sooo romantic. Except I was also holding a leash and carrying a bag full of lethal over one shoulder.
Plus, I
At which point Jack chased Astral straight into the dining room, Vayl slid us into the house without braining me, and I readjusted my weapons bag. Except I miscalculated my allotted space and ended up hitting him in the jaw. Probably with my sawed off shotgun.
“Shit! I’m sorry! I was just—”
He shook his head. Worked his chin back and forth a couple of times. “It is fine. Just”—he glanced down at me—“do not move. All right?”
“Okay.” I searched his face for bruises, thought I saw a line of purple rise, and just as quickly fall.
“Good thing you’re a quick healer,” I said. “I mean, seeing as you’re with me now. You probably didn’t have to worry about bumps and scrapes with your other girlfriends, huh?” He kicked the door shut, strode past the living room, turned left down the hall, and took another sharp left into the nearest bedroom. He didn’t touch the light switch because we could both see fine in the dark.
“I once took up with a ballerina,” he said as he sank onto the fringe-framed bedspread and pulled the bag off my arm. I heard the clunk as it landed in the big wicker basket at our feet that they probably used for dirty laundry. The cane went next. Smaller clink as he leaned it against the dresser that stood right next to the bed.
“Oh. Ballet. That’s… artistic.”
“She was very flexible.”
“Ah.”
“And incredibly devoted. To dancing. I prefer not to feel like anyone’s plaything.”
“How do I make you feel?”
He lowered his head, his lips so close to mine that his breath whispered into my mouth. “Like a man.” I wasn’t sure how Vayl defined “quickie.” But even with an agreed-upon slam-bam in our future, I was practically writhing in anticipation by the time he’d lifted my T-shirt. When his hands hovered over my abdomen instead of continuing their usual magic, I quit debating whether or not to rip his shirt open (damned buttons!) and said, “What is it?”
He rolled off the bed and turned on the light. “Have you eaten anything odd lately?”
“You mean besides that mysterious sea creature that might’ve been related to the Loch Ness monster in Crindertab’s? No. Why?” I dropped my eyes.
Pointing to the bedcover I asked, “Have I been bitten by mites and fleas and crap?” As I asked, my midsection began to itch uncontrollably. I jerked my shirt down and scratched until the urge stopped.
Except it didn’t disappear. It moved to my thighs. Then my back. Arms. Behind the neck…
“Jasmine,” Vayl asked grimly, “is the first-aid kit still in your weapons bag?” Half an hour later, fresh from the shower, covered in calamine and a ratty pink robe I’d found in the master-bedroom closet, I stared glumly at Vayl as he sat on one edge of the living room’s plain brown sectional, spinning his cane between his fingers. Too keyed up to join him, I left my spot by the fireplace’s narrow mantel and, followed faithfully by Jack, paced around a block of polished walnut that worked as the room’s centerpiece and its coffee table. The only lovely item in the house, it threatened to scrape my shins every time I turned the corner. Astral stared at me from its center, having taken her place there as if so offended the homeowners hadn’t provided some sort of decoration for it that she’d decided to temporarily volunteer her services.
The table, which would scar an awkward toddler or break an old woman’s hip, was the perfect example. All the demons I’d dealt with were gorgeous. And Vayl, who’d benefited from one of God’s better moods, only had to look at me with those wide, you-touch-my-soul eyes, and I totally forgot that he craved my blood like a junkie needs meth. Could take it too, whenever he wanted, if he ever decided to veer off the civilized track.
“And you have no idea when this began or why?” he asked.
I shrugged. Now that my whole sex-distraction-plan had caved like an old grave I could confess that I’d been possessed. That the rash had to be related. But he’d bolt, leaving me with a single week of heaven to cling to as I tried to keep my head above the massive whirlpool of sewage that was my life.
Unacceptable.
Whose voice was in my head now? Mine? Or… “Maybe it’s stress related,” I said, rubbing a knuckle against the sudden pain in my eye. Geez, maybe I should see an optometrist when I got back to the States. “That vacation was doing me a lot of good. We don’t just work, you know. We work our asses off. Lay our lives out there day after day…” Wow, no way could he be buying this bullshit. Could he?
I stared around the room. Two chairs sat at the walnut block’s non-couch corners, extras from the dining table made comfy with tie-on red plaid cushions. Behind them, lining the wall like a mini-kitchen, a series of kiddie appliances in bright pink plastic invited the younger set to come in and play. And what a choice. The fridge, stove, sink, and table came complete with fake pots, pans, food and, quite possibly, dirty dishcloths laced with salmonella.
Silence.
