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I motion for her to get on with it.

She takes a breath. “We need to capture a demon.”

“What?”

“And interrogate it,” she finishes.

She’s got to be fucking joking.

I tip my head back and laugh. Interrogate a demon—I’ve never heard of such a thing. I mean, for one? They’re terrible, awful creatures. They’re otherworldly, and I’m not sure they speak English unless they’re using a human body. Which leads to the second: they’re dangerous. They can possess people. They don’t really have many physical limitations.

“We use a witch’s circle,” she says. “We put one in it, ask it a few questions…”

“Have you met a demon?”

She lifts one shoulder. “I came face-to-face with one once. That was right before they took my mom. Oh, and then the one that tried to claw into my back. That was fun.”

Jesus.

“I’m not sure they react to torture.”

“We could douse them in holy water.” Her expression is so fucking hopeful.

She’s cute. Attractive. I look away and will the blood rushing straight to my dick to go elsewhere. I can’t get a hard-on while she’s talking about interrogating demons.

Well, I guess I can, because her gaze drops to my lap, and her lips part.

She shifts closer, rising on her knees. Her lips brush my ear, and her breasts press into my arm. God, that’s punishment enough, knowing I can’t touch her exactly as I want. I remain still until she speaks.

“Was it the torture or the holy water that did it for you?” she whispers.

I growl and turn sharply. I grip the back of her head, not letting her escape. She stays perfectly still as my lips touch hers. Once, twice. The bare minimum of kissing.

She leans away with a small frown. “I can’t do this in-between shit, Kian. I’ve…”

I wait, but she doesn’t continue.

“You’ve what?”

She shakes off whatever thought was plaguing her and stands. She makes a show of brushing off her legs and gazing back toward the hotel. “Where are we anyway?”

“Outside of Las Vegas.”

“Really?” She spins and faces west, like she can see the city from here.

I snort. “Yeah. We were going to go through it⁠—”

“We were?”

Don’t focus on how disappointed she suddenly sounds.

“Have you not been?”

“To Vegas?” She scoffs and paces away from me. “When the hell would my mother have taken me there?”

I’m suddenly much more curious about the life she led up until I burst into it. “You went to school, though, didn’t you? College? You could’ve gone away on a weekend trip with friends, boyfriend⁠—”

“I spent weekends at home,” she says curtly. “There always seemed to be something calling me back. So I never got the chance…”