Four

Four

DESI

After that night with Cannon, I met a few guys from the dating app, and while none of them held my attention for long, I didn't scare any of them away or send them running to the vet to tend to their dying pet reptile. They're all handsome and perfectly nice, but not one intrigued me enough to arrange a second date. So far, the one good date I've had was the practice one with Cannon.

I finish my after-dinner treat—a bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream mixed with the brownies Meredith brought over this afternoon—and when I pull the dishwasher open to put my bowl in, I groan. It's full of clean dishes.

If I were at home, all it would take is a snap of my fingers and all the dishes would be put away in seconds flat. I glance over my shoulder to see Jace sitting on the couch watching a documentary about the evolution of sci-fi movies. I can't risk him catching me in the act of using my divine power, so I heave a sigh and unload the dishes the old-fashioned—normal—way.

When I get to the cups, I open the cupboard and wrinkle my nose. All of them are sitting with the inside exposed to the elements. I peek around the door to make sure he isn't looking and tap my finger to the shelf. In the blink of an eye, they've all flipped upside down. With a satisfied grin, I continue my work.

"Umm, what are you doing?"

I rise onto my tiptoes and slide the last cup into the cupboard before closing it and turning around. "Unloading the dishwasher so I can put my dirty bowl in. What are you doing?"

"Watching you put the cups in the cabinet the wrong way. You're putting the part that touches my mouth on the bottom," Jace says.

I roll my eyes and place my hands on my hips. "If you leave them right side up, all the dust that floats around in every cabinet is landing inside the cup where you put your drink and then you're drinking it!"

He gives me a pointed glare and his voice is a low rumble as he says, "Desi, put the cups the right way."

I want to fight, to push my point. His way of storing the cups is asinine, and it needs to be fixed. You need a place to live, Desi, I tell myself before I lose my temper. "Yes, sir," I mutter, turning away from him and opening the cabinet to please the man of the house.

"Thank you," he says, stepping beside me to rinse out his bowl.

I flip the last cup and say in a clipped tone, "Not a problem." I shut the cabinet with a little too much force and flee to my room.

This past week with Jace has been frustrating to say the least. There are times when I feel like I can do nothing right around him. Granted, tonight I pissed him off on purpose. But earlier in the week he got irritated when I didn't fold the blanket over the arm of the couch and left it on the back instead, and when I left a dryer sheet inside the dryer. Like, aren't there bigger things for him to worry about?

Not to mention, I feel incredibly creepy about watching him get undressed the other night, half-drunk on tequila or not. That's putting me on edge too. It's just an awkward situation, and I'm disappointed in myself. I promised there would be no drama, yet I can't help but skate close to the line. The demon in me wants to flip his organized world upside and turn all the cups the right way.

I need to get out of the house and get some air. Keeping up appearances is exhausting. Not to mention, Jace's rigid way of doing things goes against the core of who I am. I need to let loose and thrive in a little chaos. What better place than a nightclub? I just want to get a drink and dance. I consider texting Cannon to join me after he gets done with work but change my mind. He won't dance with me, and I don't want to leave him by himself while I'm off having fun.

Slipping on a low-cut purple halter, I pull my hair over my shoulders and paint myself into my skintight jeans. I do a quick smoky eye and highlight my cheekbones, the knee-high boots and leather jacket I'm wearing adding a certain edge to my outfit that I haven't shown on any of my dates. Maybe it'll keep the boring guys far away and bring on the more exciting options.

When I go downstairs, Jace is nowhere to be seen, and I'm glad. I don't want to answer any questions about where I'm going or feel like I'm being scrutinized for my decisions. I just need to get away.

Thirty minutes later, after using the Google Jace taught me about the other day, I'm at a club on the other side of town called Apex Fusion, and after showing the fake ID Lux had made for me and paying the cover charge, I'm ushered inside. The flashing lights, vape fumes, and thumping bass consume my senses, and I'm immediately in my element.

The dance floor is crowded, and so is the bar, but I make my way to the bartender and order a gin and tonic. Moving to a less crowded area, I lean against a high-top table and sip my drink, watching the couples dance and grind against each other, and my body itches to be on the floor with them.

A man with coiffed blond hair leans on my table, his brown eyes slowly skimming over my body. Unlike many of the other men here, he's dressed in a designer button-up and slacks that cling to his muscular thighs. I can almost count the bulging muscles through his clothes.

"What's a gorgeous woman like you doing watching everyone on the dance floor? You should be out there," he says, flashing me a wide smile.

I raise an eyebrow and set down my glass, mirroring his posture and propping my chin in my palm. "Well, maybe I was waiting for you to come ask me." I know I'm laying it on thick, but this guy looks like exactly what I'm searching for—outgoing, put together, and handsome.

"I'm Patrick."

"Desi."

He holds his palm out to me and says, "Would you care to dance, Desi?"

"I'd love to." I abandon my drink and follow him into the crowd.

Patrick places a hand on my waist, and the pulsating bodies press us close. His palm slides down my hip and around to the curve of my ass. Before I can even move to put space between us, the tips of his fingers dig into the plump flesh, urging me forward. His body sways to the beat, forcing mine to meet his movements, and his leg slips between my thighs. Leaning in until his lips brush my ear, he says, "You are hands down the hottest girl here."

My breath catches as he puts pressure on the apex of my legs with his thigh. Under different circumstances, with a different man who asked permission, I have no doubt it would feel good, but right now, it just feels . . . gross. This is not okay; everything in my body is screaming at me to get away from this guy.

I slide my hands up his chest and gently push against him, putting a little space between us as I mumble a thank-you. The dance floor is so crowded that I don't see any easy path away, so I settle for pulling my lower body back so his thigh isn't touching me anymore. But he doesn't seem to take the hint.

He slides his hands under my jacket, roaming freely over my rib cage. The space between us disappears again, and this time he leans in so close to me that his lips are dangerously close to meeting mine.

"I want to take you back to my place and get you out of these pants."

Anger at his presumption and, as much as I hate to admit it, fear bubble up within me. As a princess of Infernis I'd always been under a certain amount of protection, but now I'm on my own, not to mention I can't use all my strength if I am going to remain undercover. And I must remain undercover. I can't screw this up and get caught performing some superhuman feat.

I push him with a stronger hand and step away, bumping into the couple behind me. "Please don't touch me like that. I won't be going home with you," I say, turning away from him to walk off, but he grips my wrist and yanks me back toward him.

"I asked you to dance. You said yes. You wear these tight jeans, low-cut top that shows half your tits, and then you tell me you don't want me to touch you?" he hisses, his mouth against my ear again. "I call bullshit."

I twist my wrist, trying to pull it from his grasp, but he holds tight. "None of that gives you permission to grope me," I snap.

"I'm just dancing with you, sweetheart. Quit overthinking it." He wedges his thigh between mine again, and I swiftly draw up my knee, planting it dead center in the juncture of his legs.

Patrick moans and doubles over, his hand gripping his smashed testicles.

Meredith was right. That worked.

I push through the crowd and run to the back of the club. A blue neon sign over a hallway reads RESTROOMS. Before I duck inside, I glance over my shoulder and see Patrick charging through the crowd toward me, fury burning in his eyes.

Women stand at the sink playing with their lipstick and finger-combing their hair, but they pay no attention to me as I slip into the last stall and lock it behind me. My heart pounds so hard it makes my stomach churn. I lean against the wall and close my eyes while I catch my breath. In over a century of existence I've witnessed all kinds of debauchery, but none of it compares to what that man tried to force on me.

In Infernis, things like that simply don't happen. Demons and chaotic energies may get greedy and end up in trouble for petty theft, commit mischievous deeds when their pride is damaged and they just want to be a dick to the person they feel wronged them, or even get into fights in dark alleys sometimes when they let their wrath consume them. But never, ever does anyone put their hands on another being in an intimate way without permission. My father would never allow it, nor would his father before him, and back and back down the line all the way to the beginning of time. And he has taught Lux to abide by that law. Ever since I can remember, the prince of Lust has been taught the importance of consent. Any demon or energy who didn't follow suit would be damned to nothingness.

Having a man touch me like that without permission is a complete shock. Fight, flight, or freeze? I did all three tonight, I suppose, but now I'm stuck here in the bathroom because I can't go back out there; I know he'll be waiting.

Sliding my hand in my back pocket, I retrieve my phone and stare at the blank screen. I have three people I could call—one is annoyed with me, one is at work, and the other is having her one date night a month without the kids. I refuse to be the one to mess that up. Meredith has been talking about this date all week.

I take the most comfortable option and call Cannon, but he doesn't answer.

"Dammit," I mumble, firing off a text.

Cannon, I know you're working, but I really need you to answer. I'm in kind of a bad spot and I need your help.

I stare at my phone for a good five minutes, but he doesn't answer. I wait, and wait, and wait, and eventually, I forget where I am and slump onto the toilet, my head in my hands.

There is only one other person I can text, and I really don't want to. Jace and I are hardly friends, and this is sort of a "phone a friend" situation. But Cannon isn't getting back to me.

Maybe Patrick isn't even out there anymore. Maybe he's given up. I start to come out of the stall when I hear two women enter the bathroom talking in hushed tones.

"Did you see that guy out there?"

"Yeah, he looks pissed."

"I think someone kicked him in the balls," the first one says, stifling a laugh.

"He probably deserved it. He looks like one of those tools who thinks he can touch whoever he wants whenever he wants."

So that's a thing that happens a lot here. That's unfortunate.

"He's clearly posted up waiting for someone."

Their voices fade as they head back outside, and I close my eyes, taking a deep breath before typing a text to my other roommate.

Jace, are you awake?

He answers almost immediately.

Yeah.

I swallow over the lump in my throat and tamp down my growing panic.

I need you to come get me . . . I'm at a nightclub

The three dots appear at the bottom of the screen and vanish. They start again and just as quickly go away. Several seconds pass before they return, followed by a message.

Are you drunk or are they kicking you out for flipping all their cups the wrong way?

I freeze for a long moment, unsure whether to laugh or scream.

Ha-ha. You're so funny, are you going on tour with your jokes? No, I'm not drunk, and no, I haven't touched their cups. This guy asked me to dance, put his hands all over me, he wouldn't stop when I asked him to, and he wouldn't let me go. I had to knee him in the balls to get away from him and now he's waiting outside the bathroom for me. I heard some girls talking about it. He's pissed, and I'm freaked out.

A couple of seconds later, he sends another message.

I just checked your location to put in my GPS. For fuck's sake, Desideria. Apex Fusion is a cesspool of assholes. Stay put. I'll be there in fifteen.

Okay. Thank you.

Why is this so hard? Back home, demons find their partners—or whomever they want to date for the moment—every day. They do all the things the humans do—dinner dates, dancing, walks in the park hand in hand, but without the uninvited groping and coma-inducing conversations. Humans have always had their issues; I just never expected them to be so distasteful when it comes to dating and sex. Finding a decent human shouldn't be this difficult. I hate to admit it, but maybe I should have tried harder to find a demon partner.

Fifteen minutes later my phone vibrates in my hand, and I almost drop it in the toilet, I move so fast to unlock it.

Come out of the bathroom. I'm right outside.

My heart leaps into my throat and I burst out of the stall, wash my hands, and open the door carefully, scanning the area for both the offending man and Jace.

The one I'm happy to see stands right next to the bathroom, just as he said, and I have never been more relieved to see another person in my life. He's wearing faded jeans and a half-zip pullover sweater that is the richest shade of burgundy. It's out of place with the sweaty shirts and bare skin around us, but it looks good . . . comfortable, safe.

All my earlier annoyance with him melts away. "Jace, thank you," I mumble, and before I can stop myself, I'm wrapping my arms around his waist and pulling him to me in a grateful embrace that surprises even me.

He goes stiff under my touch, but my relief won't allow me to let him go. After a few seconds, he relaxes and gives me an awkward pat on the back.

"Where is the guy that had you locking yourself in the bathroom?" he asks, his voice laced with anger.

I look up at him, still hanging on to his waist. "What?"

"The jackass trying to pass himself off as a human who was touching you without consent. Where the hell is he?"

His dark tone reminds me of the text message he sent that creeper who asked me if I was DTF the other night, and I don't know why I didn't predict that he'd ask me to point this guy out.

Trying to ignore the anger I can practically feel rolling off Jace, I glance around the club, but the guy isn't anywhere in sight. "I don't see him. I don't want you to start anything with him anyway. I just want to go home."

"Someone needs to say something—"

"Please, Jace."

He sweeps his eyes from the bar to the dance floor one last time and nods. "All right. Let's get you out of here."

We exit the club, the absence of the loud, thumping music a shock to my ears. I'm still holding on to his waist, and he drapes one arm around my shoulder, holding me close to his side.

The parking lot is littered with club patrons, mostly smoking cigarettes and pot, some of them just leaning against their cars and talking, but my heart drops when I see a familiar head of coiffed blond hair. He laughs at whatever the guy across from him says. As if he has a tracking device on me, his eyes catch mine and his smile fades. "Hey, does your boyfriend know you were grinding up on my dick on the dance floor?" he calls across the lot.

Jace stops walking and his fingertips sink into my shoulder. "Still want me to leave it alone?"

I don't get a chance to answer before Patrick takes another stab at me.

"Your girl's a slut, bro."

Jace moves like he's on autopilot and set to kill mode. In several long strides, he's in Patrick's space. He grips the front of his shirt and pulls him up until they are face to face. With eyes full of fear, Patrick struggles for his footing.

In a voice that would put any movie villain to shame, Jace says, "Fucking funny, bro. I heard you have a problem with words like no and stop. I suggest that in the future you respect someone's decision when they come to their senses about you and go fuck yourself instead."

Hades help me, but seeing Jace like this makes me view him in an entirely different light. He is beyond sexy right now; there is no way I could pretend to ignore it even if I wanted to try. I've never had anyone defend me like this before, and I won't be forgetting the feeling anytime soon.

"Desi, do you have anything you want to say to this tool?"

I step closer to Jace and look Patrick in the eye. I'm no longer scared of him. Jace has reduced him to a shaking, blubbering mess in a matter of seconds, and I see how weak he really is. This is a sorry excuse for a human.

"Yeah. When someone tells you no, you listen. Regardless of what they're wearing. And also, slut shaming is so last century," I spit.

Jace looks at me over his shoulder, his lips in a tight line as he fights back a smile. He gives a slight tip of his chin that says you did good and turns back to Patrick. "Tell the lady you're sorry for disrespecting her not once but twice tonight."

Patrick vehemently nods. It's clear he wants to get away from Jace. "Sorry for disrespecting you, ma'am."

Jace lets him go with a shove and grabs my hand. Without a word, he leads me to his BMW and opens the door for me. I remain quiet as he climbs in on his side and shuts his door. As soon as we're alone, he grips the steering wheel and drops his head to the center of it. I watch as his back expands with a deep breath and slowly deflates several times. Every muscle of his upper body is coiled tight, from his biceps to the cords running down his neck. With a final loud exhale, he sits up and turns on the ignition.

The car remains silent, nothing but the purr of the engine as he pulls out of the parking lot. His grip on the steering wheel doesn't let up, and not once does he take his eyes off the road. I'm starting to believe we're going to sit in awkward silence and never address everything that just happened when he finally says, "I know you're eager to meet people, but you've got to do a little research about the places you're going. Ask me or Meredith before you go to bars or clubs. Either of us can let you know if you'll be safe there, okay?"

I glance at him from the corner of my eye. He's not trying to lecture me like he was the other night; it's clear from his actions tonight that he was truly worried about me. "I will," I say quietly, and after a minute, I add in a whisper, "I didn't do that, by the way."

"Didn't do what?"

"‘Grind up on his dick,' or whatever it was he said. I didn't do that. I didn't make him think it was okay to grope me like he did."

"It doesn't matter what you did or didn't do. He should have asked or waited for you to tell him you wanted his touch beyond dancing." His gaze leaves the road for a split second as he gives me a once-over. "Are you all right? He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No, not really. He, uh, shoved his leg between my thighs and slid his hands under my shirt. Then when I tried to walk away, he grabbed my wrist and wouldn't let go before getting in my face and yelling at me. But he didn't really hurt me."

"Good. I wouldn't want to have to turn the car around and kick his ass."

My eyes widen. "What?"

"I scared the hell out of him for what he did, and the only reason I didn't beat the shit out of him right then and there is because you didn't want me confronting him in the first place. But if he injured you . . . game over. I won't stand for a man hurting a woman."

Of course he'd do that for anyone who was being harmed. Any decent human would. Jace is a decent human. It's not just about me.

I shake my head to clear my ridiculous fantasy. The delusion of having my "who hurt you?" moment with my grumpy roommate is destroyed. "Right. Well, I won't be doing that again, so you don't have to worry."

"You really need to take a friend with you out to bars. Someone to watch your drink and ward off any assholes. That's like woman survival 101. Where have you been living that you managed to miss out on the dating basics?"

It's right now that I realize I haven't shared anything about my situation with Jace. Each time the conversation about dating turned serious, Jace abandoned ship, and I was left with Cannon. I don't want to lie to Jace, not when he's here and actually asking me questions. I tell him the closest version of the truth I can.

"I didn't need ‘dating basics.' Back home it was a big ordeal to date me because of how intimidating my father is. My first date was the practice trip to the bar with Cannon the other night."

The large touch screen in the dash casts a dim glow on Jace's face, highlighting the tight line of his lips. The tick in his jaw has calmed but his body is still stiff. I brush my fingertips over the edge of the soft leather seat to distract myself from my embarrassment.

Jace's voice is a low timbre as he asks, "I don't understand. Guys date girls with intimidating dads all the time and get over it. What's so different about yours?"

"It's a long story. Do you really want to hear it?"

"I asked, didn't I?"

"Fair enough." I let out a breath and tell him everything I told Cannon the other night.

His brows furrow and the streetlights draw dark shadows around his mouth and eyes. "Your father is making you find a husband?"

"A partner. They can be platonic, but I must take over my share of his business one day soon, and to do so, I must have someone I can always rely on. My brothers had to do the same. But I don't want to simply have a platonic partner by my side. I want that partner to be someone I love . . . and there was no one in my hometown who interested me, so I came here. That's why it's so important that I make some progress in the next couple of months. I don't have to be in love yet or propose to someone, but I need to show him I'm trying. And right now, I'm no closer than I was when I got here."

"You do realize that you have a choice. If your dad is involved with a cult or strong-arming you because of your culture, you can say no. I'm sure Cannon will help me get you out of it if you want us to."

I don't know what would be worse, me telling him I'm a demon from Infernis or him thinking my father is a cult leader. But one thing is clear, I don't think he'd ever understand how important it is that I step up as my Circle's leader. It's not only my realm that hangs in the balance, but the potential eternal home of his and every other human's energy.