The Demonslayer (Seven Sins MC 4)

“And not tell the others?” I asked. “Yeah. A part of me wishes no one ever found out about me. So I’m not going to say shit.”

With that, I moved out of his room and made my way back toward my own.

I probably should have been taking my own advice and getting some sleep. I’d managed to get a little bit. But that was after I’d stayed at the abandoned building for far too long, running the events of the night over in my head until I was sure I’d never forget a single detail of it.

Especially what happened after we’d come.

The way she’d clung to me.

The way she’d buried her face in my neck.

The way her warm tears had slid over my skin.

Because, for once, she’d let her guard down fully with me. She’d been, I don’t know, softer. More vulnerable.

I’d have given anything for just five more minutes of that.

Before the inevitable.

The regret and shame and disgust.

On a sigh, I dropped down onto my bed, throwing my arm over my eyes, and trying to slip back into those special moments.

But before I could get the memories right, I felt it.

The wall falling.

It was so unexpected that the first thing I felt was dread, a part of me worried that something was wrong, that the wall fell because she was hurt in some way, since it seemed like the only time it fell was when she was having some sort of strong emotion.

But it only took a moment to realize there was no panic or pain flooding my mind.

No.

It was a very calm, almost deliberate sensation.

Seeking me.

Calling me.

So soon?

I knifed up in bed, leaning into the feeling inside my head, confused.

Because she never called me again so soon. That was never how it was between us.

It was always a couple hours of pure fucking bliss. Followed by weeks of pure fucking misery.

Maybe something had changed because of that moment we’d shared after.

It was dangerous to let myself hope, but there was no denying that was what I was feeling as I got off my bed and made my way toward the door.

“Where are you going again?” Ace asked in passing in the foyer.

“A ride,” I said, shrugging, then rushing out the door to hop on my bike.

She wasn’t close.

And I was having a hard time figuring out exactly where she was because of that. I needed to get moving in the direction I felt pulled in so I could get a better idea of where she was.

It wasn’t unusual for her not to be right around the corner.

She had her own worries to consider, after all.

Like her fellow demonslayers finding out about us.

I couldn’t claim to know a fuckuva lot about their organization as a whole, but I knew that fucking a demon sure as shit went against the rules.

So she would often only let her guard down when she was outside of town, when she was far enough away that she didn’t think she had to worry about one of her colleagues seeing her.

The further I drove, though, the more confused I became.

Because I knew where I was going.

And there were no motels or hotels around there.

Or abandoned buildings, for that matter.

It was a bustling area full of boutiques and independent restaurants.

Parking in the main lot, I took a second to reach into the connection, to seek it out, to get something more.

I heard people.

She wasn’t alone.

It couldn’t be a trap, could it?

I never stopped to imagine that, some day, Dale’s duties would overcome her desire to be with me. Albeit for very short periods of time.

But what other reason could there be for her being around people when she was seeking me out?

“Large soy caramel latte with whip.”

No.

Not a demonslayer trap.

A… coffee shop?

What the hell was going on?

Curiosity more than piqued, I made my way down the street toward the coffee shop on the corner.

I stopped just outside, looking in the large windows.

It was so novel to see Dale in the daytime that I couldn’t resist the urge to just watch her for a minute.

The sun caught the highlights in her blonde hair, making it gleam. It brought out the pinkish undertones in her skin, and made me aware of bits of a goldish-brown to her green eyes.

She looked like herself.

She often had a very basic, very utilitarian way of dressing.

For practicality, I figured.

She wore dark brown khaki pants that flared over her worn-in leather combat boots.

Beneath her jacket, her white tank top was a little tighter than she usually wore, cupping those perfect breasts of hers.

She was standing at a small table for two but seemed to have loaned out the chairs to a table behind her.

Her hand closed around a plastic cup full of some sort of frozen coffee drink with a shitton of whipped cream and syrup on top.