A Demon in Waiting (Crimson Romance) (7 page)

Then she realized she was reading her obstructed nametag just like he had with the waitress the day before. He seemed big on names.

“Ashley,” he finished.

“You got it.”

Ariel handed the woman her credit card. “What time does room service stop serving dinner?”

“Nine, hon.”

“Thanks.” She signed the receipt with a flourish and bobbed her head toward the bank of elevators. “Want to eat upstairs?” she asked Hitch. Food was the furthest thing from her mind at the moment. She was tired, but being with him wasn’t exactly exerting work.

He shifted the paper bag to his left arm and pulled up the handle of her suitcase. “Sounds great. I’d love to get comfortable. It’s been a long drive.”

“Too long.”

They cleared away from the queue and headed toward the elevators. With each step she took, she felt more awake. Invigorated, even. She could be up all night with the way her body thrummed with excitement. That was the kind of juice that could have kept her on the road until dark. She knew coffee didn’t have a damned thing to do with it, though, and the feeling probably couldn’t be replicated.

She stabbed the
Up
button and offered her escort a little grin.

He smiled back. He knew where the evening was going as well as she did. He was holding the proof in that paper bag. If he was concerned at all about losing his virginity to a woman who’d picked him up from a roadside, he certainly didn’t show it.

Suddenly, she tensed as if she’d been injected with a shot of ice water.
His virginity.
A lump formed in her throat that seemed too large to swallow and the lobby’s air suddenly seemed too thin to breathe.

His virginity
. She didn’t want to be responsible for that. That was a lot of pressure. He’d remember that coupling for the rest of his life, whether it was good, bad, or ordinary. She didn’t want to turn sex into a performance, by any means, but she couldn’t just lay there with her eyelids fluttering while he did all the work. Or would he expect her to be the one on top? The
experienced
one?

They stepped into the open elevator with her still ruminating over what was about to happen, but before she could formulate a plan of any sort, a man slipped in between the closing doors.

“Whew!” he said with his back to the doors and offering Ariel, then Hitch, a giant grin.

Ariel stared.

“Thought I’d miss y’all. Hitch, you didn’t hear me calling you? I know it’s been a long time, but that’s no way to treat your brother.”

Brother?

She studied the man. Tall, lean, dark-haired where Hitch was blond, but there was a definite resemblance there. Same blue eyes. Same sly grin. Naturally, he was gorgeous, and there she was, standing in a cramped elevator with wrinkled clothes, wearing no make-up, and her hair probably looked like she’d combed it that morning with a plastic fork. Just her luck, really, to be wedged between two drop-dead sexy men and to look like she’d just clawed her way out of a grave.

She whimpered, though probably neither heard.

Hitch’s expression shifted from one of confusion, to stunned horror, to annoyance.

What’s going on here?

She looked from one man to the other, trying to get a read on their relationship, but that information seemed closed off to her. As if a wall had been erected.

Finally, Hitch said, “What are you doing here?”

The brown-haired brother shrugged. “I’m on the road a lot, remember?”

Hitch lifted a brow, then turned his gaze to the digital display that told them what floor they’d ascended to. Two to go.

“Just made a little overnight stop. Heading to Utah, towing some cars. Saw your ass and said to myself, ‘Shit, that can’t be Hitch’.”

They stopped. The elevator dinged. They got out, and the newcomer followed them.

She read the room number on her keycard and pointed when Hitch looked to her for direction. They headed down the corridor.

“Folks call me Trucker, by the way,” the man said, catching up to Ariel and looking down at her with a grin.

“Trucker and Hitch. I sense a theme,” she said.

It dawned on her that she didn’t even know Hitch’s real name and she was thinking about having sex with the guy. Like,
legit
sex.

Wasn’t she more discriminating than that? She looked up at the two men, idling in front of the door, staring at each other. The tension between the two was palpable, crackling, even. She fully expected that at any moment, one or the other would throw a blow. But why?

She slipped the keycard into the slot and listened to the click.

The room exhaled a cold whoosh of air as she shouldered the door open. Behind her, Hitch said, “We’re going to relax and have some dinner. It’s good seeing you, man.”

“Shit, little brother. I was hoping we could catch up.”

The door clicked closed behind the three of them, and Ariel stood in the foyer, assessing the room. It was about the size of the apartment she’d left back in California, fully-equipped with everything two honeymooners would need to hide out for a few days.

She walked into the bedroom and grunted her appreciation at the king-sized bed, and even bounced on its edge, testing its firmness.

Nice.

While sitting there, she eased one of the nightstand drawers open in search of room service menus, but instead discovered just how well-equipped the room was. She felt both eyebrows dart toward her hairline as she reached a hand into the drawer and extracted a box of glow-in-the-dark condoms. She wasn’t sure that was exactly something she
wanted
to look fluorescent in the dark.

She tossed them back in as Hitch appeared in the door. His expression was a blank, but she could tell by the way he held his shoulders up high to his ears that he wasn’t in a great mood. “What’s up?”

“Mind if Trucker sticks around for dinner?”

He didn’t look too excited at the prospect, but maybe he was just afraid she’d say no. And if he hadn’t seen his brother in a while and didn’t know when he would again, she didn’t want to get in the way with that.

She shrugged. “Hey, that might be fun. Maybe I’ll order a couple of pizzas.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m easy.”

It took Hitch’s eyes widening a bit for her to realize what she’d said. She slapped her hands over her face. “Not what I meant.”

He laughed as he moved away from the door. “I know what you meant. Uh, Trucker and I are going to run downstairs and get some drinks. See what the bar has. Want anything?”

Yeah. I want to have met you in a normal way.
“No, I’ll probably make some coffee,” she called after him.

“More power to you, sweetpea,” Hitch said, and then the outer door clicked closed.

She collapsed onto the bed, not knowing if she should be thankful for the bucket of ice water named “Trucker” or if she should stab him with an ice pick.

Once clear of the suite, John wrapped his fingers around his half-brother’s neck and forced him against the wall with a growl.

Trucker rolled his eyes and didn’t bother fighting him. Size-wise, they were evenly matched. Same approximate height. Right around the same weight. He could have fought back, but he didn’t.

John let go and whispered in a hiss, “What do you want?”

Trucker straightened his mussed plaid shirt and pushed away from the wall. They were in front of the elevator again before he answered. “I don’t want shit, kid. I’m just the lucky motherfucker Pops asked to check in on you. He’s preoccupied, and I was in the area.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“Don’t give me the attitude.”

They stepped into the elevator and Trucker moved into the corner, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned his butt against the railing. He studied John for a while before continuing. “Do you know how old I am?”

John stared at him, assessing his features, itemizing his casual choice of clothing — not much different than his own. He shrugged. “Why would I know
that
?”

“Just take a guess. Humor me.”

They stepped off the elevator and strode in silence toward the bar. Once on stools, Hitch said, “You look about my age, but my gut says I’m way off.”

“Depending on who you ask.” He flagged the bartender. “To Pop, our age difference is insignificant. A drop in the proverbial bucket. But of course that’d be the case. He’s as old as the universe. For some folks, though, the difference could be two lifetimes.”

“Making you … ”

He leaned in close and whispered in John’s ear, “I was born in eighteen-ninety.”

John drew back, agape and agog.

“Didn’t know we had that kind of longevity, huh? Well. We’re cambions. Our oldest sibling here in the U.S., best I can tell, was born in fifteen-eighty-five. She looks seventeen.”

When the bartender stood before them, Trucker ordered for them both. “Two whiskeys, double, with chasers. Whatever dark local beer you’ve got.”

The bartender nodded and moved away.

Trucker put his elbow on the bar top and rested the side of his head against it, one eyebrow cocked to John. “He tell you any of this?”

John shook his head.

“Figures. He does tend to dispense information selectively. Most of what I know I’ve found out by running into our multitude of siblings. We’re easy to recognize, once you understand how to search out the auras.”

“Auras?”

He shrugged. “You’ll know what I mean when you see the next one. You probably missed mine, and now you’re sort of colorblind to it. Your eyes and brain have adjusted to it. Anyway.” He held out his free left hand. “Charles.”

“John.”

They clasped hands and both immediately drew back.

“Shit, sorry, John.” Charles straightened up and held up his left hand, palm out. Glowing blue lines stood out in stark relief to the pale cream of his skin.

John looked down at his own hand — the same one Gulielmus had marked. Now illuminated, he could just barely make out the lines, but had no context to understand them. “What is it?”

“Source of our immortality. Claude would be able to tell you what it means exactly, but more or less it draws the demonic parts of us to the surface. Without it, we’re just run-of-the-mill Joes.”

John stared at the fading lines.
Immortality?
He hadn’t considered that. He didn’t know if he wanted to live forever. Wouldn’t he get bored? What would he have to live for? He cast his gaze up to his brother. “Who’s Claude?”

“One of our brothers. The only one I talk to, really.” Charles nodded as the bartender distributed drinks and pressed two twenty-dollar bills across the counter. “Six-pack when you get a chance?”

He nodded and moved away.

“So, what do you want?” John stared at the drinks in front of him, unsure of what he was supposed to be doing with them. Should he mix them, or …

Charles downed his double like a shot and rubbed his sleeve across his lips. “What do I want?” He shrugged. “Nothing. Truth is, I don’t give a shit what you do.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because Pop commanded it. I try to stay on his good side. Anyhow … ” He pointed to John’s booze. “You gonna drink that?”

John shook his head. “I’m a teetotaler.”

Charles grimaced. “Stay in this business long enough and that’ll change.” He drew the brews closer to himself. “Listen, I came because I didn’t know you existed and I figured I’d fill you in the way Claude did me back in nineteen-fifteen.” He downed the second whiskey and shuddered. “Weird shit’s gonna start happening. Abilities will come online that’ll help you do your job. I can’t predict what those’ll be. They’re different for all of us.”

John formed his bar napkin into a tight tube and rolled it under his palm meditatively.

Charles gave him a nudge. “What is it? What clicked on?”

“It may just be a fluke, but I think I made her tired. All I wanted was to slow her down a bit, and she started yawning not long after.”

“Oh.” Charles took a long swig of beer and fixed his stare on something behind the bar.

“Oh? Just
oh
?”

“I don’t have that one, but it’s a documented incubus trait. Makes victims a bit more pliable so you can get them somewhere comfortable.”

“You’re kidding me.”

Charles shook his head and drained what was left of the first beer. “No. Sandman is a fucking incubus, baby brother. We call him Uncle Sandy.” He slipped off his stool with the second beer and grabbed the handle of the six-pack. “Nice meeting you. I’ve got a truck driver to seduce.”

John slid off his stool, too and hoped his furrowed brow conveyed the suspicion he was feeling. “That’s it?”

Charles tucked the beer package under his arm and sighed. He put the open beer bottle on the counter, rooted a cell phone out of his jeans pocket, and handed it to John. “I’ll call you when I have another phone.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

Charles snapped his fingers and grunted, nearly spewing the beer he’d snipped. “By the way, we’re not susceptible to STDs, so don’t let that stop you from approaching questionable-looking women.”

“But pregnancy?”

Charles swept a hand at the two of them demonstrably. “Obviously. Our sire has a special knack for it. I suspect we do as well, but I always rubber up. If I have any kids right now, they’re probably elderly and there isn’t a damned thing I can do for them.” With that, he walked away with his beer.

John raked a hand through his messy hair and blew out a breath. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to have so many kids he wouldn’t recognize them all, or to not even know they existed. There was no way a man could love that many children, much less provide for them all. Well, Gulielmus could — the provide for part, anyway. He had to be loaded. But, he wasn’t sure if his father was capable of love with him being a demon and all. And that was the most important part of fathering, wasn’t it?

He headed toward the elevator, pondering that. The man he thought was his father until he was a young man had certainly never shown him any affection, not that he’d really expected any. There were just too many kids, and as John got older, his father saw him as competition. He couldn’t have known for sure John wasn’t actually his, but that didn’t make John feel any better about his aloofness.