Demons Like It Hot (Demons Unleashed #2)(32)

Who needs Matthew McConaughey?

What the hell was wrong with her? He was an insufferable asshat. He looked at her like she was his last meal and a leper at the same time. It agitated her beyond words.

But every time he touched her, it was like molten lava flowing through each and every vein. She should’ve been afraid but instead she was intrigued. Too damn intrigued, and she didn’t like it.

And from what she could see, he didn’t either.

Which further fueled her ire.

“I have a thing for Matthew McConaughey, if you haven’t guessed.”

“Matthew McConaughey?” Minerva said with a snort. “Actors are so overrated.”

“Let’s get this over with,” Matthias barked. “I didn’t come here to discuss actors.”

Wow. The way he barked, you’d almost think he was jealous. Yeah right! “Heck, I didn’t want to come here at all.”

“Can’t we all just get along?” Minerva grabbed Serah by her sweater sleeve and pulled her to stand next to Matthias. “Time for a group hug.”

She might have been wise, but Minerva was weird as hell. Bemusement filled Serah’s face and Matthias’s brow scrunched. An awkward minute of silence followed.

“Too much?” Minerva grinned.

Matthias offered a slow nod.

“Oh, well. Maybe next time?”

“Uhh… sure,” said Serah, stone still secure in her hand, as she patted Minerva’s back. “Next time.”

“I sense some sarcasm.” Minerva’s lips curved downward into a mock frown.

“They don’t call you the goddess of wisdom for nothing.”

“More sarcasm!” Minerva beamed. “A trait often attempted, but only mastered by the truly witty.”

“Wit and wisdom go hand in hand, huh?”

“Of course.”

“Sarcasm and wit serve a purpose, but don’t you have a stone to use?”

Party-pooping, another one of Matthias’s demonic talents. Despite Minerva’s odd tendencies, Serah liked the goddess. Matthias, on the other hand—it didn’t take a mind reader to see the aura of distrust that swirled around him.

Then again, he didn’t seem to trust many people. Probably an occupational hazard. Serah blew out a breath of air. Did he trust her? Probably not, or he wouldn’t be hovering over her every move.

Like she should care.

“Okay, here goes nothing.” And she meant that in the literal sense. Like a stone could just zap her here and there. Maybe if she was Lucy or Kalli. Not this pure demon detector that they thought she was. But might as well give the demon and goddess a show.

She closed her eyes again and took in the first breath of air. Nothing funny yet. She exhaled and took two more breaths. Still nothing. Three down, two to go. She took breath four and still felt as normal as she had before she held the stone. No biting cold swirls nipping at her nose. She sucked in as much air as her lungs could hold and blew it out in a slow breath out her nose.

“There’s no place like home.” All that was missing were the ruby slippers.

Still nothing. If she had transported herself clear across town, she would have felt something. A pinch? Wind through her hair? A TSA agent giving her a much-too-thorough pat down?

Slowly and deliberately, she opened her eyes—and wished she kept them closed.

“Wha’ the hell?” the high-pitched screech pierced her eardrums. “Where did ye come frae?”

There sat Mr. Whiskers on her black Italian leather sofa with a tub of popcorn between his cute kitty legs. One paw held a cigar, smoke wafting from it, and the other held a lowball glass of scotch. Serah just shook her head. She should have known the cat wasn’t normal.

Interesting mix, though.

Even more interesting location.

“No smoking in my house!” She grabbed at the cigar in Mr. Whiskers’s paw. “Cuban cigars? How the hell did you get these? They’re illegal.” She put her hands on her hips. “You can talk? What in the hell are you? The Cheshire Cat?”

“Guess the moggie is oot o’ the bag. Ah was sent tae tak’ over the chimp’s job.” Mr. Whiskers pinched his cigar out. “Ah’m sorry. Ah thought ye’d be gone fer a while. The packages hae been delivered. Kalli just left.” He shooed his paw at her. “Now move. Yer blockin’ ma view. Mel Gibson is gettin’ ready tae moon the Sassenach dogs.”

A cat with attitude. Who would’ve known. Then again, he was Scottish.

“Aren’t you a little shocked that I am standing here?”

Mr. Whiskers arched a whiskered brow. “Only fer a second. Ah kent ye had it in ye. Ah’m jist a wee pisht ye did it in front o’ the tellie.” He pushed a button on the remote that sat next to him and paused the movie. With a high-pitched sigh, he flicked his now-unlit cigar.

“At least you have better tastes in movies than my last imp, even if they’re a tad historically inaccurate.”

“At least they got most o’ the accents right.” He swirled his scotch and took a sip. “Ah love guid Scottish whisky. It’s the water o’ life, ye ken?”

“I’m more of a Cabernet kind of girl.”

“Wine is weak.”

“Whatever, Whiskers.” She plopped into the sofa next to the demon cat and grabbed a handful of popcorn. “What’s your real name?”