Page 4 of Demon Stalked
“Yes!” She claps her hands together with a beaming smile. “Is this for a girlfriend, mi amore? A wife?”
“Not yet.” I lightly trace a seam on a second dress. “But soon. Now, can you help me with this?”
By the end of this week, Katrina will be mine once more.
2
KATRINA
Miserable doesn’t begin to describe how I feel. I stand in the shallow end of the pool, as lifeless as any stupid inflatable toy, while Adam splashes all around me.
Everything reminds me of them. Everything.
I’ll see a guy walk through the hotel in a suit, and I’ll start to tear up, remembering Zolroth’s ridiculous fashion obsession. I’ll see some woman adjust her earrings, and my throat will close, remembering how Akor took me on a wild shoplifting adventure. A rom com on television? Forget it. Goner. Sobbing into my pillow and remembering Van, wondering if he likes this movie, or what his critiques of it might be. Jeopardy, text books, anything that might remind me of decathlon—I shove all my books in the back of the closet because it just makes me think of Kastros and his silent looming and hard truths. I can hardly stand to play with some of Adam’s action figures, knowing that the last person to touch them was Raz. It’s almost as if I can feel his phantom touch, his lips.
School has been absolute Hell. Every class, I’ve had to avoid Zolroth trying to sit next to me or talk to me. I’ve ignored about twenty notes from the school counselor’s office getting me out of class, much to the dismay and confusion of my teachers. Because who the fuck says no to the counselor’s office? They have donuts. Even the teachers try and sneak in there. And now that Van, the lust demon, is posing as a counselor, every damn girl in the school is trying to go to counseling as often as she can.
Every girl but me.
Because if I get close, a stupid flock of white-feathered, halo-wearing shitheads will hurt him. Him and the rest of the demons.
I’ve skipped decathlon, my favorite thing, for three days straight in order to avoid seeing Kastros, the silent vengeance demon. Instead, I’ve come back to the hotel and put on violent movies, the kind of thing I can’t watch when Adam is around, remembering the night that Kastros destroyed my house and the look in his eyes.
It was so…fucking hot.
I’ve been jilling off to movies likeDie Hard, to my utter and complete shame, because their badassery reminds me of him.
But I shouldn’t even be thinking about him. I shouldn’t be thinking about any of them. They’re leaving. And that’s that.
It doesn’t matter that Raz—who’s been posing as my gym teacher—pulled me aside in gym class today and shoved me up against the door of his office as soon as we were away from other students’ eyes. It doesn’t matter that his hand traced my cheek as he told me I was never going to get my way.
My hand lifts now to trace my cheek, but as soon as I realize it, I shove that traitorous limb back down. “I’ll cut you off,” I threaten.
My body is not on board with this whole “abandon my demons” idea. My nipples nearly jumped ship when Raz touched me earlier.
Too bad, so sad.
I’m no good for them. So this is how it’s gonna be.
“Katty! You’re supposed to be a shark!” Adam scolds, smacking his hand against the water and splashing me.
I give him a fake grin and comply, dipping my hand underwater until it looks like a shark fin and then starting theJawstheme song. “Dun-nuh. Dun-nuh.”
He squeals and starts to bounce away through the water. I follow slowly, trying to focus on how utterly adorable he is in his turtle floaty.
I do not allow myself to think about what the guys would be doing with him right now if they were here. Not at all. I don’t picture Raz and Kastros climbing into the pool, their amazing torsos on display as they launch my brother high in the air and let him splash down into the water. I don’t imagine Adam’s peals of laughter or the way Akor’s hand would try to reach around the side of my bikini and brush against my breast in public as his eyes dare me to stay still.
I’m really good at suppressing my thoughts, aren’t I? Like, expert level zero.
In an effort to distract myself from imagining Van—sauntering through the hotel in board shorts, bringing me a margarita, and insisting I drink it as I devour the sight of his happy trail—I turn my eyes over to a heavyset old business man who’s lounging in the hot tub.
He’s been at the hotel nearly as long as Adam and me. I only know because he uses the hot tub every single night, and I made the mistake of letting Adam get in there the first night after this guy had left. Adam came out covered in chest hair. At least…I hope it was chest hair.
Now we have a rule that we only use the pool.
Hairy old guy gives me a friendly wave, and I give him a nod in return, a subtle “thank you” for turning my thoughts away from longing and sexy times, and over to hygiene.
I chase Adam for a few minutes before I tell him I need a break. Then I climb out of the pool and wrap myself up in one of those scratchy, thin white hotel towels.
