Shouting broke out from a crack deal going down at the end of the alley. Since it involved all human players and the buyer took off, I didn’t mix in, though the pricey cover I’d paid earlier tonight that could have gone towards getting the addict some food didn’t sit well. In this neck of Vancouver, lush gentrification butted against low-income neighborhoods and the uneasy mix was sickening to anyone with a conscience. Or me.
Kane strode over to the dealer, now smoking a cigarette by the wall.
Ari frowned at the man, as if trying to place him. “Fuck.” He ground out the joint and hurried after Kane, me at his heels, trying to get my brother’s attention and have him fill me in.
Ari got to Kane before Kane got to the dealer. He stepped between Kane and the man, but Kane neatly sidestepped him, his eyes trained on the pusher.
“You ought to rethink your line of work.” Kane smiled, dagger-sharp.
“Yeah?” The dealer flicked his lit butt at Kane.
Kane caught it, crushed it in his hand, and winged it back. The butt beaned the dealer on the nose. In retaliation, the dealer pulled a knife and lunged, but Kane deflected the strike, an almost bored expression on his face as he slammed the attacker’s arm back into the wall, over and over again, until the knife clattered to the ground.
Kane shoved his palm into the dealer’s cheek, pinning the guy’s head back against the bricks. The Rasha’s skin coated with a purple iridescent sheen.
My nose stung from the sharp tang of salt.
Ari made a tch noise.
The dealer threw his hands up. “Take it easy, man.”
Kane casually ripped the dude’s ear off.
My hands flew up to block the blood spray, but there wasn’t any. The dealer’s skin simply split open, droopy speckled gills popping out. He struggled, but Kane held him fast.
“Should have taken me up on my offer.” Kane slapped his poison-covered hand against the gills. The demon just sort of dissolved under Kane’s toxic touch and disappeared, dead.
Kane swayed on his feet, one hand shooting out for balance. Ari tried to grab his shoulder and steady him but Kane brushed him off. “Leave it. I’m good.”
“Sure. Until your kidneys fail, idiot.”
Kane shot us a bright smile. “But like all things about me, even my failure shall be glorious.”
2
Ari filled me in about Kane being pulled off active duty for a while because of dangerously high salt levels in his blood after too many kills in too short a period of time. The cost of his particular magic, just like mine was risk of heart attack. Much as I wished otherwise, there’d be no point berating Kane.
“What kind of demon was that?” I asked, with a glance back.
“A fix. They feed off addiction.” Ari shook his head, staring musingly at the bar’s back door that Kane had already gone through. “Rare though. The only way to identify them is by a thickness in their throat where the gills are hidden.”
I flung the bar’s door open. “How the hell did he spot that all the way back in a dark alley?”
“He spots everything.” I couldn’t tell if Ari sounded annoyed or impressed.
If the witch-seeking fail wasn’t enough, the bar was an irritating insult to injury. Too many bodies pressed too close together in hopes of getting even closer before night’s end.
We muscled our way to the rickety metal table we’d secured with our jackets. For the amount this place charged to get in, the owners could have refurbished this old watering hole. The floor was sticky in patches, and the ceiling fans couldn’t overpower the stench of stale beer and brittle desperation.
I crashed my ass onto the chair, grateful to be sitting down, then grabbed the muscled arm of a passing server. “There is a massive tip for you if you get us a pitcher of beer and a large order of wings in five minutes.” The bar didn’t do burritos but their miso-glazed wings were to die for.
Kane dropped down next to me, all iridescence and salt tang gone from his skin. He must have washed the poison off.
The saucy waiter pursed his mouth. “Sweetheart, we’re understaffed. I’m good but I’m no miracle worker.”
I motioned to my two companions. “I’ll throw in the phone number of the boy of your choosing.”
Ari craned his neck to check out the beers on tap. “Whoring your own brother for food. Wow.”
“Yes,” I said. “Because for years women had to bear that burden. Feminism. Get on board.”
“I’ll take the non-whiny one,” the server said.
Kane preened. “If you want me to call you back, you’ll give me extra ginger dipping sauce.”
The server winked at him. “Done.”
Kane tracked the guy’s ass as he walked away and Ari tracked Kane. This is what I’d been living with for the past month. Ignoring, longing, sexual tension, and more ignoring. I was living in a CW teen soap as the sassy best friend without any foreseeable love interest in my storyline. It was time to get these two together already so I could star in my own spin-off. Besides, they’d be adorable together. Provided they didn’t turn their magic on each other leaving either a poisoned corpse or one eviscerated by shadows; but hey, every couple had their problems.
Tonight’s plan to wisen these two the fuck up? Beer. That fine libation that had kicked off many a beautiful romance.
The waiter was back in three minutes with tall glasses and an icy pitcher. “Wings in two.” He pointed at a table of customers playing a loud drunken game of “I never.” “I switched their order with yours. The McRude ones can wait.”
I waved the lager he’d poured for me in benediction. “Bless you, my son. Drink up, boys,” I said to Ari and Kane.
Holding my dark curls off my neck with my free hand, I pressed the pint glass to my forehead, sighing at the nip of condensation against my skin. “It’s great to kick back with good friends.”
Silence. I’d lost them to their phones. I snapped my fingers. “Social time, gentlemen. Be social.”
They grumbled, but the wings arrived, and that did the trick. I dug in with a munchie-induced fervor, happy to eat and people watch. “If my life was a movie, I’d fire whoever cast the extras. These people are blech.” I jerked a chicken wing at a couple engaged in a nauseating display of PDA. “Especially them. I can’t stand them.”
I sucked the rich, slightly spicy glaze off chicken skin that was so crispy, it crackled when I bit it.
Kane looked over. “You know them?”
I dipped another wing in the tangy ginger sauce. “No.”
“Nava hates lots of people she doesn’t know.” Ari nodded his thanks as I topped us all off with more beer. “It’s her special talent.”
“I’d settle for them turning off the baseball game and Grease.” Kane glanced at the muted TV screens hung above the bar, dipping his sauce-coated fingers in the small bowl of warm water that had come with our order. “Sports and musicals, the seventh level of Hell.”
I gasped, hand to my heart.
Ari facepalmed. “Now you’ve done it.”
“Grease is the seminal cinematic exploration of teen culture,” I said.
Kane grabbed a napkin. “No way. Cruel Intentions.”
I eyeballed the remaining wings, pulling my generously estimated third into a pile. “Wanting to fuck late 90s Ryan Phillipe does not make something seminal.”
Kane and Ari both leaned back, arms identically crossed. “Says you,” they said in unison.
Perhaps bonding over their mutual interest in screwing a third party was not the way to foster romance. Hmm. Further thought was required.
I nibbled on a wing. “I’d argue that contrary to popular belief, Grease doesn’t have a happy ending.”
Ari paused, his glass halfway to his mouth. “Criticizing the movie? Are you concussed?”
“No. It’s still a mostly perfect film. I’m merely older and wiser,” I said. “See, it ends with Sandy sewing herself into a catsuit that makes peeing impossible. She’d totally rather be
in her ponytail and poodle skirt but she’s so sweet that she’s not going to say anything, letting her bitterness build until it manifests in a brain aneurysm.” I pulled the dipping sauce away from Ari. “Don’t hog the sauce.”
“Much as I cannot believe I’m encouraging this conversation,” Kane said, “I’d say they both compromised and got their happily-ever-after.”
“Please. The second Danny saw he’d broken her, he had that stupid letterman’s sweater ripped off. Couldn’t even make it through the first verse of ‘You’re the One that I Want.’ Greedy bastard wanting things how he wanted them.” I tossed the bones onto the plate. “The only sane one was Rizzo. She would have taken one look at the indignity of the catsuit and the flying car and said ‘Fuck this, I’m out.’”
In a move of stealthy beauty, Ari exchanged a runty wing in his pile for a majestic specimen in mine. “Rizzo wouldn’t have been asked into the car in the first place.”
I picked up a fork, holding it tynes-out above my remaining wings. “Right? The guys knew that. She’s fierce. She wasn’t going to change for anyone. I am Rizzo. Hear me roar.” I ran a finger along the tynes. “I got distracted by the bullshit car and forgot I was Rizzo.”
“Jesus,” my brother muttered.
“Ah.” Kane’s voice was gentle. “You got distracted by a lot more than the car, babyslay. Ro–”
I jabbed the fork at him. “Say his name and I’ll kick your ass six ways to Sunday.”
Kane patted his butt. “I see through your pathetic excuse to touch it.”
My stoner brain was taking over and I was about to get maudlin. Nope. Time to put happy sloshy brain back in the driver’s seat. I motioned to our server for another pitcher, but he was super harried and didn’t see me, so I nudged my brother, who was busy eye-fucking some guy at the bar.
That was wrong. He should have been eye-fucking Kane. No. Ew. “Less catting around, more paying attention to your tablemates.”
“You’re just jealous you can’t sample what is so readily available,” Ari replied, twirling a finger around the bar.
Excuse me? I tapped my fork dangerously against my plate. “Because I accidentally crazy-glued my legs shut?”
“Because of he-who-shall-not-be-named,” Kane said, disarming my weapon before swiping a wing from me.
The men fist-bumped.
“Voldemort?” Peeved, I stabbed the wing back. “No problem. We’re just good friends.”
Ari rolled his eyes, accompanied by an aggrieved sigh that had totally been my signature move. When I was fourteen.
“Oh, for the days when you were still a nice guy. Demon torture really changed you, bro.”
Ari held up his glass in cheers.
“Nice guys are only good for one thing,” Kane said.
“What?” I licked glaze off my fingers.
“Corrupting. And when done right?” Kane drank some beer. I suspected it was more for effect than thirst. “Highly rewarding.”
Ari made a derogatory sound.
“I’m sure you’ve had loads of experience with that,” I said.
Kane shook his head. “Just one.”
I wadded up my napkin. “Somebody shoot me.”
My brother gave Kane a lazy smile. “Except you weren’t rewarded that time, were you? Guess you’re not the irresistible sex god you think you are.” He pushed his chair away from the table and sauntered off.
Kane flicked beer droplets at his back. “That’s rude. I’m exactly the irresistible sex god I think I am.” He left as well, swaggering in the opposite direction from Ari.
What was actually rude? Me sitting here still drinkless. I elbowed my way through the packed room, following Ari’s path to the bar.
“What can I get you?” The scruffy bartender trained a polite smile on me.
I bit down on my bottom lip, wondering what his stubbled jaw would taste like. “Pepper,” I sighed.
“Pardon?”
I tore my eyes away from his chin.
“G bombs.” I amended. My favorite shot of cinnamon schnapps and vodka. I held up two fingers, eavesdropping on the conversation next to me while I waited.
To be fair, it was more of a monologue, punctuated by vague agreement from the other party. I suspected his lack of participation was because his IQ, like mine, was plummeting at the inanity spewing out of the main speaker. I almost had to bail on my eavesdropping to preserve what little brain function I had left when the monologuist said, “…and then I sobered up and didn’t get the Harry Styles tat.”
“Wise move,” Ari said to the beautiful boy without a hint of sarcasm.
“You cannot be this hard up,” I said into my twin’s ear.
Loud laughter from the far end of the bar flitted over to us. I caught Kane licking salt off rock hard abs, an empty shot glass in his hand and a Cheshire Cat smile on his face.
“Next round’s on–” But Ari and Pretty Boy were gone. I was all for no-strings attached hook-ups, but that had never been my brother’s style. Somebody had to be the good twin in our dynamic and since he’d perfected the role, I’d appreciate him staying out of my theatre of shock and awe. That was my leading lady material.
“Here you go.” The bartender lined my drinks up.
I paid him, added a generous tip, and slammed the first shot back. The booze warmed my throat, making my battle pain, if not obsolete, then well-obscured. Kudos to my accelerated Rasha healing abilities. I’d still be bruised for a while though, hence the long sleeves tonight.
“That looks good.” A plus-sized chick on the stool to my left tapped her French manicured nail in front of my remaining shot. She propped her elbow on the bar, head in hand, and tilted her face to mine, her eyes endless pools of brown. Her black hair was pinned in a messy chignon, and she was all curves in her pencil skirt and white tank top.
“It is,” I said. “Provided you like cinnamon.”
“Fortunately, I do.”
The Entertainment Tonight segment on the TV mounted above the bar caught my eye. Specifically the footage of the famous singer on the red carpet last night for some party at Child’s Play, the music fest happening in London to benefit war orphans.
A flurry of light bulbs flashed in his smug face as he grinned his rock fuck grin for the cameras, decked out in black leather pants and a metallic black T-shirt, his hair spiked up and eyeliner ringing his gold eyes.
Rohan Liam Mitra, ladies and gentlemen, the asshole who hadn’t replied to any of my texts because he was on a mission but who now was, apparently, back on the grid and just ghosting me. I downed my second shot, slamming the glass back on the bar hard enough that I checked I hadn’t cracked it.
“Bad night?” the girl asked.
“You could say that.” Weeks ago, Rohan had left on a last-minute assignment to Pakistan to hunt down the demons that had killed four Rasha. Fine, had to go where the Powers That Be sent you, I got that. But you didn’t just fire off an arrogant “any questions?” and leave my stunned-yet-perfect self without so much as a third party “Rohan says ‘hey.’”
I smiled at the woman. “Thanks for asking about my night. It’s more than I can say for my charming companions, wherever they went.” I held out my hand. “Nava.”
“Audrey.” Her grip was firm, her skin warm against mine.
As quite the peen aficionado, girls didn’t generally light me up, but there was something heady about her. “Could I buy you a drink?”
A feline smile spread across her face. “I’d like that.”
Audrey was smart and funny and mostly kept me from sneaking glances at the TV every three seconds, where Paul McCartney mugged with Rohan as they gave some interview outside the party. Did they not have any other performers to focus on at this stupid event?
“…and the best part was just jumping off the boat every morning into the tropical waters, in this endless bay of blue.”
I leaned in closer to catch Audrey’s description of her Vietnam travels over the noise of the bar, her van
illa scent teasing my senses. “That sounds amazing.”
Her hand skimmed my arm. “It was.”
Onscreen, the photo frenzy had intensified to the point of me having to blink against the strobing white light. Freaking Shakira was giving Rohan a giant hug. He said something to make her laugh then squeezed her shoulder.
My supposed fuck buddy had upended my life, smashing through my “no kissing” rule with a kiss that had lit up my soul and quenched an ache inside me. I’d been like a woman so dehydrated, she hadn’t even realized she was dying of thirst.
Rohan didn’t need to call. I didn’t need to call.
I eyed the smattering of freckles across Audrey’s collarbone that I intended to lick my way across like a map to nirvana. “Wanna get out of here?”
She licked a drop of G Bomb off her lower lip, her smile blooming wide and filthy. Excellent.
3
“Get out of here” was a relative term. We made it as far as the bathroom, crashing into an empty stall, our lips locked together. I moaned, licking into the corner of her mouth.
Rohan had left me with a simmering need that my new vibrator couldn’t satisfy, erotic dreams that I couldn’t escape, and a desperate yearning that frequent underwear changes couldn’t accommodate. I craved the glide of skin on skin, fingers plunging, and the taste and feel of lips on mine.
Kissing was definitely back in my world.
Audrey rocked her hips against me. I palmed her breast, hot and heavy in my hands, thick-headed with lust.
The main bathroom door crashed open, Kane’s cheery “Incoming,” booming through the space. There was some giggled shrieking from the women at the sinks and a “Watch the hands,” from my brother.
The giggling continued through the women’s departure.
Audrey bit my lower lip, her fingers inching their way up my thigh.
A stall door banged. Then another one.
Then ours, catching me in the shoulder as it swung open. “Hel-lo, cherry ChapStick.”
The Unlikeable Demon Hunter: Need (Nava Katz Book 3) Page 2