Page 43 of Infernal Bindings

Of course he does.

“I’m not sure that’s better than the horror movies,” I tease, because running is the thief of joy. I can’t fathom why anyone would want to wake up this early to do anything, let alone something that makes them hot, and sweaty, and exhausted. Perhaps the only activity worth that is sex, and even then… it would have to be really exceptional sex. The kind of sex I’ve never experienced myself, and honestly doubt exists.

“Did you guys finish going through the surveillance footage?” I ask, so I’ll stop thinking about sex.

“Yeah,” Daemon says. “We have seventeen suspects.”

“But Diana is still the most promising,” Christopher adds. “I’ll search her first. Really, Ann, we can’t do anything until the sun is up. You should get more sleep.”

But I don’t think I can—not with the ticking clock looming over Daemon and me. As if reading my mind, Daemon sighs and grabs the remote from somewhere beneath his blanket. He pauses the movie and clicks through a dozen streaming services to find something else. My cheeks burn when he pulls up one of the world’s cheesiest, most badly written romcoms in the history of civilization, then presses play.

“I didn’t picture you as a romance guy,” Christopher says to Daemon.

He shrugs. “I don’t hate them. It kind of goes with the territory of being a lust demon. But this movie is all Annie.” In the darkness, I glare at him. Because how dare he reveal my darkest guilty pleasure to Christopher? The last thing I want to do right now is justify my obsession with the film, or explain just how frequently I watch it—which is at least once a week. I have all the lines memorized, and at this point, so does Daemon.

“The movie is okay, I guess,” I say instead, waving him off. When Daemon snickers, I not-so-discreetly elbow him in the shin. “We don’t have to watch it.”

“Oh, yes, we do.” Daemon presses play, and the opening song starts.

As the characters are introduced, Christopher pulls me closer, and we readjust the blanket, cocooning ourselves within it. With pillows propped behind our backs, it’s really not so bad, and within a few minutes, I’ve forgotten all about how uncomfortable I am. It takes great self-control to follow along with the movie without saying the lines aloud, but I manage, soaking in Christopher’s warmth as he shields me from the icy floor.

The end of the movie comes too fast. And soon it’s time for the male lead to make his romantic love declaration in the middle of a rainstorm. Not only is it cliché, but I know it can’t be nearly as romantic as it looks. It’s cold and wet. Their clothes are plastered to their bodies. And the rain is pelting them so hard, it must be impossible for the actors to open their eyes without feeling like they’re being waterboarded. Still, my heart squeezes when he speaks.

“I want you,” the male lead says. Faintly, I hear Daemon whisper it behind me, the same way he has every time we’ve watched it. But it feels different now. It feels personal and pointed. “Why can’t you see that?”

Before he can finish, I shush him. “You’re distracting me. I’m trying to watch the movie.”

“That makes one of you,” Daemon snaps back. And when I peer beside me, Christopher’s eyes are shut. He’s dead asleep, and somehow that’s worse than the teasing I expected. It’s a bad movie; no one in their right mind would like it. But he didn’t even try to finish.

Frowning, I grab the remote from Daemon and turn the movie off before his speech is over. “I’m tired,” I tell him. “Maybe I will go back to sleep.” And with that, I gently disentangle my body from Christopher’s and return to my temporary room.

21

NEVER BEEN KISSED

“It isn’t her,” Christopher tells me, speaking quietly into his cell phone. As promised, he left first thing this morning and met Diana for breakfast. Scraping forks and restaurant chatter come through on the other end of the phone, making it even more difficult to hear him. “I checked her wrist, and it’s some weird vine tattoo, but don’t worry, I have another meeting lined up in an hour. I’ll go through the other suspects and get back to you as soon as I can.”

“Can you go through all sixteen in a day?” I ask, biting my fingernails to nothing. Without warning, Daemon plops onto the living room couch beside me and grabs my hand, folding it into his own so I can’t bite anymore. I glare at him, but he doesn’t ease up or let go, no doubt saving me from bleeding cuticles.

Wherever Christopher is at, the noise gets louder. Chairs scrape against the floor, and a server comes by asking if anyone wants drink refills. “I might need more than one day to finish,” Christopher admits.

“How much longer?” Daemon’s voice is a low growl, so at odds with the softness he’s holding my hand with. “We only have two days.”

“Tomorrow evening.”

Fuck. I think the word. Daemon says it.

“I have to go,” Christopher adds. “She’s coming back from the bathroom. I’ll call you when I’m back at the condo.” And then the call goes silent. I drop my phone and it lands somewhere between mine and Daemon’s laps. Leaning my head against his chest, I fight the urge to sob into him because crying won’t fix anything.

“We’re going to be tortured for eternity,” I say, my voice cracking.

Daemon squeezes my hands. “No, we’re not. We’re going to get up, get dressed, and solve this crime ourselves. We can’t investigate the witches, but we can go back to the club.”

Dad won’t like that.

Neither will Christopher.

Still, I can’t spend the next two days doing nothing, relying on other people to fix my self-inflicted problems. Breathing into Daemon’s suit jacket, I nod. The familiar scent of his cologne is comforting, even though it shouldn’t be, and I take several more whiffs of it—him—before pulling away. We can do this. Together, we can do anything.