Chapter 25
twenty-five
. . .
Present Day
“Lace, what do you think of this?” Kit asks, drawing me back to reality.
I suck in sharply through my nose as I re-alert myself. That memory—that insanely random memory—just took me over.
I wander back to my window. Kit stands before the full-length mirror in my room, adjusting the black blouse he’s put on, unbuttoned a button lower than I would ever wear it.
I want to comment on that, but bite my lip because I like the way it looks.
I watch as his hands smooth absently over the silky fabric and feel a sudden and surprising heat coiling in my belly.
I don’t hate that he’s touching me. In fact, I sort of like the idea of his hands on me.
I shake my head, ushering the thought out of my mind. That is ridiculous.
I catch Kit smirk in the mirror, like he knows exactly what is going on inside my head. Or, oh god, if my body is having a physical reaction, he can tell.
Ugh. This is so embarrassing.
Kit immediately decides to make it worse and asks, “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”
“Nothing,” I grumble, my cheeks burning so red it’s reflected in the mirror.
“Doesn’t feel like nothing.”
“Kit…” I say warningly. We should not be talking about this.
His hands continue to slowly smooth out the silk over my stomach, more intentionally.
“Because it seems to me, you’re thinking about how much you like this.
I can feel how much you like this.” His eyes shoot downward as an indication of what he’s talking about, like he’s not already being abundantly clear.
Like I can’t feel the pulse and slick arousal between my legs, the rate of my heart speeding up, the desperate craving I have for him.
I attempt denial. “How do you know I’m not thinking about Hudson? I’m sure you saw that memory.”
“We both know you’re thinking about me.”
My lips press together.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers before tracing a loose finger down over my breast.
I don’t say a word.
He unbuttons the blouse further, exposing the black lacy bra he has put me in again. He really likes that bra. His hands run over my breasts, fingers circling my nipples, which I can see harden beneath the fabric.
Instead of stop, I say, “I can’t feel that.”
He locks eyes with me in the mirror. “Would you like to?”
I bite my lip. “Yes.”
Kit smirks mercilessly, and suddenly, I can feel his hand on my breast. He has literally given me access to my boobs and boobs alone.
Jesus. My nipples pinch beneath the fabric of my bra, and I desperately wish he had a mouth to put on them.
I want his tongue to trace over my sensitive skin.
I want him to suck them into his mouth, his teeth to scrape over them as I cry out.
I want his mouth on mine, his tongue touching mine, his body wrapped around mine.
I settle for his fingers, which have dipped underneath the bra.
He is pinching the bud, rolling it between his fingers.
He moves his fingers to his mouth, licking two with a sly grin before continuing to massage my hard nipple.
The moan I let out surprises me. And it does well to snap me back to reality.
“Stop,” I order.
Kit snatches his hand away.
“Sorry,” I say, covering my face with my hands, fingers parted so I can still see him, face blushing in the mirror. Is that his or mine?
“Don’t be. I have to get to that poker game, anyway.” I can’t feel my breasts anymore as he readjusts the bra and buttons the shirt.
Just as well. It’s been four months since I’ve had sex. Am I really so desperate that I’d let the demon invading my body touch me like that?
The simple answer is yes. Yes, because he isn’t some random demon. He’s Kit. I should hate him. I did hate him, however that hatred has been whisked away and replaced with something much more damaging.
Kit steals a car, because of course he fucking does, from the grocery store parking lot again. I don’t know where we’re going, and I don’t care. It’ll probably be some random demon’s basement, filled with cigar smoke and poker chips and hairy men.
He screeches to a stop in front of an abandoned house that—
“Hey! I’ve been here before. About a year ago. It’s hella haunted. Cool.”
Kit chuckles in my void. “That is cool. Did you make a video here? I’ll watch it later.”
“I did, but you don’t have to watch it.”
“I want to watch it. I liked the one of you at the mini golf course. And, uh, what’s the other one I just watched?
That abandoned warehouse in Bridgeport? Hate that you went there alone, but you got some great footage.
Like the collapsing stack of boxes? Incredible.
Also, the one at the hotel in upstate New York?
When your book moved on the side table while you were asleep. That was awesome.”
I simper under the praise, teeth gently sinking into my lip. “Thanks.”
“I’m your biggest fan,” he says seriously.
He strolls through the front door without bothering to knock. Not that he would need to, I guess. No one lives in this home.
There is a group of other people I assume are demons sitting around a circular wooden table.
They greet Kit happily when he enters and takes one of the last two open seats.
All appear human at first glance, but two seem to be in bodies that are…
their own, I suppose. Humanoid. Scales and horns where a standard human does not have scales and horns.
“Gentlemen,” Kit says, settling in. “Who is ready to get their ass kicked?”
The majority roll their eyes at that. One demon, a redhead with light green, scaly skin that I at first thought was a weird effect of the lighting, says, “You are all talk, Tonkitgrol.”
“My mouth is my most powerful weapon,” he says aloud. Then in my void he adds, “Wink, wink.”
My cheeks flush. “Kit,” I say wearily.
Kit moves on. “Hallett, the green guy, is a pretty good friend of mine. He’s a good guy. Or as good as a demon can be. Not big on the murder and torture, more so on the organized crime. He’s been a demon since civilization poked its head out.”
That’s a wild thing to think about, that this demon person—Hallett—is as old as civilization. No way. He looks forty.
“So,” Kit says aloud when I don’t respond. “We all here?”
“Almost,” a woman, or I suppose female-presenting demon, with dark hair in a high ponytail says. “Waiting on just one.”
“In the meantime,” cuts in a demon with horns.
They’re short, like a baby goat’s, sticking up only inches above his purple spiky hair.
“The loot.” He brings a tote bag to the table and dumps its contents.
Gold coins—yes, gold coins—pour out on the table, clanging and clattering until the table is covered.
Hallett waves his hand, a quick swipe in the air over the coins, and they stack themselves.
“Holy shit,” I say, witnessing my first taste of actual magic. Kit’s strength and teleportation is one thing, but this is something else. I eye the coins. “Are you literally playing for gold doubloons?”
Kit snickers in my head. “No, they’re just gold coins. Though…” He picks one up and examines it closely before dropping it carefully back on the pile. “I do think these were found in an actual treasure chest on some remote island off the coast of Spain about sixty years ago, so I suppose we are.”
I roll my eyes. “You can’t play for normal US currency, or literally any other legal tenner?”
The other demons continue a conversation while Kit and I have one in my head.
“Where’s the fun in that? Also, these coins are probably cursed so, bonus.”
“In what world is that a bonus?”
“In my world, babe. Plus, this isn’t the only thing we’re playing for.
We’re also playing for a bone of an ancient witch.
They were a part of some coven that died out centuries ago, but they specialized in power stealing or something.
Like, they could take other people’s magic by killing them.
Hot commodity. If I win it, I can take it back to the Black Market, sell it, earn a pretty penny, and buy you a thermal energy camera. That one you’ve had your eye on. Huh?”
For my sanity, I choose to ignore everything he said, aside from one part. “You don’t need to buy me anything.”
“But you won’t let me steal it.”
I bite the corner of my lip. “Fine. Thank you. I’ll take the thermal camera. I need it, anyways.”
“I know.”
He goes back to his friends, and I tune out the conversation as soon as I hear the word entrails. Nope. That’s enough for me.
I decide to go back to my bed, no desire to hear anything questionable come out of anyone’s mouth, when Kit stands so quickly, I’m knocked to the ground.
“Balores,” I hear him say. “Sir. I wasn’t expecting you.”
I push myself back to my feet and run to the window, desperate to know who this guy is. He’s tall with blond hair. Looks like a smarmy finance bro. I already don’t like him.
“Tonkitgrol.” The man says Kit’s full name like it tastes sour on his tongue. He assesses Kit fully. “Your new suit is pretty. She looks quite familiar.”
“How strange,” Kit says stiffly. “I found her in Virginia. Have you ever been to Virginia? They all look like this in Virginia.”
I correct, “You found me a half an hour from my house in Trumbull, Connecticut.”
“Shhh,” he hisses in my head. Aloud he says, “Though, silly me. I completely forgot. I have this thing tonight.” He checks his bare wrist as though there is a watch to peer at. “I can’t stay. I have to go, uh…rob a convenience store.”
Kit makes to leave, but is halted by Balores laying a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Stay for the game, Tonkitgrol. You can…‘rob a convenience store’…any day of the week.”
Kit stares in the man’s eyes. They’re dark and empty—and familiar? Why do I know those eyes?
Kit audibly gulps then sinks into his seat. “Sure. I suppose I can reschedule.”
I ask, “Who is this guy? He seems like a real dick.”
In the void, he says, “Be quiet, Lacy.”
“Excuse me? Why?”