Page 45 of Higher Demon

Marc

He said it.I didn’t think he would, despite my goading. This leaves me in somewhat of a quandary. I’ve spent the last week trying not to stew over that kiss, by turns equally wanting more, infuriated by Ian’s avoidance of me, and worried about what it means for my ambassadorship. I’d all but decided to leave it up to him how to deal with it—after all, there can be no disputing that I have the upper hand in any situation between us, no matter how difficult humans are to understand.

Then he had the nerve to pretend it never happened. As though it wasn’t even worth noting. As though it was so trivial, he didn’t even need to bring it up. Despite my better judgment insisting that was the ideal outcome, I couldn’t let him get away with it.

Which brings us to now. He’s said it… acknowledged that he kissed me. And I somehow have to make that… acceptable. Not a disaster.

Not something I want to do again.

I nod. “What did you find out about the Highett family?”

He stares at me, jaw dropping. “What?”

“You were saying you’d found some information about the Highett family,” I prompt.

“I… Seriously?Seriously?” He’s shouting now, swinging his feet to the floor and leaning forward in the chair, color high on his cheekbones. With his dark hair mussed and his eyes blazing, he’s… edible. But not in the way most humans think demons want to eat them.

“Yes, seriously,” I say calmly. It’s easy to be calm now that he’s riled. Easy to enjoy the way he reacts to my lack of reaction. Since I met him—again—that’s been one of my favorite things to do: feign a total lack of interest and watch his blood pressure rise.

“No. No. Uh-uh.” He gets to his feet and marches over to loom above me. “No fucking way. You wanted me to say it, and I did. Now it’s real, and it happened, and we can’t ignore it. So let’s talk about it.”

I shrug. “What’s to say?”

His whole face goes dark red. “What’s to…What’s to say?What’s to fucking say? How about, ‘Holy crap, Ian, that kiss was fucking dynamite!’ Or ‘When can we do that again?’ Or ‘I can’t fucking wait to get on my knees and suck your brains out through your cock’?”

The image of doing that isn’t the only thing that rises, and I’m grateful to be sitting. Though if he looks at my lap, there’s no way he can miss it. These human bodies don’t keep desire a secret.

What would happen if he did look?

What would happen if I repeated one of those questions?

If I slid to my knees… or suggested he slide to his?

“You forgot ‘This is a really fucking bad idea,’” I say instead, and his shoulders sag, the ire draining from him.

“Yeah. I didn’t forget. But… Never mind.” He half turns away, and before I can think better of it, words tumble from my mouth.

“What would happen if I did say any of those things?”

Ian freezes, then whips back to look at me. It’s odd, having him tower over me like this, but even though from the outside, it puts him in a position of dominance, we both know that’s not true. That no matter what perceived dominance I give him, the real power will always be mine.

Our eyes lock, and for an endless, breathless moment, we stare.

“I don’t know,” he whispers finally, shattering the moment, and I nod.

“I don’t either. Let’s… put it aside for now. What did you find out about the Highetts?” The deepest part of me is disappointed. I want to confront this, force Ian to make a decision. The truth, though, is if I did that, he’d likely choose the easy option, the one that would have us pretending nothing ever happened. And I want that even less.

So I straighten my cuffs as he stumbles back to the armchair, despite the couch being right here and having plenty of room. I give him a moment to collect his thoughts, and when he speaks again, I listen as though I wouldn’t rather be stripping him out of those disgusting clothes and exploring every inch of his skin.

“The Highetts—” He stops and clears his throat. “You were at least partly right about them. It took some digging, but I have a record that says Aloysius Highett came to the Collective in 1587 after another hunter, Henry Cooper, found him fighting a bone demon. Cooper helped him, recognized that Highett had hunter powers, and invited him to join. Since Cooper was a member in good standing, nobody questioned his version of events.”

“Why would they?” I murmur, thinking it over and trying not to dwell on the way he called plenachti “bone demons.” Humans have no creativity. But that scenario sounds like a classic setup to me. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance Cooper kept a diary that’s survived all this time? Something where he’s written the details of the fight? It would be interesting to know if he questioned how little Highett participated in the actual murder of the demon.”

Ian flinches at my use of “murder,” but I can’t pretend it’s anything else to us. Especially in regard to lesser demons who are summoned to Earth by other humans, forced to be here, only for hunters to kill them for something they had no say in to begin with. Our new diplomatic relations might have put a stop to that kind of wanton murder—mostly—but the centuries of history remain the same. Even before humans discovered the power of a summoning circle, there were the stupid few who would attempt to bargain.

“If he did, I haven’t found it” is all he says. “It would be in the archives at the York compound, anyway, and unless he did something really noteworthy—which I doubt, since I’d never heard of him before this—there’s no reason for them to have scanned it into the electronic database yet. The York compound has a thousand years’ worth of records, and they’re prioritizing them for digitization based on what’s important. Some random mid-rank hunter’s diary would be way down the list… if it even exists.”

“It’s not important; I was just curious. As it happens, I have a friend asking some discreet questions, and this information may help. Do you have a location, by any chance? Something more specific than ‘England.’”

---