Stalking Not Required (Chaotic Paranormals #2)

1. Demons really need therapy

DEMONS REALLY NEED THERAPY

Ro

“No more fires. No more stealing. No killing.”

I mumble the words under my breath, repeating them like a mantra as the afternoon sun beats down on me. I kick a pebble down the sidewalk, scuffing my sneaker and sending the stone skittering off the curb into a pile of leaves. My inner demon perks up. Those leaves would go up in flames so easily.

Ugh. I rake my fingers through my hair, irritation bubbling.

I was literally reciting my mantra seconds ago, yet my brain went to setting another fire at the first opportunity.

My therapist says I need to change my thought patterns, and that’ll help me control the urges.

She also says it takes time, patience, and practice, all of which are a struggle for me.

My hands clench at the nape of my neck as I tip my head back, letting out a heavy sigh before checking for traffic and crossing the road. I need to get my thoughts back in order before my bartending shift at Tempo, one of many queer clubs in the gayborhood.

Last time I let the demon out too close to work, I flirted with everyone who so much as looked at me with interest, and hooked up with two different guys before my shift was over.

Then I ended up stealing a grand total of $103 dollars, a sleek black watch, someone’s phone (which I later put in the lost and found bin behind the bar), and a tube of lipstick.

I don’t even wear lipstick.

And that’s why I’m in therapy. Because even though I’m a demon, I want to be good.

I yearn to be a good person, someone who contributes to society rather than being a menace who breaks laws every day.

I know it’s not in my nature as a demon, but people can change, right?

My therapist seems to think so, anyway. If she has hope for me, then I will too.

A flash of silver in the sunlight catches my attention and my steps falter.

I do a double take, but only see a glimpse of a woman in black before she disappears around the corner of the next building.

Her hair was shimmery silver, shining like starlight even though it’s mid-afternoon.

I’ve never seen anything like it, and the demon inside me is more intrigued than I’ve felt in ages.

Already on edge, he’s desperate to follow her. The urge bubbles and rises, filling my chest until it’s hard to breathe, and I instinctively take a step in her direction.

But no, I have to get to work. My shift starts in… I check my phone. Five minutes ago.

Shit.

I jog the remaining half block to Tempo and fling the door open, reminding myself that this is the exact type of impulse my therapist wants me resisting anyway.

I try to feel good about ignoring it, like I’m doing the right thing, but all I feel is a staticky type of anxious.

Denying my demonic urges never feels good.

It brings fire to my fingertips, a flash of wavering heat flickering in and out, and I grimace, clenching my fists to douse it.

I steel myself for another rough shift as I clock in.

Tempo doesn’t open for twenty minutes yet, so I go through the motions on autopilot, falling into the familiar routine of setting up my space behind the bar while my brain obsesses over that millisecond glimpse of her.

The girl with the starlight hair, black combat boots, and skintight black pants.

I need to see her again.

“Hey, man,” Finn says. My friend thumps his fist on the bar as he saunters in, heading to the stage.

“Hey,” I mumble a reply, giving an absent nod in greeting.

I wish I had caught more. I’ve never seen her before, but then again, I only recently started working here when Finn told me there was an opening bartending at the club where he DJ’s.

I resolve to keep my eyes peeled and be at that corner five minutes earlier tomorrow, just in case she and I are on a similar schedule.

Tempo opens and people trickle in for a couple hours. Then it turns to a steady pour, and before I know it, the club is filled. Music thumps beneath my feet as I shake cocktails and pour shots. The fire at my fingertips is eager, making my hot pink nails glow each time it flares to life.

I flex and clench my hands every few minutes to try to erase the prickling itch beneath my skin, the impulse to set fire to the next thing I see, to swipe or steal the next thing I touch. Even the itch to strangle this guy who won’t stop talking to me is getting hard to ignore.

I’ve never killed anyone, thankfully, but that’s not to say it’s off the table.

Plenty of demons have. It’s part of why we’re called demons, after all, because we’re known criminals with urges that used to get us institutionalized and locked away.

Now, most of us live in hiding or work for various levels of law enforcement; still largely responsible for many of the horrors that happen in the world, but some of us aren’t so bad.

My parents are the type of demons whose inclinations mostly revolve around drugs and sex, much to my discomfort as a teenager. I think that’s why I don’t view sex as something serious; it’s just another fun activity that’s been normal since I was old enough to understand it.

My mom and dad have always been open about who they are and embracing their lifestyle, accepting their demon urges.

And while I love that for them, it doesn’t exactly work with the demonic impulses I was born with.

Mine are much more destructive and harmful to others, rather than only myself, and my parents never knew what to do with me.

I don’t know what to do with me either.

“You’re distracted today.”

I nearly leap out of my skin and fire shoots from my fingers down to the floor. Thankfully, it sputters out before catching.

“Finn! Holy shit, man. Don’t sneak up on me like that,” I gasp, my heart hammering in my chest.

Finn looks around, eyebrows raised. “Sorry about that?”

I laugh it off with a wave and Finn tilts his head at how clearly fake it sounds.

“What’s up with you? I’ve been watching that guy flirt with you all night and you’d normally have banged him in the bathroom by now, but you look ready to murder him instead.”

His tone is joking, which tells me he has no idea how close that is to the truth.

One look from the curly-haired, muscled daddy of a man and I’d have been on my knees before the words were out of his mouth—if the demon inside me didn’t have a new obsession.

Instead, every suggestive word and heated glance he sends my way have my hackles rising in irritation.

“Yeah, I don’t know. Just feeling off today I guess.”

“Riiiiight,” he says, still skeptical.

I refill the glass of water he helped himself to when I wasn’t paying attention and slide it back to him.

“Thanks.” He’s still eyeing me like he can figure out what’s wrong if he looks hard enough.

“Sure. So what’s up with you?” I ask, forcing the words through my teeth even though I’m a terrible friend today and couldn’t care less what he has to say.

“I’ve got this new beat in my head, thinking I might give it a spin later.” Finn’s head is bobbing and his fingers are tapping on the bar like he’s playing it right now. It finally pulls a grin to my face, dissipating some of the angst that’s been simmering under my skin the last couple hours.

“Yeah? That’s awesome, it’s been a while since you came up with something new. You should give it a go!”

Another patron waves me over and Finn grins with a nod, understanding I can’t stay and chat even though he’s on his break. I pour shots and refill drinks, and finally come to the conclusion that maybe sexy-bear-daddy is exactly what I need tonight.

I need to get out of my own head, and he seems like he’s ready for the challenge.

I check him out again, glancing over the too-tight tee he’s wearing and knowing the scruff along his jaw would feel delightfully rough against my own skin.

I try to imagine it, where he’d put his hands, what he might say, how I’d feel in response.

A few minutes later, I groan in defeat. Despite my best efforts at returning his flirting, I can’t get into it.

I end up shaking my head at him with a shrug of apology, and he winks at me before turning around to survey the dance floor.

I don’t blame him. I’m a lost cause at this point.

My thoughts are stuck on long, wispy silver hair and wondering what color eyes go with it.

My single memory and multiple daydreams cause me to hallucinate, and I start catching flashes of shimmering hair through the throngs of dancers. I roll my eyes at myself, half hoping I don’t see her again because this woman is clearly a problem for the demon.

I yank the tap in front of me, frothy beer pouring into the glass I’m holding, then I slide it across the bar and do a double take. There’s a woman leaning on the bar next to the person I just served.

A woman with silver hair reflecting the colored lights in the club.

The woman I’m newly obsessed with is right in front of me, ordering three shots of tequila with a voice like velvet.

My eyes trace as much of her as I can see, which isn’t much. Dark eyes—too dark to tell the color in this lighting—a dainty nose and slightly pointed chin. Her shoulders are thrown back, daring anyone to mess with her, and it immediately makes me want to give her trouble.

I grin, and it feels manic on my face. I’m definitely showing too many teeth, but I can’t possibly rein it in. She’s stunning and fierce and terrifying.

I drop the shot glasses in front of her and wait until she meets my eyes before raising the bottle to pour.

I sink into her dark gaze and hold eye contact with her, having poured enough shots in my day to know exactly when and how much to move the bottle to fill up all three glasses.

I wink when I lower it, my grin never leaving my face, and my fingers itch to light the shots on fire.

My inner demon wants to give her a show, but I set the bottle down and grip the edge of the bar instead.

She narrows her eyes, not breaking our eye contact, and downs one shot after the other, slamming each empty glass on the bar in front of her.

When she throws back the third, my eyes travel down her slim neck, watching her throat bob as she swallows.

She has a tattoo, sparrows taking flight behind her ear and part way down her neck.

My gut clenches, and it feels like there’s fire behind my eyes.

It’s a new feeling, one I have no idea what to do with, and I wonder if there might be flames reflected in my eyes.

That’s how it feels, anyway, but she doesn’t so much as flinch when my gaze travels back up and meets hers again.

I raise one eyebrow, waiting for her next move.

Her face doesn’t change, her expression remaining stone cold as she turns and strides to the dance floor.

I’d be disappointed, but now I can see the rest of her.

My eyes snag on the three silver bracelets looped around one dainty wrist, then on the bare skin between her dark crop top and high-waisted pants, and finally on the slight curve of her cute little ass.

She doesn’t approach anyone. Instead, she dances alone, losing herself to the beat as her hips roll, and my irritation reignites in my chest. I wish I wasn’t working so I could go out there and dance with her. Talk to her. Worship her. Take her.

Ooookay, so my inner demon has strong thoughts about her. Cool cool cool. My therapist will love this development.

A swanky looking guy grinds up behind my starlight girl and she dances with him for a bit, but then shakes her head when he leans down to speak in her ear.

He turns away to feel up someone else, and she dances up behind another girl.

Their limbs intertwine and their bodies bump and sway to the beat as colored lights reflect off their sweat-slicked skin.

I get a rush at the bar and she’s out of my sight for a few minutes as the bodies on the dance floor shift. Then Finn sets the music to auto play while he takes another break, making his way behind the bar to help himself to a drink.

“Still waiting on that new track!” I say, nodding to him.

He grins in reply and shrugs one shoulder. I take it to mean he hasn’t decided yet.

I’m mid-pour on an IPA when the crowd parts and I catch a glimpse of her again—making out with the girl she was dancing with.

Time stands still and the image is seared into my brain.

Hands on hips and tangled in hair, legs between the others’ thighs as they dance and grind on each other, a flash of tongue between parted lips.

The demon howls inside my chest as I freeze.

The chilled beer overflows the glass and froths over my hand, startling me.

I drop the glass, a loud clang against the floor, though thankfully it doesn’t break.

The sound shatters the trance that seeing her tongue, her lips, her pleasure put me in, and I whip around to lean my back against the bar.

It’s the closest I can come to hiding, given the current situation.

Finn stares at me, his drink halfway to his mouth, eyes wide with some combination of amusement and concern as his gaze flits between me and the girl I’ve been staring at since she arrived.

“Uh-huh,” he says, a knowing smirk on his lips.

He takes a gulp of his whiskey, then sets it down and grabs a rag while I suck in a deep breath, then re-pour the beer.

“So she’s what’s got your panties in a twist tonight, eh?” he says, laughter barely concealed beneath the words.

I don’t even bother trying to deny it. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.”

He smacks a hand against my back, a wide grin on his face as he tosses the rag aside.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you this messed up over someone before. What’s her deal?”

“No deal. I don’t even know her,” I say, cringing at the wistful note in my voice and hoping he doesn’t catch it over the music.

“But you want to,” he replies.

“Yeah,” I say with a sigh. “I really do.”