Roaring Blood (Demon-Hearted Book 2) (2 page)

Joe shrugged. “Whatever, man. Let's keep walking. Don't want to be too late.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” We pressed on. Ken's house was only a half-mile or so from the convenience store, and a glance at the time told me we were going to be there with a few minutes to spare. We walked in silence, slurping contentedly at our drinks and only opening our mouths when uttering the obligatory curses at the heat. I'd worn a polo and shorts, something loose and casual, but wished I could just walk the streets naked. It was that damn hot out.

Ken lived in a nice apartment complex. The buildings only housed three units, one on each floor, and the complex featured ten such buildings in total, laid out in a neat row. Ken's was the second building, and his was the apartment on the first floor.

As we drew near I could hear music issuing from Ken's. Stretching and smoothing out my shirt, I hoped I didn't look too disheveled. I palmed away a fair bit of sweat on my brow and led Joe to the entrance of the building. “This is the place.”

Joe slowed down a little, his gaze falling low. The guy was nervous. He'd never really met my other friends, and wasn't sure he'd be “artsy” enough to fit in. His fears weren't completely unfounded; my usual crowd could be pretty stuck-up, and odds were fifty-fifty that they'd eat him alive. “You sure about this?” he asked, pausing at the door.

“Just be cool, Joe. They're a bunch of posers, but if I know one thing, it's that Ken's got good taste in booze. Plus, this place is going to be crawling with cute girls. Maybe we'll both get lucky tonight.” I grinned. “And if you don't, well, maybe I'll let you
watch
.”

Joe groaned. “I don't know why I hang out with you. You're the worst of the worst.”

“Easy for you to say, altar boy!” said I. “It's been too damn long since a girl and I have hit it off.” I was going to keep yapping, except that my thoughts were suddenly drawn back to that teacher of mine, who we'd seen limping down the street. Mr. Donovan? Ah, fuck it. There was no way I was going to recall his name.

But there was one thing I felt reasonably sure of.

Unless I was senile, that teacher had died some years ago. Gulping, I thought back to my high school years, seeming to remember that the guy had kicked the bucket when I was a Junior or Senior.

Nah
, I thought.
That can't be right. I must be misremembering
. Banishing all thoughts of the teacher, I eased open the door and waved Joe inside. “Game on,” I declared.

TWO

Before I even said hello to anyone I walked past the crowd of leering hipsters and poured a little vodka into what remained of my ICEE.

“Making yourself at home, Lucian?” came Ken's nasally voice from within the throng. He was sitting in a chair, his thin legs crossed and a sneer on his lips. “This guy-- doesn't even say hello before helping himself to the goods.” He laughed. “Welcome, Lucian. And... who's this?” He motioned to Joe, his mirth ebbing away momentarily.

Joe bobbed his head, his eyes darting nervously about the room before settling on the floor. “I'm, uh... Joe.”

Ken arched a brow but didn't have anything more to say on that matter. Instead, he rose from his seat, arms spread, and pat me on the shoulder condescendingly. “How've you been? Still, eh... roughing people up for money?”

Gnawing on my straw, I gave a quick nod. “Yup.”

What? It's not like I was going to tell this asshole the truth! And, technically, I
was
still pounding heads for cash. My targets just weren't normal people anymore.

Ken gave the smuggest, most WASP-like chuckle imaginable and then sized up Joe. “And Joe is...?”

“He works with me,” I replied. “A good guy.”

“Well,” replied Ken, motioning to the collection of bottles on the table. “Help yourself, Joe. A friend of Lucian's is a friend of mine.” His tone wasn't all that convincing. “There's craft beer in the fridge, fellas. Robbie's coming tonight, and he plans to bring Absinthe. Or so I've heard. Dominique has a veggie bake going in the oven that's going to be
totes
delish.”

I cringed. “Sounds great.” I looked past Ken to the mass of partiers hanging out in the dim living room, listening to
If You're Feeling Sinister
. Taking a gulp of my drink, the sting of vodka assailed my throat. As I left the kitchen and zeroed in on an empty chair in the next room, Joe followed.

“Why do you bother with the booze?” he asked. “Won't get you drunk.”

Joe was right. Ever since taking on Gadreel's heart, alcohol couldn't touch me. It wasn't the most welcome side-effect. I'd tried smoking pot as well since the transplant, and that hadn't had any effect either. “Old habit,” I replied. “Greases the gears, if you catch my drift. Everyone else is drinking, so I don't want to be a straight-edge stick in the mud.”

I sat down next to a pair of guys I vaguely remembered from one of my art classes. Rick and Mike? Or was the black-haired one John and the one with the incomplete sleeve of tattoos Wyatt?

In case you haven't been paying attention, I'm absolute shit at remembering names.

They were deep in conversation, talking about the novels they were writing. There wasn't a person in this room except for Joe and I who didn't fancy themselves a future Man Booker Prize winner. They all had their novels and chapbooks, their pet projects that would never amount to anything. They adored talking about these works that would never come to fruition and describing the intense creative struggles they faced on the regular... while drinking coffee at Starbucks. Talk like that has always turned my stomach. Like, how hard is it to write a book, really? You just sit down and make shit up, right?

I nodded as though I were politely listening, but my gaze was wandering all the while. Joe sat next to me, on the floor, legs crossed, keeping the straw to his lips in the hopes that no one would talk to him. He'd put his jacket back on and looked awfully small as he sank into its depths. A hell of a wing-man he was turning out to be.

Ken's on-again, off-again girlfriend Stacy was laughing shrilly in the far corner, wearing a skin-tight black slip that left about as much to the imagination as Saran wrap.
No
, I thought.
She's off limits
. If I tried to put the moves on her, Ken would toss me out in a hurry. There was Dominique, the nature chick, with her baggy brown dress and a string of crystals around her neck. She was a lot of fun to talk to, but the smell of pot that followed her around was strong enough to make your eyes water. Sitting across from me was Delilah, a bookish chick I'd had a little thing with a few years back. She smiled as our eyes met and leaned in.

“You're looking well, Lucian,” she said, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. She was looking me up and down, her pale cheeks flushing a little. “You been working out or something?” Delilah had always been somewhat sickly. Cute in the right light, sure, but a little too clingy for my tastes. Apparently she'd taken an interest in my monster-hunting bod, and was crushing on me not-so-subtly.

I waggled my eyebrows. “You could say that.” I let my bicep pop a little while raising the ICEE to my lips, and then buried my heel in Joe's side to stifle his groan.

“I've been working out, too,” chimed in one of the skinny guys to my left. I didn't know this guy's name, either, but his hair was wild, real long on top and teased out like he thought he was Morrissey in the 80's. “Joined a Crossfit gym last week,” continued the Morrissey-wannabe, taking a swig of some imported German beer. “I don't want to get, you know,
swole
, but ever since I started the gains have been incredible.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, standing up. “Time for a refresher.” I excused myself to the kitchen and Joe followed on my heels.

“This is a party?” he muttered. “This sucks, Lucy.”

I stood in the kitchen, looking down at the snacks on offer. There were Quinoa crisps, smoked sardines, stuffed Kalamata olives... and other stuff I didn't particularly want to eat. I popped an olive into my mouth and slumped against the wall. “Yeah, the turn-out's a little disappointing. But it's early yet. Where's the stereo at? I'll turn on some Bonobo and get the lights down.”

Just then, Ken walked in with someone I didn't recognize. “Oh, Lucian, did you meet Kanta?”

Kanta, the girl at his side, looked to be a hundred and ten pounds of pure Indian goddess. Her long, black hair was perfectly molded into a braid that framed the right shoulder of her salmon-colored blouse. Her eyes were a striking green, and her lips did that perfect pouty thing without her even trying. When she extended a hand to shake and introduced herself with an
adorable
Indian accent, I melted.

“Hello,” she said, smiling demurely. “You're Lucian, yes?”

“That's right,” I replied, shaking her hand enthusiastically. “And what's your story, Kanta? Where've you been all night?”

“Kanta is an exchange student from New Delhi, and she's staying in this complex. Dominique introduced me to her. Studying... what was it?” asked Ken.

“Theology,” replied Kanta.

For an exchange student, her English was pretty damn good. There was an accent there, for sure, but it was just noticeable enough to be sexy.

“Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Kanta,” I replied, nodding to the living room. “Why don't we have a seat and get to know one another.” Joe shifted uncomfortably behind me. “My buddy Joe here isn't much for parties. I don't suppose you know any nice girls I could set him up with?” My shit-eating grin intensified the more Joe's cheeks reddened. “Joe, grab a beer out of the fridge and take a load off. Kanta and I are going to have a little chat.”

Joe remained stationed in the kitchen with Ken, awkwardly turning to the fridge. He pulled open the door and perused the rows of obscure beers on offer. He went for the only thing he recognized and thanked Ken, wrenching the cap off of a Pabst Blue Ribbon.

I was already in the living room by that time, sitting apart from the rest of the group with Kanta centered in my sights. I wanted to get to know her a little better. If I played my cards right, I'd give her a
real
taste of the American life tonight.

“So,” she said. “Tell me about yourself.” Her green eyes twinkled in the low lighting. Someone put on a Camera Obscura record; pleasant background noise as far as I was concerned.

This was the moment that would make or break this thing. I had to sell myself, but couldn't lay it on
too
thick, lest she think me a poser like the rest. “Well,” I began, “I'm really into art. Got my Master's in Art History, in fact. I've been working in the city doing... community outreach work.”

Come on, I wasn't fibbing. I know what you're thinking, but this wasn't a
total
lie. I
did
reach out into the community in my line of work... to punch supernatural villains in the mouth.

I went on. “I'm into all sorts of things; music, theater, film, fitness. I like to start my day with a cup of Milkthorn tea, blended with coconut oil and Ayurvedic herbs. Feel like I can take on the world afterward.”
I mean, a guy who drinks fancy tea every morning must be pretty sophisticated, no?
I thought.

I waited on tenterhooks, wondering if she'd call my bluff. If pressed, I wouldn't have been able to
spell
the word Ayurvedic.

Kanta nodded enthusiastically.

Damn, I'd really lucked out here. By now, most American chicks would have sniffed out my poseur bullshit. But she listened to me talk about myself with seeming glee. A half hour passed, and in all that time she seldom spoke, just wanting to know more about me. Unless I was mistaken, she seemed like she was genuinely interested. I wasn't really used to this feeling.

“That's fascinating,” she said after a while, her hand on my knee. “You seem like a very interesting person, Lucian.”

My cheeks burned a little for all of the blushing. “Well, you know, some people say that.”

Kanta giggled. “As it happens,” she said, her green eyes flickering with something of mischievousness, “I live in this building, on the third floor. Maybe you should visit me sometime.” She bit her lower lip a little, her ivory teeth sinking into the rosy flesh and getting me all bothered. “Maybe...” Her voice trailed off a little. “Do you want to see my room?”

“Now?” I asked, my breath temporarily betraying me. “S-sure,” I said, trying to play it cool. “Let's go up there and
have a look around
.”

Oh shit, oh shit
, I thought.
This is it. She wants to seal the deal!
I stood up, cutting through the living room with Kanta at my side, and shot Joe a devilish grin. “I'll be back,” I told him, edging my way towards the entrance.

He'd been sandwiched between two guys arguing about Veganism and looked up at me with something like real terror in his eyes. “Save me,” he mouthed.

I was already out the door, Kanta's hand locked in mine. Things were moving really fast, blindingly fast, but I sure as hell wasn't about to complain. So, what? For all I knew Kanta had flown in just hours ago and decided she needed to sample the local fare. It was my patriotic
duty
to represent the country, to take her upstairs and welcome her to good ol' Detroit the proper way.

My heart began to thrash, Gadreel apparently getting excited. This would be my first time having sex with the demon's heart lodged in my chest. Did my
condition
technically make this a three-way? Would Gadreel's prowess turn me into a literal sex god? These were the questions I most wanted answers to as we climbed the stairs and made our way to the third story. The door up there was already ajar, waiting for us. Kanta pushed it open and invited me inside.

The interior of the place was bare, totally austere. There wasn't a thing to be seen in the joint, save for an old wooden chair in the living room. She'd probably only just arrived in the country, so the lack of furniture was understandable. “Do, uh... do you have a bed in here?” I asked as she closed the door behind her.

She smiled, giving her braid a toss. “We don't need a bed.”

Ooh,
I thought,
this chick is down for anything!
I grinned. “I guess not.”