Chapter 17 #2
My muscles strain as I refocus on taking form and shoulder the next person I pass.
Watching them stumble only makes me feel momentarily better.
The same applies to the next person, and the one after that, and nothing really improves until I get lost in the tantrum, throwing things, causing a mess, and making the humans as pissed off about their situation as I am with mine.
I bob my head to the music, letting my body move in time with the beat and the switches in melody until wreaking havoc becomes a dance. I roll to the sound, snake through the crowd, spinning and turning and shoving like everyone is in on this routine.
All the while, that same burning heat of eyes on me follows me from room to room. I learned my lesson this time. I don’t dare approach him. I keep moving, emboldened out of sheer spite, exaggerating each sway of my hips.
The demon can talk shit all he wants; he can’t ignore that I get him hard. It might not be my choice, but the fact still stands. And one glance at the muscle twitching in his cheek, the hard set of his jaw, and the tenting in his pants tells me that fact hasn’t changed.
I pretend not to notice the pain in his eyes, but I’m holding on to it like it’s a living, breathing thing tethering me to reality. It fuels me and turns me into the pest I was always meant to be while Lynx sulks in the corner, looking like someone just cursed his entire bloodline.
Out the corner of my eye, I notice a man beelining toward the demon, and my stomach drops. It’s Mitchell. What… what is he doing here? I haven’t seen him in years. High school graduation probably?
We dated for a bit. It wasn’t that serious—at least, it wasn’t for me. He was too big of a sweetheart, and I couldn’t make him spend the rest of his life with someone who has as much baggage as I do. We were only fourteen, so it didn’t really matter.
Mitchell reached out after everything went down with my parents, and again when Ella started getting sicker, offering to help out or support me in whatever way he could. But I thought he moved across the country. What is he doing here?
My chest squeezes as I watch him approach the demon, brows drawn in concern for the murderer.
Then panic sets in.
Lynx will eat Mitchell for breakfast and still have room for dessert.
I rush up to them, prepared to throat punch the demon if necessary. Over my dead body am I letting someone as innocent as my ex get dragged into this shit with Satan Jr.
The asshole’s stare cuts from me to the human, and I swear the temperature plummets when I catch Mitchell ask, “You alright there, man?”
Lynx’s deadly gaze slides to mine, and it’s as if he can see every memory I’ve had with Mitchell. Every gross juvenile kiss, touch, smile.
There’s something between me and my demon, that much is clear, but neither of us will admit it. Right now sure as shit isn’t the time to.
His jaw tenses.
My breath halts in my chest.
I can see the spark of jealousy in his eyes, and I think I… like it.
Then I watch with utter horror as Lynx lunges forward and wraps his hands around Mitchell’s throat. I scream, diving forward to shove Lynx back, becoming a shitty barrier between the two men.
Partygoers stop to watch the scene unfold. A couple guys help Mitchell to his feet, but the rest are smart enough to keep their distance from the creature who’s pulsing out hot energy into the room. Only he doesn’t notice anyone other than me.
His fists tremble at his sides as he glares at me with a look of pure fury that could rival the burn of the sun.
Someone shoves him. He doesn’t move an inch. Others yell at him. I don’t make out a thing. Neither does he. It’s all white noise and crackling static between us. He doesn’t see them.
Only me.
That frightens me more than when part of Mitchell’s body moves through me, and the trance dissipates. Our stare finally breaks, and he tries to step around me, the rage of the Devil himself lighting his eyes.
I block him, placing both hands on Lynx’s chest to try to snap him out of whatever this is. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Stop it.”
Strong fingers thread through my hair to pull my head back so I’m staring up at him.
Electric fire zips down my spine when his eyes flash red.
Any thought about our audience and what they might see, given I’m invisible, slips from my mind when he closes the distance until our lips are only an inch apart.
His hot breath fans over my skin, and my core spirals from the winding tension.
My lungs stutter when my gaze falls to his lips to watch him rasp, “This is your fault. It’s either you or him.”
Goosebumps rain over me. I become hyper aware of every exposed surface of my skin, and how his heavy breaths warm the curve of my chest.
“W-what?”
“You heard me perfectly fine.” His hand falls from my hair, yet he doesn’t step away. “Run, or someone else dies tonight.”
I stagger back, ignoring everything around me; the guys yelling at Lynx, the pump of the music, the whispers of curiosity as people stare our way.
I couldn’t pay attention to them even if I wanted to.
My nonexistent heart hammers in my chest, and every retort and angry string of words vanishes from my mind.
All I recognize is Lynx’s hungry eyes, which flicker between blue and red, and the aching need building low in my stomach.
So I do it. I give the predator what he wants.
I run.