Getting Familiar with Your Demon: That Old Black Magic, Book 4 (3 page)

“Are you sure? Our margaritas are on special tonight.”

“I’m positive.”

The waitress’s cheeriness intensified several notches. “How about dessert then?”

“No, really. I don’t need anything.”

The girl’s smile turned wheedling. “You look like you’re a fan of cheesecake, and ours can’t be beat.”

“I’m lactose intolerant,” Marabella lied. “But thank you.”

Looking disappointed at the prospect of getting a smaller tip than she’d hoped for, the girl uttered a grumpy “Fine” and moved to the neighboring table. Marabella returned her focus to the bar, her heart plummeting when she noticed the demon was gone. Her response to his departure churned her gloomy dread. Instead of moping, she should be rejoicing that he’d left. Not only could she stop worrying about her strange draw to the mysterious demon, she didn’t need to panic at the prospect of the Quints jumping him.

Reminded of the hunters’ presence, she glanced toward the end of the bar. Her gaze collided with the empty stools where the brothers were supposed to be sitting, and the ball of dread in her stomach quadrupled in size. The timing of their departure couldn’t be coincidental.

Blindly, she snatched her purse and stumbled from the booth. A sea of bodies pushed against her, combating her efforts to reach the exit. Her pulse a deafening roar in her head, she broke through the crowd and raced outside. Other than a few people milling around on the sidewalk, there weren’t many loiterers. She didn’t spot the Quint brothers
or
the demon anywhere.

How could they have vanished so fast?

In the middle of processing that thought, she spied Ian and Jasper hoofing it into the park square down the street. The brothers hurried past a hotdog cart blocked on either side by two large inflatable waving balloons before they disappeared from sight. Not waiting around to rethink her actions, she darted across the road.

Other than the noise coming from the generators powering the balloons, an eerie quiet shrouded the park. Even the breeze rustling through the oaks seemed hushed, as if waiting for something sinister to happen. Praying that wasn’t a premonition, she hurried in the direction she’d last glimpsed the Quints. Pavement gave way to brick pavers as she ventured deeper into the woods. The shadows grew denser, threatening to swallow her whole, and her senses shifted to high alert.

Wary of walking into a perilous situation, she inched forward—and winced when her heels made a soft scuff on the cobbled path. Although the sound was barely discernible, she was paranoid enough to believe the quarry she tailed would be able to hear it. She hesitated, debating the wisdom in taking off her shoes to mask further sound. Before she settled on a decision, a nearby voice broke the still night.

“This is your unlucky day, Gorasola.”

Heart thudding, Marabella scooted toward the forked section of the path. Just past the bend on the right, the Quint brothers stood facing the demon. She quickly ducked behind a hedge of yews to avoid detection.

A slurred grunt fell from the demon. “Shit. You don’t know the half of it.”

“You made a huge mistake showing up on our turf.” This time Ian issued the thinly veiled threat.

“
Your turf
? For fuck’s sake, what is this,
West Side Story
? Who the hell talks like that anymore?”

“You’ve got a big mouth, Gorasola,” Ian growled. “It’s gonna be my pleasure to permanently shut it.”

“How about hurrying the fuck up with it? Standing here chatting with you two yokels isn’t helping my headache.”

Jasper cautiously hunkered to one knee, and Marabella spotted the brief glint of metal when he rucked up the leg of his jeans.
A knife.
Renewed panic slammed into her.
Oh goddess.
She had to do something to stop this. But what could she do? Darting foolishly into the middle of a fight would be stupid and dangerous. Calling 911 was a possibility, but how long would it take the police to get here?

Jasper slipped the dagger from its sheath and rose to his feet. The wickedly lethal blade gleamed in the moonlight. Marabella swallowed past a thick lump of apprehension and fear.
Think, damn it.
She debated zapping Jasper with a bolt of energy, but her magic had a tendency to misfire even when her hands were at their steadiest. Considering the rate they were currently shaking—better to keep them out of the equation. Accidentally electrocuting Jasper wouldn’t go over well. Doubtful she’d be able to explain that one to the witches’ guild. Particularly the part about defending a demon.

Damn, looked like she’d have to rely on her mental magic for this job. Maybe she could conjure something to get the demon out of this mess. But what?

Jasper and Ian began closing in on the demon, their steps measured and wary. For some odd reason, the demon stood perfectly still, a blasé expression firmly planted on his shadowed face. Why wasn’t he more perturbed by the situation? Or attempting to make a run for it? Her mind tracked back to the five beers he’d guzzled.
Oh yeah. That’s why.

She racked her brain for something suitably terrifying to conjure. Something so horrific, it’d automatically send Ian and Jasper screaming into the night and far away from here. Without warning, her mind latched on the silly waving balloon figures back at the entrance of the park. A fizzle of energy shuttled through her.
Oh crap. No, not—

Too late. An unmistakable whoosh of air sounded behind her. If that wasn’t enough of a clue of what she’d inadvertently conjured, the stunned befuddlement seizing the demon when his attention jerked in her direction filled in the blanks. Worried he might notice her, she crouched lower behind the protective screening of shrubbery. Twisting slightly, she glanced upward—and cringed when she took in the beaming smiles of the skinny green balloon people towering above her.

Look out Freddy Krueger, there’s new competition in town.
Stifling a groan, she watched the balloons hop over the hedge. Scooting sideways, she found a gap in the yews that afforded a decent view of the unfolding drama.

The demon broke from his trance and shuffled back a step. “What. The. Fu-”

Ian and Jasper took that as a sign to leap at the demon. A flash of metal slashed through the air, and Marabella bit back a scream. The two balloon people rushed at the Quints, their rubbery, buoyant arms beating and pummeling the clueless brothers in a whirling blur. She caught a brief glimpse of Jasper’s face as he dropped the knife and craned his neck to see who—or
what
—was attacking him. His eyes bugging, he let out a choked gurgle and banded his arms over his head in an attempt to dodge the balloon man’s blows. Ian was engaged in a similar activity.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Jasper bellowed. Still clutching his head, he lunged down the path. Ian barreled after him, the two balloon creatures bouncing along in the hunters’ wake.

Clamping a hand over her mouth to smother her giggle, Marabella watched the odd spectacle of two pairs of wiggling, skinny green arms waving above the treetops. She’d give it a couple minutes before safely calling her balloon henchmen off.

Dropping her arm, she blew a straggly lock of hair away from her eye and glanced toward the demon. Rather than looking relieved over his narrow escape, his face held the most miserably dejected expression she’d ever witnessed. Before she could ponder too long on the weirdness of that, his dark eyes suddenly glowed with a murderous gleam. She gulped. Thank goddess that look wasn’t directed at her. It’d be enough to make her pee her pants.

Without warning, he blinked out of sight. Her breath expelled in a rush. “Damn it, he better not go after Ian and Jasper. Especially considering all the trouble I went to saving his sorry, drunk ass.” Grumbling, she pushed to her feet and plucked a few pine needles from the front of her sweater. Securing her purse strap on her shoulder, she pivoted. And yelped as she smacked right into Mr. Tall, Dark and Deadly. Blood drumming in her ears, she gaped up into his coldly menacing features.

His lips pulled into a tight smile that was far from reassuring. “Sorry to break it to you, sugar, but saving my sorry, drunk ass was the worst mistake you ever made.”

Chapter Three

Sam glared into his
rescuer’s
big blue eyes, trying to piece together why the hell a white witch would charge to his aid.

He knew without question that was precisely what she was—a white witch. The undiluted goody-two-shoes energy pouring off her in massive waves was a dead giveaway. He could feel it poking at his own energy, gliding over his skin. But instead of the typical irritation white magic stirred within him, this strange witch elicited a more basic response. His cock stood at attention, the damn traitor obviously happy to make her acquaintance.

Fuck. It’s been too long since I’ve gotten laid if I’ve got a boner over Glinda the Good Witch.
“What the hell are you doing out here?”

She licked her lips, and he tried not to notice how exquisitely full and pouty pink they were. Or how her long, wavy blonde hair framed a perfect heart-shaped face with delicate features. He especially tried not to pay attention to the fact her creamy, porcelain-fine skin hosted a smattering of freckles.

To hell with his ridiculous infatuation with freckles. He was damn well not gonna picture playing connect the dots with this witch who’d ruined his carefully laid plans tonight.

“I—I followed you.”

“Why the fuck would you do that?”

“The Quints were going to hurt you.” Her eyebrows slashed low. “And is it necessary for you to cuss constantly?”

“Yes. What are you going to do, charge me a quarter for swearing?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

His scrutiny dipped to the luscious mounds of her breasts rising above the low neckline of her sweater, and he mentally recited the same words to her perky nipples.
Don’t tempt me.
“I sure as shit didn’t need you rushing in here after me,” he bit between clenched teeth.

She plunked her hands on her hips. “You’re awfully ungrateful for someone who just got his ass saved.”

Her delicious body might be putting off vibes that made him salivate, but it didn’t make her any less aggravating. If anything, his reaction to her only elevated his irritation. “Do I look like I need saving?”

“As a matter of fact…” Her gaze swept toward his torso, and she gasped. “You’re bleeding!”

He glanced down and noticed the gash in his T-shirt and the dark, wet stain spreading across his shoulder. “Hell, I’ve had worse paper cuts than that nick.”

Before he could hazard a guess what her next move would be, she ripped the tear in his shirt open, exposing his oozing wound. “It needs to be stitched up.”

“So does my damn shirt.”

“Stop your whining. It was already damaged.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Do you have any idea what I am?” He didn’t know how she couldn’t. A white witch should be able to detect his energy just as easily as he did hers. Hence the reason they usually went screaming in the opposite direction on the rare occasion one crossed his path. Maybe this one wasn’t completely right in the head. It’d explain why she kept insisting on touching him. Something he shouldn’t be enjoying as much as he was, for devil’s sake.

“Yes, I’m all too aware you’re a demon.”

Definitely missing a few screws upstairs then. “So I shouldn’t have to explain how my going to a damn hospital would be a bad idea.” That whole nonhuman DNA thing? Yeah, tough to explain to those in lab coats.

“Who said anything about you going to a hospital?” She let go of his shirt and swiveled on her heel. After taking two steps she shot an imperious look over her shoulder. “Are you coming or not?”

Damn women.
His focus trailed to her delectable ass.
Still, they do have their benefits.
He shook his head, attempting to reel his mind back to safety. “Depends. Where are we going?” An image of those curvy thighs bracing
his ears while he dove into her pussy for an all-you-can-eat buffet flashed across his mental big screen. He locked his jaw and sent a silent memo to his dick to remember it was lusting after a white witch—the last person it should be getting excited over.

“My shop. It’s only two blocks from here.”

Much as he wished he could do him and his dick a favor and just teleport out of there, the loss of blood had affected him more than he cared to admit. Still, if he rode it out for a few minutes, he might gather enough energy to drag his ass home. Something told him his self-appointed savior wouldn’t make it that easy on him though.

“I’ll get blood all over your car,” he said in hopes of convincing her to leave him alone.

“I didn’t drive.”

It took a moment to catch her meaning. “You’re going to make me walk two blocks while I’m bleeding out?” He grunted. “And you witches have the balls to call
us
evil sadists.”

She shrugged. “I truly doubt you’re going to keel over dead in the next fifteen minutes.”

Yeah, rub it in.
Biting off a growl, he stalked after her. The journey to her shop was occupied with the effort not to pass out or stare at her delectable butt. Either chore was harder done than said. By the time he leaned on the front window of her store while she dug in her purse for the keys, he was breathing heavily, for both above reasons.

The sooner he was stitched up and out of there, the better. To distract himself from her sweet, intoxicating scent, he glanced at the filigreed metal sign hanging above the door. Bella’s Boutique. The name was fragile and feminine, like her. She looked over her shoulder and caught him staring at the sign. It could have been worse. She could have busted him for ogling her ass.

Pushing the door open, she flicked on the overhead lights before ushering him inside. After securing the lock behind them, she started across the room, her heels tapping on the gleaming floor planks. He pushed forward and staggered slightly, the wooziness from the blood loss getting the better of him. The sense of weakness made him grouchier. Which might explain his sudden desire to bait his tempting rescuer. “Aren’t you afraid to be locked in here with the big bad demon, Glinda?”