Page 44 of Demon Hunter

“He’s been delightfully absent,” Marc says, and Ian glares at him.

“Don’t be a dick. He’s still my uncle. But yeah, he’s been popping in every, like, three days, asking if we’re okay, then leaving again. He seems kind of… frantic?”

“He checks in with me every morning,” Matt adds, which I knew. It’s always when I’m still asleep, and I can’t decide if that’s coincidence or not. “Basically does the same thing: asks if I’m okay, if I’ve seen anyone suspicious, if our security is good. Once he mentioned that he thought he had a lead, but he disappeared before I could get details, and he hasn’t given me a chance to ask again.”

“He’s being useful,” Marc observes. “Let’s not… what’s that sweet little human expression? Something about equine gift giving.”

Our blank faces make him sigh, and then I get it. “Do you mean, ‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’?”

He snaps his fingers. “That’s the one. So twee.”

“Twee?” Matt asks. “What the fuck does ‘twee’ mean?”

“Are you making words up?” Ian demands. “That’s such a douche move, babe. We talked about this. You gotta try to be nicer.” He looks his boyfriend up and down. “I’m rethinking my generosity in letting you wear the suit.”

“The suit is going to get us proper service while we shop for Dylan’s new furniture.” Marc’s smile is pure evil as his boyfriend’s face falls. “Speaking of our outing, I believe I was promised lunch at the Ritz-Carlton.” His gaze drifts over us all. “You’ll need to change.”

Chapter 19

Matt

I’ve never been sobored in my entire life. That’s really saying something, because when I finished college, I did a stint working in the archives with Ian, and for a while everyone was worried I’d developed some kind of sleeping disorder. As in, I literally fell asleep while checking documents.

This is even worse than that.

“It’s a couch,” Ian mutters beside me. “Why does it have to come in so many different colors and… stuff?”

I shrug. I’ve never really cared what color the furniture is. I mean, I’ve never actually been shopping for furniture—the stuff Ian and I have in the house was just picked over from what was in our parents’ houses. After the Battle, when Gabe and Con decided to make their move to Illinois official and permanent, we all sat down to talk about the houses. Our parents were gone, and even though technically the Collective’s bylaws state that treason means forfeiture of all property within a Collective compound, nobody was going to argue that we shouldn’t inherit it—not after we saved their bacon.

The final decision was that we didn’t need two four-bedroom houses for just me and Ian, and, truthfully, neither of us wanted to live in those houses again—not knowing what our parents haddone. We told the housing committee we wanted to trade them both for a three-bedroom one. Family housing is at a premium in the compound, so they were only too happy to agree, and then we kept the furniture and other stuff that was in the nicest condition and fit the best in the new house, and told the housing committee to take the rest for the dorms.

So, yeah—never had to buy new furniture in my life. I think our couch is brown. Though it might be beige. Or black. It’s definitely either leather or vinyl, because when we spill drinks, they’re easy to clean up. What more does a guy need in a couch?

A lot, apparently, since Marc and Dylan have been talking to the salesman—excuse me, design associate—for fifteen minutes. Dyl even looks a little interested.

“At least it’s comfortable,” I tell Ian, slumping further into the cushions. That’s the main reason I told Dylan I liked this one—because I’ve been sitting on it for nearly half an hour now, and my ass isn’t numb. Not like the first one Marc thought was good.

“True. Man, I could go for a nap right now. Think they’d notice?”

On cue, Marc looks sharply in our direction, eyes narrowed. Damn his demon hearing.

“He noticed,” I point out.

“Yeah. I fucking hate when he does that. A guy can’t get away with anything when his boyfriend has super hearing.”

I don’t bother to respond; what’s there to say? “I told you not to hook up with the demon who tried to kill your brother” is mean, since they’re in a committed relationship. Besides, Ian’s idea of a nap is really appealing, and if I keep my trap shut, Marc might not notice.

Snuggling deeper into the couch I’m really glad Dylan’s going to buy, I let my eyes drift shut. Despite my best efforts, I didn’t sleep well after that stupid dream woke me, and lunch, though way fancier than I’m used to, wasgood. I thought all that fussyrich people food was supposed to be more for show than actual eating, but I wouldn’t complain if I ate it every now and then. There was this steak thing… hell yeah. I had three courses and cheese, because according to Marc, cheese completes the meal. I don’t know about that, but the cheese was good too. I amstuffed, I’m tired, and I’m bored. Definitely the perfect combination for a little doze.

My thoughts drift randomly as the sound of Ian’s regular breathing tells me he’s doing the same as me, and I sink deeper into?—

A car alarm starts going off. It’s not close—maybe a block away? Just close enough for the high-pitched sound to travel and drive meinsane. I wait for the owner to turn the damn thing off, but seconds turn into minutes, and finally I huff and open my eyes. “That’s so fucking inconsiderate,” I mutter, sitting up straight.

“Wha? Huh?” Ian jerks awake. Marc turns to glare at us both.

“The car alarm,” I explain to my bestie, just as it stops. “Finally.”

He rolls his eyes. “You woke me for that? I couldn’t even hear it.”

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