The lights were blazing in every room in our house when we pulled into the car port out back. It kind of kiboshed my plan to sneak in and then hide out in my room until my parents cooled down. Ari, the keener, bounded off ahead of me. My walk had more of a “headed to the guillotine” vibe to it.

I veered into the backyard to snap a few stalks off Mom’s aloe plant to apply to my still-throbbing chest. It was a gorgeous night, made more so by the fact that I was still alive. I raised my face up to the stars, calmed by their distant pulsing. All was peaceful and still until my shoulder blades tensed like someone was behind me.

The maybe-demon from Josh’s alleyway was back, having stopped about five feet away, triggering the motion sensor. What with Josh’s sister trying to kill me and all, he’d fallen off my radar.

Aloe gooped over my fingers, having clutched the frond hard enough to break it, and my terror and an intense curiosity resurfaced. There was no denying his compelling presence. Plus, he had those long lashes that were my Kryptonite. I opened my mouth to scream. Or drool.

He held a finger up to his delectable lips to keep me quiet, circling me with lazy strides, checking me out.

I’d have been offended by the blatant appraisal except under his intense scrutiny, my clit, Cuntessa de Spluge lit up with an electric zing. I found myself stroking the aloe stalks in an obscene manner. Even knowing he couldn’t see my blush since I was in the shadows didn’t kill my utter mortification at jerking off plant life in not-so-subtextual yearning.

He stalked toward me, his leather jacket rustling with each step.

I held up a hand to stop him, the faintest electric crackle pulsing off my skin.

He didn’t stop, didn’t slow. In fact, he kept up his steady approach until his hand covered mine. My magic shocked us both at his touch. I gasped and shivered as pleasure, not pain, rumbled through me.

Hand still clasped in his, he stared at me suspiciously, instead of in fear, but had I wanted, I could have broken his hold. Not a demon, then? He fingered the thin silver necklace I wore with surprising gentleness, toying with the cute floral pendant dangling off it that read “I will kick you in the balls if I have to.”

“Should I be scared?” Given how he sounded like sex, sin, and salaciousness–the true definition of a triple threat–I decided that yes, he was most definitely a demon.

I met his mocking gaze, my rooted stance and beating heart placing me somewhere between morbid fascination and noping the fuck out at warp speed.

“Nava,” Ari called from the top of the stairs.

I jerked toward his voice. “Here.”

My intruder backed away, melting into the night. I might have followed had Ari not called for me again. Instead, I hurried into the kitchen to find Mom, Dad, Rabbi Abrams, and a tree trunk of a man, about ten years older than me, with shoulder-length black hair and sharp blue eyes sitting at the kitchen table. His hair, combined with the hemp bracelets around his wrist, made him look like a Special Ops surfer dude. The floral yellow espresso cup that my parents had picked up at some overpriced ceramics studio in Italy was like a toy in his huge hand.

A platter of mostly untouched Danish pastry sat in the middle of the table, though given the three on his plate, Rabbi Abrams was doing his best to plough through them. I sent the dessert a longing glance, but before I could reach for a pastry, Tree Trunk rose to his almost six and a half feet, cracked his neck that was bigger than my thigh, and lumbered toward me.

“Baruch Ya’ari,” Ari said in the most awestruck voice I’d ever heard him use.

I didn’t care if this Baruch guy was the second coming, I hid behind my brother. Ari tugged me out to face the scary stranger, pushing me forward into his path.

“Baruch is usually based at HQ in Jerusalem,” Rabbi Abrams piped up, chewing. “He–”

“Invented the Stinger,” Ari said. Wow. Fanboy a little more, bro.

“Ari is the chemistry student I told you about,” the rabbi said to Baruch.

My unflappable brother actually squeaked when he said that.

“But due to the… situation,” Rabbi Abrams continued, “it is Nava you will be training in fighting and weapons skills.”

How about showing some tact, old man? Couldn’t he see Ari’s shoulders slump? Though I perked up at hearing there were weapons. I looked down at the aloe in my hand. I could do weapons.

Baruch let his gaze roam slowly up my body like he was cataloging my every weakness and maybe taking my blood pressure.

I jutted my chin out.

Mom tapped her finger against her cup, her wedding ring clinking against the ceramic.

“No,” Tree Trunk barked when he’d finished his inspection. He spoke with that gravelly abruptness of many Israeli men.

I dropped the aloe on the counter. “No, what?” I didn’t recall hearing a question.

Baruch made a dismissive raspberry noise. “She is not Rasha material.”

Mom deflated. Dad put his arm around her and she leaned into him. WTF?

I didn’t have time to process them being upset on my behalf, because this was my shot. “You’re right. I’m not.” I shoved Ari at him. “But he is. He killed a demon tonight. Saved my life.”

Tree Trunk stilled. He zeroed in on my brother who scowled at me. I nodded virtuously. There was only room for one demon hunter in our family and it was going to be Ari.

“How?” Baruch asked.

Ari launched into an explanation.

Tree Trunk’s stoic demeanor loosened up enough to blink approvingly during Ari’s recounting of the lamp post and ankle sheath. I took it as him being impressed with my twin.

Even the rabbi beamed with pride. My parents were certainly happy. When Ari finished, my mother prodded the still silent Baruch. “Well?”

I crossed my fingers.

Baruch gave another infuriating raspberry. “He took down some bastard of Asmodeus’.”

“The demon of lust,” Ari murmured at my questioning glance. “Major player in the demon hierarchy.”

“…And the other one did the killing,” Baruch said.

“Big deal. Get him a magic hand,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m alive thanks to Ari and his training. I refuse to believe he isn’t supposed to be Rasha.” Rabbi Abrams opened his mouth but I cut him off, knowing what he was going to say. “I don’t care if you ran the ceremony again. Ari is the chosen one, not me.”

Baruch swung his gaze to me.

Uh-oh. I’d put myself back on his radar. “Yes?”

“What did you do to her brother?” he asked. “What was the demon referring to?”

Picked up on that part of the story, had he? Mostly I’d done with her brother. Just a little bit of to at the end of our time together. “Nothing worth recounting.” In front of my parents. “She was an evil fiend,” I continued. “Talking crazy. Back to Ari.”

“Nava killed him as well,” Ari piped up.

I slapped my hand over his mouth. “As I was saying, back to Ari who is humble, which I believe is the first rule of Demon Club. He’s so humble, in fact, that he’s willing to lie like a rug to throw the spotlight off of him.”

“There is no Demon Club,” Baruch pronounced.

Ari yanked my hand off him at the same time that I said, “Fine. Sorry. Not Demon Club.” Seems they were touchy about their nickname. “The Brotherhood of David.”

“No,” Baruch corrected me, “The first rule of Demon Club. It’s ‘there is no Demon Club.’”

I crossed my arms. “Really? You’re going to get a sense of humor now?”

He mirrored my stance. “Really? You’re going to keep avoiding my question?”

I mimed zipping my lips and throwing away the key.

Tree Trunk turned to Ari. “How?” Such a popular question this evening.

My brother opened his mouth, blanched at the realization that we’d neglected to create a parent-friendly version of events, then pointed at me. “Ask her.”

I tugged on my lips to show they were still zipped.

The rabbi said a few words in Hebrew.

This time Baruch’s blink conveyed such disapproval that everyone leaned away from him. Who was this guy? Some kind of Zen eye master?

Rabbi Abrams said a few more things. None of them the ten words of Hebrew still imprinted on my brain from summer camp.

Baruch’s hand shot out and grabbed my right hand. He pulled on the ring so hard I howled in pain, attempting to jerk away. Emphasis on attempt. Vises were easier to escape. He leaned in close, his fingers tightening. “Give. It. Back.” His blue eyes darkened in menace.

That was it. My limit on bullying for today. I was exhausted and I’d kill for a shower because the demon dust on my skin was starting to itch. I leaned in until our noses practically touched. “Bite. Me.”

The room fell into shocked silence. Then Baruch laughed. A rusty bark of surprise. “Beseder,” he said using the Hebrew word for okay. He patted my head. “Sleep. Tomorrow you start.”

“Uh, no. Tomorrow you figure out how to fix this.” I pointed at my brother. “He’s the one you want, not me.”

“True,” Baruch said with a smile Ari’s way that made him preen. I gagged. “But you are who we have,” Baruch said to me, his smile gone. “So we will keep you alive and you will kill many demons.” Before I could present any further arguments, he strode out the back door and into the night without a look back.

Rabbi Abrams gave us a kind of half bow and shuffled after him. “Baruch, wait! You drove.”

Dad closed the back door after making sure the rabbi had made it down the stairs unharmed.

“I think that went very well,” Mom said, rising. She grabbed a rag from the sink and started vigorously wiping down the counter.

I slumped into a chair. “In what way?” When I’d left the house this afternoon, my parents had not been onboard with this new reality.

“You made a positive impression on Baruch. Today was a bit of a shock. For all of us. But now we’ll readjust. This could be the new start you’ve been looking for.” Interesting that she was spouting all this positive affirmation crap yet hadn’t once met my eyes.

Plus, I hadn’t been looking for a new start. My present stagnation was warm and cozy.

My father gathered up the espresso cups. “Your mother is right.”

I side-eyed Ari. He sat at the table, toying with a linen placemat. My rock of a brother looked deflated. Like sorrow was the only thing holding him together. “What about Ari?” I asked. “What’s he supposed to do now?”

Mom stopped wiping. Her voice wavered as she said, “Ari will be… The world is still his for the taking.”

Ari flinched.

I slid off the stool, and snatched up my aloe, bound for hot water and then bed. “I haven’t agreed to this.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Dad said. There it was again. Not, “You’ll be great.” Not even, “You can do this.” Just, “You have no option.” Everyone had made it very clear they were stuck with me. Maybe it was time for me to make it clear that I may have been chosen, but I still very much had a choice.

I shrugged. “There’s not any way you can force me, is there?”

My parents froze. That fact hadn’t occurred to them.

I lay my hand on Ari’s shoulder. “Hey, Ace?” I murmured. “Thanks for the rescue. But the next time I run away, ignore my calls, stay out of the Find My iPhone, and let me stay gone.”

* * *

Minutes later, I stood with my head bowed while scalding water pounded down the back of my neck. Hot showers might be evidence of the existence of angels and if they were, then the glowy buggers could show up any time and corral their wayward relations.

The combination of the steam and the sugar scrub smeared all over my body was softening my stiff muscles, washing away fears and tensions. All right, washing away sweat and demon goo but they tamped the fears and tensions down a tad. I washed my death hand about sixty-seven times before I pronounced it free of demon and karma.

Bad things really did come in threes. I’d been lucky tonight. No previous female Rasha meant that Josh had been unaware of the danger he’d been in from me, allowing my first show of magic to dust him. With his sister, Ari had been there. And with that last encounter in my backyard? I didn’t know what to make of that whole meeting and that bothered me more than the other two combined. Loathe as I was to admit it, tomorrow I was going to march myself over to the Vancouver chapter and let them take me in hand.

I shuddered, remembering Josh. Phrasing.

I dumped some argon oil shampoo in my palm, lathering up. I’d tried running away and that had gotten me nowhere. Since I didn’t want to find myself in a repeat of tonight or, you know, actually dead the next time I met a demon, I’d play nice with Demon Club.

More importantly, I had to help Ari. I wasn’t going to let my brother wither away. Much as Brotherhood history and tradition were screwing me hard and dry with no money on the bedside table afterwards, they worked in Ari’s favor. Whenever the Brotherhood determined Rasha initiate status, they committed to that (male) person without hesitation. Right now, they thought that they’d made a mistake with Ari, so their conviction that Ari was no longer an initiate was the biggest hurdle. Get the proof to correct that and his induction would swiftly follow. He’d be back on his rightful path.

I rinsed out my hair, finger combing conditioner through it.

My plan for tomorrow had two-parts: A) master my power since it appeared demons were actively targeting me now and, B) get the Brotherhood to confirm Ari’s initiate status. Me being Rasha was a weird glitch that didn’t negate my brother’s destiny.

Oh, and try not to be freaked by all this. Okay, three parts. But that’s where I capped it.

Clean of body and soul, I shut off the tap, giving myself a small electric shock in the process. Damn faulty piece of shit hand. I stepped out of the shower, wrapping the towel around my head like a giant turban before breaking open the fronds to smear aloe on my tender boobs.

I slathered body lotion on the rest of me, slipping nice and moisturized into my pink baby doll tee reading “I know guacamole is extra” and matching pink pajama shorts with small avocados printed on them. Finally, I brushed my teeth and towel dried my hair. The normalcy of following my nighttime routine was comforting.

Dumping the damp towel on the floor, I picked up the Doritos bag to throw in to my bedroom trash, since my bathroom’s was full. I opened the door with a cloud of steam, and wandered into my comparatively cooler bedroom.

Where I collided with a hard chest.

I screamed. Or tried to. A strong hand slammed down over my mouth to smoother my cries. I attempted my knee smash, but was blocked before I could even finish the thought, much less execute the move. The intruder picked me up and tossed me on my bed. My memory foam mattress contoured itself around the shape of my ass.

“You telegraph way too much,” a smooth voice said to me. Backyard guy was back.

Ignoring the decadent images that his voice conjured up, I shoved my hand into the Doritos bag which contained about 237% salt, crawled to the edge of the bed, and threw the crumbs in the demon’s face. “Burn, fucker!”

The demon glared at me as he wiped orange dust off his cheeks and sweater. “This is cashmere,” he said, frowning at the deep blue fabric.

I scrambled to my feet, holding the bag out in front of me like a cross. Which, incidentally, did nothing against demons. And since vampires didn’t exist, did nothing against them either. Some demon happened to get its kicks feeding from the neck and suddenly everyone was rushing in with garlic and stakes looking to take down Count Dracula. Those who weren’t romanticizing them as life partners, that is.

“There is enough salt in this bag to blister you back to your evil dimension.” Smirking, I batted my lashes at him. “Feel free to be scared.”

He swiped the bag out of my hands, tossing it into the trash behind him. “A, if you’re gonna eat chips, at least eat decent ones. B, not a demon. And C,” he said, reading my baby doll tee, “love the outfit, Nava.”

I scowled at him. “You are absolutely a demon.”

He pulled out my desk chair, turned it around with a snap of his wrists, and straddled it. “Why?”

“For starters, I never told you my name. Probably got it from the demon phone tree that went out about me.”

He grinned at me, flashing toothpaste-ad-perfect, even, white teeth. “I’m not on the list.”

I crossed my arms over my nipples which were now so hard from that grin he’d leveled at me that one good operatic scream could shatter them. I shut down all possibilities of how said scream could be achieved, locking them inside a box deep in my psyche.

“Any other proof you want to dazzle me with?” he asked.

How about the fact that his grin made Josh’s seem like a neutered puppy’s and Josh was a lust demon. Half-demon. Which made this guy full-evil status. “You broke into my bedroom and are holding me hostage.” With your incredible looks.

Damn. Why not roll over already, idiot girl?

I hadn’t been able to scope out his body in detail on our previous two encounters, but now, under proper lighting, I could tell he’d be nicely cut under that sweater that molded to him like a second skin. Underwear model nice and not the low rent, flyer-insert kind either. One of those glorious torsos caught in haunting black and white by Herb Ritts, the stark white of his briefs throwing his generous package into sharp relief.

Then there was his face. If it hadn’t been for the slight bent of his nose, indicating it had been broken, his South Asian beauty would have been too painful and/or depressing to look at. Killer cheekbones, firm chin, gorgeous brown skin and lips that were created to do bad, bad, wonderful things. It was going to be a crime against humanity to kill him.

I leaned in toward the slight breeze drifting in through my open window, refusing to fan myself in front of him.

He sat there under my scrutiny, totally comfortable. A sign of excess confidence and further proof of evil. Though the more I stared at him, the more I got a niggling feeling that I knew him.

“Did we ever…” I made a fist and pumped away in a back and forth motion.

Amusement lit his amber eyes. “I was the lead singer of Fugue State Five.” He smirked, saying the words as if obviously I’d heard of them. Fair enough.

Rohan Mitra had been the broody frontman whose so sensitive lyrics and rough growl singing voice induced mass hysteria at concerts world-wide. It was rumored he’d averted an oil crisis with a personal visit to a Sheik’s daughter. Watching the beautiful bastard now, I believed it.

“Oh my God!” I squealed. “Your mom is Maya Mitra. I love her!”

“My mom.” The smirk vanished.

The words tripped out of my mouth, I was so psyched to be one degree of separation away from this woman. “Punk rock Indian Jewish chick who blew every stereotype out of the water in her rise to hottest music producer in the biz? You get to be related to her?!” I bounced on the bed in sheer excitement, clapping a hand over my protesting boobs.

“And she to me,” he said dryly.

“Whatever.” I studied him. When Rohan had first gotten famous, he’d been an extremely pretty sixteen-year-old, all long limbs, smoldering doe eyes, and his trademark platinum blond hair falling into his face, but from his tightly muscled body to his five o’clock shadow, that boy was long gone. He seemed… harder. Don’t go there, honey. Thankfully his standard issue wear of Vans, black skinny jeans, and vintage-looking weird graphic T-shirts were no longer a part of his repertoire.

Even Leo, his super fan, might have needed time to make the connection between his past and present selves.

I raked an approving glance over his vastly improved fashion sense, enjoying the view from the top of his fitted sweater, along his tailored black dress pants, and down to the tips of his Italian footwear. His leather jacket was tossed on my windowsill. “I didn’t recognize you without the eyeliner and glaring dye job, Rohan.”

He tipped his head. “Yeah. Thrilled that look is immortalized for all time. Now, come on.”

“Come on and what?”

“Show me your power.” His hand snaked out and caught my wrist, pressing his palm against mine. Holding me in a barely contained show of strength.

“Death wish, much? I showed you in the backyard.”

“Barely even a tease.” He drawled the words.

I meant to pull away but I got my directions mixed up and pushed back against the warmth of his skin. “I will fire up. I’m warning you.”

Rohan leaned in. “Do it.” His eyes flared and I caught my bottom lip between my teeth.

Then some last iota of common sense–and self-preservation–raised its hand. I jerked away from him. If he was a demon, I should have killed him six times over by now. What the hell was I doing? “You still haven’t convinced me that you’re not a demon,” I said, giving the evil spawn another chance for reasons I didn’t want to examine too closely. “Fame doesn’t preclude that. Nor does having a super cool mom.”

“That doesn’t, but this does.” He held up his pinky finger, showing me the same gold ring as mine, with the same engraved hamsa and blue sapphire iris, which it turns out, was standard issue. And here I’d been hoping for a succession of property-stamping jewelry as I rose through the hunter ranks.

I fell back against my headboard. “You’re part of Demon Club. Fuck. Me.”

Rohan oogled me. “I won’t take that off the table yet.” He propped his chin on his hands on the top of the chair.

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Did you just put me on a table?”

“More invoked a proverbial table and a conditional ‘yet.’ The ‘yet’ is an important component of this potential event,” he said.

You know what else was an important component? The presumptuous jerk still having attached balls for our proverbial fuck.

“I used to write fanfic about Fugue State Five,” I said in a conversational tone.

Lookie lookie. Return of the amused smirk. “How was I?” he asked.

I shrugged, examining my chipped nail polish. “No clue. I wrote self-insert fanfic about the rest of your band. Zack, your keyboardist was astounding.” I drawled that last word so he’d get the full implication.

“My keyboardist?” Rohan’s smugness was R.I.P. “But he’s gay.”

“I assure you that didn’t matter.” I gave a self-satisfied sigh. “He succumbed to my fifteen-year-old self’s wiles.”

Rohan straightened. “Which of my much older bandmates also succumbed, Lolita?”

“Please. You guys were only three years older.” I twisted a dark curl around my finger. “But pretty much of all of them.” I raked a pointed look over him. “The ones worth writing about.” He didn’t react. “Though succumbing is far more innocent than you’re imagining,” I admitted.

“I doubt you were ever innocent.”

That was highly insulting. Did he think I’d been born this way? Please. I’d worked hard to cultivate this level of sexual awesomeness. Totally offended here. And equally turned on because he’d said it in that low rumbly voice that made me want to roll onto my back, knees falling open. If he rubbed my belly or lower, all good.

I tossed my hair. “Excellent. Assume the worst.” Straightening my legs, I crossed one over the other. Forcing them to stay closed. Then I leaned back on my elbows and gave him my best smirk. “Now, what are you doing in my bedroom?”

I prayed he couldn’t hear how hard my heart was thumping.

“I’m your new CO.”

“My what?”

“Commanding Officer.” He picked up a porcelain Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dancing together in their finery, from my shelf. “That means you have to do as I say.”

I leapt off the bed and snatched Fred and Ginger back. “Oh, hell no.”

Rohan raised an eyebrow. I petted my dancers’ ceramic heads and carefully put them back as I scrambled for a somewhat less mutinous excuse. “You’re full of shit. CO’s are only appointed on missions. Otherwise, Rabbi Abrams runs the local chapter.”

Even though not all Rasha were Jewish, when it came to running Demon Club, tracking and training the descendants, and performing rituals, David had only trusted a select group of Sanhedrin, the highest of High Rabbis. Rabbis still performed those duties today, despite the fact that the Brotherhood wasn’t technically a religious organization. Something about trade secrets and the magic involved. I suspected the Brotherhood just didn’t like change.

“Your brother talks too much.” Rohan’s voice was a silky threat.

I stormed over to him. “Leave Ari out of this.”

“Or what?” He didn’t bother to hide his amusement.

I leaned in, letting my sideboob brush against his arm. “A girl can’t give away all her secrets,” I purred. My hair teased his shoulder blades. Bad idea. This close, I could smell him, a blend of musky cologne with an underbite of iron that had skyrocketed to being the sexiest scent I’d ever inhaled.

“That a challenge?” He tucked a strand behind my ear, his face tilted up to mine.

I refused to back down, no matter how I longed to brush my tingling skin and capture the sensation for a moment longer. This was all an act, albeit one that got results. Rohan’s player ways were the stuff of well-documented legend.

Maybe that’s how he killed demons. He hit them with the look and the grin and then, when they fell to their knees in a puddle of feels, ripped their hearts out.

I wasn’t going to fall quite so easily. “Nope. Wouldn’t want you to tax yourself, Rock Boy.”

His jaw tightened. Swinging his leg off the chair, he stood up abruptly, forcing me to scramble back to avoid being clipped on the underside of my chin.

I stared up at his good six inches on my five-foot-eight self.

“Tomorrow. 9AM at the chapter house,” he ordered. “Get Ari to drive you if you don’t know where it is.” Rohan sauntered over to the open window, all lethal elegance. “And Lolita? Don’t even think about blowing me off.” His smile was ruthless. “Remember, I know where you live.”

With that he jumped out the window and into the night.