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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

T he smell of sex and intense waves of lust crash into my senses as I make my way through Marbas’ club. I soak in the excess of energy along my way to his usual spot, eyes constantly searching around for anything, anyone, who can hold my attention.

It’s an irritatingly fruitless hunt.

I’m unsurprised. It’s been a challenge to find a truly satisfying meal since that night. The damned witch just had to see me. My face. My body. My scars. My true second form, the way I see myself when walking in this world. She saw me without the false glamour that’s meant to change and appeal to the individual. A natural ability most demons of our kind struggle to ever turn off, especially when hungry, but she’d seen through it like it hadn’t existed.

Yet she still wanted me without it. Me, not some imagined, ideal lover from her dreams. Well, she had until the morning came.

Then she’d slipped out of my hotel room without a word, stealing my fucking shirt like a trophy of conquest along the way. It’s embarrassing how much she’s managed to occupy my thoughts ever since. Were her confessions a lie…does she actually do this all the time? Act like it’s something, a connection being made, only to run off with something new for her collection of spoils?

Did I really misread her and her desires? My jaw clenches as I once more come to the same conclusion that I must have, because she clearly couldn’t get away from me any quicker come the morning. All the while, like some sort of love-struck fucking moron, I still crave her.

That damned witch.

Eden…

“Ashtar,” Marbas calls warmly as I reach the top of the last set of stairs, pulling himself up from his self-proclaimed throne. I’m relieved by the distraction of his presence, though whatever he wants better be worth my coming back to this vexing city.

“Marbas.” I shift into my first form as he approaches, allowing my horns and wings to return, fingertips becoming more like claws. His hand grabs the back of my head as he smacks his forehead and horns against my own in a rough but friendly greeting. He holds the position for a few moments, one of the few beings in this world or any other I'd allow such a privilege.

“You haven’t been around in months. What trouble have you gotten yourself into now?” he demands brusquely, skipping any further pleasantries as he settles back onto his oversized chair.

“It hasn’t even been two months since my last visit—and who says I’m in trouble?” I ask while swiping myself a drink from his personal supply. I grab a bottle of something that looks vaguely fae in origin, breaking off the cap and forgoing a glass as I take a quick swig from it.

“Well, the demon hunters showing up here asking after you is a bit of an implication that you might be,” he drawls. “It seems you’re quite the popular demon these days. I’m not the only one who has been asked about you recently. People are beginning to talk.”

I turn to him at his words, the seriousness in his eyes not matching the amusement in his voice. The old fool is really concerned. He shouldn’t be. He should know better than to think I’d get involved in anything that would send hunters my way.

“It’s a mistake,” I reply dismissively. A mistake, and so consequently not my fucking problem.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re the wrong demon if they think you’re the one they’re after.”

“I’m fully capable of protecting myself.”

“It was Fletcher Hunting.” My body stiffens just a fraction, not from fear but consideration, as I realise it isn’t just some inexperienced gaggle of fools. “Two of them came in here asking after you, wanting to know if I knew of an incubus going by Ash. They were quite insistent about finding you, even employing some frankly strange tactics in order to gain answers.”

Fletcher Hunting. While no longer in the hands of its creators, it’s still one of the more well-known agencies in the country, if only by its name and reputation. They’re highly successful in both capturing and murdering my kind. They also happen to be based in this very city. Perhaps this place is cursed? Plenty of demons believe this entire planet to be, and many of the locals seem to agree—I hear humans begging the aliens to take them all the time.

“I haven’t done anything,” I reiterate, annoyed I have to say it, let alone repeat it. I lean against one of the chairs, too agitated by the accusation to actually sit.

“I believe you, but others may not. The longer their search continues, the more doubt will set in with those who only know you as an acquaintance. We may protect our own, but that doesn’t apply to those who endanger us all by breaking our rules.” He pauses to sigh and take a long sip from his drink, a bright orange cocktail to match the exact shade of his shirt. Despite the fact I’m sure he’d planned out this entire conversation before I arrived, he seems to contemplate the situation before adding, “It could be worth taking initiative and clearing up the misunderstanding. If they’re anything like their parents, I believe it’s possible to get them to listen to reason.”

I’d like to dismiss the idea. It’s not my responsibility to do their job for them. I shouldn’t have to go out of my way to prove my innocence. I’ve never broken any of the treaties our kind holds with the species of this world, but Marbas is right. It’s not as if that matters if they’re already certain of my guilt.

“What crime am I being accused of?”

“That’s the strangest thing about it. They had no official assignment to do with you that I could find information on. It appeared it was being dealt with as a private matter they’d been hired directly for, one they were very vague about.”

“It’s not highly unusual for hunters to take private jobs,” I point out.

“But it is atypical of them to bring the client along.”

He’s not wrong. Usually they’d consider doing that the liability it is.

“Was the client claiming to be the victim or a relative?” I ask, trying to get a better idea of the situation.

“She didn’t actually claim either of those things,” he answers, unable to hide the confusion in his tone. “Apparently the little dove hired demon hunters to track you down simply in order to speak with you.”

“People don’t hire hunters because they want to chat .”

“This witch did.”

A witch. He couldn’t possibly mean…

The question tears out of my mouth as I demand, “Did you get her name?”

His white eyebrows shoot up, leaving him looking truly puzzled for a second before his expression morphs into a shit-eating grin. “Ashtar, did you happen to meet a pretty young witch recently? Did you charm her so thoroughly that she went and hired hunters simply to find you again?”

“I did meet a witch. I don’t know why she’d be looking for me, though. It didn’t seem like she had more to say,” I answer with a sigh, and if the words come out a little bitter, it’s only Marbas here to hear it. Though, I fully regret feeling relief at his presence when the bastard suddenly starts laughing as if I’ve said the funniest thing he’s heard in a century.

“You like her. A witch—” He cuts off as he laughs even harder, chuckling away even in the face of my unimpressed glare, taking his sweet time to regain his composure. “A witch and demon. It’s not a match many would approve of. I didn’t know you were such a hopeless romantic.”

“It’s not a match,” I reply through gritted teeth, denying his words vehemently. “We spent a night together, and I fed. That’s all. Nothing unusual.” Other than her seeing right through my lure to see one of my true forms. “I met her once. You can’t call that a romance.”

“So you say, yet you thought of one particular witch instantly,” he says, still grinning, and I wish I could smack the stupid smirk off my oldest friend’s face.

“We don’t even know if it’s the same one, seeing as you’ve held your tongue so far on that particular detail. Don’t think I haven't noticed.”

“A mistake,” Marbas lies, but before I can call him on it, he continues, “The witch introduced herself as Eden.”

At the confirmation, I pull my drink to my mouth, slowly draining the entire bottle in an effort to hide my reaction while I think.

Why would Eden be looking for me? It’s not like her feelings weren’t clear. It was a fun night, and then she left in the morning. That’s all. Surely she’s not looking to return the shirt she’d stolen? No one would go to the effort of hiring hunters for something so inane. Is she mad after figuring out what I am? Possibly, but it still seems unlikely someone would go to so much effort for that either.

I doubt I’ll figure out her motives without speaking to her, so I set the empty bottle onto the nearest table. “Did they say where I can find her?”

“No, but they did leave their card,” he answers, slipping it out of his sleeve and pushing it across the table. The words ‘Fletcher Hunting’ glimmer in gold and red across the front. “I’m sure they can direct you to her.”

I nod. Then, without another word, I snatch up the business card and leave. I’ll give Marbas the answers he’s clearly after once I have my own, and also once he’s not acting so irritatingly smug about the whole thing. I can still hear the bastard laughing after me from his spot where he lords above his domain as I take the stairs down, two at a time.

I move like there’s fire at my heels, despite being unsure what it is I’m actually rushing towards…