conversation,” Kane said, “I’d say they both compromised and got their happily-ever-after.”

  “Please. The second Danny saw he’d broken her, he had that stupid letterman’s sweater ripped off. Couldn’t even make it through the first verse of ‘You’re the One that I Want.’ Greedy bastard wanting things how he wanted them.” I tossed the bones onto the plate. “The only sane one was Rizzo. She would have taken one look at the indignity of the catsuit and the flying car and said ‘Fuck this, I’m out.’”

  In a move of stealthy beauty, Ari exchanged a runty wing in his pile for a majestic specimen in mine. “Rizzo wouldn’t have been asked into the car in the first place.”

  I picked up a fork, holding it tynes-out above my remaining wings. “Right? The guys knew that. She’s fierce. She wasn’t going to change for anyone. I am Rizzo. Hear me roar.” I ran a finger along the tynes. “I got distracted by the bullshit car and forgot I was Rizzo.”

  “Jesus,” my brother muttered.

  “Ah.” Kane’s voice was gentle. “You got distracted by a lot more than the car, babyslay. Ro–”

  I jabbed the fork at him. “Say his name and I’ll kick your ass six ways to Sunday.”

  Kane patted his butt. “I see through your pathetic excuse to touch it.”

  My stoner brain was taking over and I was about to get maudlin. Nope. Time to put happy sloshy brain back in the driver’s seat. I motioned to our server for another pitcher, but he was super harried and didn’t see me, so I nudged my brother, who was busy eye-fucking some guy at the bar.

  That was wrong. He should have been eye-fucking Kane. No. Ew. “Less catting around, more paying attention to your tablemates.”

  “You’re just jealous you can’t sample what is so readily available,” Ari replied, twirling a finger around the bar.

  Excuse me? I tapped my fork dangerously against my plate. “Because I accidentally crazy-glued my legs shut?”

  “Because of he-who-shall-not-be-named,” Kane said, disarming my weapon before swiping a wing from me.

  The men fist-bumped.

  “Voldemort?” Peeved, I stabbed the wing back. “No problem. We’re just good friends.”

  Ari rolled his eyes, accompanied by an aggrieved sigh that had totally been my signature move. When I was fourteen.

  “Oh, for the days when you were still a nice guy. Demon torture really changed you, bro.”

  Ari held up his glass in cheers.

  “Nice guys are only good for one thing,” Kane said.

  “What?” I licked glaze off my fingers.

  “Corrupting. And when done right?” Kane drank some beer. I suspected it was more for effect than thirst. “Highly rewarding.”

  Ari made a derogatory sound.

  “I’m sure you’ve had loads of experience with that,” I said.

  Kane shook his head. “Just one.”

  I wadded up my napkin. “Somebody shoot me.”

  My brother gave Kane a lazy smile. “Except you weren’t rewarded that time, were you? Guess you’re not the irresistible sex god you think you are.” He pushed his chair away from the table and sauntered off.

  Kane flicked beer droplets at his back. “That’s rude. I’m exactly the irresistible sex god I think I am.” He left as well, swaggering in the opposite direction from Ari.

  What was actually rude? Me sitting here still drinkless. I elbowed my way through the packed room, following Ari’s path to the bar.

  “What can I get you?” The scruffy bartender trained a polite smile on me.

  I bit down on my bottom lip, wondering what his stubbled jaw would taste like. “Pepper,” I sighed.

  “Pardon?”

  I tore my eyes away from his chin.

  “G bombs.” I amended. My favorite shot of cinnamon schnapps and vodka. I held up two fingers, eavesdropping on the conversation next to me while I waited.

  To be fair, it was more of a monologue, punctuated by vague agreement from the other party. I suspected his lack of participation was because his IQ, like mine, was plummeting at the inanity spewing out of the main speaker. I almost had to bail on my eavesdropping to preserve what little brain function I had left when the monologuist said, “…and then I sobered up and didn’t get the Harry Styles tat.”

  “Wise move,” Ari said to the beautiful boy without a hint of sarcasm.

  “You cannot be this hard up,” I said into my twin’s ear.

  Loud laughter from the far end of the bar flitted over to us. I caught Kane licking salt off rock hard abs, an empty shot glass in his hand and a Cheshire Cat smile on his face.

  “Next round on–” But Ari and Pretty Boy were gone. I was all for no-strings attached hook-ups, but that had never been my brother’s style. Somebody had to be the good twin in our dynamic and since he’d perfected the role, I’d appreciate him staying out of my theatre of shock and awe. That was my leading lady material.

  “Here you go.” The bartender lined my drinks up.

  I paid him, added a generous tip, and slammed the first shot back. The booze warmed my throat, making my battle pain, if not obsolete, then well-obscured. Kudos to my accelerated Rasha healing abilities. I’d still be bruised for a while though, hence the long sleeves tonight.

  “That looks good.” A plus-sized chick on the stool to my left tapped her French manicured nail in front of my remaining shot. She propped her elbow on the bar, head in hand, and tilted her face to mine, her eyes endless pools of brown. Her black hair was pinned in a messy chignon, and she was all curves in her pencil skirt and white tank top.

  “It is,” I said. “Provided you like cinnamon.”

  “Fortunately, I do.”

  The Entertainment Tonight segment on the TV mounted above the bar caught my eye. Specifically the footage of the famous singer on the red carpet last night for some party at Child’s Play, the music fest happening in London to benefit war orphans.

  A flurry of light bulbs flashed in his smug face as he grinned his rock fuck grin for the cameras, decked out in black leather pants and a
metallic black T-shirt, his hair spiked up and eyeliner ringing his gold eyes.

  Rohan Liam Mitra, ladies and gentlemen, the asshole who hadn’t replied to any of my texts because he was on a mission but who now was, apparently, back on the grid and just ghosting me. I downed my second shot, slamming the glass back on the bar hard enough that I checked I hadn’t cracked it.

  “Bad night?” the girl asked.

  “You could say that.” Weeks ago, Rohan had left on a last-minute assignment to Pakistan to hunt down the demons that had killed four Rasha. Fine, had to go where the Powers That Be sent you, I got that. But you didn’t just fire off an arrogant “any questions?” and leave my stunned-yet-perfect self without so much as a third party “Rohan says ‘hey.’”

  I smiled at the woman. “Thanks for asking about my night. It’s more than I can say for my charming companions, wherever they went.” I held out my hand. “Nava.”

  “Audrey.” Her grip was firm, her skin warm against mine.

  As quite the peen aficionado, girls didn’t generally light me up, but there was something heady about her. “Could I buy you a drink?”

  A feline smile spread across her face. “I’d like that.”

  Audrey was smart and funny and mostly kept me from sneaking glances at the TV every three seconds, where Paul McCartney mugged with Rohan as they gave some interview outside the party. Did they not have any other performers to focus on at this stupid event?

  “…and the best part was just jumping off the boat every morning into the tropical waters, in this endless bay of blue.”

  I leaned in closer to catch Audrey’s description of her Vietnam travels over the noise of the bar, her vanilla scent teasing my senses. “That sounds amazing.”

  Her hand skimmed my arm. “It was.”

  Onscreen, the photo frenzy had intensified to the point of me having to blink against the strobing white light. Freaking Shakira was giving Rohan a giant hug. He said something to make her laugh then squeezed her shoulder.

  My supposed fuck buddy had upended my life, smashing through my “no kissing” rule with a kiss that had lit up my soul and quenched an ache inside me. I’d been like a woman so dehydrated, she hadn’t even realized she was dying of thirst.

  Rohan didn’t need to call. I didn’t need to call.

  I eyed the smattering of freckles across Audrey’s collarbone that I intended to lick my way across like a map to nirvana. “Wanna get out of here?”

  She licked a drop of G Bomb off her lower lip, her smile blooming wide and filthy. Excellent.

  3

  “Get out of here” was a relative term. We made it as far as the bathroom, crashing into an empty stall, our lips locked together. I moaned, licking into the corner of her mouth.

  Rohan had left me with a simmering need that my new vibrator couldn’t satisfy, erotic dreams that I couldn’t escape, and a desperate yearning that frequent underwear changes couldn’t accommodate. I craved the glide of skin on skin, fingers plunging, and the taste and feel of lips on mine.

  Audrey rocked her hips against me. I palmed her breast, hot and heavy in my hands, thick-headed with lust.

  The main bathroom door crashed open, Kane’s cheery “Incoming,” booming through the space. There was some giggled shrieking from the women at the sinks and a “Watch the hands,” from my brother.

  The giggling continued through the women’s departure.

  Audrey bit my lower lip, her fingers inching their way up my thigh.

  A stall door banged. Then another one.

  Then ours, catching me in the shoulder as it swung open. “Hel-lo, cherry ChapStick.”

  “Piss off, Kane,” I snapped, not taking my focus off Audrey.

  Audrey twined her leg around my ankle. “What she said.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Ari asked.

  I slammed the graffiti-covered cubicle door shut with my ass and crushed my lips to Audrey’s, sucking on her tongue, the taste of cinnamon driving me wild.

  Ari pounded on the stall door.

  “Boyfriend?” Audrey asked, pulling out of the action.

  I gagged. “Annoying brother.”

  “Who will get more annoying if you don’t stop what you’re doing,” he said from the other side of the stall.

  “That’s rather homophobic of you, Ari,” Kane said. “And hypocritical given what you were up to ten minutes ago. Huh. Maybe hypocritical should have gone first?”

  “Your dad forgot to give him ‘the talk,’” Audrey murmured, her lips trailing up my throat.

  I snickered, then shivered as she sucked a sensitive spot under my ear.

  Another pound on the stall door.

  Growling, I flung it open. “What?!”

  Ari braced his hand on the door so I couldn’t slam it again. “You don’t kiss.”

  “I beg to differ,” Audrey purred. Oh, I liked her.

  “It’s your golden rule,” Ari said.

  “I never met a rule I couldn’t break.” I shooed him off.

  He went nowhere.

  Kane splayed a hand on the counter, gave a horrified look at whatever he’d touched, and washed his hands. “So she wants to open her legs and not her heart. So what?”

  “Aren’t you a charmer?” Audrey drawled.

  “Your place?” I asked Audrey. She nodded and I grabbed her hand, ducking past the assholes in our path, and leading her out of the bathroom.

  Kane strolled alongside Audrey. “It’s not judgment.” He shot a pointed look at Ari keeping pace with me. Stupid Rasha wouldn’t recognize a brush off if it bit them in the ass. “I’m all for living life on one’s own terms.”

  “I know what happened with you and Ro,” Ari said.

  I cut through a knot of women crowding the bar, hoping to ditch him in the fray.

  “Ro?” Audrey said. “Is that your boyfriend?”

  “Ha! No.”

  “He kissed you,” Ari said, rejoining us on the other side of the people cluster. “Then took off. That’s why you’ve been throwing yourself into your work this past month.”

  A server backed into our path.

  Audrey ducked under his drink-laden tray. “Am I being used to punish some guy?”

  “No.” At least, I didn’t think so. “This is none of your business,” I informed Ari. I stopped at our table and grabbed my trench coat.

  “I have to live and work with both of you,” he said. “I don’t want to fucking deal with your collateral damage. Not when I finally got here.”

  I, of all people, understood why being Rasha without further complication mattered so much to him. But it wasn’t fair to assume that, once again, I’d be the roadblock. “There’s nothing to deal with.”

  Ari shifted to block me.

  Kane mimed hitting a bell. “Ding. Corners.” He manhandled a glowering Ari and me onto opposite sides of the table. Audrey came too, since I still had hold of her hand.

  A couple at the next table turned our way as if waiting to be entertained by our drama.

  “Do this,” Kane wagged a finger between me and Audrey, “all you want, babyslay, but after the talk which must be had.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if I were a guy,” I said. Audrey snickered, helping me put on my coat. Chivalry, always a turn-on. “And since Rohan is partying halfway across the world, consider the talk unnecessary.”

  Audrey stepped back. “Wait. Rohan, as in Mitra? As in lead singer of the global chart-topping emo superband Fugue State Five?” she squealed. We all stared at her and she shrugged. “I may have had three or four of their albums. That’s why you couldn’t stop oogling him on TV?”

  “No. I mean, yes, but not like–”

  “You want an introduction?” Ari asked Audrey.

  I stepped on my brother’s foot.

  Kane slapped his hand over his mouth several seconds too late to cover the laugh that burst out of him.

  “I’m more a Janelle Monáe girl now.” Audrey’s hand slipped from my grasp. She pulle
d the clip from her disheveled chignon, her hair dropping like a curtain to her shoulders and hiding the sexy curve of her throat. “We could have had fun but–”

  I reached for her. “No past tense. Present tense.”

  She shook her head, keeping her hands out of reach. “Too much drama for me. Hope things work out for you.”

  “Audrey, please. At least give me your number.”

  She waggled a wave at me over her shoulder and was swallowed up by the crowd.

  I whirled around to face Ari. “Happy?”

  “Just sort your shit out.” On that note, Ari left.

  I lunged for him, Kane catching me around the waist as I batted at the air between me and my brother’s retreating back. “Can you believe him?”

  “He’s scared and lashing out,” Kane said, clapping a hand over my mouth when I opened it to protest. “Think of what he’s been through.”

  I yanked his hand off. “Like I don’t know? I was the one who did everything to get him inducted again.”

  He dropped down into a chair, waving our empty pitcher at a passing server. “Via witchcraft. Not the regular Brotherhood ceremony. Sit. You’re giving me a crick.”

  I pulled off my coat and sat down. “He’s being ridiculous.”

  “His entire life he’d been told he was a chosen one. Then he wasn’t. You were. None of the regular rituals worked on him and the one thing that did make him Rasha was some witchy ceremony. Half of him is convinced it’s temporary and the other half is terrified that even if it isn’t, the Brotherhood will find out and take the magic away.” Kane fixed a strand of his black spiky hair. “He doesn’t want anything that might draw attention or reflect badly on him. As your twin, that includes you.”

  “Like you guys had some big heart to heart?”

  “I don’t do those.” Kane patted his cheeks. “Excess emotion causes age spots.” He beamed at the waitress who had returned with a sloshing pitcher and two clean glasses. “You do get that I’ve known Ari most of his life, right?”