A screech resounded somewhere in the house, definitely not in her head. They both froze and exchanged glances. Concern crawled behind Gunn’s gaze, and now it leached over to her, blending in with the earlier desires. The battle in her head between lust and clearing her mind about her job were a chaotic mess. That tug-of-war inside her barraged her with an urgency to check on Henry and Nora, and the slow build of guilt iced her gut as that won over the desire.
Gunn kissed her nose and broke their hold. “We need to go. And we are definitely finishing this if we ever get out of this house.” He crouched down and grabbed her clothes, handing them to her, then cleaned himself with the tissues he found near the windowsill, and offered her some.
She noted the spotting of blood on his condom, her virginity gone, but she wouldn’t change a thing about the moment. She cleaned herself and once she dumped the tissues in the bin, she slipped into her underwear.
The muscles twitched in Gunn’s back as he pulled on his jeans and top. Sinful and wicked… he was her drug, an addiction leaving her breathless. The more her mind cleared of fog, the more she should have felt guilty, and hell she did, but there was little regret for letting Gunn claim her.
When he turned to her with a raised brow, she dragged on her clothes quickly. Henry and Nora needed help. She kept repeating the words in her mind to remind herself of the urgency and break through the lust engulfing her.
Within seconds, they darted out of the room. The split-second she crossed the threshold, a cold snap washed away her earlier emotions, yet the pining to have Gunn fuck her again, so hard until she forgot herself, remained. But the fearful urgency to check on the older couple now collided into her.
Chapter 9
Gunn
Gunn burst into the living room, skidding to a halt at the entrance, gawking at the scene before him. He shot out an arm across Cyra’s stomach once she reached his side, stopping her in her tracks.
“God, no!” She trembled against his touch, and damn if he didn’t feel like doing the same as a bucket load of guilt twisted a blade in his heart.
Henry was on the floor near the window, pushing himself up. Nora hung upside down in the middle of the room, suspended from the chandelier by a blue scarf tied around her ankles. Her shrieks deafened him, while her arms swung wildly as the goose attacked her.
The goddamn zombie goose was pecking at her, shredding her cardigan, tearing out hair, mirroring what she would have done to the bird in preparation for the oven.
“Stop, please!” Nora yelled. “I promise, I’ll never eat meat again. I’ll donate our savings to the animal shelter. Anything.”
“Fuckin’ goose.” Gunn stomped closer as the animal jerked around to face him, releasing an ungodly hiss of death no creature could ever make.
With his lasso in hand, Gunn lunged. The bird torpedoed upward, launching itself for his head. He ducked, pivoted on a heel, and swung around. Already he’d flung the loop of his weapon, catching the animal on a leg as it careened directly for Cyra, who darted back into the hallway.
Gunn tugged the lasso back, flinging the goose to its feet. In a cowboy-style move he’d perfected, Gunn looped the cord in haste around the bird’s wings and legs to hold it in place. That should hold it.
Still, the beak had a mind of its own, snapping at his fingers, drawing blood. Gritting his teeth through the pain, Gunn rose and nudged the bird toward a display cabinet filled with figurines of women in flowing gowns. It couldn’t move or cause havoc, though he had to find a better spot to lock it up.
Cyra clasped a candelabra over her shoulder, her eyes locked on the animal. “I hate that thing.” And even with her caught in a state of fear, he adored her flushed cheeks, the way her chin trembled. She always fought back. God, he’d lost his heart big time.
The bird honked, black eyes locked on Gunn, as if promising revenge. He turned to help Nora down, unable to understand why his weapon hadn’t vanquished the demon out of the goose. Six seconds of touching any blessed item always sent the fiends packing, but it seemed the bird had no intention of dying. In fact, not one thing in this house was behaving in accordance with how demon rules worked. So what was going on?
Standing on the coffee table, he had one arm tight around Nora’s hips, the other hand gripping his blade. A quick swipe across the scarf, and Nora collapsed against him, her legs in his face. Tensing, he held on to her and lowered her gently, shoulders first on the rug, then her back. God, he didn’t want to break her spine. “You’re safe now,” he said, staring down at a bewildered woman, who clasped her hands to her chest, trepidation claiming her face.
The goose’s hiss thrummed through the room, and he caught a glimpse of the bird just as it scrambled out of his ropes. “Shit, no.” Those knots were his signature move and should be impossible to undo.
He leaped off the coffee table just as Cyra ran toward it with her candlestick in hand and fresh flowers from the vase in the hallway in the other. She whispered words he didn’t understand, then whacked both the flowers and candlestick against the bird’s head. In that exact moment, a spark of energy charged up her arms and the animal turned a gray color. It froze mid-attack, literally cemented in place—head down, beak wide open.
“What did you do?” He gawked at Cyra, confusion painted on her face as she dropped the weapons from her hands. “It’s turned into a statue.”
“I just panicked and grabbed what was next
