The Unlikeable Demon Hunter: Crave (Nava Katz Book 4)

by Deborah Wilde

  Could happen.

  I yanked the bedroom door open, ran down the hallway to the kitchen sniffing like a coke addict, and skidded to a stop at the sight of Drio dressed in raggedly cut-off sweats and a T-shirt, his feet bare, chugging back a glass of water at the kitchen sink. The sweat from his workout had caused his blond hair to plaster to his forehead, but it also made his olive skin glisten so it wasn’t all gross. “When did you get back?”

  Grimacing, he jerked a finger at my face. “What’s happened to make you look like that?”

  “I look fine.”

  Snorting his disagreement, he dumped the glass in the sink, his green gaze flicking over Rohan’s shirt that I wore. “He’s awake?” he asked in his sexy Italian accent, his face lighting up.

  “Yeah, fanboy. He’s in the shower. Hurry and you might get to soap him up.”

  Drio gave me the hand-to-arm Italian gesture of “fuck off.”

  “Happy birthday, younger and uglier twin.” Ari strode into the room and jerked back at the sight of my chin. “Jesus. You’re not supposed to really be uglier.”

  “All right, already.” I hugged Ari back, even though he didn’t deserve it. “Happy birthday, older and stinkier twin.”

  Ari held up a badly-wrapped, lumpy gift. “Took you long enough to wake up.” I jumped for it but he held it out of range. “Where’s mine?”

  I gave another pointless swipe. “Upstairs.”

  “That better not be your new look for your new age,” Kane said, entering. He poked my chin.

  “You can all bite me.” It was too much to hope that my fellow Rasha would be adult about my stubble-burn and not mention it. Ari gave me an exaggerated shudder of disgust and actually walked out.

  He was so not getting his present.

  Kane helped himself to coffee, scratching his bare belly. “Were you kissing a lizard?”

  “If you’re gonna insult me, at least caffeinate me first.” I reached for his coffee but he held it out of reach.

  “I only speak truth,” Kane said.

  “It’s disgusting,” Drio said.

  I flicked his arm.

  “What? This is a truth circle. You look like you went a round with a windigo. And lost.” Drio waved a hand at me. “Fix yourself.”

  “It’s not–he’s shaving–” I threw my hands up in the air. “I don’t need to explain myself to you, you big jerk.”

  Drio grinned at me.

  “Love’s not supposed to hurt, but when it does?” Ari sauntered back in and placed a tube in my hand. “Polysporin.”

  “Ha ha. Are we done taunting the vulnerable female now? Can we return to business as usual?”

  “That is business as usual,” Drio said.

  “Walked into that one, babyslay.”

  “Go back to Rome,” I said to Drio. I opened the oven. No waffles lovingly prepared by my boyfriend. I cracked my knuckles, nostrils flaring.

  Ari waved my gift at me. “Upstairs. Move it.”

  There was a bit of a doorway tussle with free-ranging elbow jabs, but I got inside my room first and did a brief gloating wriggle dance. I grabbed his gift off the dresser and on the count of three, we switched presents.

  I tore mine open. Inside was a multi-colored candy necklace, a huge pink candy diamond in a purple plastic setting, and a black sleeveless shirt covered in sparkles. Smack in the center of the shirt was a horned demon head made of silver crystals. It sat in a pink crystal circle with a slash through it. Ari had been responsible for many of my best T-shirts over the years but he’d outdone himself with this one.

  I hugged my “No Demons” shirt to my chest. “You’re the best.”

  “Not so bad yourself.” Ari read the back of the jewel case for Inside, one of those moody puzzle videogames he liked so much.

  As I adorned myself with my candy jewelry, Kane stepped in, holding a plastic bag.

  “Still not a good look,” he said.

  “Says the man with the worst fashion sense in the history of mankind.” I poked his leopard-print shirt. “What are you, a middle-aged divorceé? This, on the other hand?” I modeled my candy gems. “They’re beeauutiful traditional gift items.”

  I bit off a red candy bead.

  Ari swallowed the Coffee Crisp chocolate bar he had stuffed in his mouth. Wafer layers stacked with a coffee mousse and covered in milk chocolate, this exotic Canadian delicacy was the first of the six full-sized bars that comprised the other part of his gift. “Did you need something?” he asked Kane in a frosty tone.

  Oy vey.

  I muscled in between them. “You can’t throw away a lifelong friendship.” Yes, Ari had kissed Kane after being turned on by–and yeah, attracted to–Malik, this hot marid demon. And yes, Kane felt used and angry, and it probably wasn’t the best circumstances for Ari to initiate a first kiss with the dude. But come on.

  “I’m pulling birthday rank and demanding that you two work your shit out already.”

  “It’s my birthday, too. And I’m older, so…” Ari crossed his arms.

  “Your insouciance doesn’t fly.”

  “I already got you a non-refundable gift,” Kane said to me. “You can’t have both.”

  “I don’t need material goods. I want you to make up.”

  He pulled a slim cream envelope from the bag and held it up. The word “Miraj” was written on the outside in distinctive red script.

  “You got me a gift certificate to the hammam?” This Turkish spa was deluxe. I’d heard about it from my mom but had never been able to afford it myself. I grabbed the envelope, and hugged him.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Kane pushed me off him.

  I tried to peer inside the gift bag that Kane held. “Is that Ari’s gift, perchance?”

  “As if,” Ari said.

  Kane glowered at him, thrusting the bag stiffly out.

  Ari took it like it might explode in his hands and pulled out a hardcover manga with a slick red and black design. “This is the limited edition.”

  “So?” Kane’s chin tipped up a couple of notches higher.

  “It’s not even available in North America.” Ari opened it like he was holding a priceless artifact. My brother had developed a love of manga around his tenth birthday–inexplicable at the time, since none of his other friends were into it–that had remained strong and ongoing. Not so inexplicable now. “There’s a backlog on it everywhere.”

  Kane rubbed the back of his neck. “I got my cousin in Tokyo to get it. It’s not a big deal.”

  Ari leafed through the book with an undecipherable expression.

  “Ari,” I hissed. “Thank him.”

  He and Kane stared at each other for a very long, tense, mutual idiot boy moment. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Kane pivoted and left the room.

  Ari put the book back in the shopping bag and unwrapped the second Coffee Crisp. “What did Ro get you?”

  “That was pathetic. Get lost. I have to get dressed.”

  He paused, the chocolate bar halfway to his mouth, darting a glance after Kane. “When do you wanna leave later?”

  “Five?”

  He threw me a thumbs up, busy devouring bar two, and left, shutting the door behind him.

  I ate three more candy beads.

  The phone rang with Leo’s special Flight of the Conchords ringtone. “I’m twenty-one!” I said in greeting.

  Leo sang me Happy Birthday.

  “Are you coming to the parents’ house tonight?” I unbuttoned Rohan’s shirt and tossed it on the bed.

  “Of course.”

  “Will I be getting a present?” I rooted around in my underwear drawer for a bra.

  “Perhaps.”

  “Did you know Drio was back?”

  “He didn’t go straight from the airport to Demon Club, that’s for sure. That boy took everything out of me and then some.”

  I ate another couple of candy beads. “You greedy monkey.”

  “I heard zero complaints. He even gave me t
his gorgeous hand-printed scarf he’d bought in Rome.”

  He’s buying her gifts? Holy shit! “Next time get cash,” I said, trying to hang on to my phone as I shimmied into my bra. “Though I guess the scarf looks more impressive than a lonely five bucks.”

  “Ha. Ha.”

  “The no kiss thing wasn’t a problem?” I threw on my new shirt from Ace and tugged up a pair of black booty shorts.

  “Not yet. I’ll break him.” She snickered. “I plan to have my hands full with repeat performances from the Italian Stallion. Keep milking him dry.”

  I twisted my hair into a bun. “Ew. You know how easily I’m traumatized by visuals. I’m a delicate flower.”

  She snorted. “What did rock star get you?”

  I squirmed and even though she couldn’t see it my freaky friend sensed it.

  “He didn’t start your day with a gift?” she demanded. “And he lives?”

  “His living is conditional to what happens when I next see him.” I sank down on the bed. “We went bareback last night. First time. Ever.”

  Her shocked gasp was actually kind of gratifying. Her “you love him,” not so much.

  “No undying pledges involved.”

  “That was insensitive of me. Okaygottarunschmugs.” She hung up.

  I stared suspiciously at my phone. Ten seconds later a phone rang in the hallway. I was out the door and ripping it out of Drio’s hands before he’d finished his greeting of “Pronto.”

  “Gossip and die,” I said into the phone.

  “Hmph,” Leo said, and hung up.

  I handed Drio back his phone. “And you.” I narrowed my eyes at him.

  He jutted his chin out. “Che cosa?”

  “Milked you dry, did she?”

  He actually ducked his head, his cheeks flushing. His embarrassment was a rare and beautiful gift.

  “Polysporin.” I handed him the tube I’d grabbed when I’d heard his phone ring. “For when love hurts.”

  Cheered up immeasurably, I flew down the curved wooden staircase, the railings glowing with a high-gloss gleam and the scent of lemon polish.

  Ro wasn’t in his room. His bathroom was still steamy and his damp towel lay crumpled on his counter. Maybe he was lying in a coma somewhere. Or suffering from battle-induced amnesia. Neither of which excused the lack of a present since all gift provisions should have been made by now, but would temper my judgment on his lack of proper birthday greetings.

  No such luck. He wasn’t anywhere on the main floor and the downstairs offices were empty.

  I poked my head in Rabbi Abrams’ office, hoping I was still persona grata to him. He hadn’t come in. No problem. I’d see him later at our birthday dinner.

  Hopefully.

  I stomped down the stairs into the basement with its wide, well-lit corridors, and slapped my hand against the scanner to open the iron door to the Vault. The light changed from red to green and I threw the door open. It bounced off the concrete blocks that made up the walls in the basement, leaving a black mark on the white paint.

  Rohan wasn’t in the Vault either. I crossed the blue padded flooring and checked inside both the small iron room where we occasionally stashed demons and the weapons room. No sign of him.

  I didn’t hear any music coming from the small room down the corridor that I’d turned into my tap studio, but it was the last place to check before I searched the grounds. Or got a shovel to start digging his grave.

  Sparks crunched between the soles of my feet and the floor as I stalked toward the room. Even if he hadn’t gotten me a present, some guys just sucked at birthdays. It had no bearing on Ro’s feelings towards me. This wasn’t a test.

  I stopped short of the doorway, anticipation prickling my chest, and stepped inside.

  Empty.

  I forced my slumping shoulders back, my chin up–

  –And saw the shoe box with the fat yellow bow sitting on the lumpy sofa. I flung the lid off.

  Ro had bought me custom-made, red leather tap shoes. There was purple leather at the toes and heels, like saddle shoes, and a red leather heart at the back of each shoe. Purple laces completed the look.

  I clutched the heavy shoes to my chest and kissed the leather hearts, basking in how well Rohan knew me. He paid attention to the small stuff. I, on the other hand, wanted to have all his likes, dislikes, and idiosyncrasies downloaded into my brain already. Ro was nowhere near the open book I was, but I intended to carefully read his every page. I didn’t want him to ever feel like I was taking him for granted.

  “Sparky?” Booted heels neared.

  I gave each heart one more kiss.

  Rohan came over to me. “Finally found them?”

  I shook a shoe at him. “You are playing a dangerous game, son. Gift contact didn’t occur until an hour into Nava Day. One hour.”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Is that a national or international holiday?”

  I cuffed him upside the head. “It offends me that you have to ask.”

  “You put two countdown apps on my phone in the assumption I’d forget your birthday. That insult to my honor could not go unchallenged,” he said. “Like them?”

  I danced the shoes through the air. “They’re only the greatest gift ever.”

  “They are.” Fine. He’d earned that smug grin. “Do they fit?”

  “Don’t know yet.” Sitting down, I stretched out my leg and handed him the shoes. “How did you know my size?”

  Rohan sat down beside me and slid the shoe onto my left foot. “I got a pair of worn out taps that your mom said still fit and sent them to the shoemaker.” He laced up the shoe. “How does it feel?”

  I put on the second shoe, and stood up, testing my weight. They were heavier shoes than I’d had in a while but adjusting to the increased weight would give me sound advantages.

  I kissed him with everything I had. Rohan cupped the back of my head, but I ducked his hold. “I have to test them more,” I said. “For quality assurance purposes.”

  He sank onto the sofa, elbows braced on his knees, watching me. I’d never tire of the enrapt expression on his face while he watched me dance.

  I broke the shoes in with a time step one of my instructors used to call the West Coast Bounce. Throwing on some dreamy ambient, I double timed my steps: open thirds, drawbacks, riffs, and a flurry of shuffles on my right foot.

  “You look like you’re making two sounds but five come out. How you move your feet that fast is beyond me.”

  I fought past my first impulse to joke it off. “This was basically my life for fifteen years.” I nodded in satisfaction at my balance on my toe stands. “These shoes? Their weight wouldn’t have worked if I was a Broadway tapper, but for rhythm tap?” I rapped a staccato percussion of heel stamps, taking in their deeper, warmer sound. “These have groove, and I’m a hoofer at heart.”

  An instrumental version of the jazz classic “Sunny Side of the Street” shuffled onto my iPhone next. I smoothed out my steps, my improvisation as light as a feather.

  “Nava.” I stopped mid-pullback at the serious tone in his voice. “I told Drio we wanted to talk to him.”

  As far as the wrong people knowing went, Drio was pretty damn wrong. “Did you.”

  I sat down on the couch, unlacing my shoe with a sharp jerk that only made a knot.

  Rohan took my foot and unraveled the laces. “You greenlit Mahmud knowing, and Drio’s good at getting information.”

  “Torture will do that. I also wouldn’t put it past him to kill any Rasha he thinks are on the wrong side of this.”

  Like me.

  “Drio’s on our side. He wouldn’t kill you.” Rohan considered it. “Maim, maybe. Maiming, he definitely would do. But I hear having all your body parts is highly overrated.”

  I got my second shoe off without mishap. “It’s not funny. Drio hates demons. He lives for the Brotherhood. Best friend or not, you can’t predict how he’ll react.”

  “I can. Drio lives for killing dem
ons,” Rohan said. “It’s not the same thing.”

  “Are you going to tell me what the deal is between you two?” Rohan shook his head. “Stubborn. What if you pulled back on investigating this from the Brotherhood angle? Let me try and step things up with the witches.”

  “Like that’s safer?” He squeezed my hands. “I’ll be careful.”

  “Promise?”

  Rohan pressed his mouth below my earlobe, his whispered “I promise,” making me shiver.

  I sighed. “Let’s get this over with.” Twenty-one had been my best birthday ever. Too bad I wouldn’t live to see twenty-two.

  8

  Drio stood at the kitchen counter applying Crazy Glue to a machete grip as Rohan warmed up with the Sweet Tooth case. Drio was framed by the window, the trees outside bent almost double and rain lashing the glass. When he heard what had happened to Naomi, his hands tightened on the handle so hard that he cracked it again.

  I slipped the box of Kosher salt out of the cupboard. If Drio was mad about the drugs, a quick ward might be in my best interests when we got to the actual topic needing to be raised, since The Flash over there was holding a literal machete.

  “You think this oshk is looking for Candyman as well?” Drio said.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Rohan said. “The wreta might have known.” He shrugged.

  “We need to stop that shit hitting the streets. Addictions never end well.” There was an uncharacteristic edge to Drio’s voice.

  “Never with demon drugs, but humans can beat addictions. If they get treatment in time…” I trailed off at the look of disdain Drio leveled at me.

  He turned to Ro. “You want my help?”

  “Nava?” Seated at the table, Rohan twisted around to look up at me.

  I shifted from side-to-side.

  Drio smirked. “You look uncomfortable. I can’t wait to hear this.”

  “Tone down the delight,” I said. “This is um, really, really not to be shared.”

  He sanded the handle. Its wicked blade glinted in the harsh kitchen light. “You know,” he said, “it’s unhealthy to keep things inside.”

  I swallowed, standing behind Ro with my hands on his shoulder for support. Drio didn’t like having enemies. Between the torture, the flashstepping, and the fact he was a little murder machine capable of striking fast and dismembering painfully slow, he was a formidable ally.