Sweet Temptation (The Sweet Trilogy #4)(87)

It proceeds to throw a tantrum, stiffly flying from the car and bashing into the earth, out of sight, then back up, kicking at cars and flailing its grubby arms at trees as it passes them. What an idiot.

As I’m driving through Wythe County, in the mountains of southwestern Virginia, I see a whisperer swoop down in the grassy median to relay something to the other. It then flies to me, right in my face. I lean to the side, keeping an eye on the road. I can’t stand the cold sensation when they touch me.

“Blacksburg,” it whispers creepily. I nod. I’m not too far from her now.

I’ve been trying to figure out for hours what I’ll do when I get to her. How will she react? With the whisperer there, we’ll have to pretend we hardly know each other. If Anna cries or tries to hug me, or does anything remotely Anna-ish, we’re as good as dead.

Our biggest chance of making it through this is to somehow lose the whisperer, and based on how closely he’s been at my side, that will be difficult. The only other thing I can think to do is get her under the covers and pretend to shag her. That, however, could be awkward for poor Anna, and very, very difficult for me, especially if we’re naked.

You can do it, I tell myself. I just hope she’ll play along with whatever I decide. I grip the wheel and take a cleansing breath as the murky whisperer leads me to Anna.

It’s early in the morning. The sun has risen, but the town is still sleepy. I park outside the hotel and listen while the whisperer circles the car. Anna is stirring, her murmuring breaths sounding as if she’s not sleeping very soundly. When the whisperer ventures away from me for a moment, like a dog sniffing around, I whip out my phone and pull up Anna’s contact info: Hot Chick From Gig. Before I can type a word, the whisperer is back and I quickly close the screen.

“What are you doing?” it asks. Damn it.

“Seeing if I missed any messages,” I mutter out loud. “But I haven’t.”

“Let’s go.”

Bugger. I hate being here, so close to her, under these pretenses. It kills me not to warn her. I get out of the car and note exactly where it’s parked and where the nearest exit is. I walk with purpose, fighting to keep my cool as my spirit escort flies up and down beside me. His wing keeps swiping my back and I grit my teeth. I desperately search each room of the hotel with my hearing, but everyone is sleeping or doing boring morning things.

Then my senses snag on something in one of the first-floor rooms. Something that sounds like it’s just getting started. Something right up this whisperer’s alley. It’s better than I could have hoped. I take the long way around so we can pass that room on our way. I take note of the number on the door: 108.

This is a long shot. My first instinct is to distract the demon right away, but Father will be extremely suspicious if he learns I sent his whisperer away before the job had even begun. The spirit has to see me with Anna. He has to think we’re having sex. And then, if I’m lucky, I can convince him to leave, to take in the more exciting events of room 108.

I head up the stairs, my pulse at an all-time high, and I knock on Anna’s door. Inside, I hear her go still. Abruptly, she begins scrambling and shuffling through her things like mad.

Don’t be frightened, I want to say. Trust me, Anna. Play along.

Anna whispers suspiciously, “Who is it?”

“Kaidan Rowe. Son of Pharzuph.” Impersonal. Formal. Please take the hint, luv.

I hear the quick pad of her footsteps to the door and I’m filled with fear that she’s going to fling it open and jump into my arms. I’m immensely relieved when she stops at the door without opening it. “What do you want?” she asks. She’s being smart.

“I need to speak with you. Open up.”

When she doesn’t open, the whisperer hisses a harsh curse in my ear and I’m filled with loathing for the stupid, impatient spirit.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” I say. It comes out sterner than I meant it to.

After a long pause the door opens enough to show Anna’s beautiful, fresh face. Her eyes soften just slightly when she sees that it’s really me, then widen when she catches sight of the whisperer over my shoulder. She doesn’t move.

Anna knows something’s up. Good. Because it’s about to get real, and I need her to put on a show. I need her to pretend with me, one on one. Enough to convince the idiot bobbing behind me, foaming at the mouth.

I grasp the edge of the door above her head and push it open, forcing Anna to step back into the room. I scan her when she’s in my sight—from her messy morning hair to the knife and another thing clenched in her fists.

I first cover her knife hand with mine and pry her fingers open. She gives a slight gasp as I relieve her of the weapon and slip it into my pocket. Then I reach for the other hand . . . a torch? Or, rather, flashlight to Americans. It’s hardly big enough to use as a weapon, but I suppose it’s better than her bare hand. I drop it to the floor and close the door behind me, still moving her forward until I have her against the wall. She glances toward the whisperer, then back to me. I have to ignore the hurt and fear in her eyes and get her to focus solely on me.

Her breathing goes a bit ragged as she stares up at me. I remind my body this is not for real, but it responds excitedly all the same. She puts her warm palms on the rise of my chest, and pushes me back with a fierce look in her eyes.

“Back off, son of Pharzuph.”