Dead End Diner: Book one

by Bea Biddle

  "Come in or get out, either way, close the door," Cef commanded. Karen was torn out of her thoughts, jumped into his apartment and quickly closed the door after her. It wasn't before she was properly inside the place that she was able to see the view. It was incredible, the city spread out before her in a sea of lights. She could see Brooklyn bridge glinting at her in the dark. Beautiful skyscrapers, the reflection of the city in the glistening water, the sky so dark and deep. This was amazing, as crap as the apartment was, the view made up for it completely. A sigh even escaped her as she gazed out, and then came a little stab of jealousy, her own small windows only showed the brick wall of the apartment building next to her.

  "You should see it at sunset," Cef said softly.

  Karen whipped around, surprised to see him standing so close to her. "You should lie down, you're hurt." That wasn't what she wanted to say, she wanted to say something witty or funny or interesting, something that would make him want to move even closer. Instead, she ended up sounding stupid and fussy. She was sure he was going to roll his eyes at her and walk away.

  But Cef didn't move, he just stood there, thinking, his dark eyes watching her until she felt so uncomfortable under his scrutiny she could burst. Eventually, he moved, but it was only to pull his shirt over his head. And then Karen almost choked on her own breath. He was as beautiful as she remembered, as she had imagined. Not boyish like Colin, or smooth and pretty like Sylvester. No, before her was a man. A rugged, beautifully sculpted man. His body was a map of scars, thick and thin alike, his skin dark and delicious, stretched over hard edges and panes of sinewy muscles. His shoulders were so wide, his chest so big, his arms so thick that Karen felt the need to lick her lips. She fought hard against the urge to describe him as manly, the word had always held ridicule with her. The word manly was only used in sarcasm. But there he was, in front of her, the embodiment of manly and she couldn't find any other word that would sum him up. Manly. He was so damn sexy, so ridiculously attractive, so wild and untamed. A barbarian. And she just could not fight it anymore, even though she repeatedly told herself she wasn't attracted to cavemen. She was attracted to him, like a moth to a damn flame. That was embarrassing, that was so embarrassing. He could not find out that inside her calm exterior was a little schoolgirl, giggling like a maniac and drooling over the most incredible piece of man-flesh she had ever seen in real life.

  "I'm not bleeding anymore," Cef pointed out, "In case you haven't noticed." He walked by her, so close she could feel the heat radiating off him, or perhaps that was just in her imagination, and went to his cupboards.

  She hadn't. She had been too busy being a hormonal little girl to notice anything. But he was right, his wound had stopped bleeding. It wasn't as bad as she had thought, a nice clean cut down his side, deep but not deep enough to cause too much damage. He had been lucky. It still should be stitched, though. "I still think you should lie down," she mumbled.

  "You think too much," he growled.

  "It's part of being human," she retorted, "I guess you Demons wouldn't know anything about thinking?"

  He whipped his head around, glaring at her, about to reply something snarky when he saw the look in her eyes. She was joking. Damn human, joking. "I need coffee," he mumbled instead. He poured the grinds into the machine and started to fill it with water. "Do you want one?"

  "Seriously, you need to lie down. Your side needs cleaning and stitches." She walked over and placed her hand on his arm, mostly because she needed to feel the muscles moving as he clicked the switch. But he didn't need to know that. The machine started dripping away. "Go lie down, for fuck sake. You could barely walk here and now you're acting as if nothing happened."

  "I heal fast," he said. Karen stepped back. It wasn't until then she realized the wound on his shoulder had almost disappeared, only a week ago she had seen Sylvester clean and dress it. "Now, do you want a coffee or not?"

  Karen nodded vaguely. He opened his cupboard again and placed two cups on the table. One cup decorated with green flowers, the other with Santa Clause in his sleigh. "Interesting cups," she heard herself say with a laugh rather than keep the comment in her head. “I especially like the Santa one.”

  “Is there a problem with my cups now?” Cef snapped. There was no pleasing this human. He was being somewhat hospitable, wasn't he? And she still found faults with him. He turned sharply to face her again, locking eyes with her and saw her grin fade instantly. Her expression changed, that was better. Fear, he could deal with fear, he much preferred it to ridicule.

  She shook her head. ”No, no problem at all.” It wasn't fear exactly. It was a very different feeling that took hold of her when he was so close, so damn masculine and so damn hot. She felt her mouth dry when he looked down at her with those intense eyes. Despite the chill in the room she suddenly felt warm, too warm, his coat was heavy and locked in the heat. His coat. She was still wearing his coat. And she disappointed herself by blushing a little. She had to move, she had to do something, she couldn't just stand there staring at him. Get a grip. You are embarrassing yourself!

  Not that Cef seemed to notice, he had again turned his back to her, focusing solely on the dripping machine in front of him. She nodded to herself, deciding the best course of action would be to step away. So she walked to the center of the room again, gazing out at the night sky once more. It truly was a beautiful sight.

  The coffee machine growled and complained as the dripping increased, a puff of steam escaped the top, it must have been old, the sound even drowned out the city noises from outside. In fact, most of Cef's things were pretty ancient, she noted as she studied her surroundings again. The bed frame had certainly seen better days, the mattress where he slept and where he- where he- And you can just avert your attention from the bed, young lady, she sternly told herself, not trusting her own thoughts at all. She spun away from the bed so fast she almost fell over. Cef raised his eyebrow at her over his shoulder. She forced out a short, nervous laugh and silently cursed herself for her clumsiness until he turned back to watching the coffee machine.

  She breathed out in relief. And then saw she stood facing a large, dirty sheet. The same one he had thrown over- over something or the other. It was impossible to tell what it was, but it was angled and bulky. Her curiosity spiked, she took a few seemingly casual steps towards it. Just one little peek under the sheet, it couldn't possibly hurt. Trying not to be too obvious, she silently danced closer to the edge, pinching one corner of the sheet between her fingers. A last glance at Cef told her she was safe, he still had his back to her. She lifted the sheet slowly, planning to put it back down into place as soon as she had, making it look as if she had never touched it at all. But she couldn't.

  ”Fuck,” she breathed out in complete surprise. What she had found was nothing short of amazing. Paintings. Colorful, beautiful, stunningly detailed paintings. City scenes, landscapes, parks and bridges, forests and fields, fall, winter, spring, summer. They were incredible. Soft and moving, harsh and exciting. She tore the sheet completely off to get a better look, forgetting all about finesse and her stealth mission, and greedily leafed through the stacked paintings to see every one of them. She recognized several that depicted downtown through the years, even her own early morning neighborhood with the soft yellow light of summer.

  ”Get away from them,” Cef roared at her. In a flash he was by her side, pulling the dirty sheet out of her hands, whipping it over the paintings again. He growled at her under his breath, nostrils flaring angrily as he fixed her with a furious glare. ”You don't touch anything without permission,” he warned her. But much to his annoyance, the human was past the point of intimidation. She wasn't cowering, she wasn't even looking at him.

  Karen swooped underneath his arm, pushing the sheet off the paintings again. "Cef, where did you get these?" she asked, oblivious to the angry Demon behind her. "These are incredible! Oh no, no way!" she continued, practically yelling in excitement. The easels had taken her attention, two half-
finished paintings in the corner. One a mesmerizing soft scene from winter, children skating around the rink in Central Park. The other a stormy fall evening in the streets. "Cef?" she breathed, finally turning to the Demon scratching his neck awkwardly at this new development. "Did you paint these?"

  ”It calms me,” he admitted in a grumble. He didn't know how to proceed, she was supposed to be scared, that was the way it worked when he yelled at humans. They got scared. He growled again, he was not in the mood for her ridicule, it was bad enough she had discovered his paintings. ”Everyone is entitled to a hobby,” he snapped, roughly pulling the sheet out of her hands again.

  ”No, please. Don't." She placed her hand on the sheet in his fist. "Please don't cover them." She gently took the sheet from him with a smile, and he surprised himself by letting it slip out between his fingers without a fight. "Let me look at them. They really are beautiful."

  He snorted at her but let her. He couldn't believe he actually let her. And for some reason, it didn't feel as bad as he imagined it would. This strange little human. He hadn't taken the time to get to know any humans since he came to this realm, they hadn't interested him the slightest. Self-absorbed, vain and empty, that was how he saw them. And then this one, this short girl, still wearing his coat that was so big on her that her hands disappeared in the sleeves, made him want to know every little thought that ran through her head.

  ”I never, ever, pictured you as the starving artist type,” she said in a laugh. ”Ever.” She shamefully let her gaze run down his still naked chest. ”You always looked like the type to smash the equipment in the gym at every opportunity.”

  He had to regain some of his composure, had to get some of his control back. This couldn't happen. ”I liked it better when you were afraid of me,” he blurted out.

  ”As if I was ever scared of you," she mumbled half-heartedly. She was lying of course, and he knew it. She had been terrified of him. Him in the blood cellar, him in the diner, him killing another Demon in front of her. But something had changed. Something had clicked as soon as she had seen the paintings, something inside of her. That scared her more than he ever had. And that included the killing of another Demon. Oh no, she was doing it again. Staring at him. She had to say something. She had to break this awkward silence.

  In the end, it was Cef who cleared his throat, and rather reluctantly, said, "I should thank you."

  "Thank me?"

  "You saved my life.” He forced the words out through gritted teeth.

  "I- I did?" Karen had forgotten all about what happened, the alcohol only allowed her to remember half of it, and what she did remember she wanted to forget. Her throwing the lid was one of them, she felt dumb for even doing it. "I- that's Ok," she said, and waved a dismissing hand in the air, "Water under the bridge." She placed the sheet at the foot of the easels.

  Cef nodded thoughtfully at her. "If you had not interfered, I would be dead."

  She shrugged with a shy smile. ”No biggie, really. I didn't do much. My aim has probably never been worse.”

  He hated admitting that his life was saved by a human, a little female one. Even more, he hated how she didn't seem to think it mattered. Didn't she understand how substantial it was for a mere human to save a Demon? She was confusing to him. He had to get her out of his coat. The way it almost swallowed her made her look tiny and innocent. He couldn't have that, the thoughts that were running through him at precisely that moment didn't permit her to be tiny and innocent. In fact, they were making it painfully obvious just how long ago he came through the rift. Just how long he had forced himself to be alone. What was happening to him? He cleared his throat again and pointed at his coat. "We need to clean that, I think there's some of your vomit on it."

  Karen stared wide-eyed at him. Turning tomato red, she shakily slipped it off her shoulders. How absolutely mortifying. Hanging her head low, refusing to meet his gaze, she handed it to him. Very, very carefully. "I am so sorry," she whispered. Could that have been more embarrassing? Karen wasn't sure.

  "Don't worry about it," he answered. That was better, now she looked like a woman again. A cold woman. He hadn't thought this far. The place was freezing, he had forgotten about the open window. It had been so long since anyone had been in his apartment, especially someone who needed warmth, someone alive. He took her hand, an action that startled Karen, and led her to the bed. "Sit, I'll get you a blanket." By that, he meant his bedding. He placed his duvet around her shoulder leaving her in a makeshift little cocoon. "You'll be warm there."

  "Thanks." She couldn't help the laugh. He acted as if he had never had people over, as if he had no clue what to do with her and she found it adorable. The big, tough, always confident Demon, whom she had watched kill someone in a bare-knuckle fight only hours earlier, actually stood there scratching his neck awkwardly, clearly internally debating what to do now. "Are you not cold?" she asked him, wishing he'd put on a shirt, he was way too distracting this way.

  "I am not, no," he answered. Turning his back to her he walked to his small kitchenette, poured the coffees, and returned with two steamy mugs. She watched him turn the cups around to see what was on them before handing the Santa one to Karen.

  "Thank you. Why aren't you cold?"

  Cef dragged the only chair in the apartment over to the bed and sat down, putting his feet up on the bed next to her. She didn't mean to, but checked discreetly anyway, just to see if they looked human, she half expected hooves. But no, just ordinary bare human feet. She was a little disappointed. "Because I'm not affected by your temperatures. Where I come from the temperatures are either much higher or much lower. These silly little temperature changes you have mean nothing to me."

  "I see." Karen nodded. She tried pushing out the thought that she was sitting in his bed, under his covers, in a tank top. Her shoes were on the floor and her socks were smooth against his sheet. They smelled like him, she noticed. She felt guilty. If Colin knew, would he be jealous for once? He had never been the jealous type, and Karen often told herself that was a blessing, but sometimes it would have been nice if he at least pretended he cared. "Who was that guy that attacked you? I saw he was a Demon too. Are there many like you around?" She took a sip of the coffee, that she had almost forgotten, in her hands.

  Cef was halfway through his when she asked. He looked almost comical sitting here in all his manly glory with a green floral cup. He put his feet back on the ground and pinched the bridge of his nose in deep thought. As he leaned forward, his dreads fell about his shoulders and snaked their way over his chest. She gulped inaudibly and followed them with her eyes, unfortunately wishing she could trace the same path with her hands. "I should be the only one,” he said, breaking her out of her thoughts. “Somehow they're coming through.”

  "Through what?"

  "The rift," Cef explained, "There is a rift in the basement. The diner's basement. It connects our two worlds. It's been closed since I came through, only a few attempts have been made from Hell to break through since. But it has been closed with old magic, the attempts have not been successful."

  "But there are Demons coming through now?" Karen asked. She had forgotten all about the coffee in her hand again and accidentally spilled it on the duvet. He reached over and wiped it off as if it was no big deal. Karen found herself holding her breath when his big hand touched the duvet on her thigh. In her mind, she could feel the heat of that big hand, feel it as if the thick duvet wasn't even there. What was wrong with her?

  "There must be another. In all my time here there haven't been, but they must come through another," Cef pondered out loud.

  "What do they want?"

  “This world,” he answered readily, tapping thick fingers on his cup thoughtfully. “They want to conquer this world.” Karen felt her mouth open, but no words came out. “And,” he rumbled hesitantly, “Me. They want me. The Demon I fought tonight informed me of this. They are coming for me.” Karen was dumbstruck at how calmly he seemed to take it. He emptied
his cup and continued, "They only come through one by one and far apart though, so the rift they're coming through must be unstable."

  "How- how do you know?" Karen heard herself stutter.

  "Because if it was a fully opened rift the armies of Hell would already be upon us."

  Karen swallowed hard at his words. They sounded so severe and sober, a little on the melodramatic side, though. She giggled involuntarily. ”The armies of Hell? You are just messing with me,” she decided and laughed at him, sitting there with his grim expression, with those intense eyes and furrowed brow. No, he was joking, he had to be. But Cef's expression didn't change. And after a few forced, hollow laughs she stopped and realized that he was indeed serious. He wasn't joking at all. ”The armies of Hell?” she asked and swallowed again. ”That sounds ridiculously severe. What- what do you know about the armies of Hell?”

  Cef stood abruptly, his bare feet hammered around on the creaky floor as he put his cup in the little sink. With both hands firmly on the edge of the sink, his back to her again, he took a deep breath before answering. ”I used to lead them,” he confessed.

  "You used to what now?" Karen couldn't believe what she was hearing. Wouldn't believe it. And yet, looking at his shapely back, the skin decorated by countless scars, military man suited him much better than painter.

  "As the Warchief I used to lead them," he repeated solemnly. He scratched his neck and exhaled angrily. Suppressed memories were climbing their way up his spine, he could feel them clawing their way into his conscience. He couldn't think about it, he wouldn't let himself. Forcing them back with a grunt, he faced her again. "Do you want another coffee?"