A Demon’s Guide to Wooing a Witch -
: Chapter 16
Calladia laughed wildly as she dodged a punch, then hammered her opponent’s side. The wolf grunted. “Nice hook,” he said before surprising her with a front kick to the gut.
The air rushed out of her as she crashed into a table. Silverware and condiment bottles went flying, and Calladia grabbed a ketchup bottle from midair before winging it back at the wolf who’d kicked her. This one was named Avram, she remembered. With his thick brown hair and big nose, he reminded her of Ben, her friend and Mariel’s boss. She’d started targeting the blue-kitted shifters, but as all werewolf brawls went, it was a free-for-all now, with teammates fighting both their opponents and one another.
Avram caught the bottle and crowed in delight. “Kai, we have a new recruit!”
This was what she adored about werewolves and shifters. They were the only other people she’d met who seemed to understand fighting was fun.
A familiar shout caught her attention, and she whipped her head around to see Astaroth take a punch to the cheek from Kai’s massive fist. His head snapped to the side, but he embraced the momentum, completing an elegant spin that culminated in a roundhouse kick to Kai’s ribs.
Ooh, nice move. Maybe Astaroth could run her through it later.
The werewolf wheezed and clutched his ribs. “Damn, demon. Didn’t think you had it in you.”
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with.” Astaroth grabbed a chair and swung at Kai’s torso again. The wood exploded on impact, and one leg flew off and brained Ranulf, who had just been clambering to his feet from under the remnants of a table.
“Two for one!” Calladia hooted.
Astaroth looked at her and shook his head, grinning. “Witch, you’re a menace.”
She’d distracted him though, and Kai was already moving. “Watch out!” Calladia called. The werewolf was airborne and about to full-body tackle her demon.
Astaroth moved with liquid grace, dodging the tackle, and Kai crashed into the wall. Ranulf swung for Astaroth’s head, and Astaroth performed some complicated maneuver that resulted in him suplexing the bear into the ground. As more opponents converged on him, Astaroth snapped a leg off an overturned table and held it in front of him like a sword. “Come and get it,” he taunted. “Humiliation is free.”
Calladia gaped as Astaroth handily defeated wolf after wolf with his fists, feet, and makeshift sword. He was smaller than his opponents, but he made tossing them around look easy.
A pulse started between her thighs.
Then a saltshaker brained her, and she staggered.
“Sorry!” Avram popped up in front of her. “I threw it before realizing you weren’t looking.”
Calladia laughed. “I’m looking now,” she said, grabbing a floral centerpiece and flinging it at him. Avram grinned as he dodged. He reached for a decorative vase.
“Not that one!” A brown hand reached out from the wall. “It’s my favorite.”
Avram immediately set it down. “Sorry, Bronwyn. I’ll put it somewhere safe.”
The dryad’s face emerged from the wooden planks. She looked at the chaos, then sighed. “I should have remembered it was match day and put away the breakables.”
“You know we’re good for it,” Avram said. “Send the invoice to Kai.”
Bronwyn rolled her eyes. “You werewolves will be the death of me.” She winked before receding into the wall. “Give those blue shirts hell.”
“What do you say?” Avram asked, looking at Calladia. “Teaming up could be fun.”
Calladia grinned. “Let’s do it.”
Astaroth stood on the trestle table, which miraculously remained intact. He swung a table leg in vicious arcs, beating away enemies right and left. Apparently the remaining combatants had decided to gang up on him.
Calladia would have been worried, but she’d seen enough of his fighting technique to know he had this on lock. He was precise and deadly, with preternatural reflexes and balance, and if Calladia had been a little turned on earlier, she was fully wet now. Fighting sometimes had that effect, since she had a lady boner for danger, but in this case, she knew exactly what had caused her state of arousal.
That damn demon.
He looked good and fought like hell, and if anything riled Calladia up, it was a display of competence. And oh, how competent he was.
She noticed a figure creeping around the back of the trestle table: Kai, carrying a jagged piece of wood. Astaroth was engaged with the werewolves in front and hadn’t noticed.
Calladia hurried toward him, stepping over downed assailants. “Astaroth, behind you,” she called, but the shouting was too loud, and she was too far away. Kai raised the stick, ready to strike.
Calladia gripped the chair leg like a javelin and launched it full force at the werewolf.
Too late, she realized she’d thrown it pointy end first. She watched in horror as the wood pierced Kai’s shoulder. He toppled back, shattering the window.
The fighting abruptly stopped. Everyone in the room looked at Kai, then Calladia.
“Uh oh,” she said. She’d violated the first rule of friendly brawl club: no maiming. She waved and smiled awkwardly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to impale him.”
Kai sat up from the pile of glass shards and tugged the wood out of his shoulder. It hadn’t penetrated too deeply, thankfully. “Get her!” he called.
Calladia was reckless, but even she could recognize when it was time to cut her losses and retreat. She met Astaroth’s wide eyes and jerked her thumb over her shoulder toward the exit. He nodded, then took a running leap over the heads of the werewolves surrounding the table. He landed with a cat’s grace. “Time to go,” he said, grabbing her hand.
They burst into the afternoon sunlight with a pack of werewolves hot on their heels. It was an outright sprint down the street, and Calladia’s heart raced as giddy laughter climbed in her throat. She only let go of Astaroth’s hand once they’d reached the truck.
“Prepare for blastoff,” she said as she started the engine and depressed the clutch. She put the truck in gear and hit the gas, upshifting quickly. Clifford the Little Red Truck might not look like much, but she had power where it counted. They careened down the street, steering around shouting werewolves. Soon the tiny town of Fable Farms was left in the dust.
Once she was certain they had escaped, Calladia let out a wild laugh. “That was incredible!”
Astaroth was white-knuckling the bench. “You,” he said, “are the most reckless, ridiculous person I have ever met.”
But he was grinning as he said it, and his eyes were bright, and below the bruise darkening his temple, his cheeks were flushed. When he burst into laughter, Calladia thought she’d never seen anything so beautiful.
Oh, Hecate. She was in trouble.
“Hmm?” Calladia said. The adrenaline from the fight was wearing off, and aches had started to set in. She rolled her neck, wondering if there was a hot spring nearby they could soak in.
“We forgot to ask Bronwyn about Isobel.”
Calladia’s eyes widened, and she hit the brakes. “Oh, shit.” The truck lurched to a stop at the side of the road. Calladia tapped the steering wheel, pondering the best course of action. “We can’t go back. Those werewolves were mad.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Astaroth said dryly. “It’s not like you skewered their leader like a shish kebab during a so-called ‘recreational’ brawl.”
She glared at him. “I was saving you, thank you very much. And I didn’t mean to skewer him. I threw the stick pointy-end first by accident.” She shook her head and sighed dramatically. “Guess that dinner date with Kai is off.”
Astaroth stiffened. “You were going to go to dinner with him?”
“Not sure.” She shrugged. “I don’t get asked out much, and he was more polite than the usual creeps who try to feel me up at bars.”
Astaroth’s jaw flexed like he was grinding his teeth. “First off,” he said in a pissy tone, “that werewolf was a lout and not worthy of your attention. Secondly, who has been feeling you up in bars, and are their hands still attached?”
“Curious if I removed them?”
The furious look he shot her made her breath hitch. “If you didn’t, I will.”
Whoa. That was intense. And confusing. First he’d been upset about Kai hitting on her, and now he wanted to chop off the hands of anyone who sexually harassed her? She laughed awkwardly. “Why would you care about defending me? I’m your enemy, remember?”
“Why would you stab a werewolf to protect me?” he parroted. “I’m your enemy, remember?”
He had a point. Calladia’s cheeks heated as she remembered how turned on she’d been watching Astaroth fight and how instinctively she’d acted to save him. Whatever they were doing was nowhere near traditional enemy behavior.
“I’ll call the Red Deer,” Calladia said, changing the subject to avoid having to answer his question. “I need to give Bronwyn my card information to pay for our meal anyway, since we dined, decked, and dashed.” She pulled out her phone, relieved to see a few bars of service. She searched for the restaurant’s contact info, then dialed.
“The Red Deer, Bronwyn speaking.”
“Hey!” Calladia’s greeting was a tad too enthusiastic. “This is Calladia Cunnington. Um, this is awkward, but I forgot to close my tab—”
“You!” The dryad let out a stream of creative curses. “Do you know how much babying I had to do after you left? The way Kai was carrying on, you practically stabbed him in the heart. He was inconsolable until I dosed him with enough whiskey to sedate an elephant.”
Calladia cringed. “Is he okay? I really didn’t mean to stab him.”
“Oh, he’s fine.” Bronwyn snorted. “The wolves heal quickly, and I got paramedic training once I realized how often they were going to kick off in the restaurant. Thankfully, they pay for renovations, and Ranulf has a woodworking shop, so we never run out of furniture.”
“I’m glad Kai is all right,” Calladia said. Astaroth mumbled something that sounded like “I’m not,” but Calladia ignored him. “Let me give you my card info to pay for lunch.”
Once payment was sorted, Calladia asked Bronwyn about the next step to find Isobel.
“I looked up our notes, and it says go northeast until you see two mountains that look like boobs. The town of Griffin’s Nest is at the top of a hill, and after that, the road forks. You’ll take the right fork down into a valley. Cross the river, and when the road ends, hike due north at the bat sign and look for a red door.”
Calladia blinked. “That was way less cryptic than I thought it would be.”
Bronwyn’s exhale was loud. “Yeah, well, after the thirtieth time telling a confused tourist, ‘Seek nature’s motherly embrace, and where one might take flight, instead venture low,’ you get kinda sick of it.”
Before she hung up, the dryad gave a final warning.
“You really made an impression,” Bronwyn said. “I’m not sure if Kai wants to murder you or marry you on the spot, but keep an eye out, because the wolves are on the hunt.”
“Thanks, Bronwyn,” Calladia said. “I owe you one.”
After Calladia hung up, she looked at Astaroth. “Mountains that look like boobs,” she said. “Sounds easy enough.”
“Kai wants to marry you?” Astaroth sounded appalled. “For stabbing him?”
“You aren’t more worried about the murder bit?” Calladia asked, though she was pretty sure the dryad had been exaggerating.
Astaroth made a scornful noise. “As if he were capable of it. You’d kick his arse halfway to the moon.”
Warmth filled Calladia’s chest at his assessment. “Anyway,” she said, pulling onto the road again, “he’s not going to get the chance to murder or marry me. I like living, and I’m far too busy for romance.”
Astaroth picked at the fabric of his faux-leather pants, brushing away invisible specks of dust. “You don’t seem that busy to me.”
She scowled. “Because I’m babysitting you, rather than following my normal routine.”
“And your normal routine is so full of meaningful activity you have no room for romance?”
Calladia’s stomach twisted uncomfortably, because no, her life wasn’t full of much meaningful activity. She had her friends, her clients at the gym, and her hobbies, but there was a fundamental hollowness behind that. The kind of ache that swelled when she ate dinner alone or when she lay awake at night, wondering what the point of all of it was. The ache that turned into sharp pain when she thought of her absent father and perpetually disappointed mother, and how she would never be good enough for them.
“I have more important things to focus on, that’s all,” she said. “And men are more trouble than they’re worth.”
“Men are definitely trouble,” he agreed. “But trouble can be fun.”
She snorted as she took a hairpin curve. Past the railing, the ground dropped away sharply, tumbling toward a river far below. “Are you advocating for me to date Kai?”
“No!” Astaroth exclaimed. “Absolutely not. I’m just curious about your anti-romance stance.”
She shot him a glance. He sounded more than just curious. She was reminded of how possessive he’d been over her and how jealous he’d seemed of Kai.
But that couldn’t be right, could it? Maybe he was feeling some kind of involuntary physical attraction, one as inconvenient for him as it was for her. Or maybe he didn’t want anyone stealing her away before she helped him recover his memories.
Calladia didn’t like talking about her past heartache, but in the close air of the cab, with the engine rumbling and the landscape spreading below like a green-and-gray tapestry, it felt right to let the words spill out.
“I haven’t had the best experience dating,” she said past a lump in her throat. “Life is easier if I don’t do it at all.”
She braced herself for some snarky comment, but he seemed to be considering her words carefully.
“Bad experiences with multiple men?” he finally asked.
Calladia shook her head. “Just one.”
“Is he still alive?”
She tried to laugh, but it was a broken thing. “Yes, and still in possession of both hands.” Sam was probably thriving in his hoity-toity professor job, teaching students about ethics in the clinical, abstract manner that ought to have been a red flag that he saw ethics as no more than an intellectual exercise. Undergrads would worship him; hadn’t she, after all? He would bask in their adulation and, if the opportunity presented itself, one of those starry-eyed worshippers would end up in his bed, convinced she was sophisticated beyond her years. Convinced a happily-ever-after was just down the line.
She was squeezing the steering wheel tightly enough to hurt, so she forced herself to relax her fingers.
“Calladia,” Astaroth said in a low voice. “Pull over.”
There was a scenic lookout ahead, and Calladia’s eyes were getting watery, so she pulled into a parking spot at the edge of the cliff. She shut off the engine, then blinked hard to suppress any incipient tears before facing Astaroth.
Without the distraction of driving, she was forced to acknowledge how close they were sitting. Clifford was mighty but small, and there were no cupholders dividing the old-fashioned bench seat. Astaroth could shift a foot or two over and be pressed up against her.
She’d never seen him look quite like this. The usual ironic slant of his features was gone, replaced by deadly seriousness. His crystal-blue eyes bored into her, and she shifted, feeling like he was looking under her skin.
“Do you want to tell me about him?” Astaroth asked.
She still couldn’t laugh right. After a pathetic sort of wheeze, she asked, “What is this, demonic psychotherapy?”
He didn’t blink. “I mean it.”
Tell the sexy demon she hated—or ought to hate—all the sordid details of her embarrassing failed relationship? The story made her look like a fool, but it was alarming how tempting the prospect was. The two of them were alone in the wilderness, with no shared past and no shared future. They were stuck together in the suspended moments between the end of one story and the beginning of another.
Her next story wouldn’t include him, which meant her confessions wouldn’t follow her like vengeful ghosts, but vulnerability wasn’t something she knew how to do anymore. Fighting thirty werewolves? Easy. Stripping back her armor to reveal the soft, wounded creature beneath?
Impossible.
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I can’t.” And then, because she didn’t like the unsettling feeling that she was slamming the door on a possibility, she clarified. “Not now, at least.”
Astaroth nodded. “If you ever want to, I’ll listen. And Calladia . . .” He set his hand on the bench, his pinkie finger a scant inch from her own, so close she felt the heat radiating from his skin. “You’re a good person, even if you don’t always believe it, but I’m not. Say the word, and I’ll punish him in the vilest ways you can imagine.”
Calladia’s breath hitched at the deadly promise. Her fingers twitched, and she almost hooked her pinkie finger over his.
She came to her senses just before she made contact. “Thank you,” she said, pulling her hand back into her lap and wondering if this was the beginning stage of madness. The words came out breathy, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “That’s a very generous offer. I won’t lie and say I haven’t imagined castrating him, but I think the police would frown on it.”
“You think human police would be able to stop me?” His smile was grim. “I’ve been around a long time, Calladia. Just because these are less violent times doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how to be a monster.”
Shit. She shouldn’t like that as much as she did. What kind of person threatened to destroy someone’s sucky ex? And what kind of person found the idea not just intriguing, but titillating? Her lower belly felt tight, and the throb of arousal between her legs grew heavier with every moment their eyes stayed locked.
Calladia licked her lips, and Astaroth’s eyes tracked the movement. He shifted closer, and she canted toward him in response, as if drawn by a magnet.
Alarm bells shrieked in Calladia’s head. This was a demon, not some harmless date she’d swiped right on using Bumbelina or one of the other supernatural dating apps. He had horns, and that model-gorgeous face hid a cunning and ruthless mind.
Still, she wondered. What would he taste like?
“A mistake,” she blurted.
Astaroth shook his head and blinked rapidly as if emerging from a spell. “What?”
Calladia fumbled with the keys, looking anywhere but at him. Dear Hecate, had she really been about six inches and one very bad decision away from kissing her nemesis? The demon who had tried to hurt her friend mere days ago? “Castrating my ex would be a mistake,” she said, voice higher-pitched than normal. “Or any other maiming.”
“What about light torture?” Astaroth asked, clearly aiming for levity but failing. The strain was as evident in his voice as it was in hers.
“No torture.” Her heart raced, and the dizziness she felt as she reversed away from the cliff had nothing to do with the height. “The best revenge is to forget him and live a happy life.”
“How odd,” Astaroth said. “I always heard the best revenge was flaying a bloke alive, forcing him to eat his own liver, and lighting him on fire.” He’d recovered the edge of snark that hinted he was probably kidding.
Calladia played along. “We really need to work on your conflict resolution skills.”
Astaroth might be joking about flaying people alive, but he hadn’t been kidding about taking vengeance on her ex. He’d let his smiling mask slip, and for maybe the first time in their brief acquaintance, she’d seen the true monster beneath, the one that had spent six centuries in the hunt for power.
Whatever Astaroth said, Calladia wasn’t a good person. How could she be, when seeing the monster inside . . . just made her want him more?
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