I made sure that he made it inside okay, then planted myself in front of Rohan. “You’re a total bastard.”
“You’ll need to be clearer with your complaints than that.”
I shoved his arm. “Witchy Witch?”
Rohan chuckled. His gold hamsa ring caught the moonlight, flashing against the deep black of his bulky sweater. “You gonna quit wasting time trying to be in charge and just admit it’s better if we’re partners on this?”
“Will you give me the books?”
“Under supervision, yes.”
I cocked my fingers at him like a gun. “Great. Partners.”
“Liar.”
Obviously. “Not at all. I need to test the spine for magic and if that means we need to be partners, I won’t fight it. Let’s get a-spellin’.”
He scooted over. “What happened to your face?”
“How quickly we forget accusing me of control issues, person who is not producing the spell books.”
“This isn’t controlling things. It’s important bonding talk between partners.”
“I stand corrected. You’re a total bastard, intractable, and full of shit.” I huffed a laugh, and sat next to him so he could get the full glory of my broken, swollen, blood-clogged nose. “Ghoul.”
“You live a full and exciting life.” He one-arm hugged me.
Disgust with myself at how badly I was drawn to his touch, his steady presence, and yeah, his concern, didn’t prevent me from cuddling into him. I was a moth to his flame. And that always worked out so well for the moth.
I craned my neck to take in the night sky. Thanks to light pollution, only a few stars twinkled overhead, but the moon cast a cool, serene glow. The deep pull of a tugboat’s horn far out in the water floated over to us. “Did you think about me this past month?” I asked.
“Maybe.”
Unable to stop myself, I nipped at his goatee, feeling his sharp inhale vibrate between our bodies. “Liar.” I leaned back against the hood, desperate to redirect the adrenaline bouncing around inside me. Desperate for his fingers biting into my shoulders as he made my body sing. “Fuck me on the Shelby.”
He looked aghast. “It’ll scratch.”
I sat up, smacking his shoulder. “It’ll scratch?”
“It’s a custom paint job.”
“Wow.” I jumped off the hood. “You lost your shot at the ultimate wet dream made real, buster.”
“Nava,” he purred. He leveled his rock fuck grin at me. The one I generally stood zero chance of withstanding.
“Forget it. The offer is rescinded.”
I breathed out, trying to regain control, an impossible feat with him standing so close and filling my vision. Plus, the pain still riding me like I was its prison bitch.
He amped the ante, standing up and shooting me a smoldering look.
“Don’t you work your sex eye voodoo on me,” I said waspishly.
Rohan nudged me back against the bumper, gently pushing my butt onto the hood. He knocked my legs aside to stand between them, one hand braced on either side of me, shutting out the rest of the world. His spicy scent washed over me in tantalizing waves. It almost neutralized the dead corpse smell still burning my nose hairs.
He slid his hands into the back pockets of my jeans and tugged me closer. “I thought about you.”
I curled my fingers into his belt loops. “Yeah? Doing what?”
That earned me a wolfish grin. He skimmed his hands up my sides.
“Tease.” I ran my hands over his muscles strung tight across his corded torso. Drank in that volcanic gaze he trained on me leaving no doubt that despite this other crap between us, this mutual need and want was so real.
“What are you going to do about it?” He nipped my fingertip hard, amping the wanton ripples cascading inside me.
“Punish you. Five minutes in the penalty box,” I said. “And by penalty box, I mean pussy.”
“Sounds like a serious infraction.” He pushed up my shirt to run his tongue over my nipple before scraping his teeth across the tip.
I shivered. There it was. That hot, delicious fire spiraling out from deep inside me. I tangled my hands in his hair. He ground his thigh against my crotch and my hips rocked in abandon. I rode a knife’s edge and I needed it to cut deep.
His hot wet mouth brushed along my ear. “Is this what you want, Nava? Rough and messy where anyone could see?”
He’d asked me that same question the first time we’d had sex and the answer had been an unequivocal yes. Had Cuntessa had her way, it would have been yes now and given the tight curl of need unfurling inside me, yes should have been my answer. It had been enough yesterday, and would have been enough now, if the feel of his lips against my skin coupled with his tender concern for my well-being hadn’t made me remember the kiss that had upended my world.
I jerked sidewise. The heat of our connection dowsed like a bucket of cold water had been tossed on it.
“What’s wrong?” Rohan asked. “Your boyfriend have a better car?”
I flinched. Then I straightened both my shirt and my spine, and marched inside without a look back. Slamming my bedroom door, I yanked open the bedside table drawer, and pulled out Snake Clitspin, my S-shaped vibrator. No slender milk snake was my Clitspin; he had the hardy girth of a well-fed boa and I needed release more than ever.
Pushing aside my heap of unfolded laundry just enough to make room for a Nava-sized body, I lay down on top of the mattress, wriggled out of my filthy T-shirt and jeans, letting my legs fall open, and eased Snake into my underwear, teasing Cuntessa with him. My eyes shuddered closed, my desire burrowing deeper, glowing hotter.
“Nava.” Light streamed in as the door swung open.
“Shut the door!” I burrowed under the blanket.
Rohan kicked the door shut then snatched Snake from my hand.
My full body blush transformed into a deeper red. I sprung up, jumping for Snake but he held it out of reach. “Get the hell out of my bedroom.”
He waved Snake at me. “Cole not doing it for you?”
“This is about me getting off. Without you. Or is that not allowed?”
Snake buzzed away in his hand. So near and yet so far.
“Oh, it’s allowed,” he said. “In fact, I encourage it. Thinking about the look on your face when you come? Thinking about what I wish I was doing to you with my tongue?”
He licked up my neck.
A stuttery breath left my lungs.
“About what I wish I was doing to you with my fingers.” His hand ghosted up my spine, each vertebrae lighting up under his touch.
I leaned into him.
“With my cock.” Rohan rocked his hips against mine, so I could feel how hard he was.
I swallowed, my voice thick. “What are you waiting for?”
He skipped Snake up my thigh, inch by tantalizing inch. I moaned, jerking his hand up until he rubbed the vibe against my clit through my bikini briefs.
I clutched at his chest, wet and breathless.
“Ask for it.” Shadows flickered over his face, lending a dark edge to the anger in his voice. He nipped my bottom lip. “You don’t even need to use your words.”
All I had to do was close the fraction of an inch between our mouths and I’d get everything he’d promised and more. I clasped my shaking hands behind my back, unable to forget his visual reminder of what happened when I left myself open to more.
“Well?”
I tried to get my throat to work. Tried to make myself move under threat of losing that intense, gorgeous focus forever. Big deal. I’d kissed before. I could do this.
Except, if I kissed him and he pulled away, face pained, it wouldn’t just be me falling asleep unsatisfied and wrecked from my ghoul fight.
That kind of rejection would destroy me.
I stepped back. Rohan speared me with a hard look and left. He took Snake with him.
14
It took me ages to fall asleep, so when Harry called bright
and early on Wednesday morning to say that Baskerville had come through, I was tempted to blow him off. Instead, I pounded on Rohan’s bedroom door.
He poked his head out. Still surly. “Yes?”
“Harry called.”
It took him two blinks to understand this olive branch. He nodded. “Meet you at the car in ten.”
The only interesting thing about the low slung, single-story house that Rohan and I pulled up to was the fact that it was protected by a Rasha ward. I crossed my fingers that it was protecting the spine. After ensuring there was no vehicle in the carport or parked directly out front, we crept around back and silently unlatched the gate.
The ward’s faint pulsing drew me to it like a siren’s song.
“Need more proof the Brotherhood has their fingerprints all over this mess?” I asked, as we followed the round paving stones through the slightly overgrown back lawn.
“Yes.”
Grr. Argh.
The closer we got to the ward line that lay at the bottom of the back stairs, the more intense the wave of nausea and dizziness coursing through me became. This ward hadn’t been created to simply repel demons, it was intended to repel everyone. With each footfall, my entire body strained to turn around but I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other and keep going.
By the time I reached the ward line, I was swallowing convulsively to keep the bile down. Even though the demarcation was invisible, I pinpointed exactly where it started.
Rohan jerked his chin at me. “You feel confident undoing it?”
I’d had some rudimentary training in ward making, but I was still getting the hang of this aspect of my magic. “You do it.”
Rohan positioned himself outside of the ward line and slashed his palm open with one of his finger blades, dripping blood while uttering a Hebrew chant.
Nothing happened.
I frowned at the blood seeping into the dirt. “You sure you did it right?”
Rohan shot me an unimpressed look. “Knock yourself out.”
I couldn’t do worse than he had, right? Reciting the Hebrew, I held out my hand, hissing as he sliced open the fleshy part of my palm. I dropped into a crouch so my blood could get nice and close to the ward line. The second the fluid connected with the ward magic, my eyes widened. While Rasha could sense a ward set by another Rasha, there was no way to tell whose blood had been used to create it.
Except I could and I did.
The ward magic slunk up against me like a cat demanding affection from its owner. Its thrum was a purr that vibrated from my head to my toes. Another magic joined it, dark and sinuous, probing. I’d swear it was sniffing me out.
The ward dissipated.
I flattened my hand against the dirt, bracing myself against the sucking pull threatening to flip my organs from internal to external from this new magic. A shockwave ripped through me, my head snapping back.
“What the–” Rohan lunged for me, his hands closing on empty air as the world seemed to stretch impossibly long between us.
My stomach fell into my toes as I went into free fall, landing seconds later with a teeth-jarring thud. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my vision against the flash that had blinded me.
“Took you long enough, kid,” a familiar voice said.
Dr. Gelman.
We stood in the center of a long, narrow, open concept kitchen and living room with a sliding glass door to the backyard. Even though the room was white-walled and sparsely furnished, brightly colored cushions and an enormous photographic print of a spice market added warmth. Rohan was nowhere to be seen. Not here, not out back.
“You didn’t do anything to my friend, did you?”
“He’s fine. I just wanted some privacy for our conversation.” In her mid-sixties with olive leathery skin, she looked way better than the last time I’d seen her. She’d even colored out the white in her black hair. She was the picture of health. Had her cancer gone into remission?
“You okay?” I asked.
“I’m still alive, so yes. Thanks so much for asking.” Her snark was sharp enough to sting.
I tsked her. “You don’t call. You don’t write.”
“Snippy today, are we? Why are you breaking in to my sister’s place?”
“Sister?”
She pointed to a group of photos hanging on the wall. Most showed a woman who looked remarkably similar to Dr. Gelman, just older. Several of them featured my Gelman as well. The first time we’d met, she’d said that her sister had dated Rabbi Abrams years ago, I’d just never imagined she meant in Vancouver.
“I came for a gogota spine,” I said. “Got one or both?” I was no longer certain of the spine’s proximity. Gelman might have created the ward to protect herself while she hid out.
She dropped into a chair with a lithe movement. It was great to see her so healthy. “You’ve been a busy little worker bee. Yes, I have the spine, but I want something in return.”
“What?”
“The Vashar.”
“I don’t have it anymore,” I said. “I had to hand it over to Rabbi Abrams.”
“Right.” She rubbed her forehead. “But you can get it back. You will get it back if you want the spine.”
“I can’t and it’s unreasonable of you to keep that spine from me. I’m trying to help you. Prove the witches’ innocence.”
“I need the amulet.” Her Israeli accent got much thicker when she was mad.
The sliding glass door exploded inward.
Screaming, I ducked, throwing my hands up over my face. Glass bit into my exposed flesh and lodged in my curls. Dozens of drops of blood welled up on the backs of my hands, calves, and the skin at the V of my throat. Bad day to wear a skirt.
Two figures in head-to-toe black stepped into the room.
Gelman chanted. The couches flew together stacking one above the other and barricading us from our ambushers before bursting into flame.
The two stepped through the flaming sofa wreckage like the fire was a gentle summer’s mist.
Gelman grabbed my arm and pushed me down the hallway into an office. Her hands trembled as she slammed the door and locked it. “You’ve led the Brotherhood to me.”
“I didn’t! I swear.”
Her fingers bit into my wrist, her panic palpable. “The Vashar. We need to get it, now.”
“The spine first.”
“After.”
The back of my neck prickled. I looked from Gelman to the locked door. The locked door beyond which I heard nothing. Not intruders. Not even a fire alarm. I sniffed. No burning sofa, just the faint tang of lemon polish.
The attack had been an illusion.
I blasted whoever–or whatever–this was back against the far wall.
Fake Gelman’s glamour fell away, revealing a whip thin demon with a pronounced Adam’s apple. His expertly tailored pinstripe suit even had a pressed triangle of a handkerchief in the pocket. The picture of a 1950’s Southern gentleman, except for the snout and iridescent blue skin.
“Baskerville, I presume. Good idea faking me out but you dropped the follow through.”
The demon pushed to his feet. “It was worth a try.”
I pulled my sleeve over my hand, brushing at the glass embedded in me. Too bad that exploding door part had been all too real. When that didn’t work, I called my magic up, letting it build under the surface of my skin. Closing my eyes, I pushed the magic out through my pores, envisioning it pushing the slivers out of me. A throbbing buzz shook me from head to toe like a swarm of bees being expelled from my body, stingers first. I blinked my tears away, shaking myself off like a dog to get the last of the glass out. “How did you know about the Vashar?”
“I wouldn’t be worth my weight in blood if I didn’t, child.” Baskerville’s voice was honey-smooth, tinged with a hint of the Deep South.
“Didn’t you get the collar we retrieved for you?”
He gave an elegant one-shouldered shrug. “I did. But it lost its luster once I p
ossessed it.”
“Tough titties. Where’s the real Dr. Gelman? Or her sister?” Until I knew for certain whether the witches were innocent, I still wasn’t ready to see Gelman, but I didn’t want her hurt either.
“Out?” the demon said. “I have no idea. The house was empty.”
“So how did you get in?”
“That was all you, chérie.” He tugged on his pressed cuffs. “You so helpfully dropped Dr. Gelman’s ward, allowing me to waltz right in.”
Except I’d felt a second magic. “You overlaid her ward with some kind of spell of your own to bring me to you, didn’t you?”
“Very good.”
I made a “wrap it up” motion. “Is the spine here or not?”
He flashed me an enigmatic smile and snapped two of his three fingers. The air shimmered and then crumpled like a veil falling to the floor, revealing a modified gogota demon standing between the desk and the bookshelf.
I shrieked.
Baskerville clamped his hands over his large flappy ears, similar in appearance to those of Wallace from Wallace and Gromit.
My feet, legs, torso, all went concrete-heavy. The sensation crawled up my throat, clogging my airways.
“Sensitive hearing,” he said. “Please keep it down.”
I blinked my eyes to indicate my agreement, since I couldn’t move my head to nod. His eyes narrowed, then the feeling just kind of fell away. I sucked in a breath, the jittery motion jump starting my heart, and sidled closer to the gogota.
Evil dude was not looking too hot. About my height, his body was no longer a plump sausage–more shriveled like a leftover wiener past its expiration date. A dull sheen lay over his charcoal gray fur which had acquired mottled white streaks. He vibrated seizure-fast but remained rooted to the spot, his long, sloth-like fingers and toes twitching. The demon stood half-bowed over as if succumbing to the weight of the metal spine that was no longer shiny.
“This is the demon that attacked Gelman?” I said. Baskerville nodded. “How did you get it?”
“Not important.”
He’d totally kidnapped it.
I circled the gogota, ready to access the magic humming under my skin, choking on the dubious pairing of baby powder and sweaty baseball mitt undercut with rot that poured off the demon.
The Unlikeable Demon Hunter: Need (Nava Katz Book 3) Page 16
