Chapter Three
Rex
15 years ago
T here's something about this girl.
I’m just closing my locker door when she speed walks past the end of the hall.
It's gotta be that she’s a human. Infernus Academy is serious and uppity and like 99-percent demons. They really only care about teaching us business skills. Humans don't usually go for that. But this girl’s dad is some fancy big-city finance guy. He lectures here sometimes. I guess that’s how she got in.
Birdie is her name. Cute, right? She kind of looks like one too, in a cool way. Her nose is long and straight, almost hawkish.
She’s also the smartest person in school, tied for valedictorian and on track to graduate a year early. End of next semester or so I hear. Not that I ask. Too often.
I mean, I see her around from time to time. Hard not to. A brown face in a sea of red. Plus, she's pretty. I'm not blind. But she doesn't mess with demons, with anyone really. I don't think she has any friends besides her younger brothers.
There’s still a couple minutes before the next bell, and I have the stupid urge to see where she went. But I have to jog to another class to drop off my brother’s notebook he left in my bag by accident. By the time I get back to the end of the hall, she’s gone.
Crazy thing is, this Birdie girl and I are the same age, sixteen. But she's a grade ahead in the honors program and I'm two behind. Let's just say, the Special Education support is lacking at Infernus Academy and they didn't catch my dyslexia until I was already floundering.
My brothers make the grades. They’ll achieve our parents’ dream of running a successful corporation one day. I’m just sort of . . . here.
I don't really mind being the big idiot in a class with kids younger than me. Unlike the pretty human girl, I do have friends besides my brothers. Two actually. Who needs more than that? We’re misfits but we don’t take shit from anybody.
Today is the first day of fall semester’s Manufacturing Handmade Goods. I trudge into the fancy name for shop class and see her.
My heart races. She’s front and center in the first row, knees tucked together with a white satin ribbon in her hair. And Sneaky Simon is parked up behind her. Fuck that. He’s a flirt to his core. I pick him up by the collar and shove him back, then claim the seat instead. My big, awkward body struggles to get comfortable in this metal cage they call a desk, and even though I’m jostling her chair, she doesn’t turn around.
I’ve never been this close to her. When I lean in and inhale, it’s just like I expected. She even smells pretty. Girl shampoo and spearmint gum.
She straightens and half turns, but pauses before I can see her face. Her shoulders rise, breathing a little faster. My demon sensibilities perk up. She’s hiding something . We can only really sense heightened emotions in others, and she’s giving off nothing. Totally locked down. Probably learned it from going to school with my kind for so long. But I could swear she wants to turn around.
If she’d just talk to me, I could figure out what it is about this girl that's got me so curious.
As the days drag on, the first thing I learn is that she’s not as perfect as she looks. She's a total nerd, collects these dorky animal magazines. They peek out of her backpack. Oh, and she’s really bad at shop class. Hilariously so.
She'd never even held a hammer in her life before our first project to build a six-inch box using a variety of techniques. After stubbing her thumb, she superglued two fingers together. I don’t think my laughing at her gained me many brownie points.
No matter what I do, how much better my daily projects are than the rest of these losers, she never looks my way. And for some stupid reason, it’s all I want. Impressing her isn’t working. But one thing I’m really good at? Being annoying as fuck.
I start tapping my foot against the side of her chair leg. Tap. Tap. Tap . For minutes and minutes.
It bothers me that she’s always so still and quiet. No fun and games. How every answer she gives the teacher is textbook. Something about it doesn’t sit right with me.
So I tap the hard sole of my leather boot on her chair leg, real quiet but consistent. My brothers would have put me in a headlock and thrown my shoe across the room within the first two minutes. Not Birdie.
This girl has nerves of steel.
Until finally, she cracks.
Just before the end of class, right when the teacher steps out to the hallway, Miss Prim-and-Proper exhales a little huff, turns around, and glares at me.
“Stop it.”
My foot drops and I widen my stance to lean in a little.
Man, oh man. It’s the first time I’ve seen her eyes up close. Black lashes that curl up like a doll around her wide-set eyes. I know the color—brown—but hers is something better. A new version, I decide. A color that only exists for her. Two black ringlets fall out of her updo and over half of her face. When she blows them off with a quick exhale, not breaking eye contact, it’s like seeing a real-time chink in her armor.
She doesn’t say anything else, just glares at me. I’m no stranger to an old-fashioned staring content. And even though I’m happy as a pig in shit that she’s finally paying attention to me, I want to keep pushing her buttons.
“See something you like?” I cock my head to the side.
Her eyes flare. The bell rings. And in a flurry of girl-scented air, she whips her bag over her shoulder and leaves the room.
I’m a goner.
That one moment—finally seeing up close all the fire she keeps restrained behind a sharp steel trap—it’s the only thing my longtime curiosity needs to become a full-blown obsession.
Underneath all the yes sirs and no ma’ams is another girl, full of secrets.
And I want to see them all.
June, Present Day
“ I t’ll get done,” I growl at my brother through the phone, keeping my voice down since I know Thursday dinner at the inn is about to start and everyone’s already gathered just downstairs. “I’m doing the drywall myself.” He has the balls to sigh at that. What the fuck? He should take it as good news. I’ll do a better job than the flake who backed out on me anyway, and I’d rather just get it done than waste more time finding someone new.
I’ve been back in Winter Bliss for two months now, and the Perkatory renovations have started spiraling into chaos. It’s manageable, though. I think.
“Rex, come on,” Rom says. “You’ve already got a lot on your plate.”
“And I’ll take care of all of it.” I try not to hear his comment in a backhanded way, try not to believe he wants to limit my work because he thinks I’ll fuck everything up. I may be a hot mess, emotionally and otherwise, but when the rubber meets the road, I get shit done for the family.
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he sighs.
With that, I hang up and pause at the window in the stairwell. My forehead taps against the glass a few times, then I rock my head side to side, just to feel my horns hitting the solid wood of the framing. Since I was a kid, physical ticks like that helped me calm down, ground me in reality and my surroundings, rather than the chaos of my mind.
I’m not a thinker; I’m a doer. Tasks and projects are my bread and butter. A log that needs chopping. Quick concrete and water. Furniture to be assembled (with a cursory glance at the instructions). While the rest of my family are pros at boardroom negotiations and pulling together presentations on how to run a business where other people do the work, that’s just not how I’m wired.
With that last call out of the way, I pocket my phone and straighten my shirt. The innkeepers don’t need some sweaty elephant stinking up their dining room for The Deviled Egg’s weekly family dinner, which all the bed-and-breakfast guests are invited to. I took a quick shower and put on my best button-up to make a good impression, even threw on a double spritz of cologne.
Ah, who am I kidding? I’m making the extra effort because Birdie will be there. Since I’ve been lodging here, she hasn’t missed a family dinner yet. And some weeks, it’s my only glimpse of her, since she mostly stays busy out at her place.
Rounding the dining room entrance, I pause when I catch sight of her. For a moment, I lose my breath. Her curly hair is piled high in a big bun and I think she’s wearing a little makeup. Her dress is checkered, the kind of pattern you’d see on a picnic blanket or something but in cotton candy rainbow colors. The poofy short sleeves remind me of what an old-fashioned school teacher might wear.
Damn, she’s cute.
Like she can hear my thoughts, her gaze shifts to me before straightening and facing her mom again. “Randy’s been such a help with the planning.” Birdie smiles and turns to the side. Only then do I register that her boyfriend is right beside her.
Fiancé . Fuck.
She’s really doing it. She’s getting married. And I’ve got a front row seat.
I grit my teeth and shuffle in, trying to be inconspicuous as I plop down in the only available spot, smack dab in the middle.
At least I can drown my sorrows in kebabs. I reach for one and my knee jostles the table. A bowl of gravy and the flower centerpiece almost topple over in the process. All seven guests grow quiet, some reaching for their glasses, like the table would shake itself upside down. Come on. It was just a little wiggle.
“Sorry,” I mumble and give the married couple down the hall from me and Birdie's mom, Miss Eda, a sheepish smile. “Food looks great.”
Birdie’s fiancé clears his throat so she turns back to him instead. “We settled on a venue just today.”
“Lovely!” her mom says.
What does Birdie see in this guy? Sure, he runs his own successful business. And yeah, maybe he smells nice, but almost too nice, like four spritzes of cologne instead of a respectable two. And okay, he can charm old ladies with a slick compliment and polite conversation. Is that what wet dreams are made of?
He just isn’t right for her. Anyone can see that.
Can’t they?
I glance at Orla, Birdie’s stepmom, seated at one end of the long table, but the old demoness isn’t even watching them. She’s got a soft smile for Miss Eda. Ugh, she’s no help. I move down the line to Old Ethel, her sister, at least ten years her senior.
I give a start when I realize she’s watching me, sucking on her vape. The old bat always made me nervous as shit as a kid. I couldn’t believe straightlaced Rom used to steal candy from her store. I wouldn’t dare. She sees everything .
With a wordless smirk, she passes me the plate of kebabs. I sigh and give my first skewer a long, loving look before taking a bite. Grilled meat never let me down.
“That inn has such a pretty garden and ballroom,” Miss Eda says.
“Wait, what?” I ask, mouth full of half-chewed lamb. Birdie loves her ranch. She should get married there, obviously. I swallow before asking, “Where?”
Birdie glances over like she forgot I was here. Probably did. Ever since that first night she drove my drunk, flirting ass home, she’s done her best to ignore me.
“We’re getting married at the Hellfyre Inn,” she says, complete with a courtesy smile.
“What an inspiring venue for marriage,” I mutter, hearing a low chuckle from Old Ethel.
Birdie’s eyes narrow. If she’s glaring at me, she’s not ignoring me. I call it a win. Now it’s time to ask the obvious question, surely on everyone’s mind.
“Why not the ranch?”
“Retreat,” Birdie corrects.
“Tuh-may-to, tuh-mah-to. That’s really just the new glossy spin on it. You’ve got a tree farm and a ton of animals. Ranch is more correct.”
Randy’s smile is frozen on his face. The creases around his mouth don’t match his eyes. I flick my tongue out to lick my lips, but really I’m tasting the air. There it is—a hint of smoke and sour milk. He hates me. It’s something a demon just knows. Well, buddy, the feeling is mutual. And while Birdie may bite back at me, I never sense anything like that from her. She’s a fresh flame and marshmallows. Even if she’d never admit it, she likes me. The nose knows.
Randy turns back to Miss Eda. “Centrally located in town is easier all around considering the logistics of visitors and such.”
“In and out.” The smile Birdie aims at her mom is wooden. She’s trying to hide behind it, and it makes me itch. “It’ll be done before we know it.”
I raise an eyebrow and lift my water glass, in a mock toast. “Weird way of looking at your wedding day.”
Birdie exhales, a cute almost snort, and cuts a murderous gaze my way.
I keep eye contact, determined not to look away first, and the longer she glares at me, the warmer my chest grows. Excited to have her signature intensity trained only on me. Her brows pinch tight, and she knows we’re in a staring contest now. But I know Birdie, and she’s a stubborn thing. So I pop a roasted potato in my mouth and suck on my finger, delighting in the half second her eyes fall to my lips before turning to her mom again, admitting defeat.
“We’re keeping it small. Family and close friends only. Maybe fifty people, give or take.”
My jaw rocks side to side, the soft innards of potato the only thing stopping my teeth from grinding together.
The translation of that statement is clear as day. I’ve got no chance of an invite.