The Unlikeable Demon Hunter_Crave

by Deborah Wilde

  He portalled out.

  I had no doubt that my day of reckoning was coming with him–with all of them–but right now there was only one person whose words meant anything.

  I hopped my way into the kitchen and cornered Rohan. “Can we talk?”

  He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and jumped up on the counter. “Go nuts.”

  I tried, but dissolved into a coughing fit, still not at liberty to voice our deal. I swiped his water bottle, chugging it back, and wiped my mouth. “You go first. Last night.”

  I toyed with the cap, a hollow pit opening in my stomach. I didn’t want to hear the details, since she’d probably rocked his world, but I couldn’t not know, either.

  He studied me. “You really can’t say anything? Dr. Gelman wasn’t kidding.”

  My head jerked up. “Dr. Gelman?”

  “Nava, I figured there was something going on the second you restored my magic.”

  “Oh.” I grabbed an industrial bottle of extra-strength ibuprophen and dry swallowed two before swiping a pack of frozen peas from the freezer. I sank into a chair, slipped off my shoes, and slapped the bag against my ankle. “I guess you wouldn’t have believed I could heal you.”

  “I know you healed me once. I felt it when I was unconscious. It was the same honeyed warmth as when Rivka tried. But the second time? It was a sharp snap, more like an electric shock from all your magic at once. It was too much to believe you suddenly had the power to unravel the magic knot when Rivka didn’t know any witch strong enough.”

  “So you called Gelman?”

  “I did. She figured out what must have happened. Drio zipped over and picked up what I needed while you were in the shower.”

  “Those smudgy candles and the world’s saltiest fish.” Now it made sense.

  “We tried to pull Lilith out of you.” He rubbed his neck.

  I may not have had the Word of the Day app anymore, but I was pretty solid on my grammar. Tried implied that an attempt had been made. The silence that followed implied it hadn’t gone well. “And?”

  “She was too strong. Her hold on you was too deep. The best we could do was trap her unconscious inside you.”

  I probed deep inside but I could feel no trace of her. That wasn’t a win. I’d rather have had a handle on her. Nothing. I had a ticking time bomb living in me with no idea what might trigger its explosion. It was terrifying, but it wasn’t the reason for my icy fingers and stuttery breath.

  “When?” I mumbled, staring at my feet.

  “What?”

  I cleared my throat and met his gaze. “When did you knock her out?”

  He crossed his arms, his eyes blazing, and his body rigid. “You want to know if I’d already fucked her? If last night I believed I was making love to my girlfriend and it had been like nothing I’d ever experienced? Will it ease your conscience if I enjoyed it?” He leered at me, lowering his face close to mine. “You were the best, baby.”

  I slapped him.

  The sound lingered over the gurgle of the dishwasher kicking in. Neither of us spoke, the air charged like the seconds before the eruption of a thunderstorm.

  He rubbed his cheek. “How could you make that deal?”

  Would the frozen peas work on my heart? “How could I not? You’d lost your magic.”

  A muscle jumped in his jaw. “I told you before that I didn’t need saving.”

  “Really?” I adjusted the bag on my swollen ankle. “I saw you outside after you’d learned the bad news. You were devastated.”

  “I’d have dealt.”

  “Like you did with Asha?”

  “You have no idea–”

  “Drio told me.”

  “Then how the hell could you betray me?” he said. “Basic concept, right from wrong. Even you understand that.”

  Even me. I dug my nails into my palms. “I tried to keep things from playing out. I tried to spell it out with the fridge magnets and break up with you and–”

  “And at the end of the day, you made that deal with whatever the fuck Lilith is, involving me, without my consent.” A literal brick wall springing up between us would have been easier to breech than his unyielding stance.

  I reached for him, desperate for him to understand, but he stepped back.

  Was it me or this thing inside me? I was too scared of his answer to ask.

  “After Drio told me about Asha, and you were out there broken,” I said, “I understood wanting to do whatever it took to protect someone I cared about. I’d have done anything to help you. ‘If I have to be an asshole to save you, I’ll do it.’ Your words.”

  “‘Then you’ll lose me.’” He jabbed a finger at me. “Your words.”

  “Have I lost you?” I could barely croak out the words through the thickness in my throat.

  At least with his anger, he’d still felt something toward me. Rohan standing here, hands hanging limply at his sides, his eyes closed, not answering? That was him giving up.

  My skin tingled from the strain of holding in my sharp sorrow. It weighed me down in pieces: knotted behind my breastbone, pulsing in my temples, and pooling in my feet. Lilith didn’t rouse to gloat, though.

  I pressed my fists to the side of my head. “Where do we go from here?”

  “On which part?” He slumped over the counter, his back to me, his head braced in his hands.

  “All of it. Is it…” I took a deep breath. “Are we over?”

  His phone rang. Rohan glanced at the screen and answered it. “Hey Mom, this isn’t a good–” He straightened up. “What? When? Is he–?”

  Concerned, I stood up, hissing when I put my weight on my foot. Ro’s expression softened in sympathy for a second before hardening once more. His gaze flicked away.

  “Yeah,” he said on the phone, “I’ll get a flight today. Okay. Bye.”

  I placed my hand on his arm and he flinched. My eyes watered. “What happened?”

  “Dad had a heart attack.”

  I opened my arms without thinking, immediately correcting to wrap them around my chest. If he’d flinched at my touch, I couldn’t take seeing what he’d do at the full body contact of a hug. I dug my fingers deeper into my ribcage, moving to the opposite side of the island to give him space, but no matter how hard I tried to keep myself upright and dignified, my body leaned toward his. “Is he all right?”

  “He’s alive, but he’s in the hospital.” He clutched his phone, staring blankly at it. Then he shook himself off and headed for the door. “I need to go home.”

  When Rohan had sung me “Slay” he’d proclaimed that I was his home. The loss of status was numbing.

  But I had my answer about us.

  I pressed my hand against my mouth, but there was nothing I could do about the tears streaming down my cheeks.

  He stopped in the doorway, his back still to me. “Nothing happened. With Lilith. I would never…”

  “Okay.” I dragged in a shaky breath.

  In three strides he was back at my side, kissing my wet lashes. With my eyes closed, I could pretend that his lips on my tears were in comfort, and that the nausea swirling in my stomach was giddy anticipation.

  But I couldn’t keep my eyes shut forever, and when I opened them, I was hit full force with the cold vertigo of my splintered heart, his touch and warmth lost to me and the broken look on his face more devastating than all our words.

  “This isn’t the end of us,” he said. “Just…”

  I sniffled. “A break?”

  A coffee break? A bone break? A heartbreak?

  He rested his forehead on mine. “A slowing down. We kept saying we wanted each other desperate,” he said. “And as much as it had been a joke, it wasn’t. We can’t do that anymore. Can’t crave each other so much that it’s this all-consuming mess of fucked-up power dynamics and who gets to keep who safe and happy.”

  “I know. And the harder we tried, the harder we trampled each other.” The problem hadn’t been making ourselves vulnerable,
it had been accepting the times when the other person’s vulnerability was on the line.

  I lay my hand on his cheek, wondering when he turned into it, his stubble scratching my palm and his eyes damp, if this would be my last memory of him.

  Of us.

  Rohan was right. We needed to slow down. I understood that intellectually. Emotionally, I was howling, laying bleeding and gutted on the floor, the ruins of what we’d had strewn around me in shattered disarray.

  He stepped back and I mourned the loss of contact. “I’ll call you when I get there.”

  I struggled for breath to form the correct, careful platitudes, gripping the counter behind my back to keep myself from going with him. No longer having any right to be his source of comfort. “I hope your dad gets better quickly.”

  “Me too.” We held a look that wasn’t so much mutual recrimination as tragic acknowledgment.

  Ro half-raised his hand in a wave and I nodded. All this time, I’d been so worried about Rohan and his bad behaviors, but it turned out that the real danger to our relationship had been me all along.

  I didn’t watch him walk out the door.

  END OF BOOK FOUR

  HAVEN’T READ BOOK ONE YET?

  See where it all began: the demons, the explosive chemistry with Rohan, and the questionable welcome she received from the Brotherhood.

  Deep breath ... and go.

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  Thank you for reading

  Dear fabulous reader,

  Things are getting intense, aren’t they? *grin* There’s more to come in Nava’s journey with a lot of twists and turns along the way.

  Thank you so much for all your emails and Facebook comments. I’m loving getting to know you and hearing your thoughts on these characters who are so near and dear to my heart.

  Now, I have a favor to ask. It’s your reviews that help other readers to find my books. You, the reader, help make or break a book. So please, especially if you want more Nava and Rohan, spread the word. Leave an honest review of The Unlikeable Demon Hunter: Crave on Amazon, Goodreads, your blog, etc.

  xo

  Deborah

  Nava explains awesome Yiddish and Hebrew words used in this series.

  •Bat zona (Hebrew) - Daughter of a whore! (Enlightening you on swears from around the world.)

  •Beseder (Hebrew) – Okay.

  •Maspik (Hebrew) – Enough. Sounds way better growled at someone than the English equivalent.

  •Mazel tov (Hebrew) – Congratulations. Can be shortened to “mazel mazel” which sounds super snarky and may leave the recipient in doubt as to how to take it.

  •Mensch (Yiddish) – a person of integrity and honor. Technically it’s gender neutral, though I see it applied way more often to men. Go figure.

  •Mishegoss (Yiddish) - Craziness. Senseless behavior or activity. I thought this was my grandmother’s nickname for me when I was little.

  •Mitzvah (Hebrew) – A good deed. As in “Not punching Drio in the head was my mitzvah for the day.”

  •Oy vey (Yiddish) – A very handy exclamation of dismay and grief conveying everything from “aw, man” to “kill me now.”

  •Verklempt (Yiddish) – Choked/overcome with emotion. “I was so verklempt after disrupting Ari’s induction ceremony that I had to eat my body weight in chips to calm down.”

  Get a free download!

  If you enjoyed this book, then how about a couple of free short stories set in this world? Demons and sexytimes, galore! There are mild spoilers in each one, so it’s best to enjoy them in the proper reading order. Click on the cover images to claim.

  1) Slay: Rohan’s POV (Book 1.5)

  2) Crush: Drio’s POV (Book 2.5)

  3) Seize: Rohan’s POV (Book 3.5)

  Acknowledgments

  Big thanks to Jessica Massey Golson for the “Karma” T-shirt gag. You nailed Nava on that one! I just have to say that my Wilde Ones Facebook group is the absolute best and I love (virtually) hanging out with you all.

  To my daughter, Kiki, I owe you, kid, for always being willing to talk story with me, and for the smutty fridge magnet idea. You are my joy and my delight and I’m so proud to be your mom.

  Alex Yuschik, are you getting tired of me raving about your editorial brilliance, yet? Because I’m not going to stop anytime soon. I owe you so much and I love working with you.

  Much gratitude to my family, for supporting me in this crazy endeavor 150%.

  To my readers, I have no words. (Okay, I lie. Here I go. Words.) You people are incredible and I am so glad that you love reading these books as much as I love writing them! Thank you from the bottom of my heart for choosing Team Nava.

  About the Author

  I’m Deborah (pronounced deb-O-rah) and I write sexy, funny, urban fantasy.

  I decided at an early age to live life like it was a movie, as befitted a three-syllable girl. Mine features exotic locales, an eclectic soundtrack, and a glittering cast–except for those two guys left on the cutting room floor. Secret supernatural societies may be involved.

  They say you should write what you know, which is why I shamelessly plagiarize my life to write about witty, smart women who kick-ass, stand toe-to-toe against infuriating alphas, and execute any bad decisions in indomitable style.

  “It takes a bad girl to fight evil. Go Wilde.”

  Check out Deborah’s titles.

  @wildeauthor

  DeborahWildeAuthor

  www.deborahwilde.com