Taming the Wicked Wolf (A Date with a Demon #2)

Chapter 6

SIX

Emilia

“What does the video say?” I ask, looking over my shoulder.

Silas is staring down at the phone, the video practically inaudible at this distance. I only catch a few key phrases, something about the latch and the strike plate.

We’ve been at this for over an hour already. I didn’t think I’d spend most of my day before I have to work an evening shift installing a deadbolt, but here we are. I’m on my hands and knees, the door wide open with a small drop cloth under me to catch the metal and wood shavings.

“Insert the bolt sleeve, then thread the tail piece through and connect it to the front. I think that’s the bit with the little latch.” He looks up at me, pinching his thumb and forefinger together and mimicking a turning motion.

He’s pretty cute and still not at all what I had expected.

When I think demon, I expect this old monstrous being who doesn’t understand the mortal realm because of how long he has been detached from it, not someone who prefers Dunkin Donuts coffee over Starbucks.

It really makes me wonder about his life, and how long he stays here. Does he have a reason to? Is there someone here waiting for him or is this just a vacation spot for him?

He didn’t so much as blink when I told him about Chase last night. It was one of three times that I have explained the history. About how things were rocky before we moved to Moonstone Ridge as newlyweds, but Chase assured me we’d have fewer problems here closer to his family and how he’ll be able to find a steady job.

When in reality, moving here is what changed everything. The small jabs came more often, along with the jealousy and restricting who I could talk to. He told me I was difficult to love, and I didn’t understand how much stress he was under.

The breaking point happened when we were going to grab takeout, and I was sick with a cold. He took my slow movements as defiance and grabbed my arm, physically dragging me down Main Street, in front of half the town.

I began the petition for divorce and moved out that weekend while he was at work, scraping together the small amount of funds that I had for the first and last month’s rent on this place. The only one my credit score would allow.

Silas just listened with his brows creased and told me I didn’t deserve to be treated that way. That helped. Having someone look at it from the outside and agreeing that something terrible had taken place, that I wasn’t crazy or I didn’t throw away a perfectly good marriage over a misunderstanding.

The people in town were convinced I was the problem, someone even spread rumors I had an affair. Chase could never be at fault, he was the local boy with the silver tongue.

“Okay, I think I have everything ready. The stencil is down.” I sit back on my feet and look at my handiwork, running my hand down the side of the door frame. “All you need to do is chisel out the spot for the faceplate and the strike plate.”

“I’m not sure which surprises me more, that your landlord agreed to this,” he says, getting up from the couch, “or that you didn’t have a deadbolt to begin with. What did he say when you asked?”

“Well, his exact words were, “I don’t care. Do whatever you effing want, but if you mess up the door, it’s coming out of your security deposit.”

Joke’s on him. I lost all hope of getting my security deposit back the moment I brought Poppy home.

“Seems like a delightful fellow.” Silas holds out his hand and pulls me to my feet effortlessly, like I weigh nothing at all, “Hold on.”

“What is it?” I look up into beautiful golden eyes.

“You have a little something.” He smiles, lifting his hand and brushing his fingertips over my cheek, “There. I got it.”

“Thanks.”

It really is unfair how attractive Silas is and, oh. I catch the moment his eyes flit to my lips. Could he be thinking about kissing me? No, that’s impossible.

My brain all but short circuits as I feel the pressure of his thumb tracing lazy circles on the back of my hand. The sensation shoots up my arm and down my spine, making my stomach do a little flip.

I pull away and hold out the chisel between us, “I guess you’re going to need this.”

“Right.” Silas says.

If I didn’t know better, I would think he was disappointed. How could he be? He’s a demon and I’m a witch, it could never work out. Not to mention he looks like he’s close to ten years younger than me. How in the hell do demons age? Am I going to get older and he would stay the same? Maybe there’s some sort of demon magic . . .

No. This is ridiculous. Nothing is happening between us. There has to be a rule in the demon or witch code that expressly forbids it. Surely, I would have been burned at the stake for this.

He drops to a crouch, pushing his long sleeves up to the elbow, showing off his muscular forearms as he gets to work, scraping off thin layers of wood from the frame.

“I’m getting something to drink.” I say, turning on my heel and walking into the kitchen before he can respond.

There is no way I am developing a crush. I’m going to be 36-years-old. I thought we were supposed to outgrow this bullshit at some point. Not that I’ve had any real interest in dating since Chase and I got divorced. I haven’t even had sex in three years.

Why in the hell did I think of that?

From my spot leaning against the countertop, I have a full view of the front door, watching Silas as he works, his muscles straining. He reaches up, brushing his shoulder length hair back, tilting his head as he finishes up.

“Okay.” He calls out, closing the door and testing the lock a few times, then grabs the hardware from the coffee table, “Now we have this.”

“Do you think that’s overkill?” I walk into the living room, nodding to the box in his hand holding the brass chain lock.

To be fair, I’m the one that tossed it into the cart at the hardware store. I had this whole scenario playing in my head of me answering the door in a silk robe, which I do not own, and opening it just wide enough for the chain to pull taut like in one of those old tv shows set in New York.

Silas ignores me, peeling back the packaging and walking over to the frame, “Grab the pencil.”

“Okay,” I shrug, doing as he says.

He places one section of the chain against the door and nods for me to mark it.

“Isn’t this supposed to be around eye level?” I ask, looking over my shoulder.

That was a big mistake. Silas is right behind me, his chest almost flush to my back with his hands braced on either side of my head, caging me against the door.

“Your idea of eye level is quite different from mine, little witch .” His warm breath feathers against my cheek.

I straighten, turning back towards the door feeling the brush of his chest against my shoulders, “Lower it a little.”

He chuckles and moves the hardware, letting me mark the placement for it. We test to make sure it’s level before we secure it to the door. This time, I hold the lock and he uses the cordless drill that we borrowed from Mr. Jankowski, covering my hand with his as he screws it in place.

It takes all of my focus to ignore how close he is and how he lingers, drawing out each movement. The way that he lets his bare skin brush against mine as we’re tangled together in this odd configuration.

My nerves take over.

“I bet you don’t do this very often.” I say with a laugh.

“Strange enough, this is the first time I’ve ever installed a lock.”

“Seriously? I find that pretty hard to believe. Seems to me like you’d have women or men breaking down your door.”

I only mean it as a joke to lighten the mood, but something shifts between us the moment the words leave my lips. Maybe I touched a nerve or there’s something deeper.

Silas laughs, his hand brushing against my waist, the warmth of his palm radiating across my stomach. When I turn around, he’s already walking away and gathering up the rest of the tools we borrowed from Mr. Jankowski.

“And why would that be hard to believe?” He asks, staring down at the tool bag.

“For starters, you’ve been alive for over 237 years and you’re gorgeous, I’m not sure if that’s a you thing or something to do with being a demon. Let me tell you, some of those illustrations in the books don’t really do you any justice.”

Great, now I’m rambling.

“You think I’m gorgeous?” He turns to me, and the look in his eyes has me clenching my thighs together.

“Objectively.” I gesture, “even with the ears.”

In response, they go flat to his head, “What about my ears?”

The movement makes my heart squeeze. “Never mind.” I laugh, “We should probably get those back to him.”

“I’ll run them over.” He says, walking to the door then pauses, “You know, it would have been easier to use a spell to keep Chase out.”

“Easier.” I roll my eyes, “Even if I had access to that kind of magic, I don’t think I could manage something so specific.”

“You’re a powerful witch, Emilia.”

“I’m not sure what gave you that impression. It’s been so long since I’ve used any of my magic, we should consider ourselves lucky the ritual didn’t blow up.”

It’s the truth. I can’t even remember the last time that I’ve felt the fire at my fingertips. Chase wasn’t against me using magic in the beginning, but he would still make snide comments about it. Saying that I was being lazy or showing off when I’d use telekinesis to grab something off of the top shelf.

He’d joke about how he didn’t understand how I could lower myself to be with a mortal like him. It got to where I would only use my fire to light candles at night, then after a while, I couldn’t even manage that much.

I feel like I have lost so much of myself.

“You summoned me.”

“I was trying to summon your father.” I shoot back.

“If you have lost your fire, there are ways to get it back, Emilia. I can help you.”

I fold my arms against my chest, “How did you know about my fire powers?”

Silas follows the movement, his eyes lingering there before he looks at me, “Like calls to like, little witch.” He smirks, then slips out the front door, closing it behind him.

What does that mean? Is he half-witch?