And not rushing things might lose me my brother.
Shivering as much from cold as disappointment, I hooked my chin into the neck of the hoodie, folding the cuffs over my hands.
“You barely have anything on under there.” Despite Rohan’s contemptuous tone, when he poked at my sleeve, his hands lingered a second too long.
“Maybe the demons aren’t the only ones who want bragging rights of bagging the first non-dick-swinging Rasha.” I tugged away, irritated.
Rohan’s nostrils flared. “Fuck you the first for thinking I kiss and tell,” he said. “And fuck you the second if you think I need bragging rights when it comes to sex. You’re not that much of a novelty.” The angry growl in his voice convinced me that his motives were the normal “have sex because sex with an attractive girl would be great” variety and not anything involving notches on belts.
This game I could play.
I placed my hand on my hoodie’s zipper. “You want me to flash you?” My half-smile was accompanied by my best “sideways eye slide looking up through half-open lashes” maneuver.
A car’s headlights swept over us.
Rohan pushed me deeper into the shadows. “Don’t do me any favors.”
I slid the hoodie zipper down, waiting to see if he’d stop me.
He didn’t. Instead, he frowned as he inspected tonight’s cotton sleepwear offering. “Yesterday’s was cuter.” He motioned around my cleavage. “It had that purple lace.”
I glanced up at my window, realizing how far into the room I could see from here. “You perved on me last night? Some guard you are.”
He didn’t even have the good grace to look ashamed. “Bring more of those when you move.”
“Because this is all about you.”
Rohan bopped the end of my nose with his index finger. “See? Was that so hard to admit?”
Grumbling, secretly pleased, definitely annoyed with myself for figuring out how many cute, electricity-proof outfits I owned, I zipped up my sweater and headed inside.
11
What an ass.
And what an ass. I grasped the top of the chair in my bedroom against the full body swoon making me wonky. My body was on fire after that little encounter. Not in a Rasha way. I throbbed in a simmering coil of need, the feel of every steely inch of him imprinted on my skin.
I switched off my overhead light, pretending I was just getting ready to go to sleep, and enjoying the delicious sense of anticipation. Rohan might be infuriating in real life but he was prime source material for personal fantasy usage.
After latching my window and drawing my blinds tight, I settled myself on my bed. Letting myself get comfortable by taking a few steady inhales and exhales before I slid my hand under my shirt to skim my palms across my breasts.
Rohan’s intense gold irises danced in my memory. My tits grew heavier and heavier in my hands and I tweaked my nipples, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out at the zing that shot through me.
My other hand crept into my shorts, as I mentally lingered on all of Rohan’s fine attributes, starting at the bottom and working my way up. The clench of his gluts as he’d jumped out the window that first night demanded multiple replayings.
I imagined what it would be like to start at his toes and lick my way up his body, lingering in the hollows behind his knees, nipping the hard muscle along his inner thigh, saving the image of taking him in my mouth–for now. My fingers met with wetness as I ran my index finger up and down along my opening. I wanted him bad, those hands holding me down. I wanted him to ask me to flash him in my backyard and I wanted to do it. My hips rolled.
Fumbling over my head with my other hand for my pillow, I stuffed it over my face to muffle the quiet moans I was beginning to make. Cuntessa de Spluge pulsed, demanding some “me time” so I obliged, ghosting my finger over my clit in the slowest of small circular motions.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so turned on. Or liked a guy so much. No, craved a guy. That’s all it was.
Part of me yearned to tease this sensation out for as long as possible but patience was not my strong suit. I yanked my shorts all the way down and shoved the fingers of my other hand inside, pretending they were Rohan’s. Praying my gasp was muted by the pillow in my mouth. Everything about him would be big and rough. His stubble against my nipples, his callused hands pushing deep within me, sending me over the edge. I bit my bottom lip, a heavy sigh shuddering through me.
Champagne bubbles danced through my body, my ab muscles tightening at the growing pull spiraling deeper and wider inside me. I rode my hand harder, not able to take it slow. My thighs shook; my breath came in irregular pants. Tipping my head back, I muffled my cries against my pillow. Tiny waves rippled out from my core, growing bigger and more intense.
Just as that final vibrating quake should have hurled me over the edge into fabulous free fall, an image of his smug grin at being my masturbatory material popped up on my internal screen.
There was a flash of blue. A burning sizzle lit Cuntessa up in high-voltage agony. I screamed into the pillow in the way one does when one has fucking electrocuted her clit, doubling over into the fetal position. I was hyperventilating, swearing in breathy gasps.
I guess no one else was upstairs to hear my shriek of pain because thankfully nobody came to check on me. Tears streamed down my cheeks. This was so unfair. My body could be literally coated in electricity and it didn’t hurt but accidentally give myself one bad touch and I almost passed out. Shouldn’t I be immune from myself? One more stupid detail to master.
Eventually, the pain knifing through me subsided enough for me to catch my breath. I flung the pillow covering my head across the room then probed Cuntessa gently with a gasped wince. I offered my profuse apologies to her but could practically hear her snottily informing me that this was the last straw. Mentally slapping me with a restraining order until such time as her pleasure could be guaranteed without useless dicks or lightning strikes.
Damn you, Rohan Mitra.
Damn you, Rasha.
And damn you, destiny.
With pain and sexual frustration vying for control of my body, I rolled into a tight ball. Stupid me fixating on the worst choice in men imaginable. Rohan wasn’t hot stuff and he didn’t have me under his sway.
On the plus side, now that he was out of my system, I was free to focus on what mattered–Ari. My mind was crystal clear, even if the occasional tear still leaked from my eyes.
A rather brilliant thought occurred to me as I lay sprawled on the covers, blinking through the hurt. Not every demon was equal on the evil hierarchy, and while lots were big bads, many more were mostly bottom feeders. Like the araculum. Still capable of doing damage, sure, but trading on intel rather than brute force and malevolence to stay alive.
If Rasha were the cops of the demon world, then there were bound to be some snitches amongst the criminals. All I had to do was find one and have him pass a message up the food chain to Asmodeus that I was the one who’d killed Josh and his sister.
I was moving into the chapter house anyway, and by the time Asmodeus showed up, I’d be living safely behind the wards and the guys could help me take him out. Even Rohan wouldn’t be able to be mad at my outside-the-box thinking then, and he’d be honor-bound to help me. Of course if he wasn’t, then he sucked, but with a big win like that, I’d be useful enough to force contact with the Executive, protocol be damned.
I drummed my fingers against my mattress. The good little Rasha thing to do would be to go tell my babysitter about this idea, except in this case, it was better to seek forgiveness than permission. I toyed with the primer and my stack of notes. Based on my admittedly limited understanding, curupira fell into a kind of mid-level bad zone. I’d dealt with the one I’d met quite effectively. How hard could it be to deal with a snitch?
Hmmm. Tiptoeing to the window, I cracked my blinds just enough to peer out, considering my odds. No sign of Rohan, but he still had to be pro
wling around. Keeping well away from the window in case my shadow gave me away, I slipped into a little all-black number–low slung jeans and a fitted, scoop neck top–perfect for cat burglary and escaping a house undetected. The final touch? Stuffing my hair under a black knit cap. Okay, perching it jauntily on my hair but it really completed the look.
Rohan was probably watching my window for signs of life, so I crept out of my room in a low crouch which wouldn’t be visible from the ground. Once in the hallway, I exhaled, and strolled to Ari’s bedroom.
I rapped on his door before easing it open.
Ari sat on his bed against his wooden headboard, still-dressed, his legs stretched out on his brown comforter with its graphic blocky design. Surrealist prints like Dali’s Persistence of Memory with its melting clocks, Magritte’s painting of a pipe with “Ceci, n’est pas une pipe.” in script underneath it, and Gonsalves’ row of ships that seemed to turn into an arched bridge, framed his walls.
“Whatcha doing?”
He looked up guiltily from texting, fumbling his phone. “Nothing.”
“Or,” I amended, skipping toward him, “who are you doing?”
He placed the phone face down on the bedside table, leaving it free for me to scoop up. “Have you no respect for personal property?” he sputtered.
I didn’t bother responding to that ridiculous question, busy swiping the screen to get to the goods. I scrolled past a couple of flirty texts from whomever Ari had labeled as “Do Not Engage.” Then jackpot. “Your ‘nothing’ has an awfully familiar nipple ring,” I said, studying the well-defined naked chest in the photo that he’d been sent. “Thought you were mad at him?”
“I am. Which in his head means dial up the charm to get me to fall back in line.” Ari snatched the phone away with, what was for him, a pretty good glower, stuffing it under the pillow behind his back. “What do you want?” His expression was infused with all the pain and long-suffering stemming from having a bratty younger sibling.
Younger by twelve minutes, but I did my best to be exemplary in the annoying department.
I perched on the end of his bed, suppressing my urge to rip out his hospital corners. “While I could pester you with questions that you really don’t want to answer, I will skip that part because I am such a good sister.”
His eyes narrowed. “You want something else.”
I pointed a finger at him. “Bingo. Here’s the thing.” I cleared my throat trying to figure out how to ask my question while technically keeping my Rasha oath of secrecy.
“Nava.” That was his impatient “talk or leave” voice.
“Know of any demon informants?”
Arms propped behind his head, he leaned back against the headboard, studying me. “What are you trying to find out that you don’t want Rohan to know?”
“Just learning all aspects of this brave new world.”
The gears turning in Ari’s head were practically audible as he pinned me in his steady gaze. He tried to figure out what I was thinking, and I sat there pretending it didn’t matter either way. It was our thing.
“Don’t get mixed up in their mission. I know you and starfucking–”
“Hey!”
“Gossip,” he amended.
“Don’t say it like a euphemism,” I muttered.
“But this is serious. They’ve been amassing info on Samson for ages. You charge in and you’ll screw things up.”
Startled, I raised my eyes to his. “Wait. You know?”
“No shit.”
“Kane is such a blabbermouth.”
Ari’s frowned. “Why do you assume I heard it from Kane?”
I spread my hands wide. “Who else would you have heard it from? How’d you get past the Mafia cone of silence?” I gasped. “Did you eavesdrop? Because only Rasha can know this stuff.”
My brother flushed in what definitely was “Nava Red.” He kicked my foot. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve been Rasha for the approximate life of a fruit fly and you think you’re already going to know details I didn’t after being around the Brotherhood my entire life?”
I bit my lip. “I don’t think they live that long. The fruit–”
The mattress bounced as Ari lunged for me.
I jumped to my feet with a yelp. “I’m sorry. Jeez. I didn’t know they were bandying about that information to all and–” I snapped my mouth shut at the look on his face.
“Let’s try this again.” I plastered on my sweetest smile.
He pointed at the door.
I straightened, wanting to present my idea with as much confidence as possible. On second thought, offering myself up as bait for Asmodeus might not secure me Ari’s assistance, or worse, get my brother insisting on helping. Plan B–lie about my reasons. “Rohan and Drio have to go about this officially.” I wrinkled my nose. “Somewhat officially. They have to pursue leads and all that bullshit.”
“Actually investigate.”
“Whatever.” I picked up the cologne on his dresser and sniffed it. “Unofficial channels can make things happen so much faster. If there is a snitch, he’d be in a good position to put us on to the hard evidence we need to prove King’s demon status and take this bastard down.” I cracked my knuckles. “I’ll make the snitch an offer he can’t refuse.”
“No.” At least he didn’t laugh. He also confirmed there was a snitch, which strengthened my resolve.
I crawled back onto the bed with my best pleading look.
Ari pulled his phone out from beneath the pillow and snuck another look at it. “Rohan had Xiaoli check that possibility out before he was reassigned to Istanbul. The redcap didn’t know anything.”
“Aha! Being such a devoted student, I know that a redcap is a goblin and that goblins are notorious trickster demons. Perhaps this snitch pulled one over on ol’ Xiaoli. See how equipped I am to deal with him?”
A flash of amusement crossed his face. “Left off your studying at ‘G,’ did you?”
I pressed on. “How hard can it be to intimidate a goblin? Aren’t they short old men?
“You’re thinking of gnomes.”
“Red hats, beards, it’s all of a type.”
“Goblin beards are optional. Also, gnomes don’t exist and if they did, they wouldn’t bathe their hats in the blood of their victims,” Ari said. “Or have razor sharp teeth.”
“But they share pointy ears.”
His gaze drifted back to his phone. “What’s your point?”
I grabbed the damn thing, trapping the phone under my leg. “Maybe Xiaoli’s incentive wasn’t strong enough.”
“Death and torture. Pretty reliable.” With a quick fake-out, he stole the phone back but didn’t look at it.
“You boys,” I scoffed, flapping a hand at him. “Always going for the stick. How about trying a carrot now and then?”
“Such as?”
I ran a hand along my body.
Ari’s head shake was pure bafflement. “What is it with you and demon sex?”
“I’m not sleeping with him.” I smacked Ari’s arm. “But if he gets to be the first demon to meet the female Rasha and live…?” A nod and a wink.
Resounding silence.
“Come on,” I begged. “You said it yourself. You grew up around Demon Club. You have to know who the snitch is.”
Ari tugged off his socks, firing them into the corner of the room. “I don’t know who he is. Just what he is.”
I scooted away from his gross bare feet. “A promising start. Besides, I bet he’s not all that dangerous as demons go, right? Introduce me.”
“Why are you so desperate to be a part of this? Are you trying to impress Rohan?”
“No.” Well, not like that. I wasn’t ready to tell Ari about my plan to restore him to his rightful path because he might be angry enough to tell me to butt out and forget it. I settled for giving him a half-truth. “I want to up my stock.”
Ari waited long enough before answering that I thought my idea was dead in the wate
r. “Rohan isn’t going to let you leave,” he said.
I clapped my hands in delight. “Of course he isn’t. Which is why you need to sneak me out. Then you can return to your regularly scheduled sexting. Or is this angry, make-up sext?”
Given the choice of helping me, the Rasha, or dishing with me, the sister, it was a no-brainer that Ari would pick the former.
The sneak out was a success. I gave a loud whoop, zipping down the street in Dad’s Prius, though a cooler ride would have been nice. Hybrid electrics didn’t exactly scream badass but blasting “Bad Girls” by M.I.A. went a long way to set the correct ambience.
Where would a scuzzy demon informant hang out? Or rather, the person who knew the scuzzy demon informant, since Ari could only get me to a go-between. Would I have to navigate a low-rent bar filled with sketchy clientele? A drug den at the end of a shadowy alleyway?
Or the brick bungalow I pulled up to? The front grass had been replaced with raked gravel which gleamed in the moonlight, while a giant fig tree off to one side provided the only greenery. A quick double check of the address confirmed this was the right place so I crunched my way along the dark flagstone path and up the stairs.
I rapped twice, remembering Ari’s warning that this guy was human and I wasn’t allowed to zap the info out of him. Still, that left a lot of leeway.
An old man with a pronounced Adam’s apple, his pants and argyle sweater hanging loose off his lanky frame, answered the door. He took a long drag from the ashy cigarette in his hand, exhaling slowly with a bushy raised eyebrow.
“I’m looking for the goblin,” I said.
“Stellar verbal skills, kid.” He stretched an arm out to tap off some ash. Onto my shoes.
I kicked the side of my runners against the stones, trying to shake them clean while putting all my “don’t mess with me ’tude” into the glower I shot his way.
“Let me guess. Bad cop?” He sucked back another hit and waved me inside.
Old Dude led me through the tiny entryway and into his living room. Every inch was covered in UFO paraphernalia. Yellowing news clippings detailing sightings papered the walls. The ceiling was plastered in UFO photos of varied graininess.
The Unlikeable Demon Hunter Page 13