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

by Deborah Wilde

  “As I was saying… ouch!” My hand seized up. I shook it out and switched to my right.

  My fingertips tingled. I amped up the speed, hoping he’d finish already. More than ready for my turn. I’d give up a kidney for an orgasm after the day I’d had.

  Josh’s eyes were closed, his breathing ragged. All positive signs for his happy ending.

  Thank God, because my hand hurt. Had I pinched a nerve? I grit my teeth. Cramp or no cramp, I wasn’t about to break my personal record of every man left satisfied. A girl had to have some skill she could be proud of, even if she couldn’t put it on a résumé.

  Josh let out a guttural moan.

  Being well-versed in the nuances of guttural, I translated this one as “gold star, Nava.” But my smugness fell away at the tugging pull starting low in my gut. Not a virulent food poisoning, all-out cramping, but more like my soul was being manhandled. I slowed down my strokes, rubbing my belly with my free hand.

  Josh’s eyes sparked like he was getting off more on my discomfort than on my expert dexterity. A prickle of unease danced across the back of my neck.

  “Let yourself go, baby,” he growled.

  Please. He was hot but coming by osmosis wasn’t a thing. I was overreacting. Josh wasn’t a threat, just a douche.

  Sweat trickled down my scalp and a sharp pressure rose through the fingers of my right hand, now cramped tight around his knob. I hadn’t been jerking him off long enough to be this tired. Pain pulsed outward from the middle of my palm as if my synapses had starting shooting electric bullets.

  “Almost there,” he mumbled. His hips were practically levitating they were lifting off the bed so high.

  My belly twisted and I drew my knees into my chest for some relief, yet I couldn’t stop touching Josh. The more I tugged, the more he moaned lustily, and the more I grit my teeth. My abdomen felt like it was a leaking tire, but I wasn’t injured. More like with each stroke I was losing something essential, growing wearier, and I wasn’t able to explain why.

  Sparks flew off my hand.

  Holy. Shit.

  Josh’s body flickered like a stuttering screen, revealing a ram’s head.

  Oh, hell no!

  I spasmed, engulfed by a snapping blue electrical arc that traveled through my hand to envelop Josh’s dick, momentarily gluing us together with a disturbing sizzle and a whiff of burning flesh.

  His eyes snapped open in alarm.

  Given how every blink caused sparks to dance in front of me, I figured I was lit up from head to foot, but before I could check, Josh convulsed with a hot spurt. Then his body exploded into gold dust.

  Both the pain in my hand and the pyrotechnics immediately ceased.

  I wiped my fingers off on the rumpled sheet with a grimace. The downside was that I’d just met my first demon. The upside? Not only was he not naturally better-looking than me, my record was intact. Another satisfied guy. Dispatched to oblivion, but not every date was a winner.

  3

  The shock kicked in about thirty seconds later. I clutched Josh’s pillow, rocking back and forth emitting weird “guh” noises until I got my throat working again. Sure, I could step on a very small spider like the manliest of men, but that smattering of gold powder on the sheets had been Josh. My intermittent flirt buddy for the past six months.

  An icy slither ran up my core as I stared at my right hand, its tremors Richter scale violent. Was this my demon-killing ability? Destined to be some supernatural whore luring hell spawn into back alleys for deadly rub and tugs?

  Leaping from the bed, a hand clapped over my mouth, I sprinted over the cheap beige carpet to the bathroom. I barely made it to the toilet, throwing up all the contents of my stomach until the dry heaves kicked in. Beer and grease did not taste better coming back up.

  I cleaned up as best I could, blowing my nose and using an entire travel bottle of mouthwash that I found in Josh’s cluttered medicine cabinet to rinse out my mouth. I considered using his toothbrush but that seemed too intimate for a guy I hardly knew.

  I hiccuped in a half-sob, half-laugh. Orgasming to death okay, shared oral hygiene a line too far.

  I gripped the sink so hard my fingertips turned white, forcing myself to take deep, calming breaths. Getting myself down to the functioning side of hysterical. I ran my fingers through my sweat-matted hair, taking in my reflection in the mirror of his bathroom cabinet. Pale, crazed, I couldn’t stare too long at myself so I yanked on the tap, washing my hands vigorously enough to rub them raw.

  Taking a layer or six of epidermis off myself helped. The color had returned to my cheeks. Somewhat. But with my shocky adrenaline high wearing off came the painful realization that my boobs burned like crazy.

  With the utmost care, I peeled my shirt and bra off to find a scorched, puckered burn line matching the now-melted underwire. As a natural disaster show connoisseur, I knew that metal conducted electricity but, come on! My girls demanded underwire.

  I pressed a fingertip to the red angry skin with a hiss. Seems right now they demanded burn lotion. I rummaged through Josh’s cupboard but he was light on first aid products, so I tossed the bra in the trash and eased back into my shirt, flinching as the soft material made contact.

  It was too much.

  Wobbly from a cocktail of exhaustion and pain, I pressed my head to the cool glass of the mirror. Giving myself a moment to get my jumpy pulse under control and let the throbbing in my tits subside enough to be able to walk because that basic motor function seemed an impossible dream.

  I had no idea how much time passed before I was able to move, though moonlight now streamed in through Josh’s bedroom window as I dressed. No drunken ramblings were heard from homeward-bound revelers, the city deep in slumber.

  I shrugged on my jeans, unable to shake my sense of unease. Sidling over to the window, I peered outside through the slats of the bent plastic blinds.

  Some guy stood in the alley framed in a pool of light cast by a poster-plastered streetlamp. Hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, he seemed every bit a relaxed bystander, but I wasn’t deceived.

  The question was, was he here hunting Josh? Or me?

  I widened the blinds a touch.

  Startlingly gold eyes bored straight into my soul, rooting me to the spot. His hair, several shades darker than his light brown skin, was kind of shaggy, curling thick and sexy around his ear lobes. He had to be a demon. My hand didn’t tingle or anything in recognition but ordinary mortals were not created this ridiculously gorgeous. I’d know. I trolled the internet plenty looking at hot dude Pinterest boards.

  Plus, perched above him on the telephone wire was a white crow, albeit a weirdly stocky one. Contrary to popular opinion, white crows were not an albino rarity but demons who, once fixated on their prey like this one was on me, dive-bombed a person feeding off their blood and flesh. I had never been so glad for a pane of glass. And when Alley Dude trained his sights on the bird, the white crow exploded off the line with a panicked “caw,” flying away so fast that it trailed feathers.

  Some primal survival sense screamed at me that whoever or whatever this guy was, he was a million times more dangerous than Josh. But it also kicked me into gear.

  I jerked away from the window, pressing myself flat against the wall. My heart threatened to explode out of my chest. Had Josh’s death set some demon phone tree into motion and now they were all after me? Keeping low so the guy couldn’t see me, I gathered up my backpack, smelling the lingering scent of Josh’s cologne from when he’d carried it home for me.

  He’d never carry anything again.

  I pressed my fist to my mouth. I’d killed a man. Demon. Barkeep. Panic flared hot and bright. I jammed my feet into my shoes then raced for the front door. Fleeing the scene of the crime while cradling one arm against my chest to keep my poor burned babies from jiggling.

  As I reached for the lock, my hip bumped the small white plastic table next to the door. The green sides from yesterday’s shoot–the smal
l, color-coded script pages for that day–fell to the ground and I bent to pick them up, not wanting to leave his place in worse shape than I found it. Other than its loss of occupant.

  Josh had been cast as the happy-go-lucky playboy of the group. In this scene at least, no woman could resist his charm. That was one word for it. I shivered, remembering the unsettling tugging right before Josh had orgasmed. In retrospect, his “let go” was probably a command, not a suggestion. Had I not been Rasha, they would have been last words I ever heard.

  I dropped the paper like it was a hot coal, fumbling in my pocket for my phone and punching in Ari’s speed dial number. The call went straight to voice mail.

  “Ari,” I mewled. I slid down the wall, hugging my arms to my chest, paralyzed between fright and flight.

  Shortly after, there was a frantic pounding on the door. “Nava!” The cavalry had come. I scrambled to my feet, unlocked the bolt, and flung open the door, launching myself into my brother’s arms.

  He patted me awkwardly. “Nee, what’s wrong?”

  The story poured out of me. Ari let me ramble, leading me to the sofa in Josh’s cramped IKEA-themed living room and listening in silence as I described killing my hook-up.

  “Say something,” I begged, clutching the leg of his blue plaid pajama pants.

  Ari hadn’t even gotten dressed. Just stuffed his feet into slippers and thrown on a sweatshirt in his haste to save me.

  “You washed your hands, right?” he asked.

  I punched him in the arm. “That’s the sum total of what you have to say?”

  He punched me back. His was harder than mine and I pouted as I rubbed the sore spot. “You,” he mimed giving a hand job, “a demon to death. I think I need therapy.” He shuddered.

  “You think you need therapy?” I screeched. “How do you think I feel? You know what my big plan for today was? A nap! Instead I’ve made you hate me and my hand is a red light district instrument of destruction.”

  I paused for him to interject that of course he didn’t hate me, but he didn’t. So I babbled the rest of my story, punctuating my words with flailing gestures. That just sent a fresh shaft of pain through my boobs.

  “I mean, what happens when I meet a nice guy that I like and things start to get intimate?” I said. “Will my hand know the difference? Because I’m not sure there is an appropriate greeting card to apologize for penile third degree burns!”

  “I’d say it with flowers,” he pronounced.

  The clock on the wall ticked once. Twice.

  We burst out laughing. A brittle manic laughter that morphed into way-over-the-top snorting guffaws complete with shaking body and streaming tears. Cathartically spent, I sagged back against the couch.

  Ari stood up, rolling out his shoulders. “You ready to quit running away from home now and go deal with this?”

  I scrunched up my face. “How’d you know I’d run away?”

  “I always know.”

  A wistful pang hit me square in the chest. I rubbed my hand over the back of my neck. “Right.”

  “Dumbass.” He boffed me across the head. “I don’t hate you.”

  My relief swam clear down to my toes. “That’s because I’m Twin Amazing and I brighten up your life,” I said.

  He shot me a look of fond exasperation.

  I could have kissed him in a sister-appropriate way for it–e.g. raspberried his cheek. “Think you can help me not get killed?” I asked.

  “Up to a point. But we’re going to have to call Rabbi Abrams.”

  “And get our heavily edited stories straight,” I added.

  Ari pulled me up. “That’s your area of expertise.”

  My right hand gave an aftershocky jerk. I placed my other one on top of it to stop the shaking. “You may need to carry me.”

  “You need electrolytes.” Ari went into the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards. “He doesn’t have any salt,” he said, coming back and finding me slumped over the top of the sofa. “Come on, I’ll buy you a Gatorade.”

  I threw my arm over my brother’s shoulder, letting him support me. He grabbed my backpack and helped me out the door. Any comfort I took in having Ari’s forgiveness disappeared when we hit the front sidewalk outside Josh’s three-story stucco apartment building and saw the hot platinum blonde leaning against the glass front door, all long limbs and porn star mouth in this slinky gold halter dress I coveted.

  “Hey, lover,” she said to Ari, ignoring my existence.

  I was so not in the mood to deal with some west side chick on the pointless make for my brother.

  He gave her a polite smile, maneuvering us past both her and the broken furniture someone had left out for garbage pick up.

  “You think you could help me?” she asked, catching up to us and waving her cell. “My friend stood me up and my phone is dead.”

  I stopped, forcing Ari to stop with me. I couldn’t in good conscience leave this woman stranded in the middle of the night. Especially outside this dump with its sketchy lighting. I dug out my phone, shuffled a few steps closer, and handed it to her. “Here. Use mine.”

  “Thanks,” she said, latching onto my wrist with a talon. My phone tumbled to the concrete as her mouth elongated into a distorted sneer. “Have fun with my brother tonight?”

  I tried to scramble back, terrified her jaw was about to unhinge and swallow me whole, but she held me fast. Good thing because I still hadn’t recharged and lack of energy plus fear equaled my knees buckling.

  I batted at her with my right hand, which was totally failing to shock her.

  “Bitch,” she snarled, her stilettos morphing to crow’s feet, “I liked him. He was the only one of my siblings I hadn’t eaten.”

  Ew. Phrasing.

  A surge of adrenaline raced through me and I snapped my knee up into her crotch.

  She gasped, doubling over.

  That’s when I head-butted her, a technique learned while hanging with this hockey player I’d wanted to bang. The demon’s nose made a satisfying crunch as the cartilage shattered. I snatched my arm loose with a laugh. “Booyah, mother–”

  With a roar she puffed up into an ogre. A solid muscle demon ogre with a now-tattered dress hanging off her body. Her shiny mane of hair erupted into white feathers and her nose transformed into a pointed beak. The crow/ogre hybrid grabbed me by the throat.

  My powers were still in absentia and all thoughts of electrocute the bitch, were supplanted by get air to brain as she continued to squeeze. Spots danced in front of my watering eyes, my vision tunneling down to the narrow pinprick of her bumpy chin. I flailed my limbs.

  “Get your own sibling,” Ari said, “I spent years training this one.”

  SPLOOSH! Murky goo splattered all over my face.

  She dropped me like a hot potato.

  I stood there wheezing, staring in incredulity at my brother. Not only had he jammed a standing lamp through the demon’s neck, he’d taken advantage of her clawing at the thing to whip out a knife from an ankle sheath, firing it into her just below her navel.

  A scream ripped from the demon’s throat, her skin blistering in a way that made me think of crackling. I might never eat bacon again. Yeah, who was I kidding? Tendrils of smoke wafted off her bubbling flesh. She screeched a high-pitched, inhuman cry of pain and rage.

  “Nee, finish her!”

  I stared at him blankly. Ari grabbed my hand and, hauling me over to the demon, placed my fingers around the knife so they touched her rubbery skin.

  A tingle deep inside me rippled into a concentrated bolt of lightning, firing straight into the demon.

  She exploded. The lamp and the knife clattered to the ground.

  Shimmery gold dust floated down from the star-filled night sky. It coated Ari, turning him into a sparkling hero.

  “How?” It was all I managed to stutter out.

  He shrugged and picked up his knife. “Training.”

  “But…” I pointed at the weapon.

  “Iron b
lade coated in salt. Two things demons hate.”

  “And…” I made a thrusting motion with my hand.

  Ari stared at me for a second before he clued in. “Ohhh. The lamp. Again, training.” He ran his fingers through his hair, shaking out the dust as he walked along the sidewalk. His slippers made soft padding sounds with each step.

  Avoiding the trail of demon dust on the sidewalk, I scooped up my phone with my thumb and index finger, not touching any more of it than I had to, then hurried after him. I punched his shoulder. “Don’t fight demons without magic.”

  “I didn’t. You were right there.”

  I growled at him. “Your own magic.”

  Ari turned the corner, pulled his key fob out, and beeped it at our father’s blue Prius parked at the curb.

  “I know you, Ace. Magic or no, you come across someone in need of saving from a demon, you’ll rush in. You can’t.”

  He shrugged as he opened the passenger door and helped me inside.

  “Unlike me,” I said, “you possess that stupid selfless gene that Rasha are supposed to have. Tonight proves there’s been a colossal mistake.”

  “You killed the demon,” he said. “No mistake.”

  “You killed that demon. I was merely a tool.” I forgave him the small smirk at my word choice as he shut my door. Didn’t lessen my desire to throttle him, though.

  Ari got in the driver’s side, tossing the blade into the pocket on the door.

  Pushing him about staying safe would only spur him in the other direction. “Why are you not more excited about this? Or upset about it? Or something resembling anything?” I asked.

  My brother placed the key in the ignition and started the engine with the press of the power button. He pulled out into the street to the strains of shitty soft rock. Dad must have been the last one to drive the car. “Big deal. Another assist. Not like I got to score on goal directly.”

  I rested my feet on the dashboard, slouched in my seat. “Not enough excitement for you, brother dear?”

  He shrugged. “Eh.”

  I stuffed my fists under my butt, the sight of my hands still troubling. “That disturbs me about you.” As did the fact that the idiot was going to get himself killed.