Demons Like It Hot (10 page)

“You
have
joined them!” Balthazar chuckled, deep and sardonic. “You fool. You are setting yourself up to fail. That’s what those self-righteous Fore-Demons want.”

“Do you really think I care what the Fore-Demons want?”

“You should, Ambrose, because it isn’t pretty. Especially for you.” Balthazar arched an eyebrow and traced a long finger down the thin patch of hair on his chin.

“The cryptic bullshit doesn’t suit you, Bal.”

“Balthazar. Bal is dead. Thank the Dark Master.”

Even the strongest of those not aligned would eventually turn. Their minds warped, they would fall into the dark abyss that was hell. It was only a matter of time. He’d make his decision before his thoughts were tainted.

“No, thank you.”

“Would you rather thank God?”

Matthias yanked his dagger from its sheath.

“I’d rather thank myself.” With that, he prepared to slice—old mentor or not.

He had his nerve! She pushed and pulled the flimsy door. She pounded and kicked, imagining it was Matthias instead. The wood would not budge. Then again, as solid as Matthias was, he probably wouldn’t either.

“Get me out of here!”

Jangling the keys, the salesman wiggled the handle. “I’m trying, miss. The lock is stuck.”

No
friggin’ shit
. “Try harder,” she said through gritted teeth, pounding her fist on the door.

Sweat dampened her forehead and her breath caught. Her heart thumped in her chest. Her head was swimming as she brushed the beads of sweat from her brow. She sucked in another ragged breath.

The heat built up and the walls closed in, suffocating her. She
had
to get out of there. Gasping for air, she shook and rattled the door. Teeth clenched, she slammed her fists into the flimsy wood.

Bastard
.

Anger boiled deep inside, warring with the fear. Not a good mix at all. She clenched her fists and closed her eyes. If only her grandmother were here. She’d know what to do. She always did. But Nonni was gone. She swallowed the lump. It was her fault.

Nonni, I need you.

She closed her eyes again and threw her head back, flinging and flailing her wrists.

She peeled an eye open and snuck a gaze at the sparkly band. Gritting her teeth, she grumbled beneath her breath. Why wouldn’t it work? Then again, it seemed to have a mind of its own. It only worked when it wanted—such was her life, a never-ending case of Murphy’s Law.

Please, Nonni
.

As if it were an echo from her past, her Nonni’s voice called to her from the faint recesses of her mind.

Breathe
in
and
out
from
one
to
five. With each count let the peace envelop you.

One.
She sucked in, allowing warmth to creep into her pores.

Two.
She imagined herself floating in the air.

Three.
She floated higher, the air around her getting clearer.

Four.
More energy surrounded her, seeping in.

Five.
She fell backwards, into her own personal cloud of softness.
Completely
relaxed.

Warm energy zinged into her wrist. She opened her eyes. The watch glowed warm and energizing, not hot and overbearing as before.

You
can
do
anything
you
put
your
mind
to.
Her grandmother’s voice faded with the breeze. With a reluctant smile, she rubbed the watch. The diamonds glistened, no longer taunting sparks, but welcome reminders of her grandmother. Nonni might not have been there in body, but her spirit was plentiful. Nonni would get her out.

She reached out and grabbed the handle of the door and yanked. With a reluctant groan, the door creaked open.

The clerk breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. I thought I’d have to call a locksmith for a minute. Never seen that happen before.”

“Neither have I.” She’d seen weirder. But for the clerk’s—and her already dwindling—sanity, she kept that to herself.

Thanks
Nonni
. A mental breakdown averted—her own.

She grabbed the mountain of clothes and toddled toward the other items piled high on the floor. Fumbling with the other stack, she tripped over a shoe box and staggered forward.

“He is so dead.”

“He had to secure the perimeter,” the salesman said with a chuckle. Too bad he didn’t know he wasn’t far off from the truth. “Let me help you.” He scooped up the other pile and jogged to the register.

Grumbling beneath her breath, Serah trudged to the register. With an unceremonious grunt, she heaved the clothes onto the counter. The scent—scratch that—odor continued to linger in the air. Whatever or whoever this demon was, he was strong… and nearby. Screw Matthias and his one-man army. She was through playing the damsel who wasn’t quite in distress.

“An emergency came up. Do you do deliveries?”

The salesman shook his head. “Not usually.”

Flashing a smile, she reached inside her purse. She flicked open her gold lamé wallet and drew out her credit card and a crisp fifty-dollar bill. “What if good ole Ulysses helps you?”

“I’m supposed to take my girlfriend out for dinner.”

She dug around her wallet again and slid another bill across the counter. “And if Andy joins in?”

The salesman’s eyes lit up. “My girlfriend will understand.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” She pulled out a business card and scrawled her address on the back. Who needed enrapturement when dead presidents worked just as well? “I need them delivered to 1564 Creekside Drive.” She then drew him a map on the back of the business card. “Someone will be there to pick up the delivery.”

“Sounds good. Pleasure doing business.”

Serah nodded, grabbed her cell phone, and mashed the familiar numbers.

“Hello?” Kalli’s voice boomed.

“Kalli. I need someone to pick up a delivery from the clothing store. Can you do it?”

“What’s up?”

“Something came up and this store is about to close.”

“Fine.”

“Thanks! I owe you.”

“Lucy told me about all your IOUs.”

“Whatever, bye.” She clicked the phone shut and shoved it in her purse. She knew she’d been a little short with Kalli. She’d make it up to her later. With that, she opened the door and rushed outside.

The odor clung to the air, burning her nostrils. Her stomach lurched. Like the reek of a giant sack of broccoli and cauliflower gone bad, it would not dissipate. A rotten egg or stink bomb here and there, that she could handle. This scent, however, made the River City sewer system smell like roses. She scooted against the cold concrete wall, her steps stealthy.

Armed with an unexpected burst of confidence, she crept toward the alley, the odor acting like a beacon, drawing her closer.

On quiet tiptoes, she rounded the corner. Ready and alert, she scanned the dark alleyway. Shadowy figures paced back and forth, sizing each other up.

A creepy chuckle chilled her to the core. Evil. Her heart pounded in her chest. Shivers of energy crackled through her. She stood alert… ready. What the hell was going on?

“Would you rather thank God?” The voice, low and sinister, sent her hair prickling on end.

The sound of metal scraping against metal echoed through the alley. A hint of silver flickered in the moonlight. Matthias’s voice boomed. “I’d rather thank myself.”

What
the
heck? Thank himself? Why exactly was he here?
Serah clenched her fists. She should have known. It was only about his own advancement. At least Rafe had a reason when he came here.

“You could always thank me, you know. I’m the one who made you a cold-blooded killer.”

“I’ve never killed anyone in cold blood. Everyone I’ve fought or killed deserved their fate.”

“So much for that. You’ve gone soft.”

“No, I’ve grown smart.”

“Hardly.”

She scooted along the wall, edging closer. Maybe Nonni’s watch still had some juice left in it. Please?

Scrape!
The sound of her heels grinding against pebbles screeched in her ears.
Oh, hell no.
She scurried backwards. Away from the two demons.

A heavily muscled arm encircled her, pulling her against a brick wall—at least that’s what it felt like. Stony and cold. “Look what we have here.” The voice, deep and sardonic, sent her blood curdling and her stomach heaving. Maybe it was his cologne—or lack of it. “You have upheld your end of the bargain.”

“What bargain?” Serah breathed out.

“You’ll have to ask Matthias,” he whispered, his fetid breath inching along her ear. “Pretty little thing.” He took a strand of hair and curled it around a talon. Sniffing along her neck, he licked his chops. “Good enough to eat.”

The only thing this monster would be eating was a knuckle sandwich. Preferably one served up by her.

She angled a glance toward Matthias. Lips firm and straight, his facade remained stony and indifferent. His dagger was poised, and his intense glare never wavered. What the hell was he doing? Was this all a sick twisted plan? And she’d walked right into their trap. She should’ve known he was too good to be true.

“Are you just going to stand there? You’re a bodyguard. Do something.”

His lips curved slightly into a frown. “I can’t.”

“What the hell?”

The demon’s grip grew tighter. “He really can’t.” He yanked her head to face him. Lips spread wide into a sardonic smile, and his green cat-eyes glinted. “He never finished his last mission.”

She had to do something. Matthias, standing there like a giant pile of granite, wasn’t helping. He obviously had his own agenda. Whatever it was, at this particular point she didn’t care.

“The package was delivered. Let her go.”

“Not to my boss’s specifications.”

She closed her eyes and concentrated on the watch. Perhaps Nonni could guide her and help her out of this mess. After all, she’d helped her out of the dressing room.

And into this walking septic tank’s arms. Then again, she’d done that all by herself. Luckily for her, his scent wasn’t nearly as bad as the last Infernati prick who manhandled her—but not by much. Then again, the more evil you were, the bigger the stink. Made perfect sense.

Serah closed her eyes. Maybe she could channel Nonni again. She had to get out of here.
Please, Nonni?

Accept
your
destiny.
Her grandmother’s soothing voice echoed in the breeze. Not this destiny shit again. Even in death, her Nonni’s words always remained cryptic.

Don’t deny yourself like I did. Swear to me.

So she had. Anything to ease her grandmother’s suffering.

But since then, her grandmother’s words haunted her. Almost as if she were there in her mind, spurring her on. Catering was her destiny, though. She had loved cooking, ever since she was a child. Cooking was in her blood—not all this purity stuff. What a crock.

Pure-Blood? Yeah, right. Maybe her grandmother, but not her. She wasn’t good enough to fill her grandmother’s shoes. She couldn’t even speak her grandmother’s native language. How dumb was that?

Her ever-present inner self reared its annoying head.
But
what
about
the
door? How did you do that?

It was a fluke. That’s all. She might have believed in all that supernatural stuff, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be a part of it. Look at Lucy. If it wasn’t for Rafe, she’d probably be a raging nymphomaniac, sexing the life out of innocent men. But, knowing her friend, she’d probably aim for the not-so-innocent.

“Cat got your tongue?” The evil demon whispered in her ear, his cold stony fingers tracing along her lips. Screw the watch. She had the perfect opportunity to get out of this mess on her own. A little bit of trickery went a long way.

She drew out her tongue and traced his fingertip, the contact sending shivers of revulsion coursing through her. She murmured and pressed closer to him.

Matthias drew a deep breath. “What are you doing to her, Bal?”