Page 45 of Demon Hunter

I’m about to ask how he could possibly have missed it when the sales-design-whosit tells Dylan how much the couch costs. My head whips around so fast, I hear my neck crack. “I’m sorry,how much?”

“How much what? What are you talking about?” Ian complains.

“The couch that costs almost as much as a brand-new car.”

The sales guy coughs lightly. “That’s a slight exaggeration.” His condescending tone just adds to my annoyance, and I’m about to tell him where he can shove his overpriced but shockingly comfortable couch, but Marc stops me.

“I believe you’ll find it isn’t,” he says to the guy in a voice so cold, I’m surprised icicles don’t form. “Perhaps we should patronize a store where the associates have a better grasp of economics, Dylan.”

Okay, my brain is still groggy from my almost-nap, but did Marc just defend me?

“Maybe we should,” Dyl agrees. “I like the couch, and I also like that chair you pointed out, but since my boyfriend has to live with my choices as well, I don’t think his opinion should be ignored.” He smiles at me. “Right, Matt?”

The sales guy goes pale. Losing commission on a couchanda chair? Because I’m a petty bitch and like to rub salt in wounds, I add, “Yeah, maybe. Though that rug over there is really nice. Do you think we can find something like it someplace else?”

“There’s no need for that,” the guy jumps in, his smile shaky. “I misspoke earlier—you did sayalmost, after all, and that’s certainly true. I wouldn’t want to put you gentlemen to any inconvenience when we can easily assist you here.”

Ian snickers like an asshole, but I can’t say I blame him.

“We would be late for the ballet if we had to begin again elsewhere,” Marc muses.

“Oh, you’re going to the ballet? How lovely! It’s stillDos Mujeresthis weekend, isn’t it? I lovedCarmen, of course, butBroken Wings…” He gasps and presses a hand to his chest. “Frida Kahlo lived such a life.”

Ian and I look at each other. What the hell is he talking about?Dos Mujeres… I know enough Spanish to know that means “two women.” But I don’t speak ballet at all, so fuck knows what the rest means.

My bestie shrugs, reading my thoughts perfectly like always. Well, almost always. He missed it when I was mentally screaming at himnotto fuck the demon and fall in love.

“She truly did,” Marc agrees. “Not many know this, but she was offered the opportunity to take a far easier path, and she refused it.”

Uhhhh… what thefuck?

Ian scrambles to his feet. “Well, we don’t want to be late for the ballet, so maybe we shouldstop talkingand start buying.” He claps his hands like a preschool teacher. “Chop-chop!”

It’s my turn to snicker like an asshole, but he has a point. Marc can’t be going around spilling demon secrets to normies. “I like this couch,” I add, swallowing my instinctive urge to add that it’s not worth the price. Dylan’s current couch is just goo— Okay, so I can’t honestly finish that sentence, but it’sfine. Ish. It can be replaced for a lot less than the cost of this one, anyway.

“Me too,” Dylan says firmly, shocking the pants off me. “In the brown leather.”

“The toffee? Absolutely. An excellent choice,” the guy gushes.

“And that chair in the striped fabric we looked at before,” Dyl adds.

Marc nods approvingly. “An excellent combination.”

“It truly is,” sales guy agrees. “Your boyfriend also mentioned a rug? The one he likes comes in a muted olive and taupe that will complement both pieces perfectly.”

Score one for my big mouth. “Actually, now that I think about it?—”

“Could we see a sample?” Dylan interrupts, and Marc smiles. The sales guy hurries off to get his carpet swatches—because that’s a real thing, oh my god—and Dylan turns his gaze on us. “You guys suck.”

“What?” I protest. “I didn’t?—”

“We promised Marc we could do what he wanted, so stop sulking. I can’t believe you fell asleep in a public place.”

“Not all the way asleep,” Ian defends.

Before Dylan and Marc can tell him what they think of that argument, I cut in. “Babe, this stuff is… It’s nice, don’t get me wrong. I would totally have an affair with this couch. But it’s pricey.”

“I have the money, and this furniture is solid. Make sure you like it, because we’re keeping it forever.” He gives me a look that says not to question him further, and I remember suddenly that his dad was good with investments—which Dylan inherited. Plus, the only thing he spends money on is his tech, and most of that is expensed back to the Collective.

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