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Neither spoke, but Gwen suspected they couldn’t. They were too exhausted to speak, but she could feel the discomfort had doubled. Fear, anxiety, and uncertainty had taken the place of the missing arousal. Gwen only hoped she had eaten enough of their sexual desire that neither of the men would feel it for some time. Or better yet, she hoped whenever they felt it, they’d think ofher. The idea of becoming a man’s complex—or better yet, trauma—made her feel warm and fuzzy inside.
If this is evil, I’m cool with it,Gwen thought.
“Be safe out there,” Gwen said cheekily, with a wink and a burp. “See ya, bitches.”
While the men were in their hazy stupor, Gwen ducked into a side street and skated as fast as she could. She felt energized, a rush of a high that Gwen was starting to recognize came from not only eating emotions, but fromscaringthe people she was eating. It added another layer to the already complicated art that was her haunted life, but Gwen figured she could deal with it later.
As Gwen looped around a corner and onto a street, she was surprised to find herself on Rockerfeller. She was about seven blocks from the antique store, which meant…
“Everything comes back to you, doesn’t it?” Gwen sighed. “It’s not fair.”
Nothing that had happened since she met Ambrosius had been fair or good. Even if Gwen felt better than ever as a monster, it didn’t change the fact that she was vulnerable to the demon. Ambrosius held all the cards, and Gwen was supposed to somehow figure it all out on her own. He was confusing, impulsive, and he made her want to rip her hair out and cry.
At the intersection of 32nd street, Gwen hesitated. If she went down Rockerfeller Ave, she would pass by the antique store. She wouldseeAmbrosius, and maybe Gwen could finally convince him to talk. No, that wasn’t right. Gwen didn’t want to convince him of anything, she just wanted totalkto him. She wanted him to shut up and let her talk, not the bullshit he had been pulling since they first crossed that line.
Gwen flushed as the memories of those boundaries being broken made her squirm. The all too familiar heat dropping low.
“Fuck it,” Gwen swore, pressing the button to cross over to Rockerfeller. “I’llmakehim listen to me, one way or the other.”
28
Selfish
Ambrosius
Dogwood.
The word had settled into the more obsessive parts of Ambrosius’ mind. A worm finding a corpse to nestle in as it ate away at its host. Devouring flesh and decay, leaving nothing in its wake. Even as Ambrosius offered his cards to an unsuspecting young woman, the demon couldn’t get past thatsmell.
Curdling milk had lingered around Gwen like a perfume. Not just any scent, but one Ambrosius and many a demon had grown to detest over the long, cold centuries of their existence. That particular smell held the tiniest note of blood and teeth, there was no mistaking it.
Perhaps Ambrosius had been foolish to believe Gwen would be safe as a monster. His power flowed through her veins, something that would deter most from interfering. Even if a creature of the night mistook her for a human, they would sense that she had been touched by evil.Touched byhim,and that should have been enough. Or so the demon believed, as he wished his newest patron a good day and fled to the small room inside the Antiquarium. Dim candlelight ignited as he propped his cane against a wall.
He maneuvered the cello in front of him, drawing the bow in his hand as he sat in the humble chair behind the instrument. His fingers were quick to find a familiar rhythm as his mind continued to torment him with a single question.
Who?
Whodaredtouch his warlock without his notice, without care of the consequence? Ambrosius was old—old enough to have enemies beyond those instrumental to the creation of the Antiquarium. Most of them were personal, as demons weren’t concerned with old feuds the way more physical creatures were. Vampires, werewolves, sirens, volants—all of them were set in traditions that most demons found repetitive and boring.
Butfaeon the other hand … oh, Ambrosius hadmanythoughts when it came to those sort of monsters. All of those thoughts were murderous in nature, perhaps even torturous, if he was so inclined. Pretentious perfectionists, the lot of them. Not to mention, arrogant in a way that even put Ambrosius’ ego to shame. The demon had thought his dealings with such spirits had ended a long time ago, but it appeared they werelingeringas well.
Like a weed that won’t die,Ambrosius thought with a snarl.
The demon was so preoccupied by his revulsion he failed to see the new presence in the room until dancing lights penetrated his vision. Ambrosius continued to play, but his eyes trailed from the reflecting glitter and uptoward bare skin. Skin that Ambrosius had become intimate with only just that same morning.
He stared at her from beneath a furrowed brow, mouth still set in displeasure as he continued to play. Ambrosius had done his best to wipe the scent of dogwood leaves from her presence, but he could stillsmellit. A taunt that dared Ambrosius to find the owner of such adisgustingfragrance.
“Why are you here, Gwendolyn?” Ambrosius asked as he continued to play.
How she even found his room was a mystery to him. By all counts, it should have been impossible for her to find, even as a warlock. Ambrosius wasn’t in the habit of allowinganyoneinto his space without his permission.
“Looking for theassholewho left me, post orgasm and with a ton of questions,” Gwen replied as she slowly skated toward him.
“I told you, anything you want to know is in the scroll,” Ambrosius retorted. “Now, stop bothering me—”
Gwen snatched the bow, aiming the end that had been held gingerly in his hand toward his neck.
“Yeah, I’m having trouble with reading right now,” Gwen explained as she used the bow to lift his chin. “So, why don’t you help me, hmm?”