The Unlikeable Demon Hunter (Nava Katz #1)(3)

And fall I had. Onto his very fine dick time and time again over the past few weeks of our acquaintance. What can I say? It was worth it.

"Home, Jeeves." I tossed the cup on the ground with the rest of the trash. Ignoring Rohan's sigh, I jumped up the rickety basement steps two at a time without a look back.

Taking the scenic route through the condemned home, I opted for the back door instead of the closer front one in the living room. Even though there were no longer leftovers of the poor desecrated victims, you couldn't pay me to walk back through the site of the people buffet. We Rasha held our own pretty well against the evil spawn found throughout the world, but the hard truth was that we didn't always win. Sometimes we died, and more often innocent victims did.

I gave a wide berth to the stained mattress leaning up against the kitchen wall, teeming with bed bugs. Insidious, unstoppable, blood-sucking demonic parasites. Do all the mattress wrapping and heat treatments you wanted, those bastards could only be killed for good with our help, and it wasn't a service we advertised. Plus, I kept seeing the mangled human arm that one of the vral had been batting around beside the mattress like a cat toy when we'd first entered.

A yellow Post-It note stuck to the back door caught my eye. I smirked at the stick figure woman saying "IOU" to a buffed stick man. My friend, and fellow Rasha, Kane Hashimoto's reminder that I'd be paying for him hauling body bits away. Probably in expensive booze and food. The longer before I was ever trained on clean-up, the better. Badass hunter, I was your girl. Handler of human remains and scourer of blood? Run away very fast. I crushed the note in my hand and stepped outside.

Cold rain pelted the back of my neck, sliding down along my spine into the waistband of my black miniskirt and leggings. The rest of the rain blew right through my tattered sweater, soaking me in less than a minute and burning like acid as it hit the vral claw wounds. Wincing, I sped up, my breath misting the air in sharp puffs.

A March day in Vancouver and rain flowed from the heavens faster than beer down a frat boy's throat. In summertime, my hometown was one of the most beautiful places on the planet, but on days like today where the sky was heavy and gray and the rain incessant, I felt like Mother Nature was sucking out my soul. Not literally. As far I knew there was no Mother Nature demon, soul-sucking or otherwise, though at this point, nothing would surprise me.

Rohan strode past, his coat flapping in the breeze with each of his measured strides, his unique scent of musk and iron teasing my senses. Fishing the keys out of his pocket, he stopped beside the '67 Shelby parked alongside the house. Fully restored, this vintage two-door muscle car with its midnight blue finish and white racing stripe was Rohan's pride and joy.

I dodged a large puddle to catch up, desperate for the car's heat.

The casual observer may have thought it sweet how Rohan lay out a veritable cocoon of towels to wrap me in, but I wasn't fooled. It was to protect the car. Any warmth or comfort on my end was strictly accidental.

Shivering, I pulled the towels around me and slid past him onto the passenger seat. "Such a gentleman."

Rohan gave me a wolfish grin. "You wouldn't want me if I was." He chucked me under the chin. Bastard. Even his door shutting sounded like it was smirking.



       
         
       
        

I grabbed the sports drink waiting for me in the cup's holder, my stiff fingers fumbling the cap until I gave up, using the edge of one of the towels to open it. I chugged half the bottle in one go. Every time we Rasha used our magic to kill a demon, it took a toll on us physically. Today's little venture was nothing an electrolyte top-up wouldn't fix, but I never looked forward to being zonked out and exhausted post-epic battle.

Rohan started the engine and we headed back to the Brotherhood-owned mansion that served as the Vancouver chapter of Demon Club. The mansion where I now lived.

Beverage consumed, I replaced the empty bottle in the cup holder, and fiddled with the radio dial until I found Radiohead's "Creep." I sang along. "I'm a winnnneeeeer."

"It's ‘weirdo,' you weirdo," Rohan said. "Why would he sing he's a winner in a song about self-loathing?"

"I thought it was sarcastic. You know," I dropped into a snarky voice, "I'm a winner." I turned the heat vent to blow directly on my face, holding my hands up to catch more warmth. "As per my basic assumption of how many things are said. Those jeans look good on you. It's so great to see you again. I love you."

If Rohan's eyebrows had knit together any lower, they would have been a V-neck. "Have you ever sought help?"