Demons Don't Always Tell The Truth (Kate Storm Series Book 3) (3 page)

"I plan to talk to her tomorrow."

Morgan nodded. "Let me know what you find out." Her shoulders were now moving along with her head and foot. Three gargoyles were belting out 'Peacock'.

Let me tell you, Katy Perry had no worries.

They'd obviously been practicing. They had a dance routine.

I turned my chair so I wouldn't catch even a peripheral view.

"I think we should pick a song."

I almost spilled my beer. "Morgan." I waited until she looked me in the eye. "There is no amount of beer, blood or magic that will get me up there."

I had to be firm and make my position very clear. Morgan and I had a long and varied history in regards to . . . Let's just call them escapades.

I was generally on board with her plans and vice versa. If I weakened at all, we could be the next Spice Girl wannabes humiliating ourselves in the Goth bar.

A witch had to maintain some sense of decorum.

"We could sing 'Witchy Woman'." Morgan snickered. "Or maybe the 'Monster Mash'?" She stuck her arms straight out, wrists bent downward and swung her arms gracefully from side to side.

She managed to make Frankenstein look sexy.

I stood, grabbed her thermos as well as one arm and tugged upward.

"Time to go."

Morgan snatched up her martini glass clutching it close. I leaned forward and took a cautionary sniff.

She definitely hadn't added anything to her blood.

We left the bar, Morgan following me to my car in the parking lot behind
Got Fangs?.
Lolly had continued the Goth theme into the parking lot by not adding light bulbs to three of the four light posts.

The HC have very few fears, if any. They're immortal. If the boogeyman shows up he's more than likely a relative or a friend.

The parking lot gave me the creeps.

I opened the door to my bright yellow Mini Cooper. Morgan leaned casually against the side, draining the last of her blood.

We didn't say anything. The night calm with the evening chill just settling in.

Morgan sighed heavily. I didn't have to look at her to know the haunted look was returning. She hid it well most of the time, but it seemed the moment she relaxed, the past came back with a vengeance.

My Duck and Dodge routine is a totally inherited trait.

Morgan had been running from her past for so long, it was as if she had made herself into a new being completely. She hadn't faced the truth of it when she'd tracked me down. Drake's re-entry into her life had forced the showdown.

Old damaged Morgan versus capable has-her-shit together Morgan.

It was a fight I hated to see.

She'd always been the strong one in our friendship.

"I'll talk to you later, Kate." Morgan handed me the empty martini glass and flew off.

Now it was my turn to be the strong one. I couldn't hold onto my anger if I was going to help her.

She's my aunt and my UDBF.

My life would be less without her.

3. Hot Demons and More Secrets.

I was still ruminating over how to help Morgan and myself as I pulled up to the curb in front of my apartment. I turned off the ignition and slammed my door shut.

I hate ruminating.

I, personally, don't find it helpful.

Then again my ruminating tends to follow the lines of:
How am I going to help Morgan? I don't know. I have to get over my anger with Morgan. How? I don't know.

Sort of a frustrating and not very helpful circle.

Like I said, I don't find ruminating to be helpful.

"You're home early. Girl's night a bust?" Big Al yawned as he met me at the door. I held it open for him as he came out and we went downstairs together.

"Sort of." I pretended to look for something in my purse as he did his business. "Morgan wanted to sing karaoke and I didn't."

I didn't mention the Big Issue. I figured if my ruminating wasn't going to be helpful, my Chihuahua wasn't going to be either.

"Why not? Karaoke's a blast."

My mouth dropped and my head whipped up. Luckily, Al had finished what he needed to do and was sniffing a small branch.

The hit-man liked karaoke?

I tried to picture it, but in my mind his gun holster kept hitting the microphone stand. The gargoyles were bad enough, but Al? Singing?

Nope. I didn't want to know.

"What do you like to sing?" Okay. Fine. I had to know.

"Sinatra. Dean Martin." Now that I could see. Mob related singers. Made sense for a New Jersey mafia hit-man to like those guys. It just took me back that Al liked to sing.

I've never heard him sing.

"AC/DC. Garth Brooks."

My mouth dropped again. "Garth Brooks?"

Big Al blinked brown, moist, bulging eyes up at me. "Doll, I've got lots of friends in low places."

I snickered.

"By the way," Al tossed over his tiny shoulder as he preceded me up the stairs. "The phone's been ringin' off and on all night."

Odd. If it was important, everyone I knew had my cell number.

I opened the front door and Al headed down the short hall into the kitchen.

My apartment consists of five rooms, and like I said, all of them are tiny. I have one euphemistically entitled second bedroom to the left of the hall which fits my desk and a bookshelf.

On the other side is my living room. It hosts my new couch - I have a bill written up for Bigfoot if I ever run into her again - a coffee table, a couple chairs and my TV.

The itty-bitty bathroom stands between my office and my bedroom on the left side of the hall. It contains the basics - shower/tub, toilet and sink, plus one cabinet crammed full of hair products. Which have a fifty-fifty chance of working.

My curls are an entity all on their own.

My bedroom is large enough to hold a double bed, a small chair, a dresser and another bookshelf. As it doesn't hold those items very well, I have my doubts as to whether the demon will fit.

Although as Al continuously points out - he fits perfectly.

The kitchen connects to the living room on the right side of the hall. I followed Al into the kitchen and to the phone with the blinking light.

I've been debating whether to give up my landline. I've added Drake's, Désirée's and Phil's numbers to my cell phone address book recently. Along with my aunt's number, Ash's, Morgan's and the Italian Restaurant's, I'm almost up to ten.

In consideration, my landline seems a bit silly.

However, I have always been a rather optimistic witch.

I hit the play button.

And listened to three hang ups.

"No one left a message?"

Al sat on his minuscule haunches next to his water bowl. "No. A few times the person hung up before the answering machine could pick up."

Probably a desperate telemarketer.

The doorbell rang.

My heart picked up.

It was too late for friends to be stopping by and Morgan had already flown home. Only one demon would be at my door at this time of night.

I smoothed down as many curls as I could, ignored the majority that sprang back in opposing directions, pulled my shoulders back and sucked in my stomach.

All the air rushed back out and my stomach pushed against my jeans again the moment I opened the door. I didn't sigh. These days, whenever I saw Ash, I was filled with equal parts frustration and pulsing desire. My exhalations either began or ended with a moan.

I couldn't tell which. And it didn't matter.

This demon had me both coming and going.

He leaned with his bare, left arm braced against my doorframe. The pose emphasized his tattoos, scars and muscles. I paused to admire all three.

Ash has muscles on his muscles. They flex and shift with his slightest move. He could sleep and I wouldn't get tired of the view.

The tattoo covering his left arm and shoulder is Celtic in appearance. It marks the sign of his sin. Each Demon Lord has their own sin. Ash hasn't told me his. Yet.

The tattoo is comprised of mostly black lines, both wide and thin, with reddish flames intertwined. It ends near his neck where the scars take off. The scars continue up his neck and alongside his cheek and around his left eye.

Some of these scars are thick and raised.

A few weeks ago Ash and I went through a period where we had to work through some relationship issues. As he is a hot-headed demon and I'm a defensive witch that included Ash setting me on fire.

I now put on Flame Away each morning. Shower, lotion, Flame Away, clothes.

Ash hasn't quite gotten over the fact he nearly burned me to death. He's been torn between keeping me safe and thinking I would be better off without him. As a result, he has been practically shoving his physical scars in my face. And limiting his make out moves.

Hence both my desire and my frustration. And my stress eating.

I've been bullied and taunted my whole life for what I am. I could never do the same to Ash. Not for being what he is.

Demons heat up with the stronger emotions. It's something I've learned to love and live with.

I'm a mortal witch who catches on fire without spells or Flame Away. It's something Ash is still trying to come to terms with.

The rest of Ash was pretty much par for his course. Heavy biker boots, tight jeans, leather vest and head wrap. The only things that varied with his wardrobe were the color of his vests and the style of head wrap.

Ash always wore his vests without a shirt and a simple lace holding the vest together, leaving large sections of his upper torso exposed. I had absolutely no complaints.

He used the various head wraps to conceal his horns and limit the amount of human hysteria. I didn't have any complaints about that either.

"Kate." His voice alone could seduce me. Deep and laced with equal parts determination and dark desires.

"Ash." My voice trembled just a little. I loved his determination and couldn't wait for him to unleash those dark desires.

I'd sort of cursed myself with my own wand in that regard though. I'd had this great plan to force Ash to see he couldn't hurt me if I wore Flame Away. All I had to do was get him all fired up. So, I gave him an epic blow job.

He'd walked away.

Actually walked right out of my apartment. No "thank you". No "you blew my mind as well as my dick". No "your turn, baby".

He got mad and walked out.

I'd sort of forgotten demons don't like to lose control. My bad.

Ash had been controlling our
intimate time
ever since.

I really, really,
really
wanted my turn.

Ash has a dark and slightly kinky side to his nature. I'm drawn to that side like the proverbial moth to the flame. My witch to his hellfire.

Bring it on, baby.

I took a step back. "Come in."

Ash managed to brush his body against most of mine as he walked by. It wasn't lack of space, but deliberate seduction.

There was no need. He had me by the full broom.

"So, what did you kill?"

"Ya killed someone?" I hadn't heard the Chihuahua approach I'd been so focused on the demon.

"No." Ash took a seat on my new couch. He stretched his long legs out and rolled his powerful shoulders. As if he was tired. "I killed some quails."

Al and I looked at each other. "Quails?" I searched my brain. "Isn't that a type of bird? With a funny teardrop thingy over its head?" I waved my hand over my forehead to indicate the general area.

"Yes." Ash rolled his neck. "Drake and I each got six."

I took in the large badass demon in leathers sitting on my couch. I'd been picturing an Elk or a water buffalo or a wooly yak. A quail seemed so . . . Not what a demon would hunt.

"Aunt Tabs said she loved roasted quail."

Aha. Working on winning Aunt Tabs over. Made sense.

"What type of gun did you use?"

I frowned down at Al. He was causally licking one tiny paw. Playing it cool. I'm sure it was killing him. But it wasn't often he got a chance to talk guns or hunting. Never mind the prey was a bird.

Al missed it. Once a hit-man, always a hit-man.

I'm learning to live with it.

"A Beretta over and under shotgun."

Al's ears shot forward. "That's a nice gun."

I scooped him up before they could move onto bullets and gun cleaning techniques. It was nice to have Ash and Al conversing politely instead of threatening each other, but I wanted some alone time with the demon.

"Be right back." I cuddled Al against my chest. He nuzzled my left breast. I thought I caught a glimpse of tiny teeth aimed in Ash's direction. I know I heard Ash growl as we left the room.

I set Al down in my bed, pulled his doggy blanket over, threw my panties tangled in the blanket into the laundry basket where he couldn't get at them, and smooched his tiny head.

"Be good."

"I'm better than good, Doll. Better than any demon." He licked my lips.

I sighed. "I love you, Al."

I shut the door tightly on my way out.

Ash was in the exact same position. Somehow, now, with it being just the two of us, he seemed more dangerous. Not threatening, just not tame either. A powerful beast just waiting to be set loose.

I shivered.
Oh, baby, baby.

Ash lifted one big hand, palm up. "Come here, Kate."

I almost tripped over my feet in my rush.

The minute his skin touched mine, I had a moment's pause. Ash had been way too controlling lately. Too determined to force his will over mine.

As he pulled me down onto his lap I pressed my hands against his chest. Leather and heated skin met my touch.

"Ash, we need to talk." His large hands settled on either side of my waist. "I've told you I'm sorry. We need to move on. I didn't mean to make you angry when I was just trying to prove a point. Plus, you got a pretty amazing blow job, if I do say so myself."

I honestly could not believe he was still grumpy about that.

Ash's hands tightened just before he lifted me with casual strength. "Straddle me."

I thought about the extra weight I might have been putting on lately. Ash didn't seem to notice.

I moved my legs so I was kneeling over him, one knee bent on either side of his thick thighs. My thighs spread open and pressed over his groin, my point totally forgotten.

Ash slid his hands up my back. He pressed my chest against his, tangled his hands in my curls and tugged my head back until our eyes met.

My brown to his heated amber.

Ash leaned his head down until our noses almost touched. His words were a hot whisper of breath over my lips. "But, Kate, I'm not done punishing you yet. You were a very bad witch."

Well, I certainly wouldn't have given him an amazing blow job if I was a really good witch.

I didn't get a chance to make my point. Ash pressed his lips to mine. His tongue slid in and began a duel I wanted to lose. I
liked
Ash's dominant side. I craved it.

He tightened his grip in my hair, causing a slight sting and I gasped into him. He released my curls and nipped at my lower lip. I gasped again.

His hands slipped back to my sides and then up until they pressed just below my breasts. I clenched my fingers into his vest waiting for him to move his hands and touch me.

He stroked one thumb up over my left breast, just grazing my nipple, but not enough for me to actually feel his touch. A little tease.

He did the same with his other thumb.

His hip vibrated under my thigh.

For a moment I thought I'd had a mini orgasm. I was telling myself I was way too easy when his hip vibrated again.