He’d dreamed of her every night for years, and here she was, right in front of him. But he was the last thing she needed. He’d almost killed her once today already. She should get as far away from him as humanly possible, no matter how badly he wanted to bury his face in her hair and his cock in her—

  “We’re going to find a better apartment. One without that constant whining sound.”

  Quentin finished buttoning the jeans and pulled on a long-sleeved T-shirt as another virtual spray of nine-millimeter bullets hit him, then sent Rune a mental, “Fuck you.”

  “She is a traveler.”

  “And?”

  “She is way out of your league.”

  Quentin scoffed as he tugged the shirt into place. “She was out of my league long before she became a traveler.” He reached over and tapped Amber on the shoulder. When she turned around, he presented himself to her. “Better?”

  “Much, but you still need a hospital.” Her cheeks were still pink.

  “I need food.” He looked at the coffee place where he and Rune had eaten breakfast, but he wanted something meatier.

  “I’m parked at the Mine Shaft Tavern.” Amber looked at her watch. “Great food, and they should be opening in a couple of minutes.”

  “Sounds good.” He made sure to sign as much as possible. She didn’t need any more proof of what a sideshow attraction he’d become. He may be able to talk fairly well now, but he still stumbled on words. His voice was still wrong. He didn’t sound like other people, and he sometimes got the odd looks to prove it.

  She looked down at her blood-soaked tank top. “I can’t go in there like this.” She studied the road. “It’s only a couple of minutes’ walk. I have extra clothes in the trunk, but my bag is still inside the house.” She turned back to him. “The same bag that has my keys and my phone in it.”

  “We’ll call a service to get you a new set. I’ll have your bag sent to you when this is over.”

  “I’m not leaving, Quentin.” She stepped closer and put a hand on his arm. Warmth radiated out of her fingertips and over him. “I want answers. And, quite frankly, I don’t give a shit if you want to give them to me.”

  He bit down, frustration taking hold. He’d never been this close to capturing this demon, and he had it trapped. For now.

  “That’s not it,” Rune said. “You don’t want her to know about us. About what we are.”

  Quentin ignored him. “You can’t go in there looking like the final girl from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.” He noticed the shivering. “And you’re cold.”

  “I’m fine. I just—”

  He turned his back and rummaged through his duffle bag again. He found an old T-shirt that had been too small for years, yet he took it everywhere. She’d bought it for him when they were in high school. Dark gray with a white skull as if it had been spray-painted on. He’d loved it and wore it almost every day for a year while at Gallaudet. He’d missed her so bad. And then… His world changed entirely.

  “We changed your world,” Rune said. “You gave her up for us.”

  “Like I had a fucking choice.”

  “Need I remind you, human, you did.”

  Quentin drew in a deep breath and held out the shirt to her. “No, Rune, I didn’t.”

  Rune forewent a smartass comeback—for once—and said simply, “We are grateful.”

  She shook out the shirt and drew in a soft breath when she recognized it. She pretended not to and started to pull it over her head.

  “No,” he said, gesturing toward her tank top. “That needs to come off.”

  Her beautiful eyes rounded, and she glanced around. “I can’t strip here. Someone will see me.”

  Instead of remove clothes, she did the sign for stripper, and Quentin tried not to laugh. “I just got naked. Didn’t bother me.”

  “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?”

  “Just coffee, thanks.” Though she craved one of their margaritas like there was no tomorrow.

  The woman turned and beamed at Quentin. “And you?”

  He had yet to take his eyes—and that glare—off Amber. “The same,” he said softly.

  “You got it, hon.” The woman gave another furtive glance at their two guests and hurried off.

  “She can see you guys,” Amber said to them.

  “That’s Sarah.” Dora looked at her as though she were a long-lost daughter, and Amber guessed that she did that a lot. “She’s a darling girl. Been in town for a couple of months. Works breakfast at The Java Junction and lunch here at the Tavern. I hope she stays.”

  Recognition hadn’t flashed across Sarah’s face, so Amber guessed the server could see ghosts, for lack of a better word, but—like many eyewitness accounts—could only see them as a misty gray presence. Or even a slight shift in the shadows. Amber had never been able to see them until she died, and her aunt Charley had brought her back from the afterworld. When she woke up, she could suddenly see them in all their glory. And hear them. And play checkers with them, though she had to move the pieces for both players. Until Kyle came along, that is.

  It was almost worth that horrible death.

  Almost.

  But enough about that. She glanced back at Quentin. “Okay, first things first,” she said as they waited for their food. Then she realized that she had so many questions, she didn’t know where to start.

  A scythe-shaped brow inched up as Quentin waited for her interrogation.

  “Right.” She filled her lungs. Where to start? “Okay, how about you tell me how you became a demon hunter?”

  He lifted a shoulder and signed, “I work for the Vatican.”

  She blinked, taking a moment to absorb that information. “The…the Vatican?”

  “Yes.”

  “As in the pope? Smoke signals? The Sistine Chapel?”

  “Yes. You know how the Vatican was watching us all back then?”

  “I do.” Amber’s mother had told her. They’d mostly been watching her aunt Charley, what with her being part grim reaper and part god. And her uncle Reyes, aka the son of Satan and also a god. But they’d also been watching Amber. Probably because of the early signs of her clairvoyance. Admittedly, that fact freaked her out a little. If they knew how much her abilities had grown since then, they’d probably still be watching her. Then again, maybe they were. She would have no way of knowing.

  “They recruited me when I was at Gallaudet,” he signed.

  “They recruited you?”

  “Yes. Into a unit called La Guardia Segreta.”

  “The Secret Guard. They hunt demons?”

  “Among other things. They mostly investigate supernatural events.”

  Sarah brought their coffee, slipped Quentin a flirtatious smile, then went to take the order of a man who’d taken the table next to them. He wore a Hawaiian shirt, a straw hat, and a long, gray ponytail—definitely a local.

  “Okay,” Amber said to Quentin. “Why you?”

  He tipped his head to one side. “You would have to ask them.”

  “So, they recruited you, and you just up and left?”

  He didn’t answer. As usual. All she knew from back then was that Quentin had been found unconscious and was in the hospital. She and her mom had flown to DC that night, and she sat by his side for two days. When he woke, she knew. Something had changed. Something was different. He’d become a different person while at college.

  A month later, he took his finals and was due home, when he sent her an email telling her that he wouldn’t be on the flight. Nothing else. No explanation. No goodbye. No closure.

  She’d tried calling. She was ashamed to say she’d called hundreds of times over the next few days. But he refused to answer, and eventually, shut off his phone. Amber was so devastated she almost didn’t graduate high school. It took an intervention from both the living and the dead to get her back on track.

  She ended up graduating a semester early and getting accepted into some of the best schools in the Southwest, but her heart was set on the East Coast for some reason. No, not for some reason. She knew why. He was on the East Coast. At least, she’d thought he was.

  One weekend when she could no longer stand it, she’d hopped on a train in New York and went to DC, even though she knew that he was no longer there. She stumbled upon a couple of his friends at Gallaudet. He’d been gone for over a year at that point, but they remembered the event quite vividly. He was there one day and gone the next. He just packed up his things in the middle of the night and left without so much as a by your leave.

  The pain of that time was still raw, even now. Amber and Quentin had been best friends for years. And then they were more. She’d given her heart to him. For him to just leave like that…

  Obviously, there was more to the story, but why didn’t he just tell her? She could’ve helped. He’d chosen not to tell her the truth, and he would have to live with that. She was nowhere near forgiving him. The fact that she craved him like an addict craved their next fix meant nothing.

  Then again, it wasn’t as if he’d asked for her forgiveness. He watched her from behind the depths of his shimmering blue eyes. Waited for her to reach whatever conclusion she was going to reach because he clearly wasn’t going to explain himself.

  The sting in her chest felt like an angry hornets’ nest. She took a sip of coffee and then asked rather pettily, “Why are you signing? You speak perfectly well, Quentin. I’ve heard you.”

  “How about we get off of me and back to the business at hand?” he said. With his voice. Not his hands. He dropped the charade and refocused on Dora. “Why did that demon choose you?”

  Surprised at becoming the center of attention, the woman blinked at him. “I have no idea.

  “Dora, did the demon actually attack you?”

  “Well…” She seemed to think for a bit. “I don’t know. I mean, it was just there and…and then I fell. I’m just not sure.”

  Dora looked at Quentin. “That’s odd, right? I mean, it didn’t attack the first responders at the scene, either. In fact, the only one it has actually attacked is you. It doesn’t like you.”

  Quentin turned to look out the window. “It doesn’t like what’s inside me.”

  Fighting to keep her cool—could he really be opening up?—Amber leaned forward. “What’s inside you?”

  The wary gaze he leveled on her spoke volumes. “Anger. Frustration. A thundering resentment I can hardly contain.”

  She sank back in her chair, disappointment chafing every molecule in her body. He didn’t trust her.

  “Why are we back on me when a demon is killing people?”

  He had a point. “I just can’t figure out why it’s so volatile.”

  “Demon?” Quentin said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. At least, he’d mastered the language.

  “No, there’s more. I can’t describe it. It’s like…” She looked at him. “Well, it’s like anger. Frustration. A thundering resentment he can hardly contain.” Then it hit her. Control. The demon was being controlled by someone very much like Quentin was being controlled, at least in part, by the entity inside him. Only a loss of control would bring about that kind of resentment. That kind of bitterness. “You said you’ve been tracking the demon. How?”