Page 47 of White Hot Kiss
“Hmm,” Roth murmured, golden eyes twinkling. “I would like to see you dance.”
Was it commonplace for a demon to twist every comment into something laced with sexual innuendo? The crowd grew thicker near the arts center, a sure sign there was a concert later. My gaze landed on a couple leaning against the corner of the building. They were locked together, oblivious to the world around them. I could barely tell where one ended and the other began. Envy reared its head, forcing me to look away.
Roth was watching me observe the boy and girl. He smiled wolfishly. “So what does a tag look like?”
“You can’t see it?” I smiled. “Well, I’m not telling you.”
Roth laughed. “Fair. Can I ask you something else?”
I peeked at him. He was staring straight ahead now, lips pursed. “Sure.”
“Do you like doing this? Tagging demons?”
“Yes. I’m doing something good. How many people can say that?” I quickly added, “I like it.”
“Doesn’t it bother you that your family willingly puts you in danger to serve their own purpose?”
Irritation flashed like a glare from the winter sun. “They don’t really want me tagging anymore, so they don’t willingly put me in danger. I’m glad I can help. Can you say the same about whatever you do? You’re evil. You ruin people’s lives.”
“We aren’t talking about me,” he countered smoothly. “And what do you mean they don’t want you tagging anymore? I think these Wardens and I have something in common.”
I clutched the strap around my shoulder, mentally spin-kicking myself in the face. “It’s nothing. I’m tired of talking about me.”
We stopped in front of the café Roth had spoken of earlier. The fresh cookies and muffins in the window sang to me.
“Hungry?” Roth whispered in my ear.
His closeness was making it difficult to breathe. I could see the edge of the snake’s tail poking out of his collar. I lifted my head, swallowing. “Your tattoo moves.”
“Bambi gets bored.” His breath stirred the hair around my ear.
“Oh,” I whispered. “So...does she live on you or something?”
“Or something. Hungry or not?”
That was when I noticed the We Don’t Serve Wardens Here sign. Disgust filled me. “I guess I know why you like this place.”
His laugh confirmed my suspicions.
“This is just rich.” I faced him. “They won’t serve Wardens, but they’ll serve your kind.”
“I know. It’s called irony. I love it.”
Shaking my head, I headed into the café. Those cookies looked too good to pass up. It was slightly warmer inside the busy eatery. The smell of freshly baked bread filled the air as did the soft chatter of people sitting at bistro-style tables. I ordered a cold-cut sub and two sugar cookies. Roth got a coffee and a blueberry muffin—the muffin still surprised me. We found a table near the back, and I tried not to be weirded out by the fact that I was eating dinner with a demon.
I searched for a normal question to ask as I munched on my sandwich. “How old are you?”
Roth’s gaze flicked up from where he was strategically breaking his muffin into several bite-sized pieces. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Probably not.” I grinned. “But try me.”
He popped a chunk of muffin in his mouth, chewing slowly. “Eighteen.”
“Eighteen...what?” I finished off my sandwich while he stared back, brows raised. “Wait. Are you trying to tell me you’re only eighteen years old?”
“Yes.”
My mouth gaped. “You mean eighteen in dog years, right?”