At this point, I’m almost positive Roscoe is dead. I’ll figure outwho did it and kill them, but in the meantime there’s plenty of other things going on for me to poke my nose into.
The mysterious appearance of the kid, for example. My instincts are screaming that Celine and Luca know more than they shared with me. I picture Luca’s piercing stare and Celine’s pursed lips. They will be difficult to crack, but fuck, do I want to try.
Even thinking about the two of them makes me hard. Groaning, I drop my hand to my growing erection, then stop. I should up the stakes. No coming until I’ve gained Celine’s trust and can do it inside her—preferably after driving her over the edge until she’s too hoarse to scream anymore.
I bite my lip, uncurling my fingers and bracing my hand on the side of the shower. My hard dick stares up at me angrily, and I laugh. It’s used to getting its way. This self-imposed celibacy isn’t going to be easy.
“It’ll be worth it,” I say out loud, soaping the rest of my body, then cursing as the water goes ice cold. “Motherfucking cheap-ass plumbing.” Since I’m not a hardcore masochist, I finish my shower as quickly as possible and wrap the threadbare towel around my waist.
Hot water shouldn’t be a luxury. The heat of my annoyance keeps me warm as I dry my hair with a hand towel I find stuffed in the back of the cabinet under the sink. The air conditioning unit kicks on, rattling angrily from its perch in the window. I salute it for its service and dress as quickly as possible, shoving my feet into my sneakers.
I sit on the couch to tie my shoelaces, and a roach scurries out from under the ancient piece of furniture.
“Fuck!” I squawk and stomp my untied sneaker at the intruder. It dodges, showing more athleticism than half the shifters on the enclave’s payroll. “Surrender now,” I tell the roach, grimacing as it wobbles across the floor, its segmented, turd-colored carapace reflecting the light from the single hanging bulb.
“It’s on, bitch,” I whisper.
Legs bent, I stalk my enemy into the crusty, attached kitchenette, lifting my foot slowly to avoid spooking it. Only when I’m looming over it like a made-for-TV kaiju do I drive my foot down—there’s no way it will be able to avoid me this time. Sharp and slick as a switchblade, four slender wings shoot out. I gape in horror as the asshole takes flight, then begins executing aerial maneuvers with the skill of a fighter pilot.
“Gods! Shit,fuck!”I duck as it dive-bombs my face, then do what any apex predator with millions of years of evolution on his side would do in this situation: I get the fuck out.
Grabbing my keys, I push through my front door, lifting it an inch to get it latched. The sun slaps me in the face, and I soak it in for a second as my heart rate slows. This doesn’t make me a coward. I’ve got bigger game to hunt, anyway.
This barely functioning, roach-infested apartment is a long way from where I grew up. Our wing of the compound—pretentiously named the Hall of Nightmares by Mom—is sterile enough to do surgery in. Gleaming marble surfaces offset by cold, rigid artwork that would be happy to make you bleed if you gave it half a chance.
My every need was met—as long as it didn’t involve emotions. That I had to get next door. Callum and I got used to borrowing empathy from our shifter neighbors, like humans asking for a cup of sugar.
It wasn’t a terrible way to grow up. My parents love us, despite what Callum has convinced himself of. They handled his manifestation badly; I’ll give my brother that. But Cal got to leave and create his own life with his best friend. A life that’s never had room for me. Not when I have to carry Dad’s legacy on my fucking back.
I swallow my anger and shake my head. Much like a roach roommate, no one enjoys a bitter bitch, and Callum deserves to be happy. He’s been starving his incubus for years, as if there’s something shameful about a good, hard orgasm. Thankfully, his self-hatred is Sheena’s problem now. I’m tired of worrying about him.
I slide my sunglasses on, squinting in the blinding sunlight even with their protection. Since it’s early afternoon, I’ve got time to ask around about Roscoe again and see if I can uncover anything.
For the next few hours, I retrace my steps, finding the same dead ends. Frustrated with my lack of progress, I head to the grocery store. While I’m filling my shopping cart, I bump into one of the dancers from the Naked Fang. I can’t remember her name, but witch magic clings to her like a thick perfume. The perky witch giggles when she spots me.
“I’m surprised you can afford that,” she says, pointing to my cart. “Given how much money you dropped at the club last night.”
I smile, shrugging bashfully, as if I’m embarrassed about dropping a grand on Celine’s dance. I’m not. It was a fucking good dance. “I got carried away, I guess,” I mumble.
“I’ll say.” The dancer giggles again.
With her tan face scrubbed free of makeup, she looks innocent in a way that’s wildly at odds with some of the moves I saw her do at the club. Gods, women are amazing like that. I’d love to see Celine running errands on a random day off.
The witch tosses some produce into her basket, then glances back up at me. “When can we expect you back at the club? I’m sure I don’t have to tell you; you were a big hit.”
“Oh, you’re too sweet.” I grin. “I’ll get back there soon.” Lifting my head sharply, I raise my eyebrows to indicate I’m processing a new, exciting thought. “I’m actually trying to find a buddy ofmine. He was supposed to meet me at the club a few weeks back, but he never showed.”
“Is he as generous as you?” she asks, winking at me mischievously.
“You might know better than I do,” I admit. “He loves to hang out there.”
Curiosity sparks in her eyes. “What’s his name? I know all the regulars.”
“Roscoe. He’s a big demon, looks like his mom dropped him on his head a time or two,” I joke, chuckling when she laughs too.
“I remember him. You two share similar tastes. He’s obsessed with Celine, or he was.” She pauses, her smile fading. A wisp of fear trickles out of her, and her next smile is forced. “He hasn’t been in for a few weeks. The last time I saw him, he threw a coin at her on stage.”
“Dick move,” I say reflexively, and mean it.
