Turning back to Marcella, Delaney put a hand on her shoulder, giving her a firm shove away from Clyde. “Sit back down, Buffy—”
Clyde stuck his face between the two women. “Not Buffy. Technically, she was a vampire slayer. I’m not sure if she was ever involved with demons. In fact, I don’t know if there’s been a commercial demon slayer—”
“Did I tell you to put a sock in it?” Delaney asked.
“You did.”
“Then heed my warning, especially where the feisty, scarier-than-she-looks demon is concerned. Think buttloads of duct tape.”
Clyde leaned back once more against the pillows, letting his mouth turn into a thin line of silence.
“Now, Marcella, listen to me. No, we absolutely did not—not—”
“Have intercourse,” Clyde finished for her, looking too pleased that he’d helped her out.
Intercourse? How interesting. How institutional. How rather trip-to-the-gynecologist’s-like. Who said intercourse anymore? She gave Clyde another warning glance to clamp it. “What he said. Nothing happened. Nothing. Swear it on my poor, dead granny Glenda. As to why he’s in my bed, you got me. Now relax, Marcella. Everything’s fine.”
Now Marcella’s mouth fell open. “That’s all you have to say?”
Delaney nodded, pushing back the covers and grabbing her discarded sweater from last night. Less was always way more around Clyde. “For now, yep,” she said over her shoulder as she went to gather leashes to take the dogs out.
Both Clyde and Marcella were right behind her. “How about I do that?” Clyde offered. “You and your friend can talk.” He took the leashes from her hand, stooping to hook them on various collars while Marcella simmered.
The moment he went out the back door, Marcella hooked her thumbs in the loops of her hip-hugging black jeans and moved in on her. Delaney acknowledged the fear in her friend’s eyes, mingled with her outrage. “What have you done, Delaney? Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Jesus! You slept with a demon! If I sleep with a demon, it’s all good because I am a demon. Horns, scales, ugly shit. You? Not—a—demon! Remember? You know, that whole crossing over into the infernal light I haven’t even had a glimpse of? Remember that place? The one with wings and halos and puppy dogs’ tails or something. Have you lost your faculties? You’re a good guy, and good guys don’t do demons! What in the bloody fuck is going on?”
Delaney winced. Marcella was roaring—seething. That meant explanations better happen or she’d levitate. She’d lose her focus about halfway and crash to the ground, maybe break a high heel or something. With Marcella, that meant war.
If she told Marcella anything about why Clyde was here, it meant Marcella would have information she could eventually be hurt for. Possibly tortured for, and that left Delaney’s gut twisting and churning in absolute fear. What Clyde had told her last night left her afraid for everyone closely involved with her. So what to do, what do to? Stall. Think. Fast. “No, Marcella. I didn’t sleep with a demon.”
Marcella scoffed at her. “Okay, so you didn’t sleep. I imagine if I were in the same bed with Clyde, I wouldn’t be asleep either.”
She had to be very careful here. “You know exactly what I mean, Marcella. There was absolutely no hanky-panky. None. I’ll say it again. I don’t know how he ended up in my bed. I swear it on my secret stash of valerian root.”
Marcella’s stance eased a little. “Then what’s going on?”
Delaney blew out a breath, her stomach a tight ball of tension with what she was about to do. “Okay, I just need you to trust me here. We’ve been friends a long time, right?”
Her eyes narrowed in rightful suspicion. “Don’t play the friend card with me, Delaney Markham. Yes, we’ve been friends for a long time and in that time you’ve never done anything this dangerous or this stupid. Something’s up—I wanna know what.”
Her friend knew her well. “Answer the question. Have we or haven’t we?”
Marcella’s agitation grew in her terse reply. “We have.”
“Then I want you to remember that when I ask you to leave and not come back until I tell you to.”
She hardened, not just in her posture but in the tight fists that clenched at her sides. “The. Hell.”
Delaney kept her face unreadable, or at least she hoped that was the case. “Don’t give me that infamously stubborn, mouthy bullshit you pull like I’m Kellen. Go home. Trust that I can look out for myself, and I know what I’m doing, and that I wouldn’t ask you to leave unless I absolutely had to.”
“Nope.”
Damn her. “Do you remember when I once told you to keep our friendship on the down low? Like don’t go broadcasting our long lunches and flea market sprees? Remember, I made you swear to try and keep your mouth shut about it?”