Page 41 of Darkness

The do-gooder in question patted her hair, lifting her nose into the air almost comically. “Keep lying to yourself. I prefer to think of myself as a businesswoman.”

"What's the deal with the woman from the other night?"

“Piper? She’s visiting family and currently has no need for my services. I’ll return to her in the morning.”

“And she’s aware of your presence.” How weird to share your body with another.

"Aware and grateful, I promise you." Jessa’s smile became sly. "You know, there are males from my species I could introduce you to just to test the theory of your total lack of interest."

“Who’d suck my soul dry?” Maybe being fucked to death might be better than drinking himself to death.

Jessa shrugged what must have been the most elegant shoulder roll in the history of shoulder rolls. “Some you call incubi might want to, but I wouldn’t allow any to harm you, nor would I introduce you to any who wouldn’t play nice. Remember, if you ever get lonely, you’d make a lovely meal for somebody.”

Morrisey fought a shudder. Sleep with someone in a dead person’s body? Or maybe they shared a body, like Jessa, but then could allowing help really be called consent? Celibacy would be the best option. “Then I’ll try not to get lonely.”

“Fair enough. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see my mark coming through the door. Would you mind relinquishing your barstool, dear?” Jessa batted her lashes. Oh, yes. He clearly could see how she’d have a man eating from her hand in short order, even without any type of supernatural power.

“One question before I go?”

“Yes?” Amusement played over Jessa’s lips.

“Why not feed at a sex club?”

Jessa laughed, a musical sound. “Too easy for those who wish to harm or capture us—a novice mistake. Besides, I don’t hunt in company.”

Morrisey eyed the door as a man drew closer. Definitely not what he’d expected, considering the youthful, lovely Sheila. The approaching man must’ve been a bare minimum of twenty years older, and though still attractive in a businessman sort of way, his body showed signs of a life lived in excess: spreading girth, red capillaries adorning his nose. Based on his expensive suit, he had no need for the proceeds from selling Granny’s things unless they were worth one hell of a lot.

Morrisey paid his bill, left a tip, and then retreated. The man didn’t see him, having eyes only for the blonde. He swooped in to kiss her cheek, gently resting his palm on her thigh and inching her skirt upward.

Jessa turned her head, letting the kiss brush her hair while shoving the hand away. Yeah, let the bastard get a taste of hairspray.

The guy better watch out. Without a doubt, Jessa had no qualms about removing his hand at the wrist. How Morrisey knew such a thing, he didn’t understand, yet he felt certainty down to his toes.

He shuddered. Morrisey didn’t fear many people but might make an exception for Jessa. Demon Jessa.

Her mark’s eyebrows reached for his receding hairline. No need to be a demon to recognize a predator, though no other images blurred with the man’s pudgy face. Jessa whirled on the stool, grabbing the man’s wrist. He yanked back, but Jessa held strong.

Morrisey turned and left the bar, leaving Sheila in safe yet dangerous—for the man—hands.

Jessa didn’t trust the task force. Morrisey didn’t either if they’d taken to stalking. Was Austen with them? Morrisey imagined Austen’s eyes on him. Young, beautiful Austen. Way out of a used-up detective’s league.

But those eyes, those lips.

An ass to die for.

Nope, not good to dwell on such things, especially when Morrisey was about ninety percent sure they’d soon be coworkers. If one of those… beings… caused the breakdown that led to Will’s death, then Morrisey had a score to settle no matter who he used to pursue vengeance. He owed Will, Will’s widowed wife and orphaned kids, but most of all, Morrisey owed himself to do the right fucking thing for once.

And then he could go the rest of his days without having to pass the spot where Will took his life or look across the desk to see… not Will.

Better to leave the precinct completely.

Yet an air of mystery hid beneath the surface with Austen. An innate goodness, much like the angel he resembled. Morrisey shivered, imagining warming himself by the bright fire of Farren Austen.

The other ten percentage points slid into place. Yeah, Morrisey would accept the job offer.

And hope to hell he wasn’t making a mistake.

Chapter Fifteen

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