The Unlikeable Demon Hunter (Nava Katz #1)(10)

Sparks flew off my hand.

Holy. Shit.

Josh’s body flickered like a stuttering screen, revealing a ram’s head.

Oh, hell no!

I spasmed, engulfed by a snapping blue electrical arc that traveled through my hand to envelop Josh’s dick, momentarily gluing us together with a disturbing sizzle and a whiff of burning flesh.

His eyes snapped open in alarm.

Given how every blink caused sparks to dance in front of me, I figured I was lit up from head to foot, but before I could check, Josh convulsed with a hot spurt. Then his body exploded into gold dust.

Both the pain in my hand and the pyrotechnics immediately ceased.

I wiped my fingers off on the rumpled sheet with a grimace. The downside was that I’d just met my first demon. The upside? Not only was he not naturally better-looking than me, my record was intact. Another satisfied guy. Dispatched to oblivion, but not every date was a winner.





3





The shock kicked in about thirty seconds later. I clutched Josh’s pillow, rocking back and forth emitting weird “guh” noises until I got my throat working again. Sure, I could step on a very small spider like the manliest of men, but that smattering of gold powder on the sheets had been Josh. My intermittent flirt buddy for the past six months.

An icy slither ran up my core as I stared at my right hand, its tremors Richter scale violent. Was this my demon-killing ability? Destined to be some supernatural whore luring hell spawn into back alleys for deadly rub and tugs?

Leaping from the bed, a hand clapped over my mouth, I sprinted over the cheap beige carpet to the bathroom. I barely made it to the toilet, throwing up all the contents of my stomach until the dry heaves kicked in. Beer and grease did not taste better coming back up.

I cleaned up as best I could, blowing my nose and using an entire travel bottle of mouthwash that I found in Josh’s cluttered medicine cabinet to rinse out my mouth. I considered using his toothbrush but that seemed too intimate for a guy I hardly knew.

I hiccuped in a half-sob, half-laugh. Orgasming to death okay, shared oral hygiene a line too far.

I gripped the sink so hard my fingertips turned white, forcing myself to take deep, calming breaths. Getting myself down to the functioning side of hysterical. I ran my fingers through my sweat-matted hair, taking in my reflection in the mirror of his bathroom cabinet. Pale, crazed, I couldn’t stare too long at myself so I yanked on the tap, washing my hands vigorously enough to rub them raw.

Taking a layer or six of epidermis off myself helped. The color had returned to my cheeks. Somewhat. But with my shocky adrenaline high wearing off came the painful realization that my boobs burned like crazy.

With the utmost care, I peeled my shirt and bra off to find a scorched, puckered burn line matching the now-melted underwire. As a natural disaster show connoisseur, I knew that metal conducted electricity but, come on! My girls demanded underwire.

I pressed a fingertip to the red angry skin with a hiss. Seems right now they demanded burn lotion. I rummaged through Josh’s cupboard but he was light on first aid products, so I tossed the bra in the trash and eased back into my shirt, flinching as the soft material made contact.

It was too much.

Wobbly from a cocktail of exhaustion and pain, I pressed my head to the cool glass of the mirror. Giving myself a moment to get my jumpy pulse under control and let the throbbing in my tits subside enough to be able to walk because that basic motor function seemed an impossible dream.

I had no idea how much time passed before I was able to move, though moonlight now streamed in through Josh’s bedroom window as I dressed. No drunken ramblings were heard from homeward-bound revelers, the city deep in slumber.

I shrugged on my jeans, unable to shake my sense of unease. Sidling over to the window, I peered outside through the slats of the bent plastic blinds.

Some guy stood in the alley framed in a pool of light cast by a poster-plastered streetlamp. Hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, he seemed every bit a relaxed bystander, but I wasn’t deceived.

The question was, was he here hunting Josh? Or me?

I widened the blinds a touch.

Startlingly gold eyes bored straight into my soul, rooting me to the spot. His hair, several shades darker than his light brown skin, was kind of shaggy, curling thick and sexy around his ear lobes. He had to be a demon. My hand didn’t tingle or anything in recognition but ordinary mortals were not created this ridiculously gorgeous. I’d know. I trolled the internet plenty looking at hot dude Pinterest boards.

Plus, perched above him on the telephone wire was a white crow, albeit a weirdly stocky one. Contrary to popular opinion, white crows were not an albino rarity but demons who, once fixated on their prey like this one was on me, dive-bombed a person feeding off their blood and flesh. I had never been so glad for a pane of glass. And when Alley Dude trained his sights on the bird, the white crow exploded off the line with a panicked “caw,” flying away so fast that it trailed feathers.

Some primal survival sense screamed at me that whoever or whatever this guy was, he was a million times more dangerous than Josh. But it also kicked me into gear.

I jerked away from the window, pressing myself flat against the wall. My heart threatened to explode out of my chest. Had Josh’s death set some demon phone tree into motion and now they were all after me? Keeping low so the guy couldn’t see me, I gathered up my backpack, smelling the lingering scent of Josh’s cologne from when he’d carried it home for me.