The Unlikeable Demon Hunter: Need (Nava Katz Book 3)

by Deborah Wilde

  “Wow.”

  “The point is,” she said, “he was buddies with Davide. So if you called him?”

  I dropped my head into my hands. As a Rasha, I’d had my fair share of trials. Made sacrifices. Calling my ex might not have been the worst one, but damn, it sucked hard. I allowed myself a count of ten and five deep breaths before I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and punched in the number that I could still reel off three years later. Mostly because the last four digits spelled “cute.”

  “Hello?” Cole’s rich baritone had been one of his best features, at odds with his adorkableness. It had always given me a little rush. Still did, though not for the same reason.

  I wiped my damp palms on my skirt at this first contact since our horrible blow-up fight when he’d walked out of my life in the waiting room at physio because he couldn’t handle my “dance shit.” Cleared my throat a couple of times. “Hey, Cole. It’s Nava.”

  Dead silence except for the sound of a video game on TV in the background. I could picture his owlish blink of surprise behind his glasses. “Hi. How are you?”

  “Great. Listen, I was wondering if we could meet up?”

  “I dunno, Avon.”

  My heart clutched at the sound of his old nickname for me. My name, Nava, backwards that had mutated into Avon somehow. “It’s not about us. I’m doing some work for my dad.”

  “Yeah? That’s great. Following the old man into the legal profession?”

  “Yes. I am justice system affiliated.”

  Leo facepalmed.

  “Anyways, your friend Davide? I’m really sorry for your loss, but there are questions about…” Wide-eyed, I mouthed “help.”

  “A potential medical condition being missed,” she whispered. Thank you, private investigator bestie.

  “A potential medical condition being missed that could have contributed to his death,” I said. “If I could find out a bit more about him, it might mean his family getting insurance money.” Dad always said people were open to talking if money was involved.

  “Oh. Sure.”

  “Great. Could we meet?”

  He paused before answering with a reluctant, “I guess so. You know Beta house up at Simon Fraser?”

  “Yup.”

  “They’re having a party tonight. Meet me there around nine.”

  I mimed shooting myself in the head. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” There was a weighted silence. “It’ll be good to see you.”

  “You too.” I hung up, throwing the phone at Leo.

  “Scale of one to ten awful?” she asked, catching it before it shattered against the wall.

  “Six and counting. For the record,” I handed her a meal and drink ticket. “I hate you.”

  She smooched my cheek and hustled off, my misery forgotten in her quest for food. Goblins had extremely fast metabolisms packed into tiny bodies.

  Reuniting with my ex at a frat party. If disembowelment wasn’t an option, I couldn’t come up with a better way to spend a Friday night.

  When I got back to the chapter house later, I updated Ari that he’d get to spend tonight around two of his least favorite things: Cole and frat boys. Then I headed into the kitchen and switched on the electric kettle to make myself some chamomile tea. Coffee would make me postal and I was jittery enough. 14,200 seconds until I saw Cole again. I stared at a point on the tree outside the window to keep my mind blank, filling the infuser with loose tea.

  I was assaulted with images of the greatest hits of our relationship, like our endless exchange of notes before the day I found him in front of my locker with a crumpled paper that he’d stuffed into my hand before racing off. I’d had just enough time to see it was a heart with a time, place, and question mark on it, and yell “yes” before he’d disappeared around the corner. He’d popped his head back around, a giant grin on his face, and given me a thumbs up. Or our first kiss in the snow under a streetlamp, after which he’d wrapped his scarf around my neck and I’d floated home. The time we’d ditched school one hot June day and snuck off to the waterslides, laughing and singing only the cheesiest of boy band songs all the way out there in his mom’s car.

  The whistling kettle snapped me out of my failure of a meditative state. Waving off the steam, I poured the boiling water into my mug, took a sip, and immediately spat it out. The chamomile tasted of lawn clippings and Mother Nature’s pubes.

  I fished a bag of berries from the freezer, dumping some in the blender along with vanilla yogurt, orange juice, and ice cubes. I flicked the power on, then broke off a hunk of cheddar, nibbling on it for my protein fix.

  While Ms. Clara kept our kitchen fully stocked, being Rasha didn’t come with an on-site chef and I sucked balls at feeding myself. However, with Ari and me on an official mission, I vowed to take better care of my person. There could be no slip-ups on this job.

  Thirty seconds later, I flicked off the blender, opened the lid and dipped my finger in. “Un peu plus.”

  “You’re mad I didn’t take you to Child’s Play.” Rohan leaned his elbows on the counter, infringing on my personal space. Jeez silent ninja, wear a bell or something.

  I took my time fitting the lid on the blender, scrambling to jump from memories of Cole to Rohan’s arrogant assumptions. “Is that the impression you got? Interesting.”

  I jabbed the “on” button, my hand on the lid. Staring at him with a customer service smile. No wonder Ari pulled this cool questioning shit on me, because Rohan’s tight expression was intensely satisfying.

  Rohan crossed his arms, waiting until the blender morphed from grinding noise to death throes wheeze and I was forced to shut it off. “Nava–”

  Face impassive, I let ’er rip again.

  Rohan yanked the plug out of the wall, holding the cord hostage. “I think we should discuss what happens next.”

  I poured my smoothie into a glass. “Do you.”

  “You don’t?” His bland tone made my hackles rise.

  My hand tightened on the glass. “As I’m working with Ari now, you’re not my CO anymore. Plus, we’re done, so we don’t have anything to talk about.”

  Rohan prowled closer. “I can think of one or two topics.”

  I put up a hand to stop his progress, my motion bringing him up short a scant inch from my palm. Did his heart race as furiously as mine? “Such as?”

  “The attacks in Prague.”

  Only years of performance training kept my shoulders from sagging. “They’re not your concern.”

  He bristled. “That’s not your call.”

  “Wanna bet? This conversation is over.”

  Rohan took my hand. I leaned back, having caught myself swaying in to smell him, but all he did was press the blender plug into my palm, folding my fingers over it. “Not by a long shot,” he said.

  “Hold your breath and wait for it to happen.” My anger was so thick it choked me and yet, one kind word, one tender gesture might have diffused it.

  Rohan spun on his heel, yanked the fridge open and pulled out a can of root beer. He popped the tab with a sharp snap.

  I busied myself washing the blender and pretending I didn’t feel the weight of his stare on my back. Drying it off, I crossed the kitchen to put the appliance back on its base on the counter.

  “Damn it.” Rohan grabbed my wrist. “Nava.”

  “I swear, I’m getting that dog. Today.” I jerked free and kept walking.

  “Please.” His voice was soft and gentle.

  I closed my eyes briefly as I returned the blender to its proper place. “What?”

  “I need…”

  I turned to catch the fire of his gold gaze. “What?” It came out in a whisper.

  Rohan stepped forward. The air between us thickened with the gravity of his expression and my ache to have him finish that sentence with one simple word.

  My every muscle strained with the effort of keeping still.

  His voice dropped to a growl. “To know.” He raked a h
and through his hair. “About the Brotherhood.”

  Hollow disappointment kicked through my chest. “Like I said, there’s nothing to talk about.”

  Only once he’d left did I spin away from the blender, open the cupboard over the fridge, and reach up for the bottle of vodka stashed there. I poured a generous slug of booze into my drink, raised it in cheers to the universe, and chugged it back.

  6

  Putting on clothing applicable for this frat party was akin to willingly inviting in chlamydia. Cole had texted me to say that the theme was “naughty schoolgirl.” Really? “All you need is love” was a theme. “No man is an island” was a theme. “Naughty schoolgirl” was a reminder not to leave my drink unattended.

  And yet, here I was.

  The frat party was less annoying than expected. Though I came to that conclusion after the delicate soufflé of cannabis, a shot of McCallum’s, and the half of an Atavan that I’d found in a medicine cabinet had kicked in.

  I waited for my ex to arrive, appreciating the “art imitates life” moment as I stood on a sticky patch in the corner trying to fend off some guy pushing me to dance and wishing I was at home, while Alessia Cara sang about being in that exact situation over the stereo in “Here.”

  I’d just managed to rid myself of him when from across the room, atmospherically decorated with multicolored Christmas lights, Ari met my eyes. He’d forgone a costume, and honestly, the rest of us in our sexed-up high school get ups looked ridiculous next to his all-black badassery. His chin jerk and glance sideways indicated “incoming.”

  I steeled myself.

  A cold Coke was shoved into my hand. “I’m not actually an asshole,” Cole said.

  “Evidence to the contrary.” I frowned at the pop.

  “Did you want something else?” he asked. “I know you don’t drink because of–”

  I swiped the red Solo Cup he was holding and knocked a third back, before sticking him with the Coke.

  “…Dance,” he finished up.

  “Things change.” I tapped the cup. “Unlike your disgusting habit of mixing 7Up with beer, you lightweight.”

  He grinned at me.

  My eyes trailed down his school boy tie and along the V of his fitted shirt and vest, looking for the connection between the guy standing before me with the gelled hair, his glasses replaced with contacts that made his green eyes pop, and my first love.

  It was still Cole, but sexy Cole. I wasn’t sure if that made this encounter easier or not.

  “You gonna try to man me up?” His eyes warmed and I laughed.

  “Yeah, remember how well that went the last time.”

  When we were sixteen, he’d gotten so bummed about his skinny frame that he’d enrolled in extreme boot camp. I remembered him moaning on the ground, telling me he’d die if he had to do another sit-up.

  Then I remembered him moaning for other, more pleasant reasons. I got lost in the memory of him propped above me, biting his lip when we’d lost our virginity together because he was so worried that he was hurting me–which he had, and talk about lackluster first time.

  Still.

  I curled a lock around my finger. “I dunno. Do you need manning up?”

  He hooked a finger into his belt loop. “Do you think I do?”

  And wouldn’t that be the massive win I’d been after, to bang my ex’s brains out, to have sex and not have to think a damn thing about it if I didn’t want to, and then to walk away first. Hot not-boyfriend achieved. Also closure. A shit-ton of that.

  He smirked and I snapped my gaze away, taking a long drink. As I lowered the cup, I caught Ari frowning at me, before he nodded absently at something one of the people in his group was saying.

  “You look good.” Cole’s eyes lingered on me. More precisely, lingered on the old schoolgirl tap costume that had been conservative when I was fourteen, but was “thematically” appropriate for tonight. My white button down shirt strained across my breasts, ending in a knot under my rib cage, while my bare thighs peeked out from the red plaid skirt that sat low on my hips. “Really good.”

  “Yeah, I do.” Suck it, buddy. I’d be lying if I hadn’t planned this outfit knowing that Cole would be picturing me in dance sweats.

  He ducked his head. “I’m sorry, Avon.”

  As apology gestures went, it wasn’t what I’d dreamed of. That had been more him falling prostate in remorse at my feet before I kicked him in the balls then stepped over his body to drive off into the sunset in my hot boy toy’s ’67 Shelby Mustang. I shook my head. His Maserati.

  Cole did that nose scrunch thing that I’d once found so adorable. “I freaked out when you got hurt and that’s no excuse. Trust me, my ex–” He swallowed the rest of that sentence.

  I set the cup down on the window ledge. The hits I took for this gig. “You dated after me. You can say it. I’ll even go so far as to assure you that I don’t require your eternal monkdom in atonement.” ’Course I wouldn’t have said no to castration.

  “Consider me grateful.”

  The 70s classic “Ain’t No Sunshine” pumping out of the speakers morphed into a mash-up with “Toccata and Fugue.” Rohan’s first hit and the song that had come to represent everything confusing and tangled up about our relationship. Such as it was. Or, as of yesterday, wasn’t.

  “How about you?” Cole fiddled with the tab on the pop can. “Seeing anyone?

  “Nope. Though I was screwing the lead singer of Fugue State Five on a regular basis.”

  “Even in fantasy land, as if.” Cole laughed and put the Coke down. “Remember the impressions you used to do of him performing with a giant ego-inflated head like it was a helium balloon?”

  I laughed too. Weaker.

  The lush bassline of this funky remix slid through my veins, leaving me wide open for Rohan’s famous singing rasp to wrap around my bones and shiver up my spine.

  “The girl with the lightning eyes and the boy with demons in his soul,” Rohan sang.

  “All kidding aside,” I pressed Cole’s hand between my own. “I’m not seeing anyone right now.”

  A slow lazy smile spread across his face. “Good.”

  My heart didn’t do a flip precisely but nostalgia did snag it, sinking in a hook and making it twinge. “Isn’t it just? Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

  While he caught me up on the past couple of years, mostly filling me in about his business courses and the cabin his parents had finally bought on one of the nearby Gulf islands, I traced my fingers over his palms. Once upon a time, I’d memorized the feel of them roaming over my body. Now the totality of Rohan crowded out memories of other men.

  “Ow.” Cole pulled his hand away, shaking out his fingers that I’d been crushing. “Iron grip there, lady.”

  “Sorry.” My breathy giggle and head toss were pathetic but Cole didn’t comment.

  Luckily, it was a new day with plenty of room for new memories. I shifted closer to Cole. Partially for privacy but partially to make him lean in.

  Ari made a “get on with it” motion from his side of the room.

  “What can you tell me about Davide?” I tapped my index finger against my lips, drawing his gaze to my mouth. “Could he have been high or drunk that night?” Certain demons preferred their victims unconscious so if Davide had blacked out after attending some campus party, like say, one here at this frat, that might narrow the list of possibilities.

  Cole gave a chin jerk and a “hey” to some frat boys. “Davide smoked pot occasionally but he didn’t drink. Kept him too hungover to rock climb. And he was super stoked about climbing the Chief the next day, so he was probably sober.” The Chief was a nearby mountain and popular rock climbing destination. “Didn’t you say something about an undiagnosed medical condition?”

  It didn’t even occur to him that I might be lying to him about why I was here. About who I was.

  “Uh, yeah. I’m just ruling things out.”

  There was a bright burst of laughter over to our le
ft from a couple utterly wrapped up in each other. I drank in their easy familiarity, the way their bodies angled towards each other, their pinky fingers hooked together. That need to be connected at all times. Cole and I had had that once. That underlying thrum of awareness that I was his and he was mine.

  Unlike Rohan and I. Except… I flashed back to our time in Prague: Rohan’s excitement at showing me Dancing House, the blazing hunger on his face when he’d seen me after his performance, his fury when he’d realized that the Brotherhood had sent the gogota after me. And the kind of kiss I’d never even dreamed was possible.

  “I wonder if it could have been a side effect of the meds he was on.” Cole hadn’t noticed me lost in my thoughts.

  I pulled my hand away from my lips. “What meds?”

  “Sleeping pills.”

  The back of my neck prickled.

  Cole nudged my drink aside to sit on the ledge, patting the spot next to him.

  I sat down. “What was the problem?”

  “Not sure,” he said, “but he’d started going to some sleep clinic over on the west side.”

  Nightmare demon? It would fit the crimes and a sleep clinic was the perfect place to troll for victims.

  Cole lay his hand on my thigh, the warmth of his skin seeping into mine. “I don’t want to talk about Davide anymore.”

  “Hmm. Whatever topic could interest you, Mr. Harper?”

  “Let’s roll.” Ari showed up, not even pretending to acknowledge Cole.

  “Hey, Ari,” Cole said, with a friendly smile. “How are you?”

  Ari trained a fake smile back at him. “I’m great, Cole. How are you? Good? Great. We done?” Ari and Cole hadn’t gotten along before he’d dumped me. Now? Yikes.

  Cole laughed. “Wow. Golden boy not minding his manners. Shocking.”

  “Cole.” I shook my head at the use of his old nickname for my perfect twin, but Ari didn’t need me standing up for him.

  “You never knew me, Harper. Don’t act like you do now.”

  Cole blinked at the silky menace in Ari’s voice.

  My stomach dropped and I pushed in between them. “Ari is my ride so…”