The Unlikeable Demon Hunter (Nava Katz #1)(19)

According to Ari, Rasha magic stemmed from personality dysfunction, like how Kane with his poison power was a literal manifestation of him being toxic in relationships. As far as I was concerned, my magic was simply electric awesomeness and not, as Ari had said my "desire to shock others and keep them at bay made tangible."

Next on was a tailored white men's dress shirt, worn with one more button open than polite society would deem decent. The fall of the neckline allowed for a tantalizing glimpse of my rack.

Pointing my toes, I rolled the first of my white thigh-high stockings up, adjusting the elastic top so that about an inch of skin showed between their top and the skirt's hem. Stocking number two went on the same way.

Back to the suitcase I went for my hair and make-up bags, then I ported everything into the bathroom. Using a shit-ton of mousse, I finger-styled my curls into a tousled, sexy mane. The kind of hair that guys ached to sink their hands into. I'd used such a style to excellent effect on many an occasion. Lips to match the hair via a scarlet lipstick with plumping properties to get that slightly swollen look. My eyes and cheeks I kept fairly understated, lightly blending concealer and brushing on foundation to brighten my post-travel complexion and adding the smallest pop of eyeliner and pale brown shadow to make my eyes look striking without stealing the show. The effort required to look "natural" was ridiculous.

I slid my feet into Mary Jane stilettos that completed my sexed-up schoolgirl look, then reviewed my reflection, pleased with the results. I checked the clock. I was due to meet Rohan and Samson in five minutes. I slid my keycard into my bra, my hands shaking with the fine edge of jet lag and adrenaline, then headed out.

Rohan was going to freak when he saw me. A silver lining to this suck-ass role after all.





5





I used my time in the empty elevator to close my eyes and center myself. This was no different than any other performance I'd given. When the doors dinged open, I was ready, sashaying into the lobby, my features arranged in an expression of boredom.

Rohan and Samson stood out like two entrenched pillars of testosterone in a sea of frothy high-gleam. Their commanding presence demanded a more majestic surrounding, almost overwhelming the sleek, low lines of the modern furnishings. Rohan had his back to me, all leather jacket and spiked-up hair, the light glinting off his multiple silver rings as he chatted with Samson. I stepped back around the corner, peering out. From this angle, I could see them but they couldn't see me.

Samson, live and in the flesh, was shorter than I expected. Rohan was about six-foot-two and he had a good three inches on Samson. In my stilettos, I'd be eye-level with the actor, which suited me fine.

He sported jeans, a beat-up brown leather jacket, and a T-shirt, all too calculatingly casual to be cheap. I bet myself a hundred bucks he'd smell of that perfect unisex blend of light citrus designed to tease the senses, versus Rohan's more primitive musk and iron scent. I'd have to keep up the mantra of "potential demon" because looking between him and Rohan, Samson wasn't the one registering as the greater threat.

I spotted Drio as promised, hanging with Samson's inner circle. There was actually a largish group with him here in Prague, but Drio had targeted two specific dudes as being the closest to King. Hangers-on, not fellow actors. Too bad. The skinny jittery one in the baggy jeans could have found steady work as a toady hustler in Hard Knock Strife. I wondered if he was coked up. His buddy, busy texting, was a straight-up hearts and skulls wearing douchebag with his head buzzed in wavy lines. Sexual predator as higher aspiration.

Drio's eyes widened a fraction but he didn't glare at my deviation from the plan. Instead he looked at Rohan and Samson, his expression thoughtful.



       
         
       
        

I clicked across the floor, rating a disapproving frown from the buttoned-up desk clerk before he smoothed it into a bland courteous smile as I placed a hand on Rohan's shoulder to let him know I'd arrived.

"Samson," Rohan said, "this is –" He turned toward me for the first time, and I fought hard to keep my bored look in the face of his stunned expression.

"Lolita," I supplied. My voice matched my vibe. Sulky and unimpressed.

Samson scanned my body like a barcode. "Samson King." His attitude was all, "yeah, it's me, be thrilled." Seems I didn't merit the famous charm. Yet.

Sorry to disappoint, asshole. I flicked my gaze away, checking out the lobby as if looking for someone more interesting.

Samson's eyes narrowed.

Rohan's hand curled around my hip. "Lolita," he admonished. It may have come off as him getting me to be polite in the face of this amazing superstar but the growled warning had nothing to do with etiquette.