All emotions drained from my face, and I pushed myself away from the bed like a cat faced with a bath.
“Mara?” Warren sat up, he reached out to me, but I flung my hands up to ward him away. I refused to look him in the eye.
“It’s nothing,” I whispered. “I’m tired.”
His look darkened as he sat up, pulling up his trousers. His obsidian eyes flashed in anger, and I flinched.
Warren's jaw rocked from side to side. Was he upset that I had rejected him? He looked ready to hit me. I didn’t know what to do. He was the leader of the Hunters. If he saw my true nature, if I defended myself, he would hunt me to the edge of the earth to bring me down.
I was used to being abused. Taken advantage of. Lower Demons had numbers, but not power. I had taken my fair share of licks.
I locked my body and closed my eyes, preparing for the blow.
“Mara?” Warren Davenport's tentative voice broke me from my rapid thoughts. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
My eyes fluttered open. I tilted my chin, confused. I said nothing.
Davenport clenched his fists “Has someone... In the past... Has anyone?”
I blinked slowly, unsure of where his question was heading.
Davenport growled and rubbed the scruff on his chin. “Has anyone... Hurt you?” He bit out the words as if they tasted foul.
“...Yes?” I was utterly bemused by his question. I had no idea why he wanted to know.
Davenport inhaled deeply. His eyes closed. It looked like he was counting to ten in his mind. “Sexually?” He did not open his eyes when he asked the question in a flat impassive voice.
I laughed, relieved. “No. I've never had anyone like that. Sexually. Romantically. It's just not been my thing.” I wanted to explain that the ability to touch and feel things was new to me, still a novelty, but I couldn’t.
I hated that I had to censor so much of myself. It fucking sucked.
“But you've been hurt in other ways?” he asked.
I shrugged. I was old. Remembering past tortures became tedious after a while. Many of my enemies were dead. Ba'el, the once King of Wrath, had prided himself on collecting Drudes and experimenting on them inside of his fortress in the middle of the desert wastes. My kin never returned when they had been taken by Ba'el, but he had been too powerful to argue with.
Drudes shared pain. They were a hive mind. I had felt their screams, just as I had passively experienced the deaths of my family. Feeling their strength drain away as they were eaten alive piece by piece.
Thankfully, Ba'el was now dead. As were the Bhakshi and the Shayati.
Warren Davenport had gone stock still. I wanted to make a joke or tease him, but somehow it didn’t seem like the right them to do. He looked ready to blow.
Then the fire alarm rang. The sprinklers whirred to life, dousing the room in a thick mist of water, slapping me in the face. I wiped moisture out of my eyes, glaring up at the infernal device.
Davenport strode to the hotel phone, with a rigid set to his shoulders. He barked into the handset for a few seconds, before slamming it down onto the ancient device.
“It's just our room.” He said. “We should pack and get on the road while we're up. We can get breakfast before we go to see Dirk.”
The suspiciously timed alarm was ignored as I jumped on the spot and clapped. “We should do Lil Frankie's. We can drink prosecco.”
Davenport gave me an expression that I had come to know as his signature 'look.' It said more than words could, and right that second, it seemed to say:
There is so fucking way I am drinking sparkling wine over English Muffins.
“But I want prosecco.” I scrunched my nose and met his stare. His look continued and grew darker.
Eat whatever you want, but don't expect me to follow suit.
I crossed my arms over my chest and let out a loud hmph. His gaze melted into something smooth and decadent. My chest fluttered. Davenport liked it when I was bratty. I smiled wickedly. I could almost feel the burn of his palm across my bare ass. I squirmed, and he seemed to read my thoughts.
Instead of bending me over the bed and giving me the belt, the commander swung his duffle bag over his shoulders.
“Let’s go.” He said without room for argument. I took solace in the fact he rearranged his trousers discreetly, as he opened the door for me.
I liked his dark side.
Everyone knew about Lil Frankie’s in the East Village, but I had never gone inside.
Brunch wasn't high on my list of priorities, and the people that Dermot Dirk made me wear often made appearances at the Opera or Political rallies, not the kind of people that would go for inexpensive Italian food.
Warren managed to find a place to park a few blocks away. A marvel in itself.
Dressed in my borrowed 'pussy is my favorite food' shirt, sweats, and too large sneakers, I looked like a homeless person compared to Davenport—who had changed into a pair of dress pants and a white shirt. He had offered to find a Target so I could get a change of clothes, but I wanted to get the day over with as quickly as possible—it would be painful enough to see Dirk and tell him about the situation.
The thought of leaving the Hunters filled me with unfamiliar emotion. My eyes welled up, and I struggled to breathe. Seven Hell’s, I needed a slap.
I thought about my men. Each one different in their own way. Each friendship offering something that I hadn’t known I needed.
I had felt like I had been missing pieces of myself for so long. When I had seen Hugo's Bond mark, I had felt whole again, even if just for a second. I could see myself with each of the Hunters I had grown close to. Remi, Jae, Hart, and even Davenport, though there was no guarantee that they were mine.
The idea of tying myself to someone else frightened me. I liked knowing that I could escape a body at a moment’s notice and borrow someone’s life for a short while. Experience new foods, new feelings, and memories. Every human experienced things like taste, pain, and love differently.
What would happen if I was Bonded?
Could I be tied to one person for my entire existence? No. But all of them? The idea seemed to tear the fabric of my soul in several directions. I wanted so badly to belong to them and to claim them.
If only they weren’t Hunters.
I did a double-take as I walked past the beige wall covered in generic painted landscapes and photos. Davenport's hand brushed my waist as he led us to our seats.
“Did you tell Remi that we were coming here?” I asked, cocking my head to the side as Warren continued to lead me to the other side of the restaurant. “Why aren't we sitting together?”
Remington Weber sat under a row of mirrors, alone at a table for two, with his head dipped behind a menu. His lips were pulled down, and he looked troubled.
I wondered if Remi was angry at me for escaping out of a window. I couldn’t see it. Remi was too sunny to hold a grudge.
Warren continued to lead me away, even when I tried to turn. He swore under his breath as the host showed us another table.
I craned my neck before I raised my hand to get Remi's attention. Davenport gave me a look, and I slowly folded my fingers into a fist and rested it against my chest.
“What?” I quirked a brow.
Davenport shook his head and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He plucked a menu from the side and began to peruse it.
I put my hand on the laminated sheet and lowered it to the table. “Do you not like Remi or something?”