Not Your Ex's Hexes (Supernatural Singles, #2)(60)
Damian shot his brother a glare. “Well, I am half-Norm, aren’t I?”
“You’re also half-demon, brother. You’re not doing either of you any favors by pretending otherwise.”
“That sounds dangerously close to something dear old Dad would say.”
As if talking about him conjured the demon himself, the demon portal on the other side of the gym flared to life, crackling and sparking until Ezeil himself stepped through.
A full-blooded prince of Hell, their father looked barely fifty years old when in reality he’d been created nearly five hundred years ago. Once a favorite among Lucifer’s enforcers and now the demon rep on the Supernatural Council, Ezeil had made sure to train—and raise—his two sons in his image.
He was disappointed almost every damn day.
“Lying down on the job, I see.” Ezeil’s cool tone showed his displeasure. “Can I not trust the two of you to continue your training while I go on business trips? Perhaps I need to assign you babysitters.”
Julius frowned, instantly getting to his feet. Damian was slower to follow, holding his tongue for the time being.
Ezeil’s gaze flickered over to the side of the gym where Cal sat. He sighed, drilling Damian with a disappointed glower. “Send the witch away. We have Hunt business to discuss. I’ve just been informed of a job, and I promised the Council that I’d put my best Hunters on it. It’s time sensitive.”
“Sure thing.” Julius nodded, immediately accepting.
“I can’t tonight,” Damian admitted grudgingly. “I have plans.”
Ezeil’s eyebrow lifted. Understanding slowly dawned on him as he flicked a quick look back to Damian’s girlfriend. “That’s right … you do have plans … and they involve hauling in a horde of Quall demons who’ve decided that poisoning both Norms and Supernaturals with tainted Supe Dust is an acceptable pastime.”
“But—”
His father stepped closer as he began shedding his Norm skin. Yellow eyes with oblong pupils glowered at Damian from less than an inch away, a sign that Ezeil was calling on his power of Compulsion.
Damian instantly pushed against it by raising his own shields. Both practice and the use of the black market anti-thrall serum he’d gotten a few weeks ago kept him from succumbing to the demon’s every whim, but it still took a hell of a lot of effort.
As Ezeil realized his attempt to gain control failed, fury darkened his gaze.
“Let me make myself clear, son.” He dropped his voice to a dangerous growl. “I permit this relationship with the witch only because I know it’s a fleeting teenage fancy. But rest assured, when that fancy begins to interfere with my plans for you, I will remove it. One way or another. Do I make myself clear?”
Damian’s jaw clenched until it ached. It wasn’t the first time his father had used threats to get what he wanted, and it wouldn’t be the last.
Ezeil leaned close, hovering just over his ear as he whispered, “Do you need a reminder of who I am … and who you are?”
“No…”
“No … what?”
“No … Prince Ezeil.”
* * *
Present Day …
New York City
Damian’s demon had spent the better part of the last twenty-four hours trying to stage a jailbreak and used his anger toward Julius to do it. Only a few unexpected sanctuary additions kept the bastard at bay, albeit barely, but the second the work was done, the demon got his second wind, scratching his way to the surface until Damian hopped on his bike and headed for Fifth Avenue.
This was one instance when he didn’t mind letting his second self get behind the wheel. He made it across town in record time and barreled through the front lobby of Julius’s expensive high-rise.
A startled door attendant gave chase as Damian headed toward his brother’s private elevator. “Sir! Sir! I’m sorry, but I can’t let you go up without resident authorization. If you’ll come back to the desk with your ID, I’ll—”
“This is my authorization.” Damian’s amber demon eyes flashed, the beast briefly showing himself through his human skin.
The Norm man visibly paled and stepped back.
“I’m going up there.” Damian dusted off his Compulsion and focused it on the man in front of him. “And you won’t be announcing my presence.”
“I … won’t.”
“No … and you’ll key me up to the penthouse apartment.”
“Of course I will, sir. Here, let me help you.”
The older man swiped his badge, and the elevator doors opened, giving Damian access. “Thank you. You’ve done a great job.”
Guilt ate at Damian’s stomach as he rode his way up to the penthouse apartment, but it was immediately swallowed by a resurgence of annoyance as the doors opened, hitting him with a wall of music and a large crowd of expensively dressed people.
Colorful artwork decorated the pristine white space, worth more money than Damian would ever see in his lifetime. Everything about his brother’s apartment screamed opulence and class. Dressed in faded jeans and his leather jacket, Damian stuck out like a skunk at a perfume stand, and he didn’t give a damn.
He had one goal, and upon achieving that, a second.