Page 5 of My Demon Hunter (Hell Bent #2)

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GLOW UP

“L ily, you have to help us,” her mother whispered from the darkness.

Lily spun around, seeking the source of the voice.

“We need you,” her father pleaded from somewhere else. She spun that direction, finding only blackness.

“It was your fault,” Iris whispered. “Our fault.”

“Where are you?” Lily asked the dark, spinning around and around.

“It’s our fault they’re gone.”

“Why? What did we do?”

“They’re dead because of us.”

“No, that can’t be!”

“They’re dead and gone, and it’s all your fault —”

“No!”

She jolted upright in bed, panting.

A soft glow permeated the dark room. The luminous, pale light wavered gently in the darkness, like the sun shining through water. She looked down.

The origin of the light was her own body.

“Shit!” She looked like the ugly troll night-light she’d had as a kid.

Not again. “Shit, shit, shit...” She scrambled out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen, fighting back the panic. It had been so long since this happened, she’d started to think it wasn’t coming back.

Yanking open the freezer, she peered through the condensation clouds until she found what she was looking for: the bottle of whiskey. She despised the taste of hard alcohol and drinking it straight was the last thing she wanted to do.

And yet, she stood there in her kitchen, freezer door wide open, and chugged the burning liquor right out of the bottle like it was water.

Okay, not like it was water.

After two swallows, she choked and staggered to the counter, bent over the sink, and tried not to gag. Then she forced herself to drink more. Eventually, the alcohol hit and, mercifully, the glowing subsided.

The bottle was returned to the freezer, and a now decently drunk Lily staggered into the living room and collapsed on the sofa. The clock on the wall told her it was nearly two a.m. The room spun, and she hated it.

But at least she wasn’t glowing anymore.

There were two types of witches in the world: blood-borns and practitioners. By far the most common, practitioners were regular humans that, for whatever absurd reason, chose to study the supernatural. They trained to develop the Sight and studied Temporal magic, learning the art of sigil drawing and performing power-enhancing rituals.

Blood-born witches, on the other hand, were a rare, mostly extinct line of supernaturally gifted women, descended from bloodlines spanning back centuries. Longer than anyone could trace.

Lily and Iris were two such witches. Twins, actually, which was supposedly a wildly auspicious phenomenon that meant they were destined for greatness, blah, blah, blah.

Their mother had been a powerful blood-born and coven leader: beautiful, charismatic, a force to be reckoned with. She’d been young and yet so gifted that Lily had no doubt she could have extended her lifespan by centuries if she’d wanted. But she’d never gotten the chance before she’d been killed in a fire with Lily’s father, along with their entire coven.

All the power and ancient blood flowing in her veins hadn’t saved her. She and her husband and their coven had been trapped in the building and perished within.

The End.

As a result, Lily questioned the point of practicing witchcraft when life was still just as fleeting as it was for regular people. Knowledge of the supernatural world hadn’t saved her mother’s life, so why should Lily waste her time with it?

Thus, she’d chosen to turn her back on it and live as a regular person. She and Iris had left Ireland and moved to Canada shortly after the funerals, and she hadn’t practiced magic since. In fact, she’d done everything she could to leave that part of herself behind.

They had both worked hard to adopt Canadian accents, though they still slipped occasionally, and tried to blend in. She called her winter hats “tuques,” and she owned a parka fit for Arctic exploration, which was what it felt like was happening when she walked to the metro station in winter.

She’d gone to university and gotten a “normal” degree. She didn’t use that degree and designed clothes for a living instead. She bought groceries and took walks in the park. And maybe one day, she would find a man to start a family with, and her children would be boys so she wouldn’t pass on her curse to them.

The End.

Except... here she was, awake in the middle of the night because she was glowing. Again. Her repressed powers didn’t give a damn what she wanted, and she worried the suppression of her abilities was turning her into some kind of magic battery.

She did not want to find out what that battery powered. She just wanted it to go away.

Worst of all, she hadn’t told a soul. Not even Iris knew of her mysterious affliction, and her head-in-the-sand policy of determined ignorance prevented her from researching her condition. She had no idea what was happening or why. She only knew that if she chugged hard liquor, it went away. It probably had something to do with alcohol being a neurotoxin, murdering her precious witchy brain cells and keeping them from—

The familiar screech of her rusty mailbox opening made her jump.

She went stiff as a board on the sofa, heart pounding. Was someone delivering mail at two in the morning? That would be ridiculous. But then who was opening the mailbox? Was someone trying to steal her mail? Or searching for a spare house key?

Oh god, was someone trying to rob her? She almost regretted giving Grimalkin back to Iris the other day. Toss him at an intruder, and they’d run screaming as their face was clawed off.

The mailbox screeched again as it was closed.

Before she had time to consider whether it was smart or not, she was off the couch and throwing the door open. She blamed her recklessness on the whiskey, since Sober Lily would be more likely to sneak out the back door.

Sexy Depanneur Guy was standing outside.

He looked like he wanted to flee but someone had hit pause on the world. He stared at her with amber eyes she’d forgotten were so gorgeous, his arms lifted midstride. Even one of his feet was in the air.

A long, awkward silence ensued.

She felt like she should say something, but she didn’t. Part of her was ecstatic to see the hot stranger again. She had thought about him all week, no matter how hard she’d tried not to. He’d become the monkey of her monkey mind that leapt determinedly into her thoughts whenever she tried to push him out.

She had gone over their conversation so many times, she could write a transcript of it. She’d rehearsed the multitudinous ways she could have not been an awkward recluse who asked a man if he possessed a phone rather than explicitly stating that she wanted a way to contact him so they could see each other again.

The other part of her was wary and even a little afraid of him. He was a big, muscular man, and he was lurking outside her flat at two in the morning with no explanation.

“Say something, idiot,” someone called out from the street below.

She leaned over, craning to see who it was, and saw two more equally large men waiting at the base of the stairs. It was too dark to see much, but... were those tattoos on the one guy’s face? Her gaze shot back to Mist. Just who had she let walk her home that night?

His friend’s words seemed to unfreeze him, and he slowly turned to face her, assuming a more relaxed position. She was instantly lost in his eyes.

“I wrote you a letter.”

“Pardon?” She could hardly focus when he looked at her like that.

He pointed at the mailbox. “It’s there.”

“You had to deliver me a letter at two in the morning?”

“I expected you to be asleep.”

“Why aren’t you asleep?”

“My sleeping schedule fluctuates, and I am often nocturnal.”

She blinked. Was that supposed to be a joke? His poker face was inscrutable.

“It was not my intention to wake you.” He shifted on his feet and looked away.

His obvious discomfort relaxed her. He was aware of how weird it was to be on her balcony at two a.m., which made it easier to accept him being there.

“You didn’t wake me, actually. I was having trouble sleeping, so...”

“Are you okay?” he asked, frowning. His eyes flicked back to hers, and the intensity of his stare somehow deepened, though she wouldn’t have previously thought that possible. “Are you in danger?”

“No, I’m not in danger. I’m perfectly fine.” What was with this guy and danger? That was the second time he’d asked her that. “I just... had a bad dream.”

As soon as she said it, she regretted it. She had no idea how she would answer if he asked her about the dream.

Thankfully, he didn’t. He was still frowning, and she could see the question in his gaze, but something held his tongue. Despite the natural poise he exuded, she got the impression that he was as awkward and unsure as she was in their interactions, and she found it oddly reassuring.

Instead of speaking, he continued to stare at her. She stared right back at him, transfixed.

God, his eyes were beautiful. Everything about him was so damn appealing. His looming height. Those broad shoulders. The messy black hair half falling in his face.

She’d wondered all week what had given her the nerve to ask for his number, clumsy as her attempt may have been. It was so unlike her, Iris probably wouldn’t believe it if she told her. But now that she was looking at him again, she understood. A guy like him probably had women asking him out everywhere he went.

Which made it even stranger that he had turned up on her doorstep.

“Can I read your letter?” she asked, just to break the stretching silence.

He nodded. “It’s for you.”

She took a tentative step out from behind the safety of the door. She expected him to step back, to give her space, but he didn’t. He stayed right where he was.

She wished she was wearing more than her short, slinky nightie, but it was that or be naked in this heat. She was self-conscious of her thighs and generally avoided wearing clothes that showed them, but her curiosity about the letter overrode her hesitancy.

The minute she pulled the door the rest of the way open, his entire demeanor shifted. His posture stiffened, and he suddenly looked like a hungry predator who had chosen her for his next meal. His gaze traveled down her form like he was trying to devour her with his eyes.

He didn’t even try to hide that he was checking her out. There was no subtle flick of the gaze followed by a quirk of the mouth. He simply stared at her. All of her.

And she... let him. Being insecure about her thighs suddenly felt entirely irrelevant in light of this man looking at her the way he was. She liked that he wasn’t subtle. If he’d tried to be, she probably wouldn’t have had a clue what he was thinking. But when he stared at her like that, it left absolutely no question as to what he was thinking.

He wanted her. He really wanted her, and she’d be damned if it wasn’t incredibly flattering to be desired that way. To be the recipient of such a hungry, dark look, like he was barely holding himself back from pouncing.

That didn’t mean she didn’t race to the mailbox, grab the letter, and dart back behind the door like a startled rabbit, however. Because she totally did. Maybe she enjoyed the intensity of his focus, but old habits died hard, and she wasn’t used to receiving that kind of attention.

She started to open the letter but stopped and glanced up when she heard Mist clear his throat. “Shall I... go?” he asked.

He was back to looking unsure again. He obviously didn’t want her to read it with him standing there, which was fair.

“Oh. Um, okay.” Disappointment coursed through her. But two a.m. was hardly the time to plan a date. This whole situation was so bizarre, she didn’t quite know what to make of it.

She did know, however, that if she let him get away a second time, she would never forgive herself.

“Can I...” She swallowed and gathered her courage. “Will I see you again?”

He smiled. It was devastating. It nearly knocked her flat.

“You should read my note,” he said.

“Okay.” She offered a smile back. “I will.”

“Goodnight, Lily.”

“Goodnight.”

He turned with a final nod and descended the stairs to the street below, where his friends were waiting. She watched him go—or rather, she watched his firm, muscular butt go—while unconsciously fanning herself with the letter.

Gathering her wits, she stepped back inside and locked the door. The second she was inside, she flicked on the hall light and unfolded the paper, heart racing in anticipation.

Lily,

Thank you again for allowing me the honor of escorting you home. I realized my error in not getting your phone number, and I would like to rectify that now. I regret my misunderstanding when you asked me. I’ve been thinking about you all week, and I would very much like to see you again if you are amenable. I hope you will contact me.

Mist

A smitten smile spread across her face, and her heart began to race. He thought about me all week! And he’d come with his friends in the middle of the night to give her his letter. She clutched it to her chest like the treasure it was.

It was so formally worded, it felt like a courtship request from the 1700s, but she adored it. He was awkward, but in a very suave, completely non-awkward sort of way. He seemed rigidly controlled and barely leashed at the same time. As if he was putting up a sort of facade to contain some wild, feral creature living inside of him.

The idea was utterly ridiculous and completely outlandish, yet it thrilled her all the same.

She didn’t have a lot of experience with men. In her teens, she’d been too shy to date much, and then after immigrating to Canada, there had been too much grief and stress for her to take interest. Things were better now, but old insecurities still lingered, and she was a generally introverted, quiet person. She knew she was too emotionally open, too empathetic, and it sometimes got her into trouble.

If Iris had been there, she would have told Lily to play it cool, to not give away her interest lest she scare him off or worse, open herself up to being easily hurt. But Iris wasn’t there, and Lily was far too excited by Mist’s romantic gesture to restrain herself.

She ran to the kitchen where she’d left her phone, opened a new text message, and punched in the number he’d written at the bottom of the letter. She wrote, Hi, it’s Lily , with a smiley face and hit send.

Immediately, doubt crept in. Maybe she should have waited until morning. Would he think she was desperate for texting him so fast? Was the alcohol clouding her judgment and making her think something foolish was a good idea? Oh god, what if she blew it—

Her phone buzzed. Her stomach backflipped when she saw he’d answered.

Hi, Lily.

Her smile returned with a vengeance, and she spent a moment doing a rather undignified happy dance around her kitchen. While she did, the phone buzzed again.

I apologize for scaring you. I expected you to be asleep.

It’s okay , she replied quickly, thumbs flying over the on-screen keyboard with record speed. You only scared me for a minute, until I knew it was you.

The three little dots appeared at the bottom of the chat, showing he was in the process of messaging her back. She waited with bated breath. It felt like forever passed. She even glanced at the clock.

It was nice to see you again , he finally replied.

That was it? Either he’d been debating on his response for a while, or he was a very slow typer indeed.

You too , she wrote back. I’m glad you reached out.

Again, an ice age passed before his response came through.

I felt very foolish for misunderstanding you when you asked about my phone. My friend explained it to me afterward.

She laughed. Don’t feel bad. I felt stupid for asking in such a terrible, confusing way.

The three little dots appeared, and she waited (im)patiently for his reply, smiling so wide her face hurt. Eyes glued to the phone screen, she went into her bedroom and dropped into the pillows. She might as well have been kicking her feet with how besotted she was acting, but she didn’t care.

You shouldn’t feel stupid , he replied. The dots appeared again. God, he really did type slowly. This was painful. If I was better at human conversations, I would have understood.

The dots appeared again. I didn’t mean to say human , he added. I wish there was a delete option for these messages.

She laughed aloud. God, he was so weird, but it was incredibly charming. Don’t worry, I’m not very good at human conversations either , she replied. And I think you’re really good at them. It was very sweet of you to buy me ice cream and walk me home that night.

I wanted to. I was looking for any excuse to spend more time in your presence.

Oh dear god, if he kept this up, she was going to melt.

Well, it’s a good thing you wised up and gave me your number then , she texted back. Now we can text whenever you want.

Just when she started to fear she’d been a little too forward, he replied, I would like that very much.

Me too.

Can I see you again in person as well?

She hesitated, thumbs hovering over the screen. Obviously, the answer was yes, but she was trying to find a way to communicate it that wasn’t shouting “YES PLEASE” in all capital letters and looking completely desperate. As she deliberated, he sent another message.

If you would prefer to only communicate by text message, I would understand.

No, I would like to see you , she replied quickly.

When?

She hesitated again. If she suggested tomorrow, that would definitely look desperate. Iris would tell her to wait at least a week, but she didn’t want to wait that long. Maybe she ought to ask him what days worked for him? If she said, “Any time, my schedule’s completely open!” that would make her look like she had no life, and she didn’t want—

Tomorrow?

She stared at the screen. He actually wanted to see her tomorrow? Was this real?

Another text came through, confirming she was not, in fact, hallucinating. Or rather, tonight? Since it’s already well after midnight.

Maybe she’d fallen asleep and was dreaming because this kind of stuff did not happen to her. Gorgeous men she met in depanneurs didn’t leave romantic notes in her mailbox. Gorgeous men didn’t even go to depanneurs.

Suddenly, she didn’t care. So what if he wanted to see her tomorrow? Was she going to waste time questioning everything? She didn’t want to push away what seemed like a perfectly nice man solely because of her stupid insecurities.

So, swallowing her self-doubt, she typed, Tomorrow/tonight sounds perfect. :) How about you come over for dinner?

I would like that , he replied.

Is 7 okay?

Yes. I can’t wait to see you.

She was almost ready to scream with glee. Her cheeks burned and her heart was positively racing with excitement. She scoffed at herself, but she couldn’t help it.

I’ll make sure to not be wearing pajamas when I answer the door this time , she texted back with a laughing-face emoji.

The dots appeared.

You looked beautiful , he said.

She was pretty sure her heart either stopped completely or burst out of her chest and flew away to live happily ever after in the clouds. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.