Sweet Evil(77)

“Stop!” It was a male’s voice, strained from the effort. I pushed my legs to pump even faster, until my muscles were burning, but I knew it wasn’t fast enough. I was a long-distance endurance runner. This guy behind me was a sprinter. And a defensive linebacker, it would seem, as he tackled me to the ground in one easy swipe, nearly knocking the wind out of me. I got a faceful of leaf debris and dirt.

Struggling from his grip, I rolled and flailed so he couldn’t get a good hold. One of his giant arms was hooked around my hips, and he was reaching for my free arm, but I swung it sideways and busted his nose so hard I cried out from the throb of pain in my hand. The guy grunted and gave his head one hard shake, blood slinging into the dirt; then he was on top of me, using every bit of his mass to hold me down. He grabbed both of my wrists and pinned them to the ground next to my head. I panted, gasping for air.

“Be still. You are safe.” His voice had a soft accent I couldn’t place.

I looked at him. His nose had already stopped bleeding. His skin was dark like coffee, and his black waves of hair were cut short. He had the lightest hazel eyes I’d ever seen, and as he stared down at me I got a whiff of something cooking at the ball field concession stands: the buttery richness of hot, simmering caramel.... Wait. Was that his scent? I swallowed and pressed my head back against the dirt, trying not to breathe hard so my chest would stop pressing up against his.

Another pair of feet jogged up to us now.

“Kope!” the other guy yelled. “What the frick?! You got some cheetah blood in you or what?”

At the sound of his friend’s voice, the guy on top of me lifted some of his weight.

“I will let you up now.” His voice was quiet next to my ear. “Do not run.”

The other guy put his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He had black hair that was bleached at the tips, and when he brushed it from his forehead, it slicked back with sweat. He was at least part Asian, with dark, almond-shaped eyes and high, pronounced cheekbones. I exhaled and closed my eyes, realizing who they were. Blake and Kopano. My relief was followed by sheer humiliation for making them chase me.

“Seriously!” insisted Blake. “How did you run so fast?”

“I am African.” Without taking his eyes from mine, Kopano eased himself off me, and I sat up.

“Oh, ha, ha. A comedian,” Blake said.

Kopano felt his nose as he squatted next to me.

“You’re Kaidan’s friends,” I stated, feeling like a fool.

“Something like that,” Blake said. “He’s not exactly Mr. Friendly.” He pulled a cell phone from his pocket and dialed, putting it to his ear.

“Hey. Come back to the school. Kope was right—she jumped and ran. It’s all good, though.... Yeah, she’s with us... All right, I’ll tell her.”

He ended the call and slid the phone into his pocket.

“Marna says to say she’s sorry we scared the ‘bejaysus’ out of you,” he said.

Kopano and I both stood and brushed ourselves off. I pulled some pine needles out of my hair. I was still shaking as I followed Blake through the trees to the empty school. I glanced back at Kopano, who walked behind me.

“Sorry about your nose,” I said, shamefaced.

He kept his eyes down and nodded as if it were no big deal. I studied his smooth features and full lips for a moment before turning my head forward again. I wasn’t sure what to think about the look he’d given me on the ground, or the way he’d smelled.

It felt like forever before we found the edge of the woods and made our way to the school’s parking lot, empty except for the black car and two of the most beautiful girls I’d ever seen standing in front of it. I could hear their conversation.

“She’s sixteen?” one asked in surprise.

“Looks more like twelve to me,” the other said.

“Play nice,” the first warned her.

I knew who they were at once: the identical twin daughters of Astaroth, Pharzuph’s London buddy. As I looked at their summer skirts and strappy heels, I became aware of how I must look in my cutoff shorts and high, haphazard ponytail.

When Kaidan told me the twins were dancers, I’d pictured tall, lanky ballerinas. But no. Their bodies screamed salsa and tango—tiny waists nestled between amply rounded chests and hips. Any dancing they did was the booty-shaking kind. They were not much taller than me, with shiny brown hair styled into layers, and an array of perfectly fashionable accessories. Like Kaidan, they oozed sex appeal. The other two guys weren’t hard on the eyes, either.

Apparently Pharzuph was not the only demon to choose an attractive body to inhabit, and an attractive mate to give him a child, which was smart. Charming, good-looking people could get away with a lot.