Ash scooped up his shiny new cell phone from the upside-down milk crate that was his nightstand and flopped on his back onto the rock-hard mattress on the floor that was his bed.
His room was a shithole—their whole flat was. The window was small and ugly, the hardwood flooring needed replacing twenty years ago, and none of the walls were straight. Besides the milk crate and his bed, there was only enough room for a dresser and a small desk jammed into the far corner. At least there was fresh paint on the walls, though they’d gone and ruined that with the wards.
Ignoring his drab surroundings, he searched his memory for the number he’d been given at the nightclub and typed it into his phone. Then, he hovered his thumb over the green “call” button, feeling indecisive.
Yeah, he wanted to get laid, and he hadn’t come close to forgetting the sultry Eva and the way she’d responded to his kiss, but he’d also been killing gargoyles and trying to lay low all week, and he really didn’t need any more complications. His idiot brothers were enough.
Meph was unhinged, Raum was a broody motherfucker, and though Bel managed to keep in line most of the time, he had serious anger-management issues that could blow up at the drop of a hat.
Ash seemed to be the only one of his brothers that could talk Bel down from the edge and keep his own emotions in check. That meant he often ended up taking charge, not that he wanted to, and he’d kind of fallen into a pattern of being the reliable, dependable guy who didn’t do stupid shit and was always there to bail out his brothers when they inevitably did.
Fuck that, he decided. He wasn’t going to be that guy. In Hell, there were no such things as nice guys. Nice guys were dead guys. And Ash wasn’t fucking nice. He was just bored and boring because he’d been cursed, and his job sucked, and he was sick to death of doing the same damn thing day after day, year after year, millennium after millennium.
His thumb smacked that call button like an act of defiance to his old, mediocre existence, and he held the phone up to his ear anddaredEva not to answer it.
She wasn’t going to get away from him again. Not until he’d had his fill of her.
Eva scooped honey from the jar into her mug and stirred diligently while Thelonious wound around her legs, making sure he covered every inch of her pants in cat hair.
“You need to use self-control, Skye. You’ve got to make him wait.”
Her best friend sprawled on the couch across the room and sighed dramatically. “But he was so hot, Eva.”
“The jerks always are.”
“I thought for sure he’d call, and damn it, he gave me, like, three orgasms first. How could I refuse? It’s not my fault I love sex.”
She scooped more honey into Skye’s cup and stirred that in too. “I don’t blame you. Women have needs too. I’m just saying, men are predictable. If you want him to stick around, you’ve got to make him work for it. If he’s in it just to get laid, he’ll give up, and you’ll be glad you didn’t waste your time.”
Skye sighed again. “I’ve never been good at restraint.”
Poor Skye was the most impulsive person Eva knew, and she had a sex drive to rival any man’s. And she was beautiful too, to top it off, with olive skin and sleek, dark hair.
The problem was, she had terrible taste in men and was also searching for real love. Not a great combination.
“I think you need to learn how to look but not touch,” Eva suggested. “Every time you see a guy you like, you go wild. You should try just... enjoying him a little, without screwing his brains out on the first date.”
“You know what? You’re right.” Skye jerked upright on the sofa. “I’m swearing off men.”
Eva snorted and kept stirring the tea. “Yeah, for how long? Until next week?”
“Shut up! No. For six months.”
Eva’s brows climbed her forehead. “That’ll be a new record for you.”
“You don’t think I can do it?” Skye got that glint in her eyes that meant she was determined. And when she really made up her mind to do something, she damn well did it. It was one of the things Eva loved about her.
“Six months, no men,” she declared. “I will sign a contract in blood if that’s what it takes to make you believe me.”
“I believe you, but it might be fun to—”
Eva’s phone rang, buzzing around on the kitchen counter beside the kettle. Her ringtone was Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony because that infamous “dun dun dundunnn” was a pretty accurate representation of how she felt every time she got a phone call. Seriously, who called anyone anymore? It was way too personal.
She glanced at the screen and saw a number she didn’t recognize. Even worse.
“Who is it?”
“Dunno.”
