“We are not finished,” he murmured, his eyes slanting toward the bedroom, coming back to mine full of promises that made my toes curl.
I gave myself a second to catch my breath. But lost it again when he said, “And the next time we speak—there will be no more secrets between us.” He pulled me close, holding me so tight all the air left my lungs in an unladylike, “Oof.” His lips came down on mine almost like an attack, as if he couldn’t believe I’d dare do anything other than stand within his arms and accept the heat of his lips and tongue.
Just before it began to burn he pulled away.
He snatched his cane from its resting place and slammed out the door, leaving me knuckling my eye, staring after him with the good one like I’d never seen a vampire’s back before. Cole came in right after.
He kept looking at me while he and Bergman moved the couch in front of the door, while they prayed, while they helped Cassandra and me finish the knots.
“What?” I finally demanded.
“I’m just trying to decide if I prefer your chest covered in goopy pink lotion or if white would work better. What do you think, Bergman? Is hydrocortisone cleavage more the look Paris would go for this season?”
I dropped my sheet and my eyes at the same time. Nope, I wasn’t hanging out. Not enough there to do much wandering in the first place. But my girls had managed quite a show all the same.
I yanked my robe closed and stomped into the bedroom. Jack assumed I’d elevated the level of entertainment and trotted along beside me, still carrying the shoe, his mouth stretching around its edges in what I’d come to call his let’s-party grin.
“Jasmine! The demon could be here any second!” called Cassandra.
“If I’m going to hell, I’m doing it with my underwear on!” I snapped.
Forty-five seconds later we were back. Jack wore a leash. I’d chosen a pair of dark blue jeans, a black long-sleeved shirt, my leather coat, and boots. We stepped inside the loop Cassandra had designed using prints and solids and one sheet covered in cute little koalas. Of course, now all you could see was part of an ear or maybe a fuzzy nostril, because we’d placed our knots about every twelve inches. Cassandra walked around the inside of the ring’s edge, murmuring under her breath while Cole and Bergman watched her.
“What’s she saying?” asked Bergman.
“It’s from Deuteronomy,” I told him, wishing I’d brought a double-edged blade like hers. My bolo wasn’t going to do me any good for the work that might be ahead of us. Did I have time to call Raoul?
Naw, my Spirit Guide labored under some strict rules. Which meant he probably wouldn’t be allowed to interfere in a mess like this. Not when Cassandra had willingly entered into the contract with the demon we were arming against to start with.
Not that I blamed her. If I’d been in her shoes, slave to a reeking sleaze like Anastas Ocacio, forced to submit to his perversions, I’d have asked the devil to drag his body over the sharpest rocks on his land too. The fact that she’d been clever enough to find a Haitian holy man to help her protect her soul before the demon could throw it into hell afterward just raised my respect for her.
Bergman’s wide eyes said he was impressed with her as well.
“Chapter six, verses four through nine. Do you know them?”
“I’m Jewish. What do you think?”
“Good. You might need them later. They’re a classic incantation against evil, specifically demonic aggression.”
Cole said, “I thought Cassandra worshipped some African god.”
“She might. But if your soul was at risk, wouldn’t you use every tool you had available to save it?”
“Good point.”
“Now listen, we’re just trying to banish the thing because we can’t kill it while it’s on our plane. So, Cole, although I appreciate the sentiment with that Parker-Hale, a sniper rifle is just going to piss her off.
If you can find a blade that slices
“Shitsuckers!” He slung his rifle over his shoulder. “Bergman! Got anything sharp on both sides in that backpack?”
Bergman stepped away from him. “No.”
“Why are you looking so nervous?”
“We’re about to get soul-raped! Wouldn’t you be?”
Cole lunged at him. “Gimme that pack!”
Bergman dodged to the left, nearly falling out of the circle before regaining his balance and sliding behind the nearest obstacle. Me.
I glanced over my shoulder. “What the hell, Miles?”
“Don’t let him have my pack!” Bergman pleaded. “Natchez gave it to me. He said it was lucky. He had it blessed by a priest and everything!”
“Why would Natchez give you his lucky pack?” I asked.
They’d become pretty good buddies during our mission together in Iran. But no way would one of my brother’s best men give up an edge, even if it was just a psychological one, unless he had a damn good reason.
“It’s part of his down payment.”
