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

by Deborah Wilde

  “Shit,” I whispered.

  “Yeah.” Rohan looked away. I was glad I couldn’t see the pain in his eyes.

  “You don’t have to keep talking.”

  “She says that now,” he muttered, but he angled his body in to mine, resting his chin on the top of my head. I wouldn’t have moved for all the money in the world, his heartbeat slow and steady under my cheek. “We got back to the village, expecting to assure them all was well only to find it ravaged. Everyone–” His voice caught. “Everyone was dead.”

  I tightened my grip on his shirt.

  “The Brotherhood ordered us to burn every shred of their existence then cause a landslide to obliterate all trace of the village. Thwart any rescue effort.” He rubbed his forehead with his fist. “The smell. It was in my nose, my eyes.” His hands bunched and flexed on the edge of the blankets. “You haven’t faced Hell until you’ve put a baby’s corpse into flames.”

  I was a Pantone expert in all the shades of Rohan’s gold eyes, but the hard darkness edging them now as they glittered against the shadowed plains of his face was new to me. I couldn’t imagine the horror and couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound like a hollow cliché. Rohan’s extreme sense of responsibility resulted in a massive burden of guilt he placed on himself, fairly or not. I based this on the little he’d told me about his cousin Asha, and my first-hand experience of it when Samson had kidnapped Lily in Prague. If Rohan was tormenting himself because he’d failed those villagers? Let babies die? I’m amazed he wasn’t catatonic.

  I kissed his T-shirt right over his heart.

  He cleared his throat. “From a tactical standpoint, keeping the existence of demons secret, the order was logical, but it was issued so coldly. We may be Fallen Angels,” he said, referring to the Rashas’ self-appointed nickname, “but I’d have sworn we were on the side of light.”

  “How did you end up in London if the Brotherhood didn’t send you?” I said. “No way would you have gone partying after that.”

  Rohan pulled away, laying back against my mattress.

  I splayed my hand out over his chest.

  He folded his hand over mine. “Forrest wanted to meet in person in the studio with his notes for ‘Hard Knock Strife’ and he’s based out of London.”

  “You finished the theme song.” I gave an excited bounce. I’d only ever heard a teaser and couldn’t wait to hear the whole thing. “But doing the song was part of the mission when we took down Samson, so why was Mandelbaum unhappy you’d gone?”

  “It was only authorized while the mission was active. The Brotherhood wants me to get out of the rest of the contract obligations.”

  “No!” I practically crushed Rohan, leaning on top of him so he could see how serious I was. “You can’t quit making music again.”

  He touched his forehead to mine. “I won’t. Not after all your hard work to get me writing and singing again.”

  “Damn straight.” I slid back down onto the pillow, my head next to his.

  “As for going to Child’s Play? I hadn’t slept for days, replaying everything over and over again. Mahmud had handled a lot of bad shit in Afghanistan and he told me that sometimes the only jolt to the system strong enough to knock you out of the darkness was to immerse yourself in the most superficial candy-ass reality you could. The festival was surreal, that’s for sure.”

  “Why didn’t you call anyone? Talk to your friends?” Maybe I wasn’t inner circle enough but he hadn’t called anyone. Not even Drio.

  “I didn’t want to taint any of you.” He propped himself up on his elbows, his lashes falling across his cheeks as he slanted me a look. “Especially you.”

  “Jesus, Ro.” What was I supposed to say in the face of that? Have the talk, the grown-up voice in my head insisted. Ask him why he regretted the kiss. I didn’t recognize that voice at first because, well. And no way. I tugged at my neckline assuring myself the room still contained oxygen.

  He brushed a curl behind my ear. “The night you did E with Samson,” he said, “you called me ‘Ro’ for the first time. You haven’t done it again until now.”

  I’d needed the emotional distance created by using his full name. Sure, I could call him Snowflake, but for some reason, shortening his name was an intimacy too far. “I guess I haven’t.”

  “So it takes you on drugs or me sharing things that no one else knows for you to stop being formal with me?” He said it teasingly.

  Sharing things that no one else knows? My throat closed up, a light sheen of sweat breaking out over my body. How much of a bitch would I be if I ran from my room? Would my bad karma at abandoning a friend in need be tempered by the fact that I was only fleeing in self-preservation?

  Instead of my legs pumping cartoon-style, leaving a cloud of dust in my wake, I pulled him into a hug. My brain was so stunned at my body’s rogue impulse that I was left speechless.

  Rohan tensed for a second when my arms came around him, then he relaxed against me.

  Our hug went on and on until it stopped being clear who was comforting who. Staring into the shadowy corners of the room, listening to Rohan’s breathing slow into slumber, I spun a fantasy of falling asleep every night with this man. Of waking up to lazy lovemaking or laughter that made me snort.

  Rohan Mitra was not the type to stick around and play house. Even taking the rock star angle out of it, his Rasha duties kept him globe hopping. Besides, what kind of house would it be with all our testosterone-laden roommates, like the Lost Boys on steroids? I wasn’t Wendy and had no desire to play the little woman. Even while dating Cole, my dance dreams had trumped visions of white picket fences. Now I had new heights of Rashadom to conquer. A Brotherhood to expose.

  I stroked a hand through Rohan’s tousled hair and down his back, feeling the long line of his body totally languid as he slumbered against me, his breathing soft and measured. There were times that I looked over at Rohan, amazed at how deceptively relaxed he seemed. Almost insolently lazily, but he was always on high alert. Nothing got past him. In this moment, at least, he’d let down his guard, letting me see to his well-being.

  I was so screwed.

  18

  Night tipped into the perfect stillness of pre-dawn. At some point my manic obsessing had quieted enough for me to fall asleep because I woke up in a pool of sunshine, feeling utterly content. Like multiple-orgasm content. I smiled drowsily and snuggled into my pillows, wrapping my foot around blankets and a familiar leg.

  A familiar leg, wait.

  I bolted up because the reason I was so calm and relaxed was simply from sleeping next to Rohan. I peered over the side of the mattress to see my beloved body pillow and usual recipient of my night-time snuggles on the floor, all bereft.

  “And she’s up.” My pillow-substitute scratched the dark scruff under his jaw. That soft patch of skin I’d discovered the first time I’d licked my way across his body. A secret Rohan treasure.

  I gripped the covers.

  “Is this where you panic? Or insult me?”

  “No,” I huffed.

  He blinked up at me, amused, like a cat. If I could bottle warm, sleepy Rohan, I’d wear it as my new perfume.

  My black panther stuffie Sebastian had rolled into the crook of Rohan’s neck. He patted the toy absently before moving Sebastian to sit on the pillow on his other side.

  I wrenched my gaze away from the disgustingly cute sight and touched the skin under his eyes with my fingertip. “Thirty percent less bags, Snowflake. You slept?”

  “Yeah.” His expression was pure amazement. He trained that golden stare on me with wonder and something that looked like expectation before he flicked it away, rubbing his palms over his goatee. “This itches.”

  “Don’t you dare shave it.” I wanted it scraping over me again, its edge kicking up my pulse, making my skin buzz. I flapped a hand at him. “Or do what you want.”

  Rohan shifted to pull his arm free, brushing his impressive erection against me.

&n
bsp; My shiver turned to a groan.

  He smirked, but didn’t make a second move. So this wasn’t going to be a repeat of what had happened after the cù-sith. How much was Cole’s arrival at the club a factor in all this?

  I wasn’t stupid. I knew what it would take to get a replay and if I wasn’t ready to ask Rohan about the kiss, I wasn’t ready to give him one. Well, that was that. I brushed off my hands, then threw back the covers, ready to get on with my day.

  “Do you want to go out sometime?” I said. Rohan may have been shocked at those words issuing forth from my lips but I was dumbstruck. I quickly glanced around the room to confirm that yes, that had been me that had spoken.

  His eyes flared bright, then dulled, a cautious expression crossing his face. “Like a date?”

  I scrambled out of bed. “Do we have to label it? It’s food and conversation at an agreed upon time.”

  I’d been possessed. That was the only explanation for this insanity spewing out of me. I made a mental note to perform some kind of ritual and find out.

  Rohan grabbed me by my pj top and tumbled me back into his chest. “Buy me breakfast.”

  Well, damn.

  I jutted out my chin. “I can do that.”

  He laughed, burying his face between my shoulder blades. “Only you could turn your own meal invitation into a to-the-death challenge.”

  “Yes, well, I’m special.”

  “Too easy.” He winked at me and left.

  I dressed for my date in skinny jeans and a warm chocolate brown, cowl neck sweater that invited touching, Shakira’s “She Wolf” blasting out of my speakers. I’d forgiven her hugging Rohan. Dressed, groomed, and satisfied with the results, I swiped mascara over my lashes and headed downstairs.

  Rohan was waiting for me in the foyer. He’d paired his bulky black sweater with black pants and not shaved the goatee. I rolled onto the outside edges of my feet, taking a moment from the safety of the hallway to watch him–the strong column of his throat as he tipped his head back and laughed at something he’d read on his phone, the steady strength he projected.

  If we hadn’t been interrupted right after the kiss with his new marching orders, I’m mostly sure that I would have asked him what exactly his problem had been in regards to that lip-lock, but too much time had passed. Too much obsessing had occurred over what had gone down with Lily. There’d been too much hurt that yeah, I was his second choice. I could take on a hoard of demons but adult communication left me wanting to run away very fast.

  Problem was, our “finished and done with” status had gotten a tad blurred. We needed a tectonic upheaval to fix that, which made this outing perfect. I’d catch him off-guard with weirdness and underline that he’d be better off in Los Angeles.

  I stepped forward. “Ready?”

  Rohan smiled. “You better be taking me somewhere good because I’m starving.”

  I grabbed my black trench coat from the closet, pleasantly surprised when he took it from me to help me put it on. “Better than good.”

  Rohan dug his car keys out of his pocket. “I’ll drive.”

  “Nope.” I held out my hand. “Keys, please.” His hand tightened on the keychain. I blinked up at him with my widest, cutest eyes. “Pretty please? I did just fine driving the last time.”

  He looked visibly pained as he unclenched his fist, allowing the keys to fall into my hand.

  I patted his cheek. “Good boy, Snowflake.”

  Rohan sighed in defeat and followed me out to the Shelby. His instructions started the second I sat down: seat placement, how to shift gears, the best way to brake. “Be gentle putting in the key. Shelby has a very sensitive ignition.”

  “Oh my god, you anthropomorphized her. Do I need to rethink this date?”

  “So it is a date.” His eyes gleamed in triumph.

  I tossed my hair back. “An unforgettable date.”

  He steepled his fingers together. “That’s a bold claim.”

  “I’m a bold girl. And my claims are not without merit.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that. Where are you taking me?”

  “We’re going to a fight and then you will be fed delicious food. Happy?”

  “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a wrestling aficionado. All right.” He rubbed his hands together. “Let’s go.” He motioned for me to start the car. To his credit, he tried not to flinch as I did.

  I patted the dashboard as the car roared to life. “We’re going to be great friends, aren’t we, sweetheart?”

  Now for the best part. As the driver, I got to control the music. Rohan ground his teeth but didn’t dispute my choice. Not like the Chet Baker CD wasn’t his to begin with.

  All was well as I drove down the driveway and waited for the gate to open. Rohan’s shoulders even descended a fraction of a millimeter, though that may have been wishful thinking. The trouble came when the gate opened revealing a baby barghest, a demon resembling a mangy black lab puppy with large, glowing eyes. It was trying to cross our wards and failing, bouncing off the ward’s invisible shield at our property line.

  Luckily, the curve of the road and the press of trees between houses ensured that only someone directly at the foot of our driveway would see these demon attacks on the ward line.

  Visitors were discouraged.

  The barghest planted himself in the middle of our path and growled.

  “Can I keep him?” I asked.

  Rohan draped his arm over my shoulders. “A date, a dog. Are you angling for me as the hot not-boyfriend?”

  I shifted into gear and ran the demon over. There was a bump, an audible crunch, and a yelp.

  The last from Rohan. “I’m driving,” he announced with a steely glare.

  I shrugged, amazed I’d even made it this far. We switched places and were off.

  Rohan looked a little dubious when I directed him into the strip mall parking lot with the large Asian supermarket anchoring one end. “Did you need to get something?”

  “Nope.” I tamped down on my grin, leading him inside past the heaping displays of cookie tins and ramen noodles. I hip checked him out of the way of a petite, elderly Chinese woman, barreling down on us with her grocery cart. “You gotta pay attention,” I admonished. “These women let nothing and no one get in the way of their efficient shopping strategies.”

  We veered off from the produce section selling everything from bok choy to taro root, past soya sauce and rice cookers, headed all the way to the back to where bags of gyoza and dim sum dumplings lay stacked in open coolers. Rohan had slowed down, bafflement clear on his face.

  I tugged on his sleeve. “This way.”

  I stopped in front of a massive lobster tank, part of the live fish section running the length of the back wall. The suckers were going at it in no-holds-barred grappling, dancing back and forth trying to get purchase and take their opponent down.

  His dumbfounded look was the most priceless thing I’d ever seen. I half expected him to pull out his phone and start searching flights right then and there.

  “This is the fight?” His voice was a perverse mixture of horror and delight.

  “Yup.” I pointed to the two largest lobsters occupying the center of the tank. “On the left, we have Anchorage Al, the comeback kid. He had a bad couple of years.” I mimed glugging back a bottle. “But he’s hungry to regain his title. Thing is, Claws Kowalski over here?”

  “Not ready to relinquish the title?” Rohan asked.

  “Not even a bit. He’s mean, too. Look at his right hook. Hooks,” I corrected, as the lobster in question waved three legs. “Last chump who got in the ring with Claws lost an eye.”

  A beat passed. And another one. And another one. I tamped down my smug grin. Yup, I’m a weirdo, run away.

  Except he didn’t. Rohan broke into a deep, rich belly laugh, unlike any I’d ever heard from him. He wrapped one arm around his midsection, shoulders shaking, partially bent over. His laughter echoed through the room, an infectious rumble that had s
hoppers looking our way, smiles on their own faces.

  The young female employee manning the long counter threw me a thumbs up.

  Huh?

  His laughter rolled through me, stealing the breath from my lungs, and when his sexy, deep laugh mellowed to a sputtering giggle, I put my hand to my heart.

  “Lobsters,” he snickered. He shot me a look of pure glee. “Brilliant.”

  I recovered with amazing aplomb, rocking back on my heels and hoping it came off as smug and not unmoored. “Told you.”

  Rohan waved a hand at the rest of the tanks. “Some real shifty characters taking in the fight today. Like the bookies over here.” He strode over to the tilapia, flashing silver scales as they swam, spinning a story about these low level minions working for the shuffling crabs crammed in one tank over.

  He pointed at one crab wedged on the bottom jamming his rubber band-wrapped pincers upwards, trying to get on top of the pyramid. “Trying to claw his way to the top. And this guy?” A runty crab had separated from the pile, wriggling away in the corner. “He likes to go dancing but he pulled a mussel.”

  He waggled his eyebrows at me like Fozzie Bear.

  Nope. No. Uh-uh.

  Snickering as he made crustacean puns was not supposed to be a thing. Hot and broody, easily dismissible, rock god demon hunter. That’s it. No facets. No being able to get nerdy and silly and into this ridiculous date that I’d always wanted to share with someone.

  I followed him in growing agitation as he punned his way through the rest of the fish. When we reached the end of the row, I was so worked up that I needed a time out to collect myself. “You hungry?”

  He nodded. “Starving.”

  “Then I shall feed you. Go outside and look to the right. There’s a bench. Wait for me there.” When he was safely out of visual range, I stuck my face in a freezer, wondering what Pandora’s Box I’d opened here and trying to remember whether or not that particular myth had ended well.