Wicked Game (13 page)

“
You will pay for your betrayal, little witch.”

Hazelle opened her mouth to scream as his talons swept across her eyes, and all she knew was darkness.

*~*~*

Despite the violence of the dream Hazelle woke slowly, cautiously, very aware of the demon in her bed, the same demon that had attacked her in the dream. His arm lay possessively across her stomach, his hand curled around her waist, resting on her hip, skin on skin because her top had
tugged up. If she moved, if her muscles tensed, he would notice and she couldn’t handle being interrogated about her nightmare by the very demon that had blinded her.

She watched him sleep, the gentle rise and fall of his hairless, finely sculptured chest, his auburn locks falling lightly across his face, his eyelashes dark crescents on his tawny skin. How could something so
wicked look so innocent in sleep? It was one of the many mysteries that surrounded him, that perplexed her, haunting her while she slept.

She didn’t know for sure if he would be able to tell what Chris had done to her.
There had no point of reference, nothing to compare his abilities to, she only knew that they were much more than human and far beyond her comprehension. Could he smell the residual scent of another man down there? She wasn’t going to let him get close enough to find out. She would keep him at a distance, much to his distaste, and he would have to find his satisfaction elsewhere, with a much more agreeable partner.

She closed her eyes again, her head throbbing, multi-coloured lights dancing in darkness behind her eyelids. She’d blamed the blood on a fall, claiming that she had twisted her ankle because of a crack in the pavement, having to endure a lecture from her mom and Kaden’s withering glances. He seemed to dislike any display of human weakness and she was full of it. If she saw chocolate she wanted to eat it, she cried at everything and she was clumsy enough to split her head open on the pavement.

Or so she would have him believe.

Hazelle couldn’t completely relax, she never really could in his presence.
A part of her was always on her guard. She was still exhausted, the lure of sleep was too strong and before she could fret again about the demon in her bed she was soundly asleep in his arms.

Chapter Eight

Hazelle didn’t know when she’d be able to cast the curse, but as luck would have it the perfect, and perhaps only opportunity came that night.

    
Hazelle didn’t have work and slept in late, whether it was from the exhaustion of a bad night’s sleep, the stress of the dream or because of the blood loss she didn’t know. She awoke a little after ten, instantly aware of her demon-free bed. He wasn’t in the room. She sat up, frowning, tentatively touching the back of her head and wincing. It was still tender. She swore under her breath, humiliated and determined more than ever to make Chris pay.

Kaden was downstairs in the kitchen, frying eggs and bacon, dressed only in a pair of white boxers that clung to his perfect ass like two eggs in a handkerchief. He glanced up when he heard her padding down the hallway, barefooted and still in her nightgown. She gave him an exasperated look.

“Relax,” he drawled, rolling his eyes and nodding towards the back door, “Your mom already left for work. Not that I’d be showing her anything she didn’t want to see.”

“
Shut up,” Hazelle snapped.

“
Someone’s grouchy this morning,” his voice was cool, detached as he flipped the bacon and it landed with a sizzle, “Get out on the wrong side of the bed, did we?”

“
Well usually there’s a demon sleeping on my good side.”

“
Touché.”

She tip-toed to the fridge, the tiles cold. She noticed the cold didn't bother Kaden. Maybe he was more like a reptile than a human. He watched her do her strange little jig to the fridge the way a cat watches a mouse, something hungry and haunting in his gaze.
It wasn’t a hunger for food. The cat craved the mouse, wanted to devour it, and yet liked to toy with it, tease it, prolong its suffering and make it believe it could escape its fate. She knew she couldn’t run from him forever, the day would come that she had to make good on her deal with the devil, one she’d voluntarily made, one with no get out clause.

Kaden would just have to wait. She couldn't bring herself to fulfil her end of the bargain
until this business with Chris was over and done with.

Hazelle
opened the fridge and picked up the juice carton, shaking it. She opened the top cupboard and stretched for two glasses, very aware that her nightgown had ridden up past her ass and that Kaden was openly admiring it. She was becoming more accustomed to his lewd looks, though she still dreaded to see his eyes turn dark and dangerous as they had in the last dream, when he’d discovered what she’d done, what she’d allowed to happen to her in the alley. Did her dream reflect a future reality? Trying not to dwell on that she poured two glasses of orange juice and replaced the carton.

“
Your mom said she’d be home late. She’s doing a double shift,” Kaden informed her, “And I had a most curious phone call while you were still snoring in bed.”

“
Oh?”

“
Yes, your boss asked me out for drinks tonight. Apparently since his divorce most of his old buddies won’t have much to do with him, and he said I seemed a decent sort of fellow so…”

Kaden shrugged.

“He couldn’t be more wrong,” Hazelle snorted, closing the fridge,“I’ve known more decent diseases.”

Kaden, who had been taking out plates, slammed one down
on the counter so hard it shattered. Hazelle jumped, retreating from him.

“
I’m trying Hazelle,” Kaden said quietly, his face full of repressed rage as he tried to keep control, “I’m really trying.”

Wincing, her ankle still aching, she limped to Kaden and touched his arm gently.

“I know. I’m sorry. I I’m feeling a bit out of sorts this morning,” she apologised, surprised to find that she did feel guilty at the thought of hurting his feelings. Did demons even have feelings?

T
he conflict between control and desire she saw in his eyes every time he looked at her answered that question.

She was behaving like a complete bitch.
He'd quashed all his natural, primordial, territorial instincts for her and she was still treating him like the same sleazebag she had first believed him to be. Kaden was more than that, much more, and she had to remember at all times that she couldn’t underestimate him, couldn't forget his true allegiance, however civilised he might appear to be. Like all men the beast still lurked beneath, biding its time.

Kaden cleaned away the broken china before serving up eggs and bacon. Hazelle tucked in, having realised not long after his arrival that he was a good cook, better than her. She couldn’t crack an egg without breaking the yolk and often burnt the bacon, too busy daydreaming. She dipped toast smeared with butter into the runny yolks with a relish. Kaden ate quietly and quickly, finishing long before her, and then watched her eat,
something he seemed to be fond of. She smiled at him.

“
You have yolk on your lip,” he murmured, cocking his head to the side.

He darted in before she could remedy it, his tongue licking over her lips so lightly that she shuddered, something squirming in
side her out of sight, demanding a release. He must have known the power he had over her and it must have frustrated him, to see how much she wanted him, how ready for him she was, how much she denied him. She was there; primed and all ready for the taking but the buffet wasn’t open yet. She didn’t know when it would be.

“
You are insufferable,” he growled, sounding more exasperated than angry, pressing his forehead against hers and gritting his teeth, “You don’t know what you do to me.”

She glanced down at his hardening member, constricted by his boxers.

“I have a faint idea.”

“
Don’t tease me. I want this. I know you do too. I want all of you. I want to taste every inch of you with my tongue and leave you breathless, begging for more. I want to throw you on the kitchen counter and fuck you so hard, until you can’t remember your own name.”

Hazelle
flushed, part of her wanting that too, the same part that had enjoyed the first few erotic dreams. Apart from those dreams he had refrained from using such vulgar language around her the last few days, finally realising that it wouldn't work on her. Only now, it was starting to.

She coughed, embarrassed, and turned away, hopping down from the stool.

“Maybe later,” she said mildly, not wanting to provoke him.

She tried her best to keep her distance from him that day. It was warm and dry outside, winter relenting and spring well on its way, her favourite season. Everyone thought New Years was a chance for new beginnings.
She knew that was spring, the season of birth and new life as opposed to the season of death and destruction.

The grass had grown so long so she decided to mow the front and back lawns. Kaden loitered outside for a while, in the shade of the house. The smell of freshly cut grass
mingled with the exotic spice of his skin. She pretended not to see him, even though every cell of her was acutely aware of him, and he eventually went back inside, perhaps realising that she was ignoring him on purpose. She felt slightly deceitful, but maybe the less she engaged with him today the more likely he was to go out tonight, leaving her alone in the house with the candles and spell book stashed under the stairs, her spell ingredients too, in the last place he would have any reason to look. 

When she’d finished all the chores she could find in the garden she made herself a sandwich and called Sophie. Sophie was sat by the pool, drinking cocktails, her fiancé speaking fluent Spanish in the background. Hazelle, more than a little envious, lied and told her everything was fine, that Chris had been no more bother and Kaden was behaving himself, insisting that he was nothing more than a friend. Hazelle didn’t know if Kaden was listening, she didn’t know if was still in the house or if he had gone out, but they both knew there was no friendship between them. Whatever was between them was awkward
and complicated, hot and steamy at times, insufferable at others and mostly an obstacle, one that they both had to overcome.

After lunch she tackled the attic, something neither she nor her mom had found time
for since they’d moved into the house a year ago. She swept and dusted clouds of stale dust that made her cough. Nose itching, eyes streaming she found one of her old dolls, the golden curls tangled and dirty, dust clinging to every inch of the dress.

“
Little too old for dolls, aren’t you?” a sardonic voice asked. For a second, through the haze of dust and blazing sunshine, she thought it was Chris, come to make good on his promise. Then she recognised Kaden’s russet hair, his arrogant face, his soft lips twisted in a sneer.

“
I thought I’d do some spring cleaning,” she told him haughtily, brushing dust from the doll’s peach dress.

“
Clearly,” he said sarcastically, gesturing to the mess around her, the stacks of old books, the ripped clothes, the broken toys and stained patchwork quilt gathering dust in the corner.

   
Hazelle ignored him, inspecting her doll, a most cherished possession when she'd been younger, more naive, more innocent. She was still innocent, in some ways, in most ways, but Kaden was slowly trying to corrupt her, to lure her into his sticky web of sex and sin so that he could devour her, like one of the fat spiders lurking in the cobwebs above her head. She aimed the feather duster at them next, destroying their home as they scurried away into the darker crevices of the roof.

“
I’ve decided to go out with that David tonight,” Kaden told her aloofly, as if he was only granting her a common courtesy by informing her, and didn’t think she was worthy of knowing his business. Since when was it a human’s concern to know the dealings of demons?

“
Good,” she said indifferently, stretching to swipe at more cobwebs, spiders fleeing from her.

With a glower he spun around and strode out, leaving her to her cleaning. She heard the thumping and creaking of old pipes as he took a shower and wondered how he would feel about her popping in unannounced. Probably the opposite
to what she had. Trying not to dwell on his ripe buttocks or his tawny contours she sweated and struggled, using a stepladder for the hard to reach places, grime under her fingernails, dust in her eyes and cobwebs in her hair.

Tired, aching and filthy she retreated downstairs and made herself a cup of tea, her dirty hands smudging the white china. There was no sign of her and Kaden’s earlier clash, everything clean and pristine.

Hazelle blew on her tea before taking a sip, warmth pooling in her stomach, the same way it did between her legs when Kaden touched her there in her dreams. She blushed at the wanton thought, silently mortified, glad there was nobody around to see it. Kaden kept to his room, no doubt grooming himself, and she wondered if he would wear the same suit her mother had picked for him. She didn't know if David had given him a dress code. It didn’t really matter because demons made their own rules and followed their own codes of conduct. She knew better than anyone.

Kaden sauntered into the kitchen, dressed in jeans and a button down navy shirt. It looked good on him. But anything looked good on him, especially his birthday suit. Biting her lip and trying to distract herself from lurid thoughts she took a gulp of tea, forgetting it was still hot. It scalded her throat and she spluttered.

“Like what you see?” he said smugly, thinking the reaction was for him. She had only drunk the tea then to avoid having a reaction to him.

She glared at him, her throat still burning, her eyes
watering. She tried to put the mug down, missing the counter and it fell to the floor, shattering, hot tea staining the tiles. Kaden rushed to gather the fragments of broken china as she bent too, shoving his hands away.

“
Don’t be stupid, you’ll cut yourself and…ahh,” she grimaced, having sliced her finger on a shard. Blood dripped from the wound, mingling with tea.

Kaden gripped her wrist but she wrenched away from him.

“Its fine, really,” she said lightly, waving her bleeding hand dismissively. What was a bit of blood compared to what Kaden had done to her in the dream?

He narrowed his eyes at her, his dark eyes daunting.

“Hazelle…I can tell when a human is hurting.”

Oh, she bet he could. Probably because he was usually the cause of it.

Except she believed he was talking about much more than just her injured hand. She strived to hide her emotions because she didn’t want him to see how weak she was, how weak she could be. Men like him and Chris took advantage of weakness and she was sick of being taken advantage of.

“
You’ll get blood on your shirt,” she said harshly, running the cold tap and sticking her finger under.

He stood there; his eyes as harsh as her voice had been, scowling. She had been mean on purpose, hoping he would take the hint. She turned away, watching water washing blood down the drain, allowing her to see the wound. It was shallow, nothing some antiseptic cream and a band aid wouldn’t cure.

“
I’m going now.”

“
Okay.”