“Clearly, you’re used to living like a hobo.”
He felt his brows snap together. “Hobo?”
She fingerspelled it for him, then realized that wouldn’t help. “You know, like a transient. A person without a home.”
“Oh, right,” he signed. “Homeless.”
“Yes. Sorry. I didn’t mean… That was a bad joke.”
At least she was joking with him and not trying to claw his eyes out. She had every right to hate him. He reached over and tugged at the shoulder strap on her tank. “Off.”
“Fine. Here.” She took a jacket off the seat and handed it to him. Then she traded places with him, brushing past him and sinking farther into the corner between the truck and the door. “Hold that up. And turn around.”
He did as ordered. What she didn’t know, however, was that he had a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view through Rune. It wasn’t quite the glaring technicolor of a human’s vision—the colors muted to shades of blues and grays—but it worked. When she lifted the tank over her head, her delicate skin covered in goose bumps, he couldn’t have looked away if he’d been paid to. She was breathtaking, every curve filled to exquisite perfection. She wore a black bra and had cleavage now. That was new. And titillating.
His pants tightened in response, and he chastised himself for being such a whore. Especially now. Because that was what Amber needed. Him ogling her like a stalker. Getting hard like a pervert.
She used some of the water and a clean towel to wipe some of the blood off her incredible skin, and he tried to block out the image. But closing his eyes didn’t help. Rune was in his head. So, he concentrated on what he would do next.
First and foremost, he needed food. Amber had been right. He did heal super-fast, again through Rune, but they both needed sustenance to do it. Soon, however, he would hardly be able to move. The soreness would set in, and he would be bedridden for days, judging by the depth of the slashes. He had to deal with this demon before it killed anyone else.
“You will have to kill it,” Rune said.
“I can get it into the compass.”
“It has seen us. It will kill you to get to us.”
“And why is that?” Quentin asked, suddenly suspicious. “Why is this demon so hellbent on getting to you?”
“Please. Every demon we come across tries to kill us once they figure out why we’re there. What makes this one so special?”
“Because it seems personal.”
“It’s not.”
Nothing about this demon made sense. Its victims were so random. Why here? Why now? And why these people? It was as though it had a purpose. Demons didn’t usually have a purpose. They set up shop and fed off anyone they could. They rarely killed without reason. They were like rattlers that way. Except rattlers didn’t feed off human souls. So, there was that.
After Amber had slipped the T-shirt over her head, Quentin turned to her and held up the jacket. The tee hung loosely over her shoulders and hips. The coat would swallow her, but she needed to stay warm. Shock was a strange and deadly thing.
“You need that more than I do,” she said, refusing his offer.
“I really don’t.”
He shook the jacket, a khaki tactical, in front of her, and she slid her arms inside with a heavy sigh. When he turned her around and pulled it tight, he tried not to laugh. The sleeves were miles too long. He rolled up the right, waiting for her delicate fingers to show themselves, then the left. After zipping it up to just under her clavicle, he stepped back and took a look. The baggy jacket made her look like a kid. She was anything but.
“Better?” he signed.
She hugged herself and nodded.
“Then let’s eat,” he said, hungrier than ever. Only, no longer for food. He was such a perv.
Chapter Seven
I’m 99% angel,
but ohhhh, that 1%.
—T-shirt
She was such a perv. She couldn’t stop glancing in Quentin’s direction every few seconds. He walked like a predator, his gait smooth, his gaze ever watchful. What had he become? How had he transformed so much in just a few short years? And he was now a seasoned demon hunter? How did one become a seasoned demon hunter? How did one become a demon hunter at all? She hadn’t even known that was a real thing.
After motioning for Dora and Kyle—who’d been standing off to one side, keeping watch—to join them, she followed Quentin to the Mine Shaft Tavern and Cantina. The minute they stepped into the cavernous place, a pretty redhead taking a large group’s order seemed to recognize Quentin. She stopped and made a point to smile at him.
He probably gathered fans wherever he went. He’d always been gorgeous, but that attribute had somehow intensified tenfold. He was rigid and complex and confident, yet a sweetness lay just below his hard surface. She’d sensed it instantly. Wanted to drown in it. Missed it like she’d missed baklava that time she gave up sugar.
Then again, he’d almost crushed her larynx not thirty minutes ago. So, there was that.
She was a veteran of the supernatural realm, however. She knew enough about it to recognize that something had come over him. The question was, what? What had he gotten himself into?
They sat at a corner table. The place was brighter than she remembered, but it had been a while since she and her friends had visited the dusty, eclectic town. The Tavern bar had the same log-cabin feel, and the tables were the same heavy wood designed for the wear and tear of an active cantina. The local favorite was famous for several things, but their margaritas and green chile cheeseburgers were among the top.
Fortunately, the table they sat at had four chairs. She pulled out the two spare seats for Kyle and Dora, then took one that faced the bar. The place was getting busy already. Hopefully, no one would need one of their spares.
Clearly intimidated by He Who Turned into a Badass Demon Hunter Overnight, Kyle almost lunged for the chair beside Amber. Dora frowned at him and took the chair by the wall. Quentin had noticed. He sat across from Kyle and fixed him with a tormenting glare.
Kyle sank down in his seat, clutching his clipboard, and she chastised Quentin with an admonishing scowl. “Don’t be a bully.”
He turned the full force of his glare on her, his eyes glistening in the low light. It didn’t have quite the same effect. Her stomach clenched and flip-flopped as molten lava pooled low in her abdomen, and she found herself struggling for air.
The server hurried over with two menus. She stopped short, her gaze bouncing from Kyle to Dora and back again before she came to her senses and refocused on Quentin. “Hello, again,” she spoke and signed.
She was older than Quentin, though not by much. And she was pretty. Pretty enough to cause the sharp and utterly useless monster known as jealousy to rear its ugly head. Amber was not the jealous type. Normally. Then again, nothing about today had been normal.
“If you guys know what you want,” the woman said quietly, “I’ll put your order in before that large table.”
“Green chile cheeseburger!” Amber blurted. “With sweet potato fries.” She was suddenly starving. “You still have those, right?”
The woman smiled. “We do. What would you like to drink?”