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“Which you like,” he accused.
“I do, yeah.”
“Riling people is entertaining—that can’t be denied.”
Her brow furrowed. “Actually, it can. I’m only finding some satisfaction in their annoyance because of the way they’ve been acting lately. I wouldn’t otherwise do it.”
He shrugged. “It’s not for everyone, I suppose.”
“But you really do love it, don’t you?” She shook her head in wonder. “I’ve only witnessed this kind of behavior in two types of people. Imps—because, well, they’re imps. And demons who’ve lived far too long—their mental patterns get all muddled, and they’re so desensitized to standard forms of amusement that they’ll slip into finding joy in the strangest shit.”
It took everything in Teague not to tense or let his expression change.
“But you’re only, what, fifty? Sixty?” Most demons tended to age at an excruciatingly slow pace once they reached adulthood. “You can’t be much older than that, if at all. You’ve only been racing for the past, like, thirty years.”
He flashed her a smile. “Been looking into me, have you?”
“Of course. You’re in close contact with people who matter to me.” She paused. “There wasn’t much info to dig up, though. You strays never leave many traces of yourselves. But, obviously, Khloë vouched for you. So did Jolene,” she added, referring to a woman who was not only a Prime but the grandmother of both Harper and Khloë.
He gently patted her head. “Don’t worry, little harpy. I’m not a threat to the people you care about. I’d never hurt my girlfriend’s loved ones.”
She squinted. “You said the latter with a little too much seriousness. You know we’re not actually dating, right?”
“Of course.” As they finally reached the elevator that would take them up to the club that was built above the Underground to conceal its entrance, Teague pushed the ‘up’ button on the panel. “On another note, I’ve got to admit, you’re a better actress than I thought you’d be. You still won’t hold out for the whole five months, though.”
She made a dismissive sound. “Think what you want. I couldn’t give a ferret’s last shit.”
“Are you ever going to drop the ‘I hate you’ act?”
Her brow creased. “I don’t hate you. I couldn’t muster up that level of emotion for you.”
His low chuckle was overridden by the ping that filled the air. Then the elevator doors glided open.
“Disclaimer: whenever you get all snarky with me,” he began as he splayed a hand on her back and urged her forward, “it makes my demon want to bite you.”
Larkin’s step faltered—something that, as a rule, did not happen. But this male had a talent for poking at her emotional balance.
“In a good way,” he assured her, jabbing the button on the panel.
“A good way?”
“Yeah.”
She set her hands on her hips as the metal doors closed, asking, “How can there possibly be a good way for it to bite me? All hellbeasts are venomous.” Surely he hadn’t forgotten that.
“And?”
“And only other hellbeasts are immune to your venom. I’m not a hellbeast. Which means I’d end up writhing in agony or getting struck by paralysis.”
“And?”
She was pretty sure a muscle in her cheek ticked. Because he wasn’t being deliberately obtuse; no, he genuinely didn’t see her point. “And there’s therefore not a good way for you or your demon to bite me.”
He shrugged. “The effects would be temporary.”
What worried Larkin was that he clearly wasn’t joking. He’d see no harm in biting her because, in his book, the important part was that she’d be fine in the long run. She pointed hard at him. “You will keep your teeth out of my skin.”
“Will I?”
“Yes, you goddamn will.”
“I love it when you snarl at me. There’s something mesmerizing about the way your face morphs into a glower. The transformation is beautiful.”
Muttering beneath her breath, she pressed her fingers down on her closed eyelids. “Why are you trying to drive me to the brink of insanity, Teague? Because it honestly feels like that’s what you’re aiming to do.”
“Why would I only drive you to the brink? I don’t half-ass shit, gorgeous.” He paused. “I have to ask, though . . . What makes you so sure you’re sane?”
She lowered her hands to her sides and opened her eyes. “What?”
“How can you be sure?”
“I would know if I was crazy.”
“Crazy people don’t know they’re bonkers. Mostly. There are some exceptions. For all you know, you could be mad as a barrel of monkeys.”
She flapped her arms. “Why do I always have the most senseless conversations with you?”
“Why would you want to have typical conversations?”
“Normal people do that.”
“Where’s the fun in being normal?”
The elevator slowed to a halt. When the doors again glided open with yet another ping, they stepped out of the elevator. Now in the basement of the club, they briefly greeted the demons who stood guard there to ensure that no humans or other preternatural species found their way to a place they had no business being.
