Personal Demon (Otherworld 8)

s angry, he kept his thoughts a swirl, no image or words concrete enough for me to pluck out.

"Sorry to tear you away," he said, each word clipped.

I forced a grin and plucked at my sweaty T-shirt. "That's okay. I could use a few minutes of fresh air."

"You're drunk."

"Because, naturally, that's the only explanation for being on a guy's lap in a nightclub. Actually, I'm not drunk. Working on it, though. What I was doing was following orders. Yours, if I recall."

"Orders?"

"Last thing you said to me. Before good-bye." I frowned. "Or did you say good-bye? Come to think of it, I'm not sure. But I know you did say you thought I should date other supernaturals, more my own age. He's a couple of years younger, but he is a supernatural, and half your age, so I figure that's close enough."

I wanted to stop. I imagined what my mother would do in this situation--and I wanted to be like her and to rise above it. But seeing him, I was back to that morning, in that grove, feeling his words like knives. And all I could think about now was stabbing him back.

I wished that night in the pool had never happened. I wanted things back the way they'd been, Karl back the way he'd been.

I imagined how this scene would have played out without that night. I could see it, Karl luring me off the dance floor, then slipping ahead and cornering me--literally cornering me, as he loved to do, backing me against a wall and getting so close all I could see, hear and smell was him and all I could think about was getting him close enough to feel him, to taste him.

He'd corner me, then tease me about the "boy" in the nightclub, daring me to give him five minutes and I'd forget there'd ever been a boy in a nightclub.

I could imagine his voice, arrogant and self-mocking at the same time, his tone light as if to say, "You can take me up on it if you want or we can pretend I'm only kidding."

I wanted that back--that banter, that lighthearted seduction, that Karl, not the cold, scowling man three feet away, his gaze shunting to the alley mouth as if counting the seconds until he could escape.

"Tell Benicio to find you another job," I said.

He frowned, brow creasing.

"I don't know how he got in touch with you; I didn't give him the number. I'm sorry if he dragged you back from Europe, but that's something you need to take up with him. You aren't needed here...or wanted."

His shoulders tightened. Ego. That's all it was--all it ever was with Karl. He'd pursued me, caught me and dumped me, and now he was annoyed because I wasn't pining for him.

"Benicio didn't call me," he said. "I'm here because he should have. This is my debt."

"No, it's mine, and I have it under control."

"So I saw." His gaze slid in the direction of the club. "I suppose that's one way to get information from a man."

My fists clenched and I longed to smack him. Hit him as hard as I could, and make it hurt as much as he'd hurt me. But it wouldn't hurt him at all. Nothing did.

I managed to smile and shrug. "Whatever works. That's what you taught me. Go on home, Karl, wherever home is these days. This doesn't concern you. Nothing I do concerns you anymore. You made that clear."

He had the gall to look surprised. "I never said--"

"It was a long hunt, and probably not worth the reward, but you finally caught your prey. Congratulations, you're every bit the irresistible stud you think you are. Now leave me alone. Please."

I circled past him, heading back to the club. He grabbed my arm.

"Hope--"

He stopped, head jerking around, following some noise I couldn't hear. His fingers tightened and he started down the alley, fingers still wrapped around my elbow. I dug in my heels. With his strength, it was the equivalent of a two-year-old balking, but the jolt was enough for him to realize I wasn't following willingly.

He shot me an impatient scowl, annoyed that I should object to being dragged deeper into a dark alley. As I looked back, a shadow stretched over the street-lit alley mouth. Someone was coming. I shook Karl off and brushed past him, getting farther down the passage on my own.

Two club-goers slipped into the alley. A noise from Karl that I knew he'd call a mutter, but was indistinguishable from a dog's low warning growl. He aimed a glare at the intruders, jaw tensing, and I knew he'd love nothing more than to stride down there and shoo them out--by the scruff of their necks if necessary. He was in this alley, therefore it was, for the moment, his territory. But, like the growl, he'd never admit to the impulse. He was a civilized man, not a half-wolf savage, and anyone who made that mistake would be quickly corrected.

So he settled for glowering at the intruders and pretending he felt no inclination to tear down there and kick their asses. They completed their transaction--drugs, I presume--and left. He watched them go, then turned to me, and when he did, the anger--all the anger--had faded from his eyes and he just looked tired.