Not Your Ex's Hexes (Supernatural Singles, #2)(83)
He didn’t wait long; even his beast was champing at the bit to get to Rose. His bones shifted, vision becoming crisper. More vivid. All his senses went into HD mode—high demon.
Unlike Julius, whose human skin melted away, replaced by the reddened hide of their Beezus demon father, Damian retained his Norm shell with a few slight structural alternations.
Sharper cheekbones. Slightly more elongated chin. If he looked in a mirror, his eyes would have already transformed from slate gray to a muted amber, glowing not too unlike the vampires in that popular teen series.
A rush of anger and the urge to bash anyone’s head who got between him and Rose washed over him, alerting him the change was complete … and then he dug his keys out from his pocket and sliced his palm.
“Rose Maxwell.” He brought up an image of her in his mind … her coy, sexy smirk, and the way she’d sprawled out next to him in bed, satiated and sexified. And then he slapped his hand on the portal archway. “Make it fucking snappy.”
It had been years since he’d used a demon portal and his stomach protested the abrupt move, lurching as the greenhouse melted away. The second the feel of the cool stone disappeared from beneath his feet, he took a step, and then another, each one weighted to the nonexistent ground.
Damian fought through the vertigo, and while he stumbled twice, it only took a few more steps before his boot crunched on solid ground.
He took a second to reorient himself before registering the large house on a hill, its windows lit up as if summoning someone from the Hubble.
But Rose wasn’t there …
His demon turned him to the dimly lit path leading toward the much smaller cottage nestled against the Hudson River a hundred yards away. Edie Maxwell’s cabin. Hugged by a broad wraparound porch and adorned with blooming flower boxes despite the frigid temperature, the cozy place could only belong to the current Maxwell Prima.
Damian jogged up to the steps, pausing at the sight of the shadowy figure sitting in one of the rocking chairs.
Julius’s torn shirt exposed long, deep scratches on his chest, and his nose looked broken in at least two places. Add in the five o’clock shadow that decorated his usually clean-shaven face and the blood on his expensive suit, and Damian almost didn’t recognize him.
But his inner hellion did.
His beast growled, drawing his brother’s attention. Julius met his gaze, and then the anger Damian had barely kept at bay soared back to the surface.
Julius immediately stood and backed up, hands raised.
It took all Damian’s control not to put a fist through the bastard’s face, and that control snapped as he reached for the door and Julius warned, “It’s a bit intense in there right now. I don’t think you should interrupt them.”
He had Julius pinned against the house in less than a second, Damian’s arm pushing precariously hard on the other man’s throat as he released a low, menacing growl. “If only you would have thought sooner, this wouldn’t have happened.”
He had to give his brother credit for not attempting to break free.
Julius looked him in the eye, his breath whistling as a myriad of emotions came and went across his face. Damian didn’t care about any of them. Especially the guilt. The bastard should feel guilty because this had his stench all over it.
“If you have any self-preservation,” Damian threatened, his voice deceptively quiet, “you won’t talk to me. Or look at me. Or even breathe in my direction. If you do, I won’t hesitate to snap your windpipe in half. Do you get me?”
“Thought you didn’t want me to talk?”
Damian applied more pressure. “You’re always after me to embrace my other side. Well, one more out of you, brother, and you’ll finally get your wish.”
Julius coughed. “Okay. Sorry. Fuck … the world’s spinning.”
“At least you’re breathing, although I can’t promise for how long.”
Guilt flooded into Julius’s eyes. “Damian, I’m sorry. I know I fucked up. I never should’ve asked her to—”
“Damian?” Olive stood at the threshold of a now open front door. Her gaze bounced between them, concern written all over her face, and shimmery green Magic hovering above her palms. “Is everything okay out here?”
“We’re good.” Damian released his brother, ignoring him as Julius dropped his hands to his knees and sucked in air by the mouthful. “Is Rose okay?”
“We’re almost done working on her—”
“Working on her?” Panic seized his throat, making it tight. “Should we be taking her to the hospital, or…”
The youngest Maxwell witch gave him a funny look.
“Right. This isn’t something Norm medicine can fix. Can I see her?”
Olive glanced at Julius and back, looking unsure. “We can’t afford distractions.”
“I won’t distract anyone. I swear. I just … need to see her. Please.”
She studied him closely, and it took him a spare moment to realize he was still demon’d out. He dragged that bastard back to his cage, but not without breaking a slight sweat. Once all his parts were back to rights, he gave her another pleading look.
“Please, Olly,” he begged.
Fuck, he needed to see Rose more than he required his next breath, and he couldn’t let himself dwell on why, too consumed with the need to see her for himself. If Olive told him to go away, he would … at least off the porch. But he wouldn’t go a step farther.