The Unlikeable Demon Hunter (Nava Katz #1)(85)

I’d tried hanging out with Ms. Clara but ten minutes in her office poking at her stuff and she’d threatened to break out the whip. So I was actually excited the following Tuesday when Baruch got me for a conference call with some Executive Rabbis at HQ in Jerusalem wanting a debrief on Asmodeus. Might as well suss out the Powers That Be on their feelings for me.

Of the three men on the other end, Rabbi Simon had been grudgingly complimentary on my performance, Rabbi Ben Moses hadn’t said much at all, and the head of the Executive, Rabbi Mandelbaum, a sneering chauvinist who sounded surprisingly young, was clearly never going to be Team Nava, even if I killed every demon in existence single-handedly.

I’d bet money that he was one of the Jewish men who said his morning prayer thanking God for not making him a woman with great sincerity and mean-spirited glee.

It was a no brainer, then when asked if I had any questions for them, to pipe up, “How come you don’t bring some female rabbis into the fold?”

Baruch shook his head at me, though his eyes danced in amusement.

Rabbi Mandelbaum, showing great restraint by not declaring outright that that would happen over his dead body, explained that female rabbis weren’t really rabbis.

“Pretty sure they are,” I said. “You know, on account of having the rabbinical title. It’s not something you can send away for on a matchbook. Or wait, can you, Rabbi Mandelbaum?” I asked in breathy sweetness.

Baruch kicked my leg.

The sexist jerk on the other end of the conference call then switched tactics, saying that the few rabbis that worked for the Brotherhood were all descendants of previous rabbis who’d been part of the organization.

“Exactly.” I wanted to reach through the phone and throttle him. “You missed me as a potential Rasha. How many other women, rabbis and potentials both, have the Brotherhood missed? All those traditions weren’t rules. They were assumptions. Wrong assumptions. Plus, the name needs to go. Brotherhood is no longer applicable. I’m thinking–”

Baruch leaned across the table to cut off my access to the speakerphone, wrapping up the conversation–in Hebrew. Once disconnected, he steepled his fingers together. “Tell me, are you trying to get on their bad side?”

“Nope. It comes naturally.”

“Nava.” His tone was pure warning.

“Lady Shock and Awe, Tree Trunk,” I said brightly. “It’s the only way I know how to live.” Damn it! Ari had been right.





23





I gave up on the urban fantasy novel that had seemed so engaging a couple weeks ago, tossing my phone on the bed. Fictional supernatural beings failed to hold the same allure given my new career. Chances are Drio and Baruch would go home soon, leaving me with Kane, who was great. But how weird was it going to be living here with just the two of us? What if he was reassigned? How small was my world going to become? Who would train me? Sure, Rabbi Abrams would arrange for someone but I was attached to my Tree Trunk.

This mattress was too hot. I kicked off my covers. Giving in to my loneliness-induced insomnia, I got up to get some water. Everyone was asleep, but I tiptoed down the stairs anyway wearing my black sleeveless nightgown that hit mid-thigh.

An ajar door threw a slash of light into the hallway on the main floor. I veered away from my original destination of the kitchen and toward the door, because it was Rohan’s bedroom and I was curious.

I knocked.

“Yeah?” Rohan pulled his sweater up over his head, leaving him in a black button up shirt whose fit left very little to the imagination.

I had a very active imagination.

“You’re back.” I tore my eyes away from him to take in the space.

The rest of us had rooms together upstairs, all in varying shades of beige, which I planned to paint soon. His room, however, already featured dark green walls with gorgeous black and white framed photography and warm wood furniture all bathed in the soft light of his bedside lamp.

“What’s the deal?” I asked. “Me, the local, is in the institution special and you, the transient, gets VIP treatment? What’d you bribe Ms. Clara with?”

One corner of his mouth quirked up. “We have an arrangement.” He lifted a small roller board suitcase off the bed, stashing it in his closet, allowing me a glimpse of his clothing arranged just shy of color-coded.

“What kind of arrangement?” Okay, that came out sulkier than I’d intended but gawd, they’d be pretty if they hooked-up.

He threw me a look that was far too shrewd.

Seconds and now, please. I stepped into his room, shutting the door behind me. Then in a move I hoped looked sexy, pulled my nightgown over my head, pitching it to the floor.

Silence, though Rohan did rake a very slow gaze over me.

I leaned back against the door, my palms flat, pushing my rush of nerves into the cool wood and calculating how fast I could grab my nightgown in case I’d made a horrible mistake. “Tell me if I’m being presumptuous.”

“About me wanting to fuck you?” He closed his eyes briefly, his “yeah, right” coming out on a rush of pent-up breath.

Cuntessa woke up with a vengeance.

Pushing Rohan onto the bed, I straddled him, rubbing over his very hard cock straining against his pants.

Rohan gripped my hip, gently moving me off of him.