Page 5 of Veiled By Smoke (The Nature Hunters Academy #5)

R ichard Groat was doing something unexpected.

He was going out . . . on a weeknight. Recently divorced after fifteen unhappy years, Richard couldn’t remember the last time he went out, and especially not on a weeknight.

Certainly, it would have been with Lorraine, and it would have been something she had wanted to do.

She never used to let him go out alone with his friends, few though they were, and she never used to let him pick what they did.

Not that they ever did much of anything after the kids were born.

So, when a few of Richard’s co-workers at Maxwell Petrochemicals asked him to go to a bar after work to celebrate an employee's birthday, the words”I can’t,” were halfway out of his mouth when a profound realization froze the reply on his tongue.

He could. He could not only go out, but he could—heaven forbid—actually enjoy himself.

The thought made him slightly nervous. Enjoying oneself was something other people did.

Richard went to work, he came home, he ate Lorraine’s terrible cooking, he was ignored by his two teenage children, he watched television, and he went to bed.

In that order. Day after day, week after week, year after year.

Rarely during that twenty-four-hour cycle did Richard enjoy himself.

He nodded at Rita McKay, who was staring at him expectantly. Rita was another chemical engineer who worked in the office across from his. She too was divorced, though not so recently. “Yes,” Richard replied slowly. “Yes, I think I’d like to go out. ”

Now, a few hours and several Long Island Iced Teas later, Richard was out. And he found he quite enjoyed being out.

T he demon stared out through the eyes of the tavern’s innkeeper.

No. He shook his head, an action which the man mimicked like a marionette.

That’s not what they call them nowadays.

This wasn’t a tavern. It was called a bar.

And the human he’d possessed was called a bartender.

No matter. Ahriman wouldn’t be here for long, and he cared nothing for what the man was called.

Yet, the demon could certainly have fun inside this host. After all, the human females were practically purring at him, daring him with their eyes to invite them somewhere more private.

Oh, what he could do to these pathetic weaklings, bound in slavery to their carnal desires?

Alas, Ahriman must refrain; he had something much more important in mind.

Lucifer was awakening. Rushing out of hell and into the over-world, Ahriman had felt his lord’s mind, pursuing him like a great cat.

It wasn’t conscious thought he heard, more like a presence—a shadow of malice and hatred, terrible in its power.

The other demons had felt it as well. He could sense their fear, bordering on hysteria.

Ahriman knew Lucifer wasn’t yet fully awake, but he soon would be.

And Ahriman would help with that awakening.

The more destruction he could sow, the more powerful Lucifer would be.

The lesser minions were running amok, committing petty acts of minor destruction or sowing discord.

They were wasting their opportunity to serve the dark lord.

Ahriman would be found doing something that had a lasting effect.

He would be rewarded. The demon just needed the right person to come along.

And now, Ahriman had found the man he was looking for.

R ichard felt a tiny shock of electricity when the bartender’s fingers brushed his as the man passed him another Long Island Iced Tea.

And that was the last thing he would remember for some time.

Rita, who’d been glancing around the bar, possibly looking for someone more interesting to talk to, sucked in a gasp.

“What?” he asked her, a look of confusion on his face.

“Your eyes?” she replied. “They seemed . . . I don’t know. That was weird.”

“What?”

“They seemed to go dark for a second. I could have sworn I saw them go completely black.” Her brow furrowed as she shook her head and took another sip from her drink.

“Maybe it was a trick of the light,” Richard muttered, looking away from her, as he felt a trickle of sweat run down his back.

When he let himself look back at Rita, he felt a powerful desire to reach across the space between them and slap the disgusted look off her face.

Instead of acting on that impulse, he lifted his hand and ran a finger down her arm.

“Would you like another drink?” he asked, his voice rough as two warring urges rose in him.

Rita slowly pulled away so that his hand fell off of her arm. “What are you doing?”

Richard smiled, and judging by the sudden unease on his companion's face, it didn’t set her at ease the way he’d hoped. “I’m offering to buy you a drink. Is that seriously offensive to you?” That this bitch thought she was better than him caused the proverbial hackles to rise on his neck.

“I invited you as a friend, Richard,” she said, her voice taking on a haughty tone as she lifted her chin in the air. “Not a date.”

He let out a snort, took a pull from his drink, swallowed, and then bit out, “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not exactly my type.”

The irritated look fell away from her face, replaced by shock and then anger as her cheeks filled with blood, causing a vein to pop out on her forehead.

“What is your problem?” She shook her head at him and seemed confused as her eyes bore down.

“I must have totally misjudged you. I didn’t realize there was an asshole hiding under the nice-guy act. ”

Richard hissed at her, causing her to push further away from him where they sat at the bar.

He felt his hand twitch with the need to grab her throat but reached up to tug at the too-tight collar of his dress shirt.

He glanced around. There were too many eyes.

He couldn’t choke the life out of the woman next to him no matter how badly he wanted to at the moment.

Richard stood abruptly, causing the stool to fall back and hit the floor with a loud clatter.

Without a word, he turned and headed for the door.

“Richard,” he heard Rita call out, “you didn’t pay your damn tab.”

R ita watched her co-worker rush out the door like his ass was on fire.

“What the actual hell?” She muttered as she looked down at the fallen stool and then back to the door he’d just exited.

In all the time she’d known him, she’d never heard him be rude to anyone, or come across as sleazy, which he most certainly just did.

“Need a refill?” the bartender’s voice drew her attention.

Rita turned back to the bar and pushed her glass toward him. “Make it a double.” Her eyes drifted up to the large television that hung above the bar as a line of text ran across the screen that said “news flash.”