The Unlikeable Demon Hunter (Nava Katz #1)(2)

"You're hilarious."

"I am rather," he replied in a put-on posh British accent that intoxicated me like a shot of liquid sex. He gestured to the trash-strewn floor. "Be aware of your surroundings," he directed in his normal voice that was all smoky baritone and velvet Californian curls. "Garbage can be your downfall."

Nodding, I flung a damp lock of curly dark brown hair out of my face.

The vral scrambled back onto all fours, shaking out her fur like she was waking from a nap. Then the man-eating little fucker lunged and sank her two rows of teeth into the toes of my boots.

Steel-toed, but still. These babies were new. Very expensive. Who knew it was such a challenge to find badass boots with reinforced steel, a chunky heel that was far more practical to run in than stilettos, and silver buckles running up the side? It was my consolation gift to myself for having my lovely life of partying, sex, and naps getting shot to hell with the recent discovery that I was the first female Rasha, or demon hunter. I'd been reluctantly inducted into the Brotherhood of David, a dick-swinging secret organization.

Yeah, they weren't thrilled to have their first vag-sporter either.

The vral's eyes locked onto mine. She gave a chittered cackle, her teeth cracking deeper into the leather.

My old tap dance mantra popped into my head. A one, a two, you know what to do. Nothing to it but to do it. I blasted the vral's eyeball, shielding myself with a ceiling tile against the putrid pus arcing out of her like a Tarantino kill. The splatter guard worked well, with only a few drops of warm liquid hitting my cheek. It tingled but nothing got in my eyes or mouth so score one, Nava. Which tipped into score the second, as the demon death throe'd down to a single nubbin of fur.



       
         
       
        

The faintest scuff of claws on metal was our only clue that another demon was present. It flew off an overhead pipe, claws outstretched and the fur on its back raised. A baby vral, much smaller in size, but still deadly.

Before I even had time to gasp, Rohan's hand shot up, one wicked sharp blade extended from his index finger, the movement pulling his coat tight around his astoundingly well-defined shoulders. His magic allowed him to do that party trick with all his fingers, not to mention extend a blade that ran the length of his body like an outline. One time I'd asked him why his clothes didn't get shredded each time he brought out his knives. Maybe I'd said it a little too dejectedly because he'd stopped instructing me on the proper way to punch a chupacabra in the face and raised an amused eyebrow as he said, "It's magic."

He didn't look up when he aimed now, didn't even stop sipping that stupid latte, yet he shish-kabobed the vral right through the neck. Since it wasn't the sweet spot, it wasn't a kill strike, but he still stopped the demon in its tracks.

"Admit it. You're the devil." I trained my eyes on the shadowy corner but didn't see any other movement.

"Nice to see I've risen in the hierarchy of Hell during our brief acquaintance." With a snap of his wrist, Rohan flicked the demon over to me.

Baby vral plopped at my feet with a wet splat, still quivering.

"Don't say I never give you anything," he said.

"I couldn't possibly accept. You caught it. You kill it."

Rohan waved a hand at me. "I insist."

I toed the baby vral. Hmm. I stood behind it, which meant its eyeballs faced Rohan. "I serve at the pleasure of my commanding officer." Barely hiding my snigger, I nailed its eyeball with a concentrated stream of electricity, killing the demon with a tad too much enthusiastic zeal.

Its entire body exploded. An almost impossible amount of pus, guts, and fur flew, dousing our immediate area like the splash zone at SeaWorld. Its various bits then winked into oblivion like they were supposed to when a demon was offed, but the damage had been done.

Rohan remained pristine. He looked like a god and I looked like the aftermath of a Dumpster fire. A dank-ass, gooey, Dumpster fire of demon pus. Awesome.

I strode toward him, my hair dripping with sweat and filth, my skin and clothes not even that clean, determined to make him pay.

He snicked out the blades of one hand as I neared, warding me off.

Ignoring the threat that wasn't, I swiped his coffee cup, tipping it back for those last few swallows. "Mmm, caramel." I licked a drop of foam off my lip with deliberate slowness, gratified by Rohan's nostril flare. Yeah, our attraction was a two-way street, with both of us engaged in a high-octane game of chicken to see who'd blink first. 

The first night we'd met, I'd accused Rohan of being a demon because ordinary mortals could not look that good without Photoshop. Only the slight bent of his nose, broken on more than one occasion, marred his perfection. Too bad all of that 'tude poured into the tight package of leanly muscled torso, dark brown hair that curled in thick, sexy locks around his ears, gold eyes, killer cheekbones, firm chin, and light brown skin from his East Indian/Jewish heritage was my personal downfall.