10. Dani

If someone came up to me and said, 'Wishes can come true, all you have to do is put on a ring and close your eyes,' I would have called them crazy.

Hell, that's exactly what I did and I still think it's crazy!

And yet here she was, the redheaded bombshell I've been coveting for the last six months, standing in the middle of my living room as if plucked right out of thin air. Glowering at me like I had just kicked her puppy—or a kitten. She looked more like a cat person.

Not for the first time since our paths have crossed did I wonder if I was dreaming.

“Ashe?”

“What did you do?” Her tone was low, dangerous, and nothing at all like the honey-coated timbre from a week ago. Despite the threat laced in her words, though, I didn't exactly feel threatened. Confused as shit, maybe, but I knew in my bones that she wouldn't—or couldn't—hurt me.

But if looks could kill, her eyes would be stabbing me right through my skull at this very moment.

“What the hell did you do?” Ashe asks again, and I can tell from the way her shoulders tense and how her brow lowers that she doesn't like repeating herself. I have a feeling that she wouldn't be asking me again and my defenses kick in.

What did I do? What the hell did she do! How did she get into my apartment? And what was with all that smoke? What was she, a magician? Some kind of ninja stalker? I ignore the irony in that last thought. At least I didn't overstep my bounds when I was ogling her from afar in a public place. At least I didn't follow her home!

“How did you get here?” I demand, my voice less imposing than I would have liked as I meet her glare. I'm acutely aware that my eyes are as wide as saucers and I scoot as far back in my chair as I can go to create a little more distance between us the moment she turns her body to face me. My gut may have been telling me that she wouldn't hurt me, but I'll be damned if she didn't look dangerous.

A darkness clouds her gaze as her eyes flick to my hand. “You summoned me,” she hisses through clenched teeth, and once more I'm looking at her like she's speaking in tongues.

Summoned her? What the hell is she talking about? All I did was put on her ring—thanks for that little tip, Rose—and hope to see her again. I didn't in my wildest dreams think that it would actually work, let alone like this!

At a loss for words I glance down. The glint of silver against my skin twinkles in the dim light, winking at me as if to say, 'This is what you wanted!', and I frown. “Your ring?”

At her terse nod I decide to press further, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that she was standing here. In my apartment. Glaring at me like a sexy apparition from Hell. “How did you know I had it?”

“I was hoping you didn't.”

“Well,” I continue, licking my lips as I spoke, “how did you know where I live?”

“Lucky fucking guess.”

In a fit of nerves I fiddle with the ring, twisting it around my finger as my mind races with possible explanations. Ashe's eyes follow the movement and I notice her body stiffen, as if she was expecting to burst spontaneously into flames at any second. Or get swallowed up by a cloud of silvery smoke again.

“You quit coming into the coffee shop,” I blurt out, perhaps a bit too loudly. I really hope my voice isn't reflecting the apprehension that I'm feeling. She was an intruder in my house, after all. I shouldn't be this nervous and she shouldn't be this angry! “Why?”

A pause, followed by a cryptic, “I started working again.”

That's . . . reasonable, actually. Starting a new job would make sense as to why I haven't seen her in the café lately. But did it really keep her from coming in at all? If this ring was so important to her that she would break into my apartment, then she would have made time to get it back under normal circumstances. How else was I supposed to return it to her? I know next to nothing about her other than how she takes her coffee!

“I was going to give it back to you the next time I saw you,” I say, my words rushing together like a child hurrying to explain why their hands were caught in the cookie jar. “But you never came back and I didn't know where to find you or anything and—”

“Then why the fuck would you put it on?”

“I-I don't know.” I honestly didn't know why I decided to put on her ring. It seemed like a harmless idea at the time. Nothing bad ever happens when you put on jewelry, right? It's just a freaking ring!

But it's not my ring, and maybe if I give it back she'll leave and this weird, awkward moment will be forgotten by morning. Maybe she'll come into the café and we'll laugh about it later—highly unlikely, but it was a nicer thought than sitting here squirming under her fierce glare. It was almost unnerving with how intense she was being right now.

I draw my eyebrows together as I tug at the silver band. “I'll take it off,” I mutter as I resign to yanking at my finger, but it won't budge. I twist and pull but it's as if the metal has shrunk and molded to my finger; the harder I pull, the tighter it feels.

A sense of panic slowly builds in my chest as I realize that it's. Fucking. Stuck.

“I-I can't . . .”

“Of course you can't.”

I glance up as I keep trying in vain to pry the damn thing off and my blood runs cold at the sight before me.

Her veins begin to glow as she watches my struggle, just like they did on the night she saved me, and my jaw goes slack. “You're glowing,” I whisper, my voice tinged with disbelief.

How is that even possible? Was she dropped in a vat of radioactive chemicals as a child? Was it some bizarre medical skin condition? Like the telltale red hue that paints their cheeks whenever a person's face flushes, does she glow instead when she's mad? Is she an alien?

Even as she continues to glare daggers at me, little rivers of molten sapphire pulsating beneath pale skin as strands of wavy auburn locks frame her angular face, I can't help but think how beautiful she looks. Like a blue-ringed octopus: cute, but deadly.

Okay, maybe I watch too many nature shows, and Ashe looks nothing like a creature from the watery depths. But she does look every part like an enraged deity made flesh and bone.

When I was nine, back home I took a school field trip to the Dallas Museum of Art for an exhibition on Greek and Roman deities. It was there that I first saw the marble statues of ancient Greek and Roman gods. At the time I marveled at how such beauty could be captured so perfectly, every detail expertly carved into the stone with such delicacy that no human hand could have possibly created them. As Ashe glows before me, her rigid features flawless and ethereal as if she were one of those statues come to life, I'm reminded of their grandeur and my thoughts turn once more to that sense of childlike wonder as I find myself transfixed by this seething goddess.

If she were to smite me right this second, I don't think I would mind. At least it would be better than being strangled by the poisonous tentacles of a deep-sea cephalopod. But the trance that I seem to have been placed under doesn't last long.

“You have no idea what you've done!”

She turns with a furious cry and punches a fist through my wall with unnatural force, burying her arm elbow-deep into the drywall, and reflexively I jump out of my stupor. The impact was so loud that I'm sure my downstairs neighbors heard it. Hell, the whole complex probably heard it! I think her arm even went into my closet on the other side.

There goes my deposit.

“What the hell!” Despite the warning bells ringing in my head, it's all I can think of to say. I can't scoot back any further and my heart nearly jumps to my throat.

She won't hurt me, she won't hurt me, she won't hurt me. God I hope that's true.

She looks back at me and her eyes suddenly spark, like the blue flame of a lighter flicking to life, but as quickly as it appears she squeezes them shut and turns away. I can practically feel the rage emanating from her, hitting me like a heat wave and turning my stomach from the intensity.

“Do you have any alcohol?”

Her unusual question takes me completely by surprise and, unsure if I heard her correctly, I lean forward. “What?”

She presses the heels of her palms against her eyes, her back still turned to me. “Goddammit, do you have any alcohol or not!”

What the hell does she want a drink for? I'm still struggling with figuring out how she even got here! Not to mention the fact that she's trying to redecorate my goddamn living room. And how she's lighting up my entire apartment like a freaking lava lamp! In what world would alcohol answer any of those questions?

“Y-yes?” I stammer instead. Every muscle in my body is tensed, ready to get up and flee the moment she makes a move toward me, but for now I stay locked in place. It's not like I could run, anyway—the front door was closer to her and there was a table blocking my exit. “I have beer in the fridge.”

“Do you have anything stronger?”

Do I have anything stronger than beer? I'm not much of a drinker, that was usually Monica's department. “I think my ex left a bottle of vodka in the freezer, but maybe now's not really a good time for—”

Without a word she enters my kitchen, her back still facing me as she yanks open the freezer door and rummages around. Her veins continue to pulsate like a nightlight on steroids and as I watch her from the pass-through window I can't help but notice how warm my apartment is getting, like someone just cranked up the heater.

Then again, that might just be me. My nerves are through the roof and my face feels like it's on fire, not to mention the heat Ashe is putting off with her anger. If emotions could manifest themselves, this goddess would surely burn the whole building down with her fury.

The sound of a bottle cap spinning open cuts through the silence and Ashe raises the vodka to her lips, chugging the alcohol down like she just found an oasis in the middle of a desert. From where I'm sitting I catch the glimpse of a grimace on her face as the clear liquid no doubt burns her throat, but she doesn't slow down and after a few seconds the bottle is emptied in what I'm sure is record time.

Jesus Christ, she's going to get alcohol poisoning and croak in my kitchen. But damn, that woman can drink!

After a few moments of agonizing quiet, Ashe opens the refrigerator and turns to me. The spark I thought I saw earlier is gone from her eyes and the glow from her veins is slowly simmering, burning out like a candle at the end of its wick. Her face had also softened a touch, although that could be a trick of the light. Her body still looked tense and . . . dirty?

With her now standing so close I can see the rips in the black tank top she's wearing, the dried mud clinging to her skin and in her disheveled hair, the scratches on her neck and face, the tattoo painted on her arms—wait, tattoo?

Who is this woman?

She holds up an unopened beer bottle as if it were a peace offering.

“Sorry about your wall.” Her tone lacks any trace of remorse, but she twists off the top and slides the beer across the breakfast bar. The faint scent of vanilla follows her movement and my skin prickles. “Have one. It'll help.”

“Help with what?” The question flies from my mouth, biting through the air like the snap of a whip, but the sudden change in her demeanor has left my head spinning and I was being reactive at this point. Where was all her seething rage from earlier? Why is she not punching more holes or yelling? Why is she suddenly so calm?

Ashe walks back to the living room, her footing a little unsteady as she carries the rest of my six pack in tow and seats herself on my couch. “Answers.”

Well I definitely wanted those.

Cautiously I get up and take the beer, inching closer as I narrow the distance between myself and the front door. I keep my eyes trained on the redhead, looking for any sign of what might be perceived as a threatening move. I still felt this overwhelming sense that, regardless of the anger that radiated off her, sizzling just beneath the surface, she wouldn't hurt me.

But could I really be sure?

“I won't bite.”

I laugh nervously but then quickly regret the outburst. I shouldn't laugh at that. “You broke into my apartment and punched my wall,” I deadpan, reeling in my nerves as best I can. “How do I know you won't hurt me?”

“I didn't break in.” She takes a sip of her beer and leans back, her gaze shifting to the world outside my balcony. “I told you, I was summoned. And it's not that I won't hurt you, I can't hurt you. Not while you wear my ring.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means that, whether we like it or not, we're stuck with each other. We're soulbound, Dani. For better”—she takes another swig, longer this time—“or worse.” She winces. “Probably worse.”

“Soulbound?”

“Till death do us part.” She levels her gaze with mine, her hazel hues sending shivers crawling up my spine, and suddenly I'm back in that trance. Those goddamn eyes. “Or at least until you die.”

That was enough to snap me back to reality. “You just said you can't hurt me.”

“Oh, I don't have to hurt you.” She smirks. “I only need to outlive you.”

A heat flushes my cheeks and I'm instantly grateful that my face is masked in shadow. Was that a threat? Does she know something I don't? Did putting on her ring somehow shorten my lifespan? Am I really going to die from this?

I swallow a mouthful of beer, washing down the ball that had gathered in my throat before prodding further. I'm a young, mostly healthy twenty-two year old. I'm not going to die from wearing some ring, that's ridiculous! We're talking about her, here, and how she got into my apartment. Let's get this conversation back on track.

“You said I summoned you,” I say, racking my brain for any possible conclusion. “So, what, you're some kind of genie? This ring is like your lamp or something?” I'm only half joking, but with the ring and the smoke and her sudden appearance, a part of me is wondering if I've mistakenly stepped into a weird reenactment of Arabian Nights. I'm still not fully convinced that this isn't all just some messed up dream.

It wasn't like I haven't had strange dreams before.

Ashe's lips curl into a frown. “At one point we might've been called that,” she says after a while. “Or gods, or faeries, or spirits. But these days you just call us demons.”

I nearly choke. “Demons?” Like the horned, hooved monstrosities born from the fires of Hell type of demons? “Are-are you saying—”

“That what, I'm from Hell?” She laughs, although the sound is brief. Her face contorts for a moment in what looks like pain but in an instant it's gone and her eyes are once more fixated on me. “Please. You actually need a soul to cross over into the afterlife, and demons don't have one. So no, I'm not from Hell.”

A sigh of relief whistles through my nose, a breath that I hadn't even realized I was holding in. “You're too pretty to be that kind of demon.”

Oh shit, did I say that out loud?

My eyes widen as Ashe lifts a brow and the corner of her mouth twitches, confirming my fear, and quickly I take another long swig. I really need to quit vocalizing my thoughts.

“That's just a generic term,” she replies as she fishes another bottle from the pack and pops the top open. “No fire and brimstone, here, and no horns. Oh and don't worry, I don't want your soul. Wouldn't do me any good, anyway.”

“What do demons do with souls?” Christ, I never thought I would be having this kind of conversation. Do I even want to know? Still, if we're soulbound now or whatever, I should probably learn as much as I can. Maybe when she's done explaining everything I'll finally wake up.

“Oh, you know. Barter for them, eat them.” She waves a hand through the air as she talks, chuckling, and I briefly wonder if the vodka she unceremoniously chugged earlier is finally hitting her. “Come on, Dani. Souls are a human thing. Most demons don't even deal with them and there are fewer still who actually eat them. Apparently they taste bitter or something, and they can't be taken by force. A soul has to be freely given.”

“How reassuring.” I clear my throat and ask, “So, the glowing . . .”

“Yeah, I do that when I'm angry.”

“And what, you're not angry now?” To be honest, I didn't even know what I was feeling right now. My emotions have been doing cartwheels ever since her strange smoke-filled intrusion into my home and it's been nothing but a crazy, twisted slide down the rabbit hole from there.

“Alcohol helps tame the beast.” She tips her beer in my direction before raising it to her lips. “You don't want to see how angry I can get, trust me.”

Duly noted.

I stare at her as she downs the beverage and sets the empty container to the side. Jesus, how many is that now? Three?

“I just saw you chug a whole bottle of vodka,” I murmur as she twists the cap off another beer. “You probably shouldn't drink any more.”

“I'll buy you another pack.”

“That's not what I'm worried about.” I shake my head and look down at my own drink. Should I be worried? I'm pretty sure she's consumed her body weight in alcohol by now. Was I going to be calling the paramedics for her soon? How would I explain all of this? Could they even help a . . . whatever she is? “You could get alcohol poisoning.”

Ashe scoffs, as if it was the most ridiculous thing she's ever heard. “The thing about being half demon is that I can't get drunk, no matter how hard I try.” She shrugs. “My blood burns it right up.”

Half demon? So a part of her is human, at least. But how is any of this possible and what does it all mean?

A loud buzz cuts through the air, nearly sending my heart straight through my chest.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Ashe grumbles as she pulls out a small phone from her pocket and flips it open. “Yes, I took care of it. Send the cleaners to my last coordinates. No, I'm not there right now. I was”—she pauses long enough to shoot me a glare—“pulled away. I'll call you tomorrow. We're done for the night.”

“Cleaners?” What is she now, some kind of gangbanger? Hit woman? FBI? Do they even employ demons?

She flips the lid closed and sets the phone on the coffee table between us. “Business.”

“Business?” I glance at the microwave in the kitchen and raise a brow skeptically. “At two in the morning?” Shit, I wasn't going to get any sleep tonight.

Ashe goes to take another drink but is racked by a violent coughing fit. She finally groans once she's able to catch her breath again and leans forward. “Just, business.” She squeezes her eyes shut as she wipes at her chin with the back of a hand.

I notice the dark spatter left behind on her wrist and I know it's not beer she's spitting up. Instinct kicks in and before I can think it through I step forward. That cough didn't sound good.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she grunts, pressing a hand against her side. “It's nothing, just got into a fight earlier.”

“With what, a bowie knife?” I remember the scratches I saw carved into her skin and frown. They had looked pretty severe, and something told me that Ashe was too stubborn to actually tend to them properly. She grimaces and falls back onto the couch, and as I get closer I see the glimmer of blood as it seeps from a deep wound on her left shoulder. And down her side. And trickling from her lips. “Jesus, you're really hurt.”

“I've been through worse.” She chuckles, raising the beer in some kind of half-hearted cheer. “You should see the other guy, though.”

“I don't think that's something to be proud of—” My breath catches in my throat when I realize that I'm standing right in front of her, my hands inches away from reaching out and touching her skin. When did I set my drink down?

Ashe quirks a brow as our eyes meet, her hazel hues burning with a curious mix of frustration and intrigue, and I'm reminded of how she was staring at me that night in the club. What does she keep looking for?

“Aren't you afraid?”

I blink, but I don't move. “Afraid of what?”

“Of the demon sitting right in front of you.”

“You said you're only half.” I meant for the comment to sound lighthearted, but when she doesn't respond I sigh. “I'm a lot of things right now, honestly. I'm not even sure if any of this is real or if it's all just some fucked up dream. But mostly, I'm afraid your blood is soaking through my cushions and ruining my couch. Real or not, we need to treat your injuries.”

Her gaze is unwavering, but after a few seconds she gives a hesitant nod and sits up.

“Do you need—” She narrows her eyes and my offer to help dies on my tongue. “Got it,” I mutter, stepping aside. “The bathroom's, uh, this way.”

I don't look back as I lead the way down the hall and into the only other room. My heart's performing backflips in my chest and I'm suddenly aware that I haven't cleaned in weeks. I try not to let my mind reflect on how long it's been since I actually brought another girl into my bedroom, or how Ashe of all people is the one setting foot in here.

“You can use the shower when I'm done patching you up,” I call over my shoulder as I flip on the bathroom light and rummage through the cabinets. “It's not much, but I might have some clothes you can borrow, too.”

“Cute place,” Ashe muses as she steps into the room. “Cozy.”

“Thanks.”

I find an assortment of bandages, a clean wash cloth and the first-aid kit I purchased after my second semester at Trinity Valley University and walk back into the room. She's a patient, I tell myself as I fight to keep my cheeks from blushing at the sight of her sitting at the foot of my bed. She's a patient, and a demon, and she's dirtying my sheets. Pull it together, Dani!

“Okay, let's see the damage.” I'm impressed that I'm able to keep my voice level. But as she lowers her hands and carefully removes her top, exposing her battered yet very well toned midsection, I'm not so sure my resolve will survive for much longer.

There's a sexy demon-goddess in my bed. Am I really sure this isn't a dream? Or a nightmare?

God help me.

“You know, this isn't necessary,” Ashe says as I open a bottle of saline and douse the cloth. “I'll be fine.”

“Is this a common thing for you?” I start cleaning the gash on her shoulder, taking great care not to let my hands linger too long on her skin or let my eyes roam over her muscular figure. “Getting into fights?”

The temptation to trace the peculiar chain link tattoo wrapped around her body was almost too much and despite the strange mix of sweat, blood and something putrid, her vanilla scent is still overpowering. I'll have to focus on short, shallow breaths if I want to keep a clear head.

“Possibly.” She tilts her head and smirks. “Is it common for you to patch up demons?”

Touché. “You're my first, actually.”

“You're surprisingly cavalier about all this. For a first-timer.”

That's because this is all too crazy to be even remotely real. Focusing on her wounds, taking in the fact that she does actually bleed like any normal human would, distracted me from the improbable reality that she was anything but.

“Yeah, I'll be sure to keep that in mind for the next demon I run across.”

She chuckles, the sound rumbling in her chest, but she doesn't retort.

Once the blood and—what was that black gunk, mud? Tar?—is wiped from her shoulder, I step back and examine my handiwork. The laceration wasn't as deep as I first thought. I didn't see any evidence of torn ligaments or ripped muscle, so movement of that arm shouldn't be too badly impaired.

The rest of her body, on the other hand, seems to have fared much worse. Splotches of red and dark purple paint her torso like leopard spots, the most of which seemed to be concentrated around her left side. What the hell was she fighting, a bear?

“Jesus, are you sure this was all from one guy?”

Ashe shrugs and I frown, my eyes once more tracing her tattoo. If she was involved in some kind of demon gang activity, do I really want to be inviting that baggage into my life?

“Look, I'm not going to ask how because whatever you do is your business and I don't want to get caught up in it. But you might have cracked some ribs and you should probably see a real doctor.”

“They'll heal.”

How can she be so nonchalant about it? Isn't she in pain?

I flick my eyes up at her as I begin dabbing at the wound on her side. “Like your arm did?”

At this Ashe raises an eyebrow. “Yes,” she drawls, wincing as I press a little too firmly against her cut.

So she does feel pain. Good to know.

“Why'd you do it?” I don't want to ask, but I've been replaying that night in my head for so long and until tonight I had convinced myself that I was either drunk, crazy or hallucinating. For my own sanity, I needed to know. “I mean, I guess now I know how you stopped that car.” I take a deep breath, hold it in for a fleeting moment, and slowly exhale. “So now I'd like to know why.”

Her eyes are still locked on me, that curious look dancing behind them, but then her gaze turns to the ring glistening happily on my finger and her jaw clenches. “It was a mistake.”

Her words hit me like a kick to the gut.

“You saved my life, Ashe.” I swallow down what I'm pretty sure is my pride. Regardless of what she says or, hell, even what she is, she did save me. At the very least I owe her my gratitude. “Thank you for—”

“I'm not a fucking hero, Dani.” An icy coldness bites at the edge of her tone, even though her body is still radiating heat. I jump back as she pushes herself up and walks to the bathroom. She starts the shower and closes the door behind her, but not before I hear her mumble, “I never should have saved your life.”