3. Logic has no place here
LOGIC HAS NO PLACE HERE
Ro
I’ve been wiping the same stretch of bar for far too long.
She’s mesmerizing though, the way her body moves with the music, flowing with the beat.
Pulsing hexagon light strips on the ceiling scatter rainbows across her silver hair, while the flashing floor tiles cast a mystical glow from beneath.
Whispers of color and shadow whirl over her pale skin in time to the beat, like they’re dancing with her.
The demon in my chest rumbles, envious desire bubbling up in my chest.
There are a few other people dancing, but not many. A gay couple grinding in the corner, and a group of women having a fun, alcohol-free night. Surprisingly, they tip better for their mocktails than most folks who order specialized cocktails do.
My eyes drift back to the sole silhouette dancing alone.
Her hands are dainty, reaching high above her head, and I blink, zeroing in on the dark lines of delicate tattoos curving over her fingers.
I was too focused on her face to catch them before.
I wonder what other details I haven’t discovered yet.
Finn slaps me on the back, startling me out of my stupor, and the hand I was leaning on jerks out from under me so my ribs crack against the bar. I rub my side with a wince as I straighten to face him.
“Have you talked to her?” he asks.
I laugh, and it comes out more self-deprecating than I intended.
“No,” I say, clearing my throat.
“You should. She’s been checking you out.”
My gaze is drawn back to her and she turns, opening her eyes again and trailing one hand down her body.
It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, and my dick pulses against my thigh.
Next thing I know, she’s walking toward me, her hips still swaying to the music.
My brain distorts the vision, like in a movie when everything slows down and tunnels.
Nothing exists except her.
And then she’s leaning against the bar, reality restored around me.
Finn chuckles as he walks back to the stage with a bottle of water, and I know it’s aimed at me. This weird, tongue-tied uncertainty is not my usual vibe. I take a breath and throw my shoulders back, determined to win her over.
Only… she’s not even looking at me anymore. Instead, she’s dropping cash on the bar to close out her tab.
And then she’s leaving without a backward glance.
Dumbfounded, I turn and look at the backlit stage where Finn is spinning his beats. He sees her walking toward the door, then looks back at me, throws his head back, and laughs. I can’t hear it over the thumping music, but I roll my eyes, a smile cracking my own face, because it is kind of funny.
I can’t remember the last time I was unable to get someone I wanted into my bed.
It’s different with her, though.
Something about her makes me stupid, and honestly, I don’t want a quick hookup.
That thought strikes me dumb again, and I look back at the door that swings closed behind her.
I’ve been thinking about her since I first saw her yesterday, and I’m kicking myself for not asking her name when I had the chance.
I didn’t expect her to dip out so fast, though. She stayed for hours the other night.
I toss the rag under the bar and search for a customer, but it’s slow tonight. No wonder she left. This place is a bore.
My fingers are twitchy; the demon inside wants me to follow her. It’s frightening, this new urge, and I try to avoid it, which only serves to make the demon more adamant.
My eyes flick to the door she just left through, and the demon pushes at my chest. He wants me to follow her, kidnap her, fuck her, claim her—whatever the hell that means.
I shudder at the strength of his desires, pushing back, reminding myself that good people don’t do those things, and I want to be a good person.
The thing is, the demon inside me has never been this obsessed before, and I don’t know how long I can hold out.
I pocket one of the many metal jiggers lining the shelf below the bar in an attempt to settle my urges, but it doesn’t help.
Fire licks at my fingers, and I run it along my knuckles, playing with it like humans fiddle with a pen.
I can’t stop looking at the door, and although it’s likely only been seconds, it feels like ages when I finally give in.
I wave to catch Finn’s attention, gesturing to ask if he can cover the bar.
It’s slow enough that he can set an auto-play track if needed.
He smirks, then gives me the ‘go ahead’ chin jerk.
I race around the bar, ignoring the wide-eyed looks of the few patrons we have in here as I fling the door open and look up and down the street.
She’s a block down, not hard to spot thanks to her bright silver hair. My instincts push me forward, and the feeling of giving in is a painful dichotomy of euphoria and shame. It licks up my spine and settles in my gut, but it’s too late for me now.
The demon has too strong a hold.
The cool night air licks at my heated skin.
I follow at a distance as she turns a corner, but she doesn’t go far.
She steps into another club; this one seems to be aimed at tourists rather than locals, and I walk inside a few seconds after her.
She only orders one shot at the bar this time, and the demon hums with pleasure that I got to serve her more than this bartender.
It’s ridiculous and I silently berate myself.
I keep my distance, settling onto a stool at the far end of the bar and turning my body away from her. The last thing I need is to be caught here, at another club, when she knows I’m supposed to be working at Tempo.
She slams the glass down on the reflective black counter and stands, maneuvering her way into the mass of bodies on the dance floor.
The LED lights shine off her hair, dotting spots of color over her face.
I sit up a little straighter and shift on my stool, trying to keep her in my line of sight, but it’s impossible.
Bodies move and sway, and her silver hair flickers in and out of sight. The demon gets antsy again, urging me to find her, but I force myself to sit back down instead. I order a cheap beer and nurse it, absorbing the delicious flashes of her in the crowd as I bite my lip ring between my teeth.
That is, until the next break in the dance floor shows her dancing with another woman.
The woman is standing behind her, one hand pressed to her lower stomach to hold their bodies close as they rock together, the other hand on her jaw.
This woman kisses along her neck and my blood heats, both with jealousy and desire.
I want to be the one holding her like that, kissing her like that, swaying to the beat with her like that.
I’d even be happy to join the two of them, if that’s what they wanted. I’m not picky.
Then her hands run up her own body, across her breasts, over her shoulders, and into the hair of the woman dancing behind her.
Her arms are raised, baring her pale stomach, and I groan under my breath.
I know I can’t join them, she already turned me down tonight, but the demon doesn’t understand consent.
I realize with horror that I might not be able to hold him back if I stay here. I drop a twenty on the bar and lurch out of my seat.
“No more fires. No more stealing. No killing.”
The mantra is supposed to help me resist demonic impulses, and I hope the familiar pattern of reciting it will help in this situation, too.
At this point, it’s a habit more than anything.
I repeat the words under my breath as I duck out of the club, hoping fresh air will snap me out of it.
Instead, the distance only riles the demon urges even more.
“Okay,” I say to myself. “Harm reduction, that’s what my therapist said we’re working on. A safe way to let my urges out in small amounts. What can…”
I look around, spotting a metal trashcan in the alley along the side of the building.
I stalk over and immediately throw a line of fire at it.
It flashes in a blaze of heat when I set fire to the contents, and I don’t stop.
My arm is outstretched, palm wide open, sending more and more fire into it, allowing myself to release some of the pent up frustration the demon is pumping into me.
My emotions ebb and flow as heat and tension release with the flames. The fire burns hot and bright, flaring into the sky. I let it roar for a few more seconds before smothering it down to a steady smolder.
The last thing I need is someone calling the cops on me.
I shake out my hands, crack my neck, and roll my shoulders. I glare at the glowing coals, take a breath, then clench my fists to douse the remains of the fire. My emotions aren’t as close to the surface now, but they’re still there, a low roil under my skin.
“Better,” I mutter. “Okay, for real this time. No more fires. No more stealing. No killing.”
I pace back and forth, up and down the alley a few times as I take deep breaths and repeat the mantra to myself.
I yank the stolen jigger from my pocket and squeeze it, the curved metal edges denting my palm.
I’m feeling slightly more in control, a little bit more settled, when I freeze, my eyes going wide.
I realize… Nothing in the rules from my therapist says I can’t follow her. ‘No stalking’ isn’t on the list. The demon immediately calms, quietly perking up at this idea.
Of course, some deep down part of me knows just because it isn’t on the list, doesn’t mean it’s okay. Obviously, I know stalking is wrong, but the logical side isn’t in charge right now.
I decide following her for now—from a safe distance, with no intent to harm—isn’t bad. It’s simply a coping mechanism, one that allows me to control my urges without putting anyone in danger. Harm reduction, right?
And… yeah, okay. I’ll definitely be telling my therapist about it as soon as possible.
With that decided, I lean against the brick wall and wait, flicking a tiny flame back and forth over my knuckles and between my fingers with the demon purring happily in my chest. The chill seeps into my back, but the fire of my demon keeps me plenty warm while I wait.
When she finally steps outside, alone, I frown. I fully expected her to hook up with the other woman, but then again, maybe they already did.
She pauses in the doorway, and the neon lights above and behind frame her in a colorful halo.
My eyes track up and down her body, taking in an outfit remarkably similar to the one from the night before.
Tight black clothing, boots that could easily kick my ass, curves that would fit perfectly in my palms.
Lust burns low in my belly, but then I tilt my head, picking up other details now that she’s alone and standing still.
She’s tense, rigid almost, with a defensive, ready for fight-or-flight posture.
Not relaxed at all, as she should be if she’d had a successful night out.
I study the walls she’s built around herself, wondering if they have any cracks.
My frown deepens when her breasts heave with a sigh and her shoulders slump forward. Her eyes are dark wells, unfathomable from this distance, yet they tug at my heart. I want to comfort her, another urge that’s new to me.
She steps away from the light and shoves her hands in her pockets as she walks down the sidewalk. I follow, but only because I want to make sure she gets to her next location safely. Obviously.
Although that thought is an excuse, it also rings true, and the demon seems to agree. He’s urging me to follow, but the impulse to take, to do anything more, is no longer there. Never before has the demon inside me given me such whiplash, but I’ll accept any small win I can right now.
I step quietly, doing my best to be stealthy as I follow half a block behind her. She keeps glancing back, like she senses someone following, but it’s dark enough that I can slip into a doorway or alcove and remain undetected.
When she turns into the entrance for an apartment building, I look away from her to check where we’re at.
Aaaand that’s a problem.
She lives only blocks from me, on the same street. This woman with sad eyes and shimmering hair that reflects the moon.
The demon is practically preening at how close I can be to her, how often and easily I can follow her now that I know where she lives.
I try to force myself to turn away, to not watch the windows to see which lights flick on, but it’s impossible.
That demon inside me won’t be swayed, but after a few minutes of observation, there are no lights.
Maybe she lives on the other side of the building.
Then curtains drift as a window is pushed open, a lithe shadow with silver hair moves behind sheer fabric, and I know without a doubt.
It’s her.
That’s where she lives. Eats. Sleeps.
I have got to call my therapist.