Page 38 of Demon's Bane

“No,” I wheeze, trying to get a handle on myself. “No. They’re fine.”

“Then why are you looking at me like that?” He twists back and forth, examining the legs of the pants, the waistband slung low on his hips to accommodate the jut of his tail. As he moves, the fabric stretches and pulls taut against his thick, muscled thighs and trim hips.

I’m not looking.

I am absolutely, one hundred percent not looking at the outline of his huge, bulging—

“Ah,” Rhett says knowingly as he glances down at his front. “You’re staring at me for another reason, then.”

Instead of justifying that with an answer, I turn back to the noodles I’ve just put on the stove and the hamburger I’m browning. It’s a rare night when I’m actually home to cook dinner instead of snarfing something down while I’m closing up shop downstairs. Beyond baking, my culinary skills don’t go very far beyond the boxed and the jarred, so cheap spaghetti it is.

I open and close a few cabinets distractedly, looking for the jar of marinara I know is around here somewhere. Finally spotting it up on the highest shelf, I lift onto my tiptoes and reach for it.

“Let me help you with that.” Rhett’s deep voice rumbles behind me a moment before he’s leaning over my back, easily grabbing it down from the shelf.

I suck in a breath at the nearness of him, the heat of him, thescentof him. Like pine and leather and woodsmoke, with a hint of some spice I can’t quite nail down. I can’t really smell it when he’s wearing his glamour, but now that the ring’s off, it pulses from him in waves.

When I glance over my shoulder, he’s right there. Human shirts don’t exactly mesh with wings, and I’m nearly nose-to-chest with all those tattoos, the silver bars in his nipples, the exquisitely firm expanse of his—

“Is this what you were looking for?”

Rhett backs away a few inches, his wings flaring a little behind him, and hands me the jar of pasta sauce. I take it from him wordlessly, unable to do anything to stop the creep of heat up my cheeks.

He stares right back at me, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips for a few moments before they turn down in a slightly alarmed frown.

“Is it supposed to smell like that?”

Cursing, I turn back and start scraping at some very crispy hamburger stuck to the bottom of the pan.

Utterly irritating, this demon.

The reality of everything going on outside the little bubble of truce Rhett and I have made for ourselves comes crashing back in two days later.

It’s late afternoon, I’m closing up the shop, and Rhett is actually out on his own for once. Whether it’s curiosity or just sheer boredom, he’s started taking short walks around Beech Bay over the past few days. I’m not really sure where he goes, but as long as he’s glamoured and I don’t hear any sirens or see anyone running and screaming about a devil walking the streets of downtown, I suppose it’s fine.

There are absolutely no signs of today being anything but another ordinary day until I swing open the back door to take a bag of trash out and almost run smack into Seren.

“Oh, there you are,” she says, leaning against the brick wall to let me pass. “I was just about to call you.”

“So you could tell me you’re hanging out by the trash instead of coming inside?” I ask as I heft the bag in. “What’s going on? What are you doing back here?”

“I have news.”

“That’s… great,” I say, though it doesn’t exactly answer my question. “Isn’t it? Rhett should be back in a few minutes and we can—”

“It’s something I should probably tell you first.”

“What is it?”

My stomach sinks when I finally turn to get a good look at her and see the hesitation on her face. Seren doesn’t do hesitant.

“I’ve heard… I’ve heard that David Galloway might be involved.”

David. My ex. The one who used to skulk around Celestial Blends in all his free time, and who was my single, ill-fated attempt at cohabitation after Allie moved out of the apartment.

To hear his name now, in the middle of this whole mess between demons and witches and our two realms, throws me completely through a loop.

“What the hell does he have to do with it?”