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

by Deborah Wilde

  “Didn’t know that, did you?” Ari asked in a smug voice.

  Bastard. I hadn’t. “How’s your dick, brother dear?” Phrasing. I grimaced. “Retract that. Because we’re not Flowers in the Attic type of twins.”

  The more the guys stared at me, Ari horrified, Kane incredulous, and Rohan shaking with silent laughter, the less control I seemed to have over my mouth. Or maybe it was the fourth G&T that I’d had.

  “No sir,” I said, laughing heartily. “Only perfectly normal interactions in our family.”

  “Can you please leave me alone?” Ari said.

  “I mean our mom used to make us share baths,” I rambled as Rohan ran his fingers along my hip, the flimsy material of my silver hip huggers an inconsequential barrier to his searing touch. “But that ended before Kindergarten. Though I did accidentally see his penis once when we were twelve but we were at a pool and–”

  “Keep babbling,” Rohan said. “It’s stupidly cute.”

  I snapped my mouth shut.

  “And what?” Kane prompted. “We were just getting to the good part.”

  “And I need a drink,” I said.

  “Make mine a double,” Ari instructed.

  “What do you want?” Kane’s hand slid up to the back of Ari’s neck.

  Ari turned half-lidded eyes to Kane.

  Now I needed two drinks. My vision of them together was Sweet Valley High not 50 Shades. Why couldn’t people stay in the boxes I put them?

  “You’re paying,” I informed Rohan as we muscled our way to the bar. It was the least he could do.

  I’d just put in my order when some guy in a flashy suit and overinflated ego offered to pay for my drink. I thanked him, refusing.

  He wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. His buddies chimed in, intent on convincing me.

  Rohan raised an eyebrow. He’d step in and help if I required it, but ignoring pushy men was a skill set most women sadly had to acquire at a young age. I shook my head, took my drink, and steered Snowflake away from the group, their slanderous comments growing meaner and louder as I left.

  They weren’t worth any more energy.

  I sank onto a sofa. “What a bunch of twats.” I sipped my icy G&T, fanning myself with one hand. It must have been ninety degrees in here.

  Rohan took off his fedora, using it to fan me.

  “What would you call a bunch of twats? A pride?” I asked.

  He plopped the fedora on my head, a grin catching one corner of his mouth. “A murder?”

  “A crash,” I countered.

  “A fuck load.” He adjusted the hat to a more rakish angle, his grin crumpling into a naughty smile. His eyes met mine, easy and alight with amusement.

  I leaned in–

  “Avon.”

  I jerked away from Rohan, breaking into a smile to hide my brain stuttering on Cole showing up now. Here. “Cole.”

  Rohan’s lips flattened out. “That’s twice.”

  Huh? “Hey, you. I thought I was supposed to call you. Later.”

  Cole leaned over to kiss my cheek. “I was excited to see you.”

  Rohan snorted.

  “That’s sweet,” I said with a pointed look at Rohan.

  Cole stuck his hand out. “Hey, sorry, man. I’m Cole.”

  “Rohan.” He shook Cole’s hand. I tensed but there were no breaking of bones. So this didn’t bother Rohan?

  Cole failed to recognize Rohan. To be fair, he’d never been a Fugue State Five fan and back then, Rohan had had platinum hair that fell into his face, eyes rung with eyeliner, and graphic vintage Ts. He was not that boy anymore.

  Objectively there was no comparison between the two of them. Cole’s attractiveness caused hearts to beat 70% faster but Rohan’s sent them into cardiac arrest. Then again, Cole had broken my heart and I couldn’t help but dock his attractiveness factor for that. Though he got points because I’d loved him. Argh.

  The two of them looked to me, like I should be furthering the conversation, making some kind of decision, or doing some action. Yes. Taking action.

  I finished my drink.

  Rohan clapped Cole on the back. “Good meeting you.” He left, getting about ten feet before some other chick stopped to talk to him.

  Oh no, she didn’t.

  Rohan placed his hand on the small of her back and led her away, his head bent close to hers to catch what she was saying. Lasering the crowd didn’t lead to X-ray vision and thus eyes on his activities.

  Cole took my hand in his. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

  This was where I twisted a curl around my finger, batted my eyes, and purred that I’d been thinking about him, too. I pulled on a chunk of hair with my free hand, blinked owlishly, and squeaked, “Okay.”

  “Give me a second chance. Being with you is so–”

  “Easy.”

  He laughed, a puzzled frown between his brows. “That too, I guess. You said you wanted a do-over. Did you mean it?”

  I’d only meant it in the context of that one night, but with our fingers intertwined and all of him focused so completely on me, I knew that part of me would always fit perfectly with him.

  I squeezed his hand.

  “Then give us another shot,” he said.

  It didn’t matter that my brain was chanting “Bastard. Broke your heart. Stomp on his head.” Cole was letting this be my call and once upon a time, before dashed dreams and demon hunting, there had been a boy and a girl wrapped up in a shiny uncomplicated love.

  Maybe there was still a sliver of that left.

  The flash of a fedora caught my eye but it wasn’t Rohan.

  Cole glanced in the direction I’d been looking but there was nothing to see. He leaned in toward me, his lids falling half-shut, pausing until I gave the tiniest nod, and kissed me.

  His kiss melted like sugar on my lips. It was sweet and tender, his hand on the back of my head. It was Cole and it was me and I was floating. I wound my hands into his hair, tasting Tic Tacs, innocence, and lost love.

  I broke the kiss.

  “Did I convince you?” he asked with a cheeky grin.

  “You devastated me.”

  The grin disappeared. “I know.” He let out a slow steady breath. “Is that a no? Tell me the truth.”

  “The truth is…” I hunt demons and am trying to blow open a patriarchal secret society and there’s this other guy who… I sighed. “… I’m not sure.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll wait.”

  Talk about things getting messy. I patted his knee and left. I didn’t see Rohan on my way out.

  17

  Leo didn’t answer any of the messages I left on the cab ride home.

  Trying–and failing–not to read too much into it, I proceeded into my bedroom, changed into loose cut-off sweats and a faded T-shirt saying “tap dancing is my superpower,” grabbed my tap shoes, and headed into the basement. While most of the space down there was taken up by the Vault, I’d commandeered a little-used room as my own personal studio, setting up a small portable tap floor. Ms. Clara had procured me a plush sofa, a nicked up coffee table, and a docking station. I loved it.

  The creaks and ticks of the old house settling were already as familiar to me after my short time living here as those at my parents’ place had been. I didn’t bother turning on the lights. There was enough moonlight to make my way downstairs without crashing into anything.

  I slowed as I passed the thick iron door to the Vault, tempted to check on the gogota, but I decided to leave well enough alone. Up ahead a spill of light came from my little studio. As did the soft strains of an unfamiliar song. Hell no. Whoever was in there didn’t get to drive me out of the sole girl refuge in this place. I strode in to the room. “No boys allowed.”

  “Yeah, well, some of the boys in your life are assholes.” Was that a Cole dig? Rohan sat on the sofa, hair mussed, wearing only a pair of gray pajama bottoms. He had a guitar slung across his lap, his bare foot perched on the edge of the coffee table. He hadn’t r
emoved the polish and even more than his tight six-pack, it was the blue nails on those strong fingers strumming softly that made my insides all gooey.

  Still holding my tap shoes, I clasped my hands behind my back. “Did you make a new friend at the club?”

  He glanced up at me, still playing. “Did you make an old one?”

  “I didn’t tell you to leave.”

  “Not in words.”

  He was right. I should have handled Cole’s arrival better. “Can we agree upon mutual horribleness and call a truce?”

  “We can.”

  I dropped my shoes on the ground.

  His strumming stopped. “You came down here to dance?”

  “Yeah.” A pencil and sheet music lay scattered in front of him. “Are you writing original music?” I craned my neck to see if it was the song for his mom but he flipped the page over.

  “Mmm hmm. Should I leave?”

  “You suck.” I sat down next to him and slid my tap shoes on.

  “Can I watch?”

  The way he asked sent a dark thrill coursing through me. “You’ll have to work for it.”

  His lips quirked in a grin. “Yeah? What do I have to do?”

  “Accompany me.” Ever since I’d started dancing again, I’d used his songs at least once a session. Having him here live? It was too good an opportunity to pass up.

  Rohan rubbed his hamsa ring against his lip. “How do you want it? Fast or slow?”

  “Fast.” I trailed my fingers along the top of his guitar. “Funky.” Along the back of his hand. “Freeing.”

  Rohan’s eyes flashed. He steadied the guitar.

  I moved into the middle of my tap floor and signaled him with a “bring it” flick of my fingers.

  He launched into the song and I laughed. “‘Start Me Up.’ That’s not yours,” I said.

  “You didn’t specify,” he chided.

  “Negotiation failure. Shame on me.” I could work with this. I listened to the intro, deciding on a straight percussion to his melody. Dancing was bliss; I exalted in the vibrations from my metal taps rolling through my body and the fat sounds bouncing off the walls.

  Listening to music, making music, being music. My body thrummed, my cheeks aching from grinning as I moved.

  Rohan whistled at my one-footed wings, launching from The Stones into “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” From there it was a wild ride through “Paradise City” and “Seven Nation Army.” It was the weirdest playlist I’d ever improv’d to, but it was also really fun, forcing me outside my comfort zone. And how par for the course was that with him?

  Our relationship, such as it was, was the antithesis that Cole’s and mine had been. It was exhausting.

  Exasperating.

  Exhilarating.

  It would have been so much easier if I all felt for Rohan was sexual attraction, but I respected his intellect and abilities. He made me laugh and he pushed me to grow. I’d been challenged as a dancer but never to find my full potential overall.

  Halfway through “Pumped Up Kicks,” I waved my hands for mercy.

  “Noooo,” he wailed. “Don’t stop. You’re amazing.”

  I blushed and wiped my forehead with the hem of my shirt. “I’m also dying.”

  “One more.” He pressed his hands together in supplication. “Very slow. I promise.”

  “One more.” I clapped my hands at the opening chords, instantly recognizing them. “‘Rainbow Connection.’ That was my favorite song as a kid.”

  “Me too.” He adjusted the guitar. “Dance with me?”

  I bit my lip, my cheeks hitting maximum blush under his steady scrutiny. “Yes.”

  Rohan sang to me about the lovers and the dreamers, drinking in every step of my soft shoe, his voice wrapping around me. A current of recognition for a kindred soul arced between us. That whole not knowing where he stopped and I started? I’d had that with him during sex. That had been freaky enough since I’d never experienced it with anyone else. But the twining of his singing and my dancing was an intimacy I didn’t even know I could feel.

  Or have.

  Or want.

  The final chord rang out, my drumming heels fading out along with it. In the charged silence I asked him the one thing he didn’t expect. “What happened in Pakistan?”

  His harsh exhale reminded me of knives. Ironic since his superpower was turning himself into a human blade and his internal demons involved slashing himself with guilt over the death of his cousin and the person he’d become at the height of his fame. I thought I’d been helping him with those demons by getting him to return to his music, but this didn’t look like progress.

  He gazed off, his features lapsing into blankness. “Does it matter?”

  “I dunno,” I flopped onto the couch and untied my shoes, kicking them off, and wriggling my toes. “I’m trying to figure out what does.”

  “To what end?”

  “Does it matter?” I grabbed my tap shoes and headed upstairs.

  Taking my second shower of the day, I scrubbed at my skin with the loofah hard enough that I emerged pink as a newborn. I’d brought a clean pair of pjs into the bathroom with me and I guess on some level I’d been expecting to find Rohan in my room when I came out because I wasn’t surprised to see him sitting on the edge of my bed.

  I unscrewed the lid of my coconut oil, rubbing a dollop along my arms. “You need to talk to someone.”

  He nodded, though whether in actual agreement or to placate me, I couldn’t tell, since from where I stood, only the back of his head and the tense line of his shoulders was visible.

  I kept an eye on him as I moisturized. He didn’t relax. Not even by the time I’d returned the glass jar to my bathroom and brushed my teeth. This boy needed Prozac stat. But since I didn’t have that…

  “Do you want to sleep here tonight?”

  That startled him out of his trance. “What?”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Just sleep.” See Nava slide a bit farther down the slippery slope. “Ari used to crash in my room when he had nightmares as a kid. It helped.” Not that Rohan would be sleeping in a sleeping bag on the floor.

  “No.” He swung himself off the bed, walking to the door with balled fists.

  I rubbed my chin, my brows scrunching together. He liked sleeping next to me, so what…? Ah. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

  He stopped in the doorway, his cool gaze tipped with gold. “You don’t know that.”

  No. I didn’t. I busied myself retying the string in my waistband to refrain from touching the spot where he’d nicked my throat when I’d woken him from his nightmare. A frisson of fear danced down my spine, but I’d offered and I wasn’t going to renege. “Eh. What’s life without danger?” I folded back the covers and patted the bed.

  An odd expression came over his face. Oh, no. Quit looking at me like I’m throwing you a lifeline. Now I wanted to renege for a whole other host of reasons.

  I snapped off the overhead light and crawled into bed, feeling like I was stepping into wildly uncharted territory. Rohan was just as hesitant as he slid in next to me.

  “Good-night, Snowflake.”

  “Good-night.”

  I stared up at the ceiling. Why did his presence make me feel both steadier and shakier? I inched my hand toward the heat he was generating, brushing his. He hooked our pinky fingers together.

  I swallowed. Okay. I edged my body closer. He did too. Beyond that, neither of us moved. Neither of us instigated anything sexual and it was fine. Better than fine. When had he become my zone o’ contentment? I was so caught up in the implications of that terrifying thought that I almost missed what he said.

  “The other Rasha.” Rohan’s eyes were fixed on the ceiling. “They died hunting yaksas demons. Do you know what those are?”

  It was a fair question given I was playing catch up on twenty years of demon studies, but I’d actually studied this type. Fanged, horned, and nasty. That explained the bone fragment Rohan had. He must have
broken it off one of the demons before he killed him. “Yeah.”

  “The demons had been crossing the border into India from their base in Nepal and from there trekking to the Gilgit-Baltistan region in Pakistan. They were targeting Askuchar which is this isolated village in the mountains.” He smiled. “Village is a flattering term. Less than two thousand people. Stone houses, half of them falling into rubble. But the air?” He gave a happy rumble. “The sweetest, freshest air I’ve ever breathed. And that view.” He swept a hand out, drawing the panorama for me. “Sharp white-peaked mountains tinged with blue. One of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen.”

  “It sounds gorgeous. But the demons weren’t coming for the scenery. What was the draw?”

  “We never figured out why they were attracted to this particular place. Random choice, because of its isolation, or something else?” He punched his pillow with steady pounds as he spoke, beating all the puff out of it. “The demons were using it like their personal buffet. Coming back night after night feeding off these people and tossing aside any parts they didn’t feel like eating.”

  My hand flew to my mouth. “Kids?”

  “Everyone. The villagers were terrified.”

  “But the Rasha stopped the demons, so why were you sent overseas?”

  “Because one of the demons was a female and it was spring. That meant there were eggs somewhere. Those creatures mature fast, so my buddy Mahmud who’s usually based out of Kabul, asked me and another hunter Michel to come help track.”

  “Did you find the eggs?”

  “After a couple of weeks. They’d hatched but we got the babies before they were strong enough to be doing more than foraging small animals locally.”

  “That put a stop to it, right?”

  Another harsh laugh and lapse into silence. I’d lost him again and I really didn’t want to hear the reason why.

  Practically holding my breath, I curled into him, resting my head on his shoulder. Stroking his arm in comfort.

  Rohan released my hand. I tensed, but he slid his arm under me to pull me even closer. “All our books and databases and we’re still fumbling around with our heads up our asses so much of the time.” His hold on me tightened. “Fun new fact. Yaksas divide their eggs into two stashes before hiding them.”