11. Doom and gloom
DOOM AND GLOOM
Lor
The spark from his skin against mine sets all the hairs on my arm standing and spreads goosebumps down my neck. My eyes fly to his, but I see only soft acceptance there, no surprise. He was expecting that. Does he know something I don’t?
Ro offers a tentative smile, and I think I give him one in reply. It feels foreign on my face, like I’m doing it wrong, and I quickly look away.
Silence falls between us, but it’s not awkward or uncomfortable.
The wind swishes across the field, insects buzz and the sharp call of a falcon rings out high above.
His hand is warm against mine. It feels good, right, and also radiates warmth in a way that isn’t entirely human.
I’ve been trying to ignore the truth he dropped on me, but there’s no more running from it.
Ro is a demon.
I’m not sure why that fact triggered me. It’s not like I’m human either, although I am the most human of all the non-human creatures. I guess I had assumed he was safe, a regular human who wouldn’t care about or even know the significance of stardust.
I’ve always heard demons were evil creatures.
That they have no regard for the law, let alone morality, and they do whatever they please.
Then I realize what this demon has been doing lately: stalking me, probably responsible for the random smoldering trashcans I’ve come across, and who knows what else.
I have no doubt he’s broken the law in other ways.
Now that he’s told me, I can’t unsee it. Of course, he’s a demon.
But…
He’s basically a puppy—a chaotic, far too enthusiastic puppy with poor decision-making skills—but still.
He’s been following me around and lapping up any scrap of attention I throw his way.
It’s bizarrely endearing, and somehow the frustration and anger I constantly carry around evaporate in his gentle, eager presence.
It’s like Ro fits the mold of a demon, and then reshapes it.
How is he possible?
I look over at him, seeing him already watching me, and stare into his hazel eyes. They’re flecked with gold, and now I wonder if that’s his inner demon magic that seems to make them glow. His eyes are captivating and far too expressive.
Dangerous.
Why is he interested in me? My instincts tell me I can trust him, but my history with those who are supposed to love and care for me have turned my heart black and bitter, surrounded with a wall of barbed wire. I trust no one, because everyone always leaves.
Besides, even if I did trust him, what am I going to do? Give him a life of caring for someone who is destined to go mad?
I scoff, and Ro’s eyebrows shoot up. I shake my head, averting my gaze. I don’t even know when it’ll happen. It could be in two years or twenty, but at some point, my curse will ruin my life and that of anyone I’m close to.
Even more than it already has.
“Is everything okay?” Ro’s voice interrupts my brooding.
I cringe, recognizing again that my lack of social skills have likely made things awkward, and wishing for the millionth time that I could be normal.
“Just… stuck in my head, I guess,” I reply, not sure what else to say.
“I get that. Do distractions help? That always helps me,” Ro says.
He looks eager and hopeful, with wide eyes and slightly raised eyebrows, body poised like he’s ready to jump into battle against my thoughts. I shrug.
“Probably, yeah,” I say. “But we’re kinda stuck in the middle of nowhere.”
“That’s okay, I can distract you! What should we do?”
Ro lets his knees drop from his chest and straightens, stroking the thumb and pointer finger of one hand along his chin like a wanna-be evil villain that can’t stop smiling. My lips twitch as I watch him look around at the sparse landscape.
“We could play I spy or charades, or if you don’t want to do that, I can put on a little skit. I don’t know any, but I’m sure I could make something up.”
Ro starts to stand, but I tug the hand still clasped in mine.
“No.” I huff out a tiny laugh, shocking both of us.
Ro freezes and stares at me. I can feel my face turning red, so I look away again.
“I mean,” I mumble into my shoulder. “It’s fine, you don’t have to do all that.”
He slowly lowers himself back to the ground, and I chance a look at him. His eyes are running over me, and it makes me wonder what he sees.
A broken girl? Someone lonely and sad? A lie?
All would be true.
“We could just talk?” Ro says, the words turning up at the end in question.
I nod, unable to speak around the lump in my throat.
Ro doesn’t seem upset by my lack of verbal response, instead offering a tender smile before his grin turns mischievous and he launches into a story.
He starts with his early experiments making cocktails, before he took any mixology classes, and how he once made a drink so terrible it gave Finn a headache that lasted days.
Apparently, it was Ro’s first experience with cleaning up vomit, too.
The dramatic full-body shudder he lets loose makes me smile again.
Ro shares stories about customers at the various bars he’s worked at.
Stories of drunken shifters, and silly humans, and tales of the most ridiculous drinks he’s ever been asked to make.
He requires little to no input from me, keeping up a constant flow of words that my brain soaks up like a sponge.
It’s strange, the way his chatter doesn’t bother me.
His voice soothes an anxious part of my mind that is used to going, going, going.
I place my free hand on the cloth bag containing the stardust, and the hum of its magic thrums against my palm.
It warms me from the inside, bringing another layer of peace that I don’t trust. The dichotomy sets me on edge; tranquility and distrust, serenity and apprehension.
We end up sitting together, holding hands, for far longer than I would have guessed possible for two people who aren’t actually doing much of anything. Ro’s thumb sweeps against the back of my hand every so often, sending tingles up my arm.
I ignore it, and he smiles.
He seems pleased to finally be cracking me open, somehow recognizing that even though I’m not sharing much verbally, this is still me letting him in. I don’t know what to make of it all—of him, my reactions, my jumbled feelings and calmed thoughts.
“I should go,” I say, suddenly needing out.
I drop his hand and pull away. I can’t take anymore of whatever this is. It doesn’t feel safe, though logic tells me it is. “It’s getting late. So. I better get home.”
Ro hops up, then holds out both hands. I hesitate before settling mine into his, and he practically throws me onto my feet in his enthusiasm to help me stand.
“Whoops. Sorry, Starfire,” he says with a grin. “Got a little carried away.”
Ro laughs like he told the world’s funniest joke, but I don’t crack a smile. My heart stumbles at the nickname. I’ve never had a nickname before, apart from Lor, which I always ask people to call me because I don’t like Alorra.
I can’t figure out how I feel about it. I’m staring, I know I’m staring, but my brain has reached its limit for the day.
I spin on my heel and re-strap my backpack around me.
“So…” Ro calls behind me. “Same time tomorrow?”
There’s a grin in his voice, and I peek over my shoulder, unable to resist seeing it one last time. I don’t contradict him, even though I should. There’s a reason I’m not interested in a relationship, and especially not with someone who seems as kind and genuine as Ro.
My lifestyle, the life of crime and people I’m involved with… They’d chew him up and spit him out before he even knew what happened. Not to mention my curse.
No, I won’t subject an innocent—demon or not—to a doomed future with me.
His tongue laps at my nipple, teasing until it’s a taut peak, and I moan through closed lips.
Ro grins up at me and I bury my fist in his silky brown hair, pulling and tugging, trying to get him to go where I want.
He nips at the curve of my breast before latching his lips around my nipple with a suck strong enough to arch my back.
I groan, palming my other breast, and the vibration of his answering rumble sends heat flooding to my core.
Ro’s form blurs in and out as he sucks and nips and licks his way down my body.
I’ve been thinking about this for so long, I’m ready to come out of my skin with need.
Ro’s hands are nearly scorching as he spreads my thighs and settles his shoulders between them.
He kisses up one thigh and I lose track of time, my mind fuzzy as it skips from one moment to the next, then he’s sucking a hickey on the inside of my opposite thigh.
I squirm, attempting to thrust my hips, but they won’t move, his arms pinning them down.
He flashes me a wicked grin as he slowly—so torturously slow—lowers his head to my slick pussy.
I try to move my hands, to spear them into his hair and yank him to where I want him to be, but my arms don’t move.
Ro chuckles, his breath ghosting over me and sending tingles racing up and down my spine. His eyes glow a bright, molten gold as he looks up at me from between my legs.
My breath stutters in my chest and I groan again, so desperate to come that I nearly start begging. I’m chanting his name in my head, cursing him, but refusing to plead. My throat feels too tight, and I fear I might actually be saying his name aloud.
“Ro, Ro.”
My voice is soft, but gaining intensity as his tongue teases my outer folds and his lips graze the crease of my inner thigh. I thrash against his hold, my patience snapping as I finally yell.
“Ro!”
I jolt up in bed, chest heaving, panicked at having been awoken by a shout, only to realize it was me.
I’m the one who shouted.
Because…
“No,” I murmur, then my voice gains desperation again for an entirely different reason as the dream comes back to me. “Nooo, no, nonono!”
I bury my face in my hands, ignoring the sweat slicked hair sticking to my forehead and my thumping heart. There’s no way I just had a fucking sex dream about Ro.
“Uhhggggggg,” I groan, falling back into my pillows as a scathing “mrow” replies.
I drop my hands and look to the side, where the cat sits on my window sill. It’s clearly unimpressed with me—same cat, same—and places one paw on the window, demanding to be let out. I don’t want to be here with me right now either.
It takes a few seconds to untangle my legs from the sheets, then I heave myself out of bed, crack the window for the cat, and make my way into the bathroom for a cold shower.
I’m finally cooling down, refusing to finish what my dream, no—nightmare—started, when the doorbell rings.
I roll my eyes, not bothering to hurry to answer it, and step under the cold water again.
When I finally turn it off and step out, the doorbell rings again. I ignore it still, having no interest in interacting with anyone if I don’t have to. But a few minutes later, someone knocks. I’ve barely had time to throw some clothes on, but fuck it.
Exasperated and already done with this day, I stomp to the door, ready to lay into whatever evangelist or preacher thinks they have a right to my time.
Ro
Lor flings the door open and my jaw goes slack.
Her eyes are spitting mad, luminescent grey in the soft light, but it’s her sexy as hell outfit that scrambles my brain.
She’s wearing a black knit crop top, high neckline with no sleeves and no bra, hard nipples poking through the fabric like they’re begging for my attention.
Her stomach is on display with loose black sleep shorts that barely cover her ass, leaving miles of bare leg ending with bare feet tapping the floor in agitation.
And on top of it, her hair is dripping wet. It leaves trails of water down her neck, across her shoulders, there’s even a glittering stripe that’s made its way past her cropped top and down her stomach. I gulp, averting my eyes before my quick perusal turns to leering.
I bend down, swiping a hand out toward the ground, and then rub my chin as I stand back up.
Lor’s fiery gaze flips to confused, and she stares at me for a moment before speaking.
“What are you doing?”
“Picking my jaw up off the floor,” I reply.
Lor slams the door in my face and I bark a laugh. I caught her quick grin before she was able to hide it. It was small, but I’ve become an expert in reading her micro-expressions.
I bite my lip, trying to hold in my own grin as I knock again. Two quick taps.
Lor opens it immediately, her face composed into what I’m sure she thinks is a neutral mask, but I can see her curiosity and the playful edge she won’t let out. I lean against the doorframe, propping one forearm above me as I angle my head at her.
“You gonna invite me in?”
“No,” she says.
“Why not?”
“I don’t want you here.”
Huh. My eyebrows pull down and the urge to grin falls. That’s not what I expected.
I’m stumped. I can’t tell if she’s serious, but decide to take her at her word. I’ll satisfy my demon by hanging around outside for a bit, like I usually do.
I drop my arm and step back with a nod, ready to leave her in peace, but then she speaks again.
“Fine,” she huffs, rolling her eyes.
“No, I don’t want to inconvenience you,” I say. I also don’t really want to be where I’m not wanted. I think that’s a pretty basic thing, to want to be wanted. My demon might want to be near her, to follow and know and possess her, but I don’t want to be anywhere I’m truly not welcome.
Her eyes soften, as does her voice.
“You’re not an inconvenience,” she says. “Please, come in.”
Lor steps back, swinging the door open wide, and then turns around, expecting me to follow.
I hesitate for a heartbeat, warring with myself.
But then I remind myself that Lor isn’t the type of person to do anything she doesn’t want to do, so if she didn’t want me here, she wouldn’t have invited me in.
She had no problem telling me to get lost in the past.
I step inside and push the door closed behind me, my eyes sharpening on her ass as she saunters into the kitchen. She glances over her shoulder and smirks when she catches me looking, but I don’t mind. I grin and shrug.
“What? You’re hot,” I say.
Lor rolls her eyes again—and again, I catch the hint of a smile as she turns away. Why does she always try to hide it?
“You can get yourself some coffee if you want,” she says, gesturing to a cupboard on her left. I take the invitation to snoop, making myself at home as my demon purrs with contentment in my chest at being invited into her space.