Demon on the Down-Low by E.J. Russell

Author:E.J. Russell [Russell, E.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Riptide Publishing
Published: 2019-02-17T00:00:00+00:00

I may never sleep again. Zeke’s nerves buzzed with the memory of Hamish’s touch, the taste of Hamish’s spend still on his tongue, Hamish’s breath tickling the curls over his ear. But with the steady beat of Hamish’s heart under Zeke’s palm, he closed his eyes, the better to let his own heart synchronize.

I’ll close them for a minute, just a minute.

But when he opened his eyes, sunlight was spilling in from under the blinds.

Shit. I am so demoted.

He wriggled out from under Hamish’s heavy arm and gazed down at him. His hair—Zeke’s fingers twitched with the urge to touch it—was rumpled and captivating, and a tiny smile curved his lips.

I made him happy last night. I know I did.

His heart spiraled down to his toes when he remembered Hamish’s request. Zeke couldn’t be his date, not for the bachelor party and not for the wedding. Zeke would be lucky if he wasn’t hauling fuel for the Sheol boilers by noon.

Which could be any minute. No. The light is wrong. It’s early. Not far after dawn. Maybe he could make it back to the apartment before anyone found out.

He winced. The AI would know. And how likely was it that it could keep its mouth shut?

Zeke used demon speed to scramble into his clothes, distracted by the scent of Hamish still clinging to his body. He should take a shower, but he didn’t have time and he didn’t want to wake Hamish. At the door, he indulged himself with another look at Hamish, long and golden, the sheet only covering one leg.

“Thank you,” Zeke murmured. “I’m glad my first and only time was with you.”

He hustled down the stairs and into the wan morning light, clouds the color of ash drifting across the sky. The streets weren’t busy, but they weren’t empty either, so he had to restrict his speed to that of a hurrying human. Consequently, it took him longer than he’d hoped to get back to the Supernatural Selection building.

The falafel restaurant was still closed, as was the metaphysical bookstore run by the witches’ collective. The building looked deserted, but that didn’t always mean anything.

Zeke scheduled the bookings for all the Supernatural Selection altar rooms himself—they weren’t only used for mating ceremonies—and he knew the witches preferred time slots were in the midnight to 3 a.m. range. He couldn’t remember anyone ever booking a dawn ritual—that was more of a druid thing. He might at least be able to avoid Magistra Lenore.

He crept up the stairs, checking the lobby for activity, but everything was quiet, so he took the chance and sped up the remaining flights to his apartment.

He breathed a sigh of relief and allowed a bit of his euphoria to return. A smile tugged at his lips as he eased the door open and slipped inside.

Only to be faced with the AI, in blaring green and gold, and Melchom, wearing a three-piece white suit with wide lapels and bell-bottom trousers.

“Uh-oh,” he whispered.

“Indeed.” Melchom strode forward and slapped Zeke across the face.

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