Not Your Ex's Hexes (Supernatural Singles, #2)(59)

“We can talk about my job offer right after we talk about your little ex hex…”

Never mind. This was a train derailment waiting to happen.

Overhead lights blinked as the subway car approached the next station.

Rose gifted him a cocky, expectant look. “Well, this is my stop … unless you still want to have those conversations. No? Then we’ll talk later.”

Damian followed her onto the platform, pushing past an onslaught of new riders. “Rose…”

She turned, her gaze raking over the sight of him standing there in all his puppy-boxer glory.

When he couldn’t form any additional words, she winked. “You may want to put your pants back on before you head up to the street. It’s a bit chilly.”

She gifted him a little wave and disappeared up the steps.

Damian cursed. He’d seen that going so differently in his head. Hell, he’d seen a lot of things with Rose Maxwell going a lot differently, and that had him worrying about what he’d be blindsided with next.

“Hey, dude. I like your boxers. Can I ask where you got them?” A man, sporting a pair of briefs decorated with bicycle-riding kittens, gave him a slow once-over.

Without answering, Damian turned to hop on the next train back to his bike. He obviously wouldn’t get anywhere by talking to Rose. If anything, he’d only made her more determined to go through with it.

That left him only one other option.





14





Naked Parcheesi


Eighteen Years Ago …

Boston, Massachusetts

Damian easily ducked a left jab and spun, landing a hard punch to his victim’s kidneys. The sound of a pained oomph brought a grin to his face, fueling his need to hear it again. Sweat dripped into his eyes in flowing rivulets, but he didn’t once stop moving.

Once you stopped moving you were as good as Gryndor food.

Duck. Dodge. Weave. He followed up each defensive maneuver with a long string of kicks and punches until his inner demon surged to the surface and took the lead. Damian barely had to do a damn thing, letting his other self have his fun … and he definitely enjoyed himself more with every curse that slipped from his opponent’s mouth.

The occasional blood spray was a bonus.

“And to think you were about to bail out on sparring today.” Julius grunted, wincing as he took another punch to the stomach. “Told you that you needed to let loose a little bit. Maybe next time you’ll listen to me.”

His brother blocked a kick and right-jabbed, finally clipping Damian on the jaw. He leaped back with a growl.

“Watch the face, Julius!” Head snapping up from the sidelines, Damian’s girlfriend pulled her head from her book and shot his brother a hard glare, her Magic thickening the air. “I swear to Goddess, Julius Kontos, if you give him a black eye before we get our prom pictures taken, I will hex you so hard you see stars.”

Julius rolled his eyes and blocked another attack. “Tell me why the fuck she’s here again…”

“Because I’m taking her to the dance.”

“Prom…” Julius said the world like it left a foul taste in his mouth.

“If that’s the thing where I have to dress up and make a ‘big gesture,’ then yes.”

His brother scoffed. “I don’t know why the hell you agreed to that. It’s a pointless waste of time. Just think of all the other things you could be doing…”

Damian had, and to say he’d tried talking his way out of it would be an understatement, but Cal had been adamant. Her friends were starting to think she’d made him up from the number of times he’d bailed on plans.

Part of him felt guilty, but the other parts felt as Julius did.

Hitting the movies with a bunch of teenagers whose only goal in life was to get high and drunk was a waste of time … time he could put to better use. Like training. Or Hunting things that went bump in the night. Sparring with Jules or Hunting in the field, Damian didn’t have to hold back. He could be his true, un-human self.

But when he didn’t choose teenager things, he got put on “boyfriend probation.” At least that’s what Cal called it.

She also talked about grand gestures, and proving that she—and his pesky humanity—meant more to him than the Hunt … which is what this whole prom thing was about. If it got her off his back for a while, he was all for it.

Julius used his temporary distraction to his advantage, and in a quick leg-swipe, plummeted them both to the mats. Chests heaving, they lay side by side, Julius wheezing from the physical effort to breathe.

His older brother had never been able to keep up with him.

“You know”—Jules dropped his voice so only Damian could hear—“I got a tip about a rogue group of Quall demons on the Southside who’ve been peddling some tainted Supernatural Dust. What do you say? You. Me. Kicking a little Q ass.”

Temptation stirred Damian’s demon …

“Come on, brother. You know you want to…”

Damian’s gaze flickered over to where Cal sat on the sidelines, her blue eyes narrowed in on the two of them as if she’d heard.

“What the hell are you doing here, man?” Julius whispered. “You know she’s not the right person for you. If she had her way, she’d Magic you into a warlock or something … or worse. She’d turn you Norm.”