Page 38 of Higher Demon

I lift a shoulder. “I’ve heard of it.”

“Yikes,” Dylan exclaims. “I’m gonna leave you guys to it. Show him Insta, talk him into some pics, and I’ll get started with what I’ve got. Don’t worry, McFuckface, we’re going to convince the people who matter that having you here is a good thing. Or die trying.”

That would probably be more amusing if it weren’t so true.

Chapter15

Ian

Coffee.Where is coffee?

I stumble zombie-like into the hall and blankly look both ways. This isn’t my house.

That’s right. Marc’s house. Coffee.

Sheer luck gets me to the bottom of the stairs unscathed, but I’m still not awake enough to remember which way the kitchen is. I take a chance and turn left. Which gets me to the front door. I stare at it for a moment before realizing I can’t go any farther.

Dammit.

At least I know which way the kitchen is now. Turning around, I shuffle back down the hallway and finally reach the home of coffee. Looking around, I try to locate it… and whimper.

“Is something wrong?”

“Gahhh!” I leap at least three feet vertically, then spin around, clutching my chest. “What the fuck, dude? Give a guy some warning!”

Marc smirks at me. “Your hunter instincts seem to have failed you.”

“Yeah, well…” I got nothing, so I just make big sad eyes at him and beg, “Please tell me you have coffee.”

“Of course. It’s one of the few things you humans have done right.” He steps past me and strolls over to a floor-to-ceiling cabinet, opening it to reveal a super fancy coffee machine. “What would you like?”

I blink. “Coffee?”

“Espresso?” he asks, and I squint.

“That’s a good start.”

Disappointment fills me when he pulls out a container of coffee beans and a grinder. This is going to take forever. I drag myself to the island and sprawl onto one of the stools, letting my thoughts drift in the pre-caffeine haze that is my brain.

The chink of a cup being set on the island brings me back, and I stare down at the tiny serve of dark heaven in front of me.

“Drink that,” Marc orders. “What next?”

I think about it for a second. My go-to at home is drip coffee from the twenty-year-old coffeemaker I inherited from Connor. But when someone else is making it with an actual espresso machine… “Latte. Uh, do you have any syrup?”

Expressionlessly, he gestures toward the cabinet behind us. I twist around to look and see that the shelf below the machine has a row of flavored syrups. “Hazelnut. Please?”

The big bad demon says nothing as he goes back to being my personal barista, and I take a cautious sip from the cup.

Wow. That’s fucking good.

I finish it in no time, the caffeine injection starting the process of braining, and while I wait for the full effects to kick in, I watch Marc make my latte. He seems to know exactly what he’s doing, which is weird. Can’t he just magic up coffee? Why learn how to use what looks like a professional-grade espresso machine?

Yet he’s so competent and focused, with his coffee grinder and his tamping-down thingy and his ass that looks incredible in those pants.

Whoa.

I need more caffeine, fast.

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