Fashionably Dead and Loving It (Hot Damned #14) - Robyn Peterman Page 0,16
was a little bizarre and somewhat invasive. It wasn’t sexual in nature, but it was intensely personal. I found myself doing the same thing. He seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place him.
“Have we met?” I asked with my flaming fingertips still aimed at him.
“We have not.”
“Satan is smoking crack,” I muttered. “Thank Uncle God that Ethan isn’t here right now. He’d rip your head right off your body for showing up in my closet half-naked.”
“The Vampyre Prince isn’t here?” Levi inquired.
I narrowed my eyes and sent another warning zap his way. He inhaled it again. “Nope. And if you’re thinking you can get away with anything because the man of the palace is away, think again, Blue Jeans. I am your worst freaking nightmare.”
Levi shook his head and groaned. “That’s a given. And are the pants nicknames necessary? It’s kind of rude.”
“And you showing up in my closet half-dressed is polite, Mr. Tough Skins?” I shot back.
“Dude,” he said, snapping his fingers and covering his upper half with a t-shirt. “I don’t want to be here anymore than you don’t want me here. You feel me?”
“That’s my line,” I snapped. “There will be no stealing of my lines.”
“Whatever,” Levi said with another wildly impressive eye roll. “Tell me what I have to do to get out of here.”
“I don’t know what you have to do, dumbass,” I told him, giving up and flopping down on the chair across from him. I still couldn’t shake the feeling I knew him. “Didn’t Satan tell you?”
“Hell no. He’s a cryptic asshole,” Levi pointed out. “Plus, he looked extremely hungover. He was a hot fucking mess.”
“Again, you’re stealing my lines,” I accused. “I don’t like it.”
“Deal with it,” he said. “I’m older than you and have used them longer. Therefore, you’ve been stealing my lines.”
“Bullshit,” I said.
“You have a filthy fucking mouth,” Levi pointed out.
I grinned. “Pot, kettle, black, douchebag”
“Butthole,” he replied with a smirk.
“Turd.”
“Assface,” he announced for the win.
I stared at him. He stared right back.
“What is happening here?” I asked.
“Not a clue. You started it,” Levi said, leaning back in the chair and blowing out a long, slow breath.
“Who are you? Really?”
He sighed and ran his hands through his jet-black hair. The action was familiar. He reminded me of… me.
Shit.
“I’m no one of consequence,” he replied smoothly. “Just figure out what you need me to do and I will disappear faster than a blink of an eye. I would have said beat of a heart, but since you’re dead, I refrained. I’m good like that.”
“Actually, you didn’t refrain and you’re still pilfering my lines,” I said, shaking my head and grinning. “You have no manners.”
“I’m a Demon. It’s to be expected.”
He had a point.
“Who is your sperm donor?” I demanded, sitting up and rethinking my safety. I’d been the one who’d eliminated the heinous Demon who’d sired me. My father—for lack of a better word—was Satan’s brother. He was a viciously evil man. I’d been terrified that the Devil would want me destroyed for killing him. I couldn’t have been more surprised when Uncle Fucker thanked me.
My parentage was a bit lacking—an understatement. However, if this Demon was related to me, he might not be happy about what I did.
“Same as yours. I despised him,” he said, reading my mind. “Not here to take revenge.”
“Get out of my head,” I hissed.
“Stop thinking so loudly,” Levi said. “Your brain practically screams. Pipe down.”
“You pipe down, jackhole,” I snapped. “So, what are we to each other?”
“We are nothing to each other,” he said coldly. “We share some DNA. That’s all. Right now, you need to tell me what I have to do to get out of here.”
“Pull the denim out of your ears,” I said, a little hurt. Was the jerk really my brother? If we shared a sperm donor, the answer was yes. “I already told you I have no freaking idea why Satan sent you.”
“Awesome,” Levi said flatly. “Fine. I’m sure the reason will present itself soon enough. Is there room at the inn for me?”
I silently studied his face. I didn’t have a reflection anymore, but I realized I was staring at a male version of myself—gold eyes, high cheek bones, dark brown hair. He was missing the red streaks in his hair and I thought his lashes might have been longer than mine, which wasn’t fair, but other than that, we were very much the same. Holy Hell, how many of us were there?