Demons Undone: The Sons of Gulielmus Series (8 page)

“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.

Back at the room, he knocked, and stood there at the door for a while thinking maybe Gulielmus had been right. Maybe he should just give up on this one. Find some other woman. Someone
easier.
Someone whose name he hadn’t learned and who he hadn’t developed any affection for. That way, if he walked away afterward and she ended up pregnant, he wouldn’t know, and wouldn’t give a damn.

“There you are.” Ariel, shower-fresh and hair still damp, pulled open the door and waved him in. The air was thick with the pungent odor of tomato sauce and spices, and although John’s mouth watered, he didn’t think he could eat anything.

She poked her head out into the hallway, looked both ways, and drew in. Confusion sagged her features. “Where’s Trucker? I ordered a lot of pizza.”

“He went to his room.” John shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and fondled the phone he’d wedged into one. He couldn’t tell if her expression was one of disappointment or relief. Either way, she padded across the living room and pulled out a chair at the table.

“I didn’t know what you’d like, so I got one pepperoni, and one junk pizza.”

He moved slowly to the sofa without looking at her and went to work heeling off his boots. He tried to drag it out, taking his time removing the scuffed-up things, but there was only so much time he could waste. He just couldn’t look at her again. In that thin, worn t-shirt she wore advertising some ten-k run she’d completed, he could see every curve of her breasts, and the hint of dark nipples behind a finish line tape. And those little sweat-shorts that made her toned legs seem extra-long? He imagined them wrapped around his waist.

He wished there was some cambion trait that could make him as apathetic as Charles had seemed. Or maybe that was something acquired over time? He hoped it would come soon, because he couldn’t go falling in love with every woman that picked him up. He’d
really
wish he were dead.

When he finally cast his gaze toward Ariel, there was concern written all over her face. Her pizza slice was poised in mid-arc between the box and her mouth as she studied him. “What’s wrong? Did your brother upset you somehow?”

That’s putting it mildly.

“Or maybe he called you out for hanging out with some crazy lady who picked up a hitchhiker?” Now she laughed, and that made the tension in his gut unfurl somewhat. She was so damned easy to be around. Did he have the same affect on her?

He nudged his boots out of the way and stood.
Doesn’t matter. Do your job and let her go.

“What’s a junk pizza?” he asked, pulling out the chair across from her and slinking into it.

“Oh!” She turned the topmost box around and lifted the lid. “I like having different textures on my pizza. Whenever I get to order online, I choose a bunch of toppings. I guess it’s almost like a salad on a crust. Anyhow, this one has mushrooms, bacon, green peppers, red onion, tomato chunks, and … ” She cringed. “A bit of barbecue chicken. I couldn’t resist.”

He took a slice. “I think junk is the right word for it. You sure do have interesting food preferences.”

“You’re right, I do. I guess it’s because I was kind of a bad eater as a kid, and when I moved off to college and was freakin’ starving all the time, I got less picky. Now, I like big flavors.”

“And cheap coffee.”

“Especially cheap coffee. Don’t you have any weird food cravings?”

He took a bite of the pizza, and honestly there was so much on it, he could hardly pick out the individual flavors of the ingredients. It wasn’t bad, though. “To have a craving for something, you’ve had to have tried it once. That limits me.”

“Fair enough. Isn’t there one thing, though? A favorite that’d be on plate if it were your last meal?”

He set down his pizza slice and leaned back in his chair. His last meal wouldn’t come for a very long time. He’d probably develop a lot of cravings between now and then, but for the moment, the only craving he had was
her
.

She raised a brow.

He cleared his throat. “I guess if I had to pick one thing, it’d be peach pie. I’ve only had it once, and it was kind of runny because it was my mother’s first time, but it was good. She used canned peaches, though. I’m sure it’s better with fresh fruit.”

Ariel nodded sagely. “My grandmother is fabulous with pastries. She doesn’t even measure anything, just tosses some flour in a bowl with some fat and liquid and makes the tenderest, sweetest crust I’ve ever had. Nothing compares to it.”

He grinned. “Think she would make me a pie?”

“Are you kidding? She makes everyone pies. She loves having a reason to make pie, and if you bring her a bag of pecans or sweet potatoes or whatever to put it in, it’s like you’re paying her. That’s how much she loves cooking. You can always tell when you’re on the outs with her because she won’t offer you food.”

“Sounds like you miss her.” He picked up his pizza slice and resumed his grazing.

Ariel nodded. “Terribly. I worry about her when I’m far away. I guess that’s funny. She’s a grown woman and she can take care of herself, you know?”

“Just like you.”

“She’d probably debate that. I think she feels like even at twenty-six I need a keeper.”

He thought Ariel did need a keeper. Otherwise she wouldn’t be sharing her dinner table with demon spawn. Her grandmother should have warned her about talking to strangers. Should have told her to never stop and to keep her car doors locked. That’s what smart girls did. He plucked up a slice of pepperoni pizza next. Time for a subject change.

“So, do you have a place picked out already back east, or are you like me? Making it up as you go along?”

“I don’t know where I’m going to live. I — ”

A beeping sound punctuated whatever she was going to say next. She stood and carried her pizza crust to the little sideboard. Inside, she plucked out a dark blue ceramic coffee mug and set it next to the coffee machine — the obvious source of the beeping. She let the crust dangle from her teeth while she poured hot black liquid into her cup. Three sugar packets and two little creamer tubs later, she returned to the table.

“Sorry. I’m moving back in with my grandmother for a while, and I’ll commute about an hour both ways every day. It’s not unheard of for that area. I just want to make sure I pick a place to live that I’m going to be happy with for a while, because moving sucks.”

“I’ll take your word for it. This is my first move, and obviously I travel light.”

“Hey, if you’re going to go, that’s the way to do it. I could probably do with downsizing a bit. Starting over, even. Some of the stuff I’m bringing with me, I — ” Whatever it was she was going to say, once again, she let drop. She put the coffee mug to her lips and stared into the junk pizza box.

He wanted to reach across the table and hold her, let her press her face against his chest and cry it out, whatever it was. Something she’d left behind in California must have broken something in her, and without knowing what it was, he couldn’t fix it.

Fix it? That’s not your job.

He pushed back from the table and strode to the entertainment center. Inside on a low shelf, he found a channel guide and a remote control. “What are you in the mood for? I thought maybe you could continue my pop culture education.”

She made a
give it here
gesture with her free hand.

He handed her the remote and guide, and she skimmed an index finger down the channel listings in search of something specific. She giggled when she found it.

“Okay. You’re going to love this. It’s all about living excessively and being famous for not much of anything.” She mashed the power button and toggled the station to a lifestyle channel. A loud, garishly dressed woman sat in front of the camera, complaining about her uneven wax job.

John picked up another slice of pizza and turned his chair to face the screen. His jaw slacked more the longer he listened. The woman kept going on and on about how the wax had caused a burn and how she was mortified at showing it to anyone.

During the next commercial break, he turned to Ariel. “Why is she so upset about her floors? She can just strip them and do them over.”

Ariel’s eyes goggled. “Her floor?” Then her jaw dropped, too. “Ohh, okay.” She pressed a hand over her mouth and giggled until her eyes watered.

It was hard for John to be offended when she was so sweet about it. To her, he must have been like some sort of alien learning human customs for the first time. That’s sort of what he felt like.

He hadn’t been
completely
closed off at the compound, but what exposure he’d had to media was limited. Sometimes, he and some of the other boys would sneak into the office and watch old reruns on the black-and-white set, but the people in those shows were …
normal
. Conventional for the most part. They certainly hadn’t worn so much jewelry that the combined worth of their accessories could have balanced the state budget.

“No, Hitch. Wax is what some women use to … ” She giggled again, her face burning red at the cheeks as she fought for control. “Some woman use depilatory wax. It’s hot. You go to a salon and have it applied. The technician puts a paper strip over it to yank it up, and when they remove it, it takes off body hair.”

“Hot wax?”

She nodded.

“And … women use that … ”

“All over.”

Masochists. The whole lot of them. Hmm
. He cocked his head to the side and eyed her smooth legs crossed beneath the table.

As if reading his mind, she said, “I’m a razor girl.”

“Ah. Those I understand.”

They watched in silence for a while, with Ariel occasionally nudging his knee with her foot under the table and bobbing her head toward the television in an
isn’t that crazy?
fashion, and John staring at the screen, but really struggling to concentrate.

Every time she laughed or groaned or talked back to the screen, he zoned out, thinking too hard. Thinking was going to get him in trouble, and not just with Gulielmus.

The scenario seemed far too ideal to him — him and Ariel at the table, relaxed and watching silly things. It seemed like a thing a real couple would do, not that he knew what real couples did. He’d grown up in a cult, for chrissake. There, couples didn’t date or court. They were assigned based on their worth. A man deemed very valuable couldn’t have just one spouse, right? He’d have to have several — a whole harem of woman to form his amorphous energy blob in the afterlife. A man worth not very much, like John, got booted.

He’d never seen his mother and her “husband” do anything casual together, and certainly not alone.

He scratched his itchy palm. Best he stick with the plan. All he knew was dysfunctional. No woman in her right mind would want him, even if he wasn’t a cambion. And the fact that Ariel was so pleasant to him surely meant the poor dear was absolutely insane.

Damn shame.

Hitch hardly looked at Ariel from the time he returned from trashing the cold, leftover pizza to the point she sidled into the bedroom and pulled back the sheets. She tried not to be offended by it. Maybe the long day had finally snuck up on him. He hadn’t had a nap.

Around ten o’clock, she set the alarm clock for early, hoping to make up some time on the road before morning traffic picked up. She tapped the lamp off and settled under the covers, eyes closed.

The sound of the television in the outer room set her mind reeling. It wasn’t so much the programming, but the fact Hitch would rather watch that than seduce her. She didn’t look
that
bad. She’d even smudged on a bit of eyeliner after getting out of the shower. At least she looked
awake
whereas earlier she’d looked a bit like death warmed over. She’d even rooted through her cosmetics case and found the little bottle of perfume she hadn’t used in two years. It’d once been her favorite, but a certain someone told her it made him sneeze, so she stopped using it. Putting it on in the bathroom while waiting for Hitch to return had made her feel womanly for a change. Not just some dowdy country girl who didn’t try hard enough.