Page 20 of A Date With Demons
They scurry off to the dance floor, Aaron’s easel knocking into others right and left. I say to my dates, “They’re gonna have so many happy little accidents!”
I laugh at my own jokes. Bragg and Rewd don’t get it.
People mostly stay out of our way as Rewd, Bragg and I dance. In actuality, I try to teach them how to dance, then give up and let them do their favorite thing—sandwich me in between them and gyrate slowly. Way too slowly for the music. So slowly and erotically that couples dancing near us are starting to notice.
But who cares? We’re having a great night.
I drink too much, eat too many carbs, and dance some more. Several people try to grab me away for a harmless dance, but Bragg and Rewd keep them away.
“Sorry, maybe next year,” I say apologetically to my hopeful dance partners. “Call me.”
“There will be no next year. The world will end before then,” Rewd tells them.
People at the party take these strange comments in stride. It’s Halloween, and everyone’s under the influence of one or more substances.
Even if Rewd were trying to make an end-of-the-world joke in his own adorably awkward way, it serves as a reminder that this date won’t last forever.
My one perfect date is going to end sooner rather than later.
It’s almost 4 a.m., and my demons will have to go home soon. Wherever home might be. I shudder to think.
Maybe…maybe they don’t have to go?
That’s crazy to think about.
I’ll just enjoy this night, and keep dancing.
Chapter
Eleven
Rewd
Our Portia is havingfun at the party.
I do not care about parties, but I’m happy to be here for her.
She needs protection. Dozens of other people here keep trying to take her away from us, and she is not scared enough of them.
She smiles, laughs, and dances like a free spirit all night in her flowing princess dress, the glittering hairpiece complimenting her soft features and the golden ribbons and stitching of the bodice showing off her tantalizing bosom. Her mood changes suddenly when we dance together near the werewolf-masked deejay. She startles when he removes his mask to get a better look at her.
Portia stiffens in my arms.
“What is wrong, little witch?”
Her eyes look past me, and I follow her gaze.
The deejay stares back at her, shaking his head, his werewolf mask propped on his head.
I do not like the look on his face.
I turn to Bragg. “What did the deejay do to her?”
Bragg shrugs. “No idea. But I don’t like that guy.”
I rest a hand on Portia’s lower back. Watching the way Bragg dotes over her has taught me a few things, and I’ve learned that this helps keep our witch grounded.
The idea that someone has mistreated her… it’s horrible, and I want that horrible feeling to go away.