Page 117 of White Hot Kiss
On Tuesday it felt like a cracked-out drummer had taken up residency in my head. My whole face ached from the cry fest. I could barely pay attention to anything Stacey was talking about in bio. By some small miracle, she hadn’t asked about Roth yet today.
Stacey may be boy crazy, but she wasn’t stupid. She thought it was odd that after being busted with him, he’d disappear. I bet she didn’t think her comment about the Wardens killing Roth was so funny now.
I couldn’t focus on the notes on the overhead projector. Instead, I drew a bigfoot along the margin in my notebook. Halfway through class, I caught that scent again—Roth’s scent—the sweet and wild flavor that reminded me of his kisses.
Placing my pencil down, I glanced around the class. There was no Roth, but the scent was still there. Great. On top of everything else, I was officially losing my mind.
Mrs. Cleo flipped another screen on the projector and then ambled back to her stool. I ended up staring aimlessly at the chalkboard until the bell rang.
In between classes, I headed to the bathroom. I don’t know why I sat in the stall until everyone left and the tardy bell rang. I just couldn’t sit through another class. Once I was sure the bathroom was clear, I kicked open the stall door.
Dropping my schoolbag on the floor, I clutched the rim of the sink and stared at my own wide eyes in the mirror. Strands of icy blond hair curled around my overly pale cheeks, and I thought I looked a bit deranged, standing there like an idiot.
I turned the tap, dipping my hands under the rush of cool water. I washed my face, hoping to cool the fire burning through me. It helped a little.
The door to the bathroom creaked open as I grabbed several rough brown paper towels. I swung around, but no one stood in front of the door that was easing shut. Frowning at the sense of déjà vu, my gaze moved away from the door and over the empty bathroom stalls.
A surprised gasp caught in my throat.
Perched atop the second bathroom door was a crow—a very large, very black crow. Its yellow beak had to be half the size of my hand.
My school kind of had a sucky security policy since they didn’t have many problems, but I couldn’t imagine a crow that big getting into the building...or how it had been able to open the bathroom door.
“What the...?” I stepped back, hitting the edge of the sink.
The crow cawed loudly, the sound as disturbing as it was fascinating. Launching itself into the air, its black wings spread out as it glided to the space between me and the stall. My eyes widened as the crow hovered before me for a second and then...expanded.
Really, really expanded.
The dark belly elongated and the wings took on armlike shapes. The beak sank in and fingers replaced the sharp-looking talons. Roth? Filled with hope, I stepped forward, ready to rush and embrace him.
I drew up short as the man appeared, dressed in leather pants and a loose, flowing white shirt. Mixed among shoulder-length black hair were feathers.
I blinked slowly. So not Roth.
The man smiled. “My name is Caym. I rule thirty demons, loyal to Hell only.”
“Oh, crap,” I whispered. What in the Hell was up with demons and the girls’ bathroom?
Caym’s opaque eyes fixed on mine. “Do not be afraid. This will only hurt for a few moments.” Then he reached for me.
Reacting on instinct, I threw my arm out, catching him in the throat. The demon made a strangled sound, but I didn’t wait to see if I’d done any real damage. For the millionth time in my life, I cursed my inability to phase as I darted toward the door.
He grabbed a handful of my hair, twisting the strands around his thick fist as he yanked. A scream built in my throat, powerful and sure to draw attention. I opened my mouth, preparing to let it loose when Caym’s hand clamped around my throat, cutting the scream off.
“Don’t fight it,” he cajoled, letting go of my hair. “It’ll be easier that way.”
I clawed at the hand around my throat, sinking my fingernails deep into his skin as Caym lifted me until my feet dangled in the air. I gripped his hands, trying to loosen them as I gagged. No air! I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get the fingers off my neck.
“Now,” he said, moving his free hand to my forehead. Warning bells went off. “Just relax and—”
I kicked out wildly, catching the demon in the stomach hard enough to startle him. He let go and I fell backward. My hip crashed into the rim of the sink and the side of my head smacked off the ceramic. A fresh burst of red-hot pain shot through me, knocking what little precious air I had out of my lungs. I hit the dirty tile of the bathroom floor hard. Gasping for air, I rose to my elbow and reached one hand up to the side of my throbbing head in a daze. My hand came back red.
Red? I pushed through the pain and confusion, scrambling under the sink before Caym could grab me again. Wasn’t the best hidey-hole, but it was all I had.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he seethed, kneeling down and grabbing my flailing leg. “Now you’ve pissed me off.”
“You weren’t pissed when you tried to strangle me?” I grabbed on to the metal under the sink.