Rolling for Love

by Kate Messick

  “I’m surprised a paladin of your caliber would side with demons and undead,” Raphael states as if out moment had never occurred.

  “Helm himself blessed this team,” Goliath declares. “They are rough around the edges, but we must be willing to protect good, in Helm’s name, regardless of the form or quantity it’s in.”

  Raphael looks unimpressed, but returns to his seat his eyes scanning something in front of him. A moment later a knock sounds at the door and a second man enters. Much like Raphael, this man walks with an unearthly confidence that matches his Greek-god physique. His suit is black, his hair brown with frosted white tips that blend into the brown, and white tipped horns poking out of the top of his head. His brown eyes are so pale, without his brown rimmed spectacles I’m not sure if I would have picked out the color.

  “Gabriel,” Raphael acknowledges looking up. “Let me introduce you to our new strike team.”

  Gabriel looks at each of us once and then turns to Raphael with an eyebrow raised.

  “Strike team?” Ruby repeats.

  I, for once, am not upset by the repetition.

  “Strike team,” Raphael says again. “You can either help us destroy the Kaatses on our land and prove you are beings of the light. Or you can die now.” He speaks so calmly that I don’t immediately register the threat. When it sinks in, I move stand furiously, Strider stands as well, griping my arm to keep me from doing anything stupid.

  “We don’t do well under duress,” Goliath states the obvious.

  I look over and see that he’s holding back Trixy, her hands flexing with power crackling between her fingers.

  “I just wanted to save the little girl,” Ruby mumbles. She looks like she wants us to stop from fighting, but doesn’t know how.

  “Then that shall be your first task,” Raphael confirms. “We will not kill you for no reason. But Estes Park has been our base, our sanctuary, and you and the Kaatses are threats to that. The Poogses are even making a move for our town – or they were. We have ruled these mountains for the last fifty years. Nothing will take that from us.”

  Strider (Dillon’s character)

  Running their operations out of the Stanley Hotel, the Giirdse family is nothing if not organized. We are quickly issued living quarters, uniforms, and nestled into the chain of command. It sounds as if we have arrived in the middle of a supernatural territory war. The Kaatse had been mostly using guerilla tactics. But rumors are flying, and faith in leadership is low.

  The next morning, we leave our stone gargoyle and our sparkling dhampir in the hotel suite, and pile into a van with a handful of Giirdse warriors. Like us, they are dressed in green camouflage on the bottom, with black tops covered in a bulletproof vest. They seem to be a diverse group. Shifters, elves, and supernaturals I can’t identify all working together. Except for the occasional human, the Kaatse had been composed of only the red demons, of various sizes and types, but still red. And the Poogse seemed to be a mix of dark elves and vampires.

  I am pulled away from my musing as one of the elves speaks up, giving us details on Derek’s daughter. The van twists and turns on the small mountain roads as it heads for the campground the girls are being held at along with another teenager. We are dropped off, the other strike team has its own mission, and we soon find ourselves scouting the remote area.

  A large yurt is set up on packed dirt; although no car is there, fresh tracks can be easily seen right next to it. Two human guards stand on either side of the door, dressed like campers trying to blend into their surroundings. The plan is simple, and I start it off by casting sleep on the guard on the left. The three of us take out his counterpart easily. We leave the sleeper with our hungry succubus and dive into the yurt.

  Two scared dirty teenagers look at us hopefully from behind the massive form of a Kaatse demon, his muscled half-clothed form burned into my memory from the very start of all of this at the casino. Surprised, we both stop dead in our tracks. He draws a set of daggers off his hips and growls something in a language I don’t understand.

  We’re at a huge disadvantage in this small space. Ruby tries to back up, but he swings at her. She screams and is thrown to the ground; I’m too close to fire my crossbow and stab at him with my short sword. It sinks into his arm, but I get walloped across the face and stumble backwards. As I struggle for balance, I see Ruby’s lips moving on the ground and suddenly a large turtle stands in her place and lunges forward toward the demon’s crotch, jaws opened.

  “Oh God, I don’t even want to think about that. Does he dodge?” Steven asks, eyeing his wife and her very high dice roll. We hear dice roll behind Joe’s DM screen.

  “No, he does not. But I’m not sure if I’m capable of describing this.” Joe winces.

  “I can do it,” Lynda giggles. “I lunge forward, the jaw of my snapping turtle open wide, cloth and the warm flesh fills my mouth. I clamp down and lock my jaw.”

  “Dillon, take two damage,” Joe instructs.

  “What? I didn’t do anything?” I point out.

  “Dude,” Joe scolds. “You just watched a turtle do 17 points of damage to a man’s family jewels.”

  “Right,” I confirm. Lynda and Sandy are both giggling.

  It takes me a bit to shake off my surprise at Ruby’s tactics but once I do, I move fast, plunging my sword into the demon’s chest. Ruby and I quickly usher the kids out of the tent and to the safety of our rendezvous point. My eyes peeled for more demons, but the campsite is quiet.

  Back at the Stanley, we leave the girls in the care of the Giirdse family.

  “They will be fine,” Trixy assures us. “Although much rarer than demons, angels are just as real and just as self-righteous do-gooders as human stories say.”

  My mind spins as we make our way to our hotel suite. Why are the Kaatse attacking the angels now if they have been here for years? Something feels off, but I can’t place it. I need to talk to Nozomi, we are missing a piece of the puzzle. The sight that meets my eyes as I open the door is not what I want to see.

  Goliath’s stone body strikes a menacing pose in the afternoon sunlight. In the middle of the room, leaning on Goliath, sits Raphael, a scrying bowl on his lap. Nozomi is asleep with her head pillowed on his thigh. His gloved hand gently brushes the top of her head. The room sparkles where it reflects off Nozomi’s skin. I feel a possessive growl fill my throat. Raphael looks up at me and smiles.

  Chapter Seventy

  Reality, Joe’s House

  Angels and demons. Black and white. In books and games life can be that clear cut, but in reality? Everything is shades of grey. Their hues dictated by your own experiences.

  Sandy Yuhi

  “So if I have food, my cooties go away?” I ask the two men on either side of me. After our D&D game, Dillon and I migrated to Joe’s living room. Unfortunately his large L-shaped sofa did not force the intimate moment I was hoping for, giving each of us our own space to spread out. My suggestion to “Netflix and chill” had been taken literally, at least by Dillon, and we are now half way through a random Christmas special.

  “Yup,” Joe agrees as we pass around Chinese food. “Press ‘Play’. I want to know if he realizes they have swapped bodies or not.”

  “Of course he doesn’t know,” I scold Joe. “This is an incredibly overused story line. It has probably been done millions of times.”

  “I’ve never seen it,” he mumbles as Dillon hits the play button. And I’ll be damned if we didn’t watch the entire thing. It was really sweet, maybe not super original, but good acting with a homey Christmas message.

  “Wow, that was super lame,” Joe mutters as the credits roll.

  “Another Christmas special?” Dillon asks skeptically.

  “No! You two have decided my cooties are ok,” I babble. I purposefully swing my legs onto Joe’s lap and lean my back against Dillon, being extra sure my lacy panties peek out of my low-riding jeans. A preview for whatever Netflix recommends next is playing behind us.

&nb
sp; I peek at Joe. His face is impassive, but his eyes smolder as he looks me over. I want that kiss again. I know we haven’t really talked about anything. I know I’m trying to force a moment. But when a girl wants something, she has to go for it.

  Joe seems to make a decision and begins to remove my socks to give me a foot massage. I close my eyes; it's a start. And damn, his strong hands are good at this. Dillon shifts behind me, so my back is resting on his chest. I adjust so I’m more or less on his lap. He runs a hand up my arm and neck, and then caresses my face.

  “I think we need to talk about this.” His words destroy the moment.

  I wrinkle my nose and sit up, pulling my feet out of Joe’s amazing hands. I don’t want to talk about this. Dillon always wants to talk. That’s all we do: fucking talk. “Dillon, why do you always do this? Why can’t things be simple.”

  “Because emotions are not simple.” He stands his ground.

  “Sex is simple,” I insist.

  “That’s what you thought with Amorino, and look where that got you,” Dillon responds. I suck in a breath and my body goes stiff. Did he really just say that?

  “That came out harsher than I meant,” he back-peddles immediately. “What I’m trying to say is that we, the three of us, have a good dynamic. And you’re still healing—”

  “I’m still healing?” I growl. I’m livid. “I’m still healing? Why are you putting emotions into my mouth? You can’t tell me when I’m ready. I don’t care how observant you are. You’re not inside me. You can’t control my emotions, because that’s what you’re trying to do.”

  “Sandy, that's not at all—”

  “Isn’t it?” I cut in. “My relationship with Amorino was complicated with almost two decades of history. And ongoing trauma, if I’m being honest. What physiological formula are you trying to run me through to heal from that?”

  Dillon tries again. “Sandy, I’m not—”

  “You are,” I cut him off again. I glance at Joe.

  He has gotten out his phone and is trying to pretend he’s not in the room.

  “For everything you do that makes me feel so loved, I also feel like you don’t really listen to me.” I’m over the limit to drive, we all are. I move myself as far away from the two of them as I can.

  “Fucking bad Christmas specials it is … at least until I’m sober enough to drive myself home,” I mutter.

  Netflix has already picked one out for us. There’s a little box asking if I’m still here. Wow, even Netflix wants to turn everything into a conversation. I angrily press “Play” and cheery holiday music fills the room, doing nothing to dispel my anger.

  I wake up the next morning still on Joe’s couch, I must have fallen asleep during the movie. As it’s Joe’s house, I assume Joe brought me a pillow and blanket. I can feel make-up crustiest in my eyes and my lacy underpants so far up my butt I’m surprised they aren’t coming out of my mouth. My phone plinks again. It’s 9:30AM on a Sunday morning, it might as well be 2AM. This is early for me. But I did fall asleep at like 9:00 last night? No wonder my phone was able to wake me up.

  Amorino: You awake yet? Meet me for coffee, Café Soul at 10?

  It goes off a third time while I’m scanning messages and blinking the sleep out of my eyes.

  Amorino: I’m going to message you until you wake up.

  Sandy: Rude, much.

  Amorino: Only for you.

  Sandy: =P I’m not meeting you for coffee, I don’t know why you’re asking.

  Amorino: I’m not going to do anything. I just want to go over the camera that’s coming on Monday.

  I feel excitement at that. I can’t wait to see the basement.

  Sandy: Starbucks on 30th at 10:30. I need to shower.

  Amorino: 10:15, see you soon.

  I take a quick shower at Joe’s, scrubbing off as much of my smudged make-up as possible. I decide to go commando instead of leaving on my uncomfortable undergarments.

  I grab my leftover Chinese food containers, leaving Joe a surprise in their place before heading out. I am pulling up at 10:14. I was hoping to be late, damn. Amorino waves me over, two coffees in front of him.

  “You look refreshed,” he says as he eyes my person. It’s sarcasm. He can tell I slept in my outfit.

  “And you’re as charming as ever.”

  Amorino pushes paperwork toward me and I pick it up.

  “Here’s the plan for the new house,” he says, immediately distracting me.

  I shuffle through it. Wow, this is amazing. “Did you get permissions? You don’t have a 3D model, do you?” I ask absently as I find a 2D rendition. This has to be one of the coolest plans I have ever looked at. Basically, a normal cookie-cutter house on top with a fallout bunker underneath. Complete with underground garage for multiple cars, water filtration, two generators, and the typical assortment of rooms.

  “The 3D model is on my tablet,” Amorino says. “I didn’t bring it, sorry.”

  “Bring it on Monday?”

  “Do you want to come over and take a look?”

  “I would love too,” I say absently, still looking at the printouts. “This is amazing, but would you have a buyer? This can’t be cheap.”

  “Assuming it gets approved, we plan on finding a buyer early in the building process,” he explains. “Drink your coffee.”

  I obediently drink it, too distracted to be resentful of being told what to do. As I feel the caffeine begin to make my blood flow and my mind clear, I realize that I have agreed to go over to Amorino’s house. “Sorry,” I say. “I wasn’t thinking. I can’t come over. It’ll have to wait until you bring it Monday.”

  “Sure, it was just a thought,” he says easily. I narrow my eyes at his agreeableness.

  “Have you worked out your stuff with your wife?”

  “She’s out of town this week. Come over. I’ll make you a late breakfast as we can go over those plans and the camera.”

  “Amorino, what are you playing at?” I ask him suspiciously.

  “What if Aurora were ok with it?” Amorino asks quietly. By the tone of his voice, I know we’re talking about sex now. “Like she was part of it.”

  “Shit Amorino, have you met your wife? She’s not the sharing type.” I laugh, picturing Aurora having this conversation.

  “I was just wondering for the future,” he says easily. “We might not have worked things out, but you got us talking. She has been creative recently. You know me, I can be persuasive when I want to be.”

  “Yes, you can,” I say, my voice unsure. There is a gleam, joy, in Amorino’s eyes. Is this his new plan? Has he found himself new game: a threesome with his wife?

  “Why are we still even having these conversations?” I finally ask. “I bet Aurora has a slew of super-hot young friends who would have a threesome with you.”

  “But none of those friends are you.”

  “That’s super sweet … in a kinda creepy way,” I respond. “I’ll not say it again. Fuck off. Friends only, or not even that.”

  I take a sip of coffee and study Amorino’s handsome face. Snippets of my argument with Dillon run through my mind. Dillon might have been right, at first. Going on real dates where we talked, laughed, and learned about each other had been what I needed. A reminder that love is romantic, not just one person using another. But now, I have learned my lesson and Dillon is still stuck trying to fix me. Amorino and I will have baggage for the rest of our lives. But, I have moved on. I know what I want. I suddenly feel the truth in my thoughts, and it settles in my heart.

  Amorino’s sexy smirk hasn’t wavered as his gaze remains on my lips. I lick them, a nervous habit that I’m not feeling, but I know will make Amorino think he has won.

  “I need to run home and grab a change of clothing. I’ll be over in forty-five minutes or so,” I say, trying to sound coy.

  “I’ll have food waiting,” he purrs.

  I stand and put on my layers of jackets and pick up my coffee cup. “Thanks for the coffee. See you soon.
”

  He waves me off and I head to my car. I have no idea how long he will wait before he realizes that I have no intention of showing up at his house. Hopefully, I waste at least a few hours of his time. As I pull up to my studio a few minutes later my phone goes off. I look down and laugh.

  Joe: Did you leave your panties in my fridge!?

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Reality, Exabyte Data Solutions

  Your emotions are the slaves to your thoughts, and you are the slave to your emotions.

  – Elizabeth Gilbert

  Dillon Dempsy

  “You haven’t spoken to Sandy since Saturday?” Blake asks accusingly. “Let me get this straight, although I can tell you’re leaving stuff out. She asked you not to do something. You ignored it and did it anyway. And now you’re not communicating at all.”

  “Yes,” I snap.

  “Aren’t you all about ‘communication’ and ‘talking about feelings’?”

  “Well, yes.” I see where this is going.

  “So, she opened up to you. And you shut her down and now you’re waiting for …?”

  “I don’t really know, now that you put it that way,” I answer miserably.

  We’re in our usual spots, my chair is spun around in my cubicle and Blake is sitting on his backwards. Except everything is upside down. I’m usually giving Blake advice and now I can’t even figure myself out.

  “I’m in love,” I say to Blake melodramatically. “I want everything to be prefect.”

  “Dude, aren’t you the one that told me that humans are fundamentally flawed and even reaching for perfection is rectitude beyond human ego?”