Page 50 of The Demon’s Due (Bedeviled #5)

A limo waited outside, courtesy of Ezra, along with chilled champagne for the humans and Golden Blood for the vamps.

I leaned against my boyfriend’s shoulder, already in a hazy, dreamy state, letting the conversation and laughter wash over me.

It was amazing how “normal” could feel revolutionary.

How the simple act of being happy, being safe, and being in love could feel like the most rebellious thing I’d ever done.

After a smooth ride through the city, we arrived at the popular nightclub in the Granville entertainment district downtown that Orly had rented out.

We got out of the limo to flashing paparazzi cameras, and screams that made my ears ring.

I clutched Ezra’s arm tight as we sailed up the red carpet. “If you take up even half these people on their marriage proposals or their…”

I squinted at a sign with “Your face is my emotional support animal” in fancy script over Ezra’s face. That was loads better than the one next to it that said “Step on me with your perfect leather shoes.”

“Or whatever that is,” I said, “you’re going to be very busy.”

“They aren’t all for me.” He pointed out a few women in crimson wigs with short horns.

Wild. I blew them kisses and they screamed.

Ezra tugged me over to a young woman with bright pink ponytails bundled in a down jacket that was better suited to an Arctic expedition who stood at the front of the barricades. “Stasia! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“She’s not here for you,” I said, and shook her hand.

“It’s excellent to finally meet you.” I dug in my clutch for a friendship bracelet, which I handed to her.

I’d cheated and had someone with actual skill bead “The Cherry Bombs” on it (superior merch, after all). “You are officially my first member.”

“Stasia,” Ezra growled playfully. “You better not be leaving me.”

She jutted her chin up. “A Prime can’t compare with a half shedim. Plus, I’m starting grad school in the fall and won’t have time to manage the Ezracurriculars. The Cherry Bombs are just getting off the ground, so it won’t be as much work.”

“She means my fan club is premiere league and yours isn’t,” he mansplained helpfully.

“Give me two weeks,” I fired back cheerfully. “Do you want to come in?”

Stasia shook her head. “Go have fun. I have friends to visit.”

“Are you sticking around town for a few days?” Ezra said. “Can we have lunch?”

I nudged him. “After Stasia and I have ours. We’re going to my favorite Italian restaurant.”

Stasia grinned. “I’ve got time for both. Call me.”

Security ushered us safely inside the venue. We headed up the stairs to the second floor club that was decked out in honor of the theme.

The wall leading to the bar featured newspaper clippings from around the world with increasingly hysterical headlines.

Magical Mayhem Martinis and Press Release Punch were available in honor of the night.

There was even a photo booth with a table of props like fake pitchforks, fangs, and feather boas.

Darsh already had three draped around his neck while putting devil horns on Silas.

Colored lights pulsed in time to the playlist of songs about vampires, magic, and blood.

At the back was a huge buffet.

“It’s catered by the Copper Hell’s chefs,” Ezra said. “Since you never got to properly try it.”

I fisted his shirt. “The chocolate mousse?”

“Damn, I forgot to include that.” He pried my hands off him with a wince. “Do I strike you as an idiot with a death wish?”

I was elbowing my way to the table before he finished speaking.

The mousse was whipped into perfect tiny peaks dusted with sea salt. I grabbed a spoon and dug in. The high-quality dark chocolate hit a slightly bitter note before melting into caramel sweetness.

I vacuumed down the dessert but stopped myself from reaching for a second, since I had yet to greet our hostess. “Can you pull strings and set some aside for me?”

“Abuse my power?”

“Absolutely.”

He chuckled. “That can be arranged. Oh, I see Orly.”

We hadn’t had a chance to talk to her since her arrival last night, since she’d been overseeing all the final details of the party. Ezra was going to spend time with her and her family in London when I left for Hong Kong tomorrow.

Orly and I screamed when we saw each other, excitedly comparing outfits.

The leather of her motorcycle racing suit was polished to a high shine.

Its traditional protective padding was replaced with architectural panels of hammered metal that caught the light as she moved, but instead of racing logos, she’d etched kill counts.

Even her tiny dachshund, Schnitzel, was present and thematically attired in a black knit doggie sweater with a repeating red fang pattern and a hat that was a flat metal disc that tied with black ribbon under Schnitzel’s chin.

She held the Daschund up to Ezra. “Kiss Uncle Ezzie for the sweater,” she said in her Hebrew-accented English.

The dog lunged at Ezra, tongue out.

My boyfriend stumbled back with a grimace, almost taking out a server carrying a tray of drinks.

Orly planted a hand on her hip. “Are you dissing my baby’s thank-you?”

“No?” Ezra said meekly, presenting his cheek to be licked. He almost hid his shudder.

“Beseder.” Orly clapped her hands together. “I must greet other guests. Yalla, Ezzie, be ready for your dance.”

His eyes bugged out of his head. “My what?”

“The dance.”

“No fucking way, Orly. I let your dog touch me but that’s too far.”

“Chaim shelli, it’s my party.” She poked him in the chest.

“Chaim shelli,” he parroted back to her and crossed his arms. “No.”

A sly look crossed her face. “Aviva asked specially for it.”

Aviva had no clue what she was talking about but was very much enjoying the direction of this conversation. “Oh yes. I want to see this dance more than anything.”

“See if you get more chocolate mousse,” Ezra said.

I held up my hands. “Sorry, Orly. I’m out.”

“Not sababa,” she scolded. “Now I have to go tell Astriid that Ezra won’t dance with her, even though she took time out of her busy performing schedule to brush up on the moves.”

“Hang on.” I nudged my boyfriend. “This is a choreographed number with Astriid?”

“You just want to see me embarrassed,” he accused Orly.

“Everyone will love it,” she replied.

Hmm. An embarrassing dance with a pop superstar? I could give up dessert for that. I threw Ezra puppy dog eyes and a pout.

“All right, I’ll do the stupid thing,” he grumbled. “You two aren’t spending any more time together.”

“You’re the best cousin in the world.” Orly pecked his cheek.

“And you’re a brat. I hate you.”

“You’ll thank me when it’s over.” She winked and sashayed off, crooning at Schnitzel.

“I’m going to need to be far less sober,” he said.

“Then let’s get you a drink. Tell me one thing,” I said, leading him to the bar. “Is it anything like the Chicken Dance?”

He refused to give me any details.

We spent the next couple hours having a great time with our friends. Ezra had sworn me to secrecy about the dance, not because it had to be a surprise, but because he couldn’t bear the idea of them ragging on him about it all night.

Astriid performed two numbers in her gravelly voice that sent the crowd into a tizzy of singing and frenetic dancing. She’d foregone the apocalypse chic memo for a sparkly silver mini dress with strappy sandals embedded with crystals.

I touched my tiara. Maybe they weren’t crystals.

When the applause for the second song died down and she’d taken a bow, she stepped to the mic once more and grinned at Ezra. “Hey, Prime Playboy, get your ass up here.”

He sighed theatrically, then took the stairs to the stage two at a time.

Silas cough-gasped. “He’s doing the dance?”

“What dance?” Darsh demanded.

“It’s that bad?” I fanned myself with a napkin, wondering if it was too late to stop this. Funny embarrassing was one thing, but “this will kill me ever seeing him in a sexy light again” embarrassing was quite another.

“It’s something all right,” Silas said. “They usually only break it out when they’re drunk.”

Sachie cackled.

“What’s so funny?” Olivier said, joining us with the waters he’d fetched for Sachie and me.

“Ezra is going to do some embarrassing dance,” she said, taking a glass.

Olivier handed me the other water. “Like the Macarena?”

“Not exactly,” Silas said.

On stage, Ezra took off his tux jacket and draped it over a stool.

The opening notes of Flo Rida’s “Low” came on.

Astriid took Ezra’s hand, appearing to be counting them in. They did this fast side-to-side step, with Ezra pretty much bobbing up and down while he moved. He was just off the beat, the pop star still counting out loud for him.

People around me had the same “WTF” expression as I did, though Orly was howling with laughter.

I clutched my water glass, wondering if I could help Ezra drown in it. Or drown myself.

On the first chorus, Ezra spun Astriid out, then back in. They collided with a visible thunk .

Everyone laughed.

I darted a nervous glance at Silas, who rolled his eyes.

Astriid threw her hands up in annoyance and started to walk off, but Ezra grabbed her wrist.

“Put us out of this misery,” Darsh called.

Ezra danced up close to her, rolling his hips in time with the song.

I blinked.

He grooved down her body, getting lower and lower as Astriid writhed against him.

I pressed the cool glass to my forehead.

Orly watched me with a smirk.

Ezra’s moves rippled through his whole body, each cant of his hips flowing up through his chest and shoulders like a wave.

When Astriid draped herself backward over his arm, his free hand traced a slow path from her throat down to her hip, which was both respectful and absolutely filthy at the same time.

The bass synced with my heartbeat, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from how his body caught every accent in the music.

“You lucky girl,” Darsh said.

I made a strangled noise in response.

“Silas…” Darsh purred.