Demon Night

kiss of Drambuie, leaving her flushed and dizzy and all too ready for another drink.
    But this couldn’t be bad for her. The shuddering drag of her breath when his mouth left hers wasn’t harsh to her ears, but the most luscious sound she’d made in years, the emotions unmistakable. Need. Desire. Wonder.
    Ethan spoke roughly against her throat, and she didn’t hear the words clearly but her answer was yes. Her necklace loosened—disappeared. She thought of the scar, then banished it from her mind.
    Demons and vampires could never hurt her as badly as she’d hurt herself. And she’d done enough wrong in her life, fucked up so many times that she didn’t know how she deserved to be here now, with a man with wings and a laugh like whiskey and who kissed as if he wanted to swallow her down—but she’d be grateful for it every second of the rest of her life, even if she never encountered anything like him or anything miraculous again. And now she only wanted to crawl onto him, lean on him, and hold on to this wondrously alive feeling—
    Ethan froze. He lifted his head to stare down at her, his eyes like amber stone. His thumbs swept across her cheekbones—and then he abruptly let her go and turned away from her. “I’d best go.”
    His voice was as hard as his expression had been. Reeling from the change, she didn’t know what to say, tried to read his profile instead—but it was inscrutable. “Ethan?”
    A round-brimmed hat appeared in his hand and he jammed it on his head, shadowing his features. “Don’t rely on me, Charlie. I’ll keep you safe. But don’t be thinking it’s more than that, or that I’ll be anything more than someone who protects you.”
    But he’d wanted to be. A man didn’t kiss like that unless he craved it. Her chest tightened, and she struggled to understand the point behind his warning. “Because you’re unreliable?”
    Maybe there was a kindness in that—cautioning her that nothing would come of a relationship with him except disappointment. But Charlie wasn’t looking for anything permanent, and she’d never been idiot enough to think she could change someone.
    He drew in a long breath. “No. I’m steady enough—but you’ll throw yourself into relying on me.”
    She couldn’t comprehend it for a long moment, and just stood there, blinking stupidly. Then it hit her and she stepped back, wrapped her arms across her roiling stomach and curled in on herself a little, like a pill bug.
    He was right. But she hadn’t known he could see her so well…that all of her weaknesses were exposed to him, and so revolting that although he might want her enough to kiss her like he had, he didn’t want to want someone like her.
    “Charlie—” He lifted his hand, then let it drop back to his side. And that was only more devastating—that he could be sorry for hurting her, but he realized that if he softened the blow it’d just be worse in the end.
    “You’d best go, Ethan,” she rasped, and his fist tightened as if a response lay just beneath his skin—but he walked to the door without speaking a word.
    Though she’d seen him for the first time that night, already his shape and features were familiar, so easy to apply to the faceless man she’d known for two months.
    But she didn’t know him at all. Didn’t even know—“Should I be calling you Ethan? Or is your real name something else?”
    He didn’t turn around, but stood with his hand on the doorknob. His voice was quiet when he finally said, “They call me Drifter.”
    The door closed behind him; the house loomed silent and cold around her.
    But at least it wasn’t dark.

    The demon had drained her.
    Ethan studied the position of the female vampire’s body, unease twisting through him. The demon had left her on her back in an alley, her blank eyes staring up at the stars, her booted feet at an angle up against the brick wall, as if she’d just laid down and propped her feet up to watch the night sky.
    Ethan had told Charlie the only way to kill a vampire was cutting through its heart or taking its head, but that wasn’t quite right—it was just the other options weren’t so practical.
    They could be burned, but Ethan didn’t know many vampires who’d sit around while their flesh roasted. So those who died that way, it was usually accidental—in a house that caught fire while they were in their daysleep. A demon might trap and burn them alive, but it took a lot of effort to make certain they