“No buts, Annabelle.” Zacharel looked to the redhead. “And, Kaia. Behave.”
“Fine. But only because you somehow turned this black as night day into a bright shining light, so I’m gonna do you a solid and obey. Want to know how you did that, huh, huh? Good, I’ll tell you.” She barely paused to pop a bubble with her gum. “You used to give Lysander crap about dating my darling sister, but look at you now. You’re pulling a Paris and dating a Hunter, aren’t you, and they’re the worst of the worst!”
Pulling a Paris? A hunter?
Zacharel must have sensed Annabelle’s confusion. “The Hunters are fanatical slayers of the paranormal. They will do anything, even destroy an entire city of innocents, to meet their goals.”
“I am not a Hunter,” she snapped.
“That’s what they all say, honey.”
Zacharel released a long-suffering breath. To Kaia, he said, “Annabelle hasn’t yet learned that a man is not the same as the demon tormenting him, that a man can fight the evil and win, and that too many people believe in acting on what they feel and see rather than believing that they can have more, do better, like the Lords. And I can’t blame her. I have only recently learned this lesson myself.”
So the Lords had fought against the evil of their demons and won? Such a victory must have come at a terrible price, she thought, remembering the number of battles she’d fought and lost. Respect for them bloomed, and she forced her grip to ease on the dagger—only to realize Kaia had wrapped her hand around her wrist, claws sinking past skin, probably even into bone. Scalding heat radiated from her.
“You’re too hot,” Annabelle gritted out. Hotter than Zacharel’s hands sometimes were.
The tiny female smiled unabashedly. “I know, right! But my twin sister is way hotter, I promise.”
Twin? There were two of them?
“Kaia,” Zacharel began, as Annabelle said, “Let go of me, tiny tot. Now.”
“Tiny tot. Cute. But what’s the magic word?”
“Kaia!” Zacharel and Strider said in unison.
“Nope. That’s not it.”
Annabelle blurted out a rough, “I’ll kick you in your lady balls if you don’t.”
“Bingo!” One by one, Kaia pried her nails loose, leaving little red welts on Annabelle’s skin.
“I think you’re the weirdest person I’ve ever met,” Annabelle groused.
“And you’re the sweetest. So tell me,” Kaia said, and popped another bubble. “Is Zacharel a good lover? Because I’ve got big money on the answer being no. Yeah, he has big hands, and he really knows what to do with them on a battlefield, but have you ever tried to banter with him? Dude is clueless. I figure the same cluelessness extends to the mattress mambo.”
“Uh…” Suddenly everyone in the room was staring at her. Including Zacharel. “He’s, uh, great?” Never had she been more uncomfortable.
“Oh, man.” Kaia’s shoulders slumped.
Strider, the demon keeper of Defeat, whooped and fist-pumped the air. “Told you, baby doll. I told you.”
Kaia spun, piercing him with a glare. “The fact that you won a bet about another man’s sexuality isn’t something to brag about, you idiot.”
He blew her a kiss. “You’re sexy when you’re a sore loser.”
She brightened, fluffed her hair. “Of course I am, but I challenge you to prove it.”
“With pleasure.” The two just kind of leapt at each other, kissing as if the other’s mouth held a lifesaving supply of oxygen.
Does anyone else find this bizarre? Apparently not. A rapid-fire conversation ensued between the rest of the males.
Zacharel: “The club?”
The scarred warrior, Death: “Cleaned out.”
Zacharel: “The humans?”
The beautiful Promiscuity: “Unharmed, as requested.”
Zacharel: “Demons and the demon possessed?”
The goddess of Anarchy joined in, pumping her fist toward the ceiling as Strider had done. “I killed them dead!”
Zacharel: “What?”