Chapter One
“I’m starved,” Clarissa Andrews announced as she dropped onto the edge of the bench seat and slid into the booth where her two friends, Melanie Hutchins and Beatrix Parker, were already settled with drinks in front of them.
Melanie, as usual, was draped in black: her hair was freshly washed and pressed, her skin mahogany, her lipstick matched her hair, as did her colored contacts, her earrings, and the leather dress that covered just enough to keep her out of jail for public indecency.
Oh, and the black stilettos with the straps around the ankles.
Beatrix, a self-proclaimed shopping addict, wore diamond chandelier earrings coupled with a red dress overlaid with sparkling gems that were probably diamonds too. Clarissa had to admit the outfit looked great with her friend’s fiery red hair.
She also had to admit that she’d missed the “let’s get really dressed up” memo as she tugged on the hem of the white satin wrap shirt she’d paired with a red skirt with a ruffle around the bottom and a pair of over-the-knee boots she’d borrowed from Beatrix.
The worst part was, she’d deliberately worn a nicer shirt because her friends always overdressed for everything.
But this was over the top.
As soon as she was seated, Beatrix leaned over the table and flipped up her pointer finger. “First, white after Labor Day? Really, Clarissa?”
She arched blonde brows. “Give me one good reason why I should honor some stupid human tradition that dictates what color clothing I can or can’t wear.”
“There isn’t one,” said Melanie, who wore black even to weddings.
Beatrix flipped up her middle finger to join the pointer. “Second, this is how you dress for a New Year’s Eve party at the top of the Renaissance Center?”
Clarissa glanced down at her apparently not dressy enough outfit and sighed.
These were the nicest clothes she owned, and given her current financial situation, she couldn’t run out and buy something new.
Hell, the only reason she was even able to go out to celebrate tonight was because Beatrix had offered to cover her tab.
Melanie crossed her arms and pursed her lips. Beatrix, on the other hand, looked as though she were trying to think up a spell that might change Clarissa’s wardrobe choice for the evening. Of course, Beatrix often looked at her in such a way, so she probably shouldn’t get her hopes up.
Clarissa started to lower her purse to the ground when Melanie suddenly lifted her arm and tossed out a spell that caused the bag to jerk up and settle onto the seat next to her. “Don’t ever put your purse on the floor,” she lectured. “If you do, you will be broke.”
“Too late,” Clarissa grumbled.
Beatrix rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t be if you’d make up with your parents.”
“Ugh. My mother’s new husband is not my dad, so therefore it isn’t parents, plural. And don’t get me started. At least not until I’ve downed at least one drink. Speaking of which, where is our server?”
Melanie grabbed Clarissa’s forearm and leaned toward her, cleavage spilling out of her low-cut dress. “Girl. Wait until you see him.”
“Totally worth coming here for pre-party drinks,” Beatrix agreed.
“Really?” Well, that certainly perked Clarissa up. She could use some eye candy at the moment, since her life was currently devoid of an actual man who paid attention to her. Specifically, her physical needs. Her vibrator was starting to get annoyed with how frequently he was being used.
“The craziest part is, he’s human,” Melanie said.
“Why is that so crazy?” There were plenty of humans in Detroit. In fact, Clarissa was pretty sure they outnumbered paranormal beings by at least three to one. Probably more.
“Because he’s hawt.” Beatrix fanned herself.
“There are plenty of hot humans,” Clarissa argued.
“Movie stars don’t count,” Melanie said. “Most of them aren’t human, anyway.”
Beatrix bumped Clarissa’s elbow and stage-whispered, “Here he comes!”
Clarissa glanced over her shoulder. She was pretty sure her eyes widened to cartoon character proportions. “Holy…”
“Right?”
“Told you.”
Her friends were right. This guy was smokin.’ Beautiful. Handsome. Gorgeous. And every other word out there to describe a tall guy with shaggy, dark hair, a broad chest, massive arms, and a panty-melting smile.
Except… “He isn’t human.”
She heard Melanie scoff, but the sound didn’t pull her away from watching as their waiter moved closer to the table. His gaze—she didn’t need him to be close to know it was dark, dark, dark—scanned the table and then stuttered when it landed on her.
Would he recognize her?
His face split with an ear-to-ear grin, and she heard her friends sigh.
Maybe he didn’t recognize her.
“Rissa,” he crooned, spreading his arms like he honestly expected her to leap up and rush into them.
So he did recognize her, although he seemed to be mistaken as to how happy she would be to see him. She lifted her arm, locking her elbow so that he practically bounced off her palm when he went in for the hug.
Melanie and Beatrix both whipped their heads around to stare at her. “You know him?” they said in unison.
“Oh, she knows me all right.” The sinfully delicious man gave an exaggerated wink that left absolutely no doubt as to its meaning.
“Oh my God,” Melanie practically breathed, while Bea was over there swooning like a maiden from the seventeenth century.
“She knows every inch of me,” their waiter added.
“Knock it off,” Clarissa snapped.
Bea smacked her arm. “Introduce us.”
“Yeah, Rissa, introduce us.”
She sighed. She so did not want to do this. The last thing she needed in her life was this guy back in it. Hell, she still wasn’t fully recovered from the last time he’d come around.
“No. And I’m definitely not saying your name.”
“Why won’t you say his name?” Beatrix, who was sometimes a little dense, asked.
Although, to be fair, Clarissa had been equally as dense when she’d first met the guy.
In her defense, her inability to recognize him for what he was had more to do with tequila and lust than simply not distinguishing his kind when one stood before her.
But Melanie got it. Clarissa could tell by the widening of her eyes. “He really isn’t human.”
“Nope,” Clarissa confirmed. “And he’s damn good at concealment spells.”
“Holy shit,” Beatrix said, her wide eyes now matching Melanie’s. “He’s a…”
“Demon,” Clarissa finished for her. Might as well get it out there.
“And my name is…”
Clarissa shook her head. “Nope. Not gonna say it.”
“It’s okay, baby. I’ll make sure you’re screaming it later.”
“Good God, Drek.” She slapped her hand over her mouth. “Shit.”
He shrugged. “You only said part of it, so it doesn’t count.”
Beatrix reached out and squeezed her arm until Clarissa was certain she would have bruises the exact shape and size of her friend’s fingers. “You slept with a demon?”
“Thanks, Bea. Now all the people at those tables know too.”
“If I’m being honest—”
“Which never happens,” Clarissa cut him off.
“—there wasn’t much sleep occurring when we were together.”
Okay, apparently he could be honest.
“I’d sleep with him,” Melanie announced, leaning back in her seat and practically fucking the guy with her eyes. If Clarissa had a drink, she’d be tempted to throw it at her friend.
Not because she had any claim to Drek—or, more importantly, wanted any claim. No, she wanted to throw a drink at Mel to cool her off. That was it.
“Go away, Dre—just go away.”
“You can say part of it without issue, you know,” he supplied helpfully. “But feel free to say it in its entirety. You know how hot it gets me.”
“I’m dying to know what it is,” Beatrix said.
“What is?” Clarissa said.
“His name.”
Clarissa shook her head. “Dying is the key word in that sentence, Bea. That’s what will happen if anybody says this guy’s name.”
Drek pressed his palm to the area of his chest where, on a normal person, a heart would be. “You wound me, Rissa.”
“No, Drek, you’re the one who did the wounding, remember?”
He rolled his eyes. “I was under the impression we weren’t together during that period of our lives. Although I’m flattered that you cared enough to be wounded over my perceived cheating.”
“It wasn’t perceived,” Clarissa said through clenched teeth.
“Yep, totally perceived. Because three days prior, you said, and I quote, ‘get the heck—although you didn’t say heck—out of my life and don’t ever, ever, and I mean ever come back again.
’” He raised his voice a few octaves and did a pitiful mocking of Clarissa’s voice as he did, indeed, quote her almost verbatim.
“And three days later I walked in on you, in my bed, with not one, but three women.”
Drek pretended to inspect his nails. “Yeah, well, being a demon and all, I happen to be pretty good at retribution.”
Clarissa slapped the top of the table, rattling her friends’ drinks. “Retribution for what? What the hell did I ever do to you?”
He shoved his finger into her face, and, for a moment, the scary demon side, the one she’d seen only once before, broke free, and he looked every bit of his heritage: evil. Pure, unadulterated evil.
“How about broke my freaking heart?” he roared, his voice deeper than normal and resonating through the room, causing all the human patrons to cover their ears and cry out in agony. Even some of the paranormal customers were wincing and looking around for the source of the pain.
Clarissa waited a beat and then laughed. Bea and Mel stared at her as if she’d tumbled off the edge of sanity. Drek visibly calmed down, brushed imaginary lint off the front of his shirt, and then snickered.
“Yeah, not very believable, was I?”