Demon Born

Chapter 2-2

Cat woke up earlier than she normally did, probably because she knew there was a disguised demon in the spare bedroom down the hall, and the last thing she wanted was to have him knocking at the door while she was still lying in bed wearing the tank top and panties that were her summertime sleeping attire. Just the mere thought was enough to spur her to climb out of bed and go to the bathroom, then get in the shower and give herself a quick spritz. Luckily, she’d washed her hair the day before in preparation for her father’s birthday party, and so she didn’t have to bother with it much. The braid she’d worn it in had left fun little ripples all along its length, so she combed it out and left it loose on her shoulders, figuring she could always braid it up again if it got too warm later in the day.

Jeans and a sleeveless embroidered Mexican blouse she’d bought down at the Plaza, and flat sandals and some silver jewelry, and she figured she was fit to be seen. Well, almost — she quickly brushed on some mascara, followed by lip gloss, then slowly opened the door to her bedroom and peeked down the hall.

The door to the guest room was still shut, and she couldn’t hear any sound coming from within. Did that mean the demon lord — Loc, Cat told herself — actually was still asleep, or had he disappeared sometime during the night, deciding that it wasn’t such a good idea after all for him to be staying here?

Such a departure would make her life a lot easier, although she found herself experiencing a pang of disappointment at the thought that he might already be gone.

Crazy, she thought, and headed down the stairs. Still there was no sign of life in the guest room, so her other theory, that he was here but awake and waiting for her to make the first move before he emerged from his bedroom, seemed to be off the mark as well.

Trying not to shrug, she went into the kitchen. After a moment’s hesitation, she started a pot of coffee, making enough for two people just in case Loc really was still around. She could save the leftovers for iced coffee later in the afternoon, although generally she tried not to drink too much caffeine late in the day.

Just as she was pouring some into her favorite hand-glazed mug, a deep voice said, “Good morning.”

Somehow, she managed to keep herself from splashing the hot liquid on her hand as she started. “Good morning,” she said evenly, then turned to see Loc standing at the entrance to the kitchen. Once again, he wore human clothes, faded jeans and those same scuffed motorcycle boots he had on last night, although today he wore an untucked shirt in a deep purple shade with a rough weave of brighter colors worked through it.

Guatemalan, her mind instantly catalogued, recognizing the fabric as the kind produced in home-based textile shops in that Central American country. Well, he had hinted that he’d traveled the world in his search for someone to send him back to his own plane of existence.

“Coffee?” she added, hoping she sounded normal and not at all rattled by the presence of a demon lord in her kitchen at eight o’clock in the morning. “I mean,” she added hastily, “if you drink it.”

“I’ve acquired the habit,” he replied as he came farther into the room. “That smells good. Sumatran?”

“Yes,” she said. “It sounds like you’ve become something of an expert.”

“I’ve had many varieties in my travels.”

Since Cat wasn’t sure how she should respond to that comment, she settled for giving him a nod while at the same time fetching another mug from the cupboard. Once it was filled, she handed it to him. “I have cream in the fridge if you want it. And the sugar is in that little blue bowl over there on the other counter.”

His gaze traveled to where she’d indicated, but he shook his head. “Black is fine.”

Black as his bat wings, which were now hidden…black as the heavy dark hair he’d pushed back from his brow. Seeing him now, in the morning light that poured in through the window over the sink, Cat saw he was really even more spectacular than she’d thought, with those long lashes that partially hid his dark eyes, and the muscles that bulged against the short sleeves of the shirt he wore. And the thing that made him all the more gorgeous was his complete ignorance of his appearance. She got the impression that he’d chosen this form because he thought it would make it easier to work with humans, and cared very little as to whether it was attractive or not. For all she knew, he really had no frame of reference when it came to human beauty.

Which meant that putting on even the minor cosmetics she now wore had probably been a waste of time, but she figured she’d worry about that later. In a way, it was sort of freeing to be around someone who had no concept of appearance and all its myriad ways of affecting behavior.

On the other hand, though, he was just so damn distracting.

She cleared her throat. “I don’t have a lot of breakfast food on hand. Usually, I just have yogurt or a piece of toast. But I can run down to the market and get something else if you want.” That seemed the safest thing to do; she didn’t think she was quite up to taking him out to breakfast.

Her offer elicited a small smile — a genuine one, though, with nothing mocking in it. “Catalina, that’s not necessary. I told you last night that I can get anything I need…or anything you need. It is only fair, considering you have offered me shelter.”

“Then get yourself whatever you usually eat for breakfast,” she said briskly, figuring that should be safe enough.

One eyebrow lifted as he considered her suggestion. “I have had many things — scrambled eggs and bacon in Portland, Oregon, a baguette in Paris…some kind of steamed dumplings in Beijing. Most of them have been good in their own way. Human food is actually quite fascinating. So why don’t we have something to eat that you would like?”

Cat hesitated. She hadn’t been much of a breakfast person for quite some time now, but, on the other hand, she didn’t want to offend her house guest. And it had been a very long time since she had eaten one of her childhood favorites.

“Chilaquiles?” she suggested, and he frowned slightly.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever eaten that.”

His response surprised her a bit, since chilaquiles were a popular breakfast dish in Mexico, and it sounded as though he’d hit quite a few places during his trip around the globe. “Get me the ingredients, and I’ll make them for you.”

Once again, he frowned. “I did not intend to put you to work.”

“It’s fine,” she said quickly. “I actually have some salsa verde in the fridge, so all I need is fresh eggs and corn tortillas — I ran out the other day.”

Almost before she’d finished speaking, the ingredients had appeared on the kitchen island. “Will that do?”

“Perfect,” Cat replied, reflecting that it might be kind of handy to have a demon lord around if it meant avoiding trips to the grocery store. It was better to have slightly drier tortillas for the chilaquiles, but she’d make do.

As Loc watched, she tore up the tortillas and fried them in oil, then drained them and added the salsa verde. At the same time, she got a batch of scrambled eggs going in a skillet, then assembled the cheese and cilantro and crême fraiche to use as garnish. Luckily, Cat had helped her mother make this meal many times, so the rhythm of the preparation came back to her quickly enough. In about fifteen minutes, she had two heaping plates of chilaquiles put together.

She handed one to her guest and said, “We can take these into the dining room. It’s just through that doorway.”

Loc took his plate and headed in the direction she’d indicated, while she paused to grab a couple of napkins. All the cutlery was stored in the sideboard in the dining room, so after Cat had set down her plate, she went and fetched them some knives and forks, then sat next to Loc, who’d already claimed the spot at the head of the table.

He’d done so naturally, as though it was only expected that he would take the place of honor. She supposed he might see it that way, since he’d been the master of his particular plane of existence back where he’d come from.

Their coffee mugs magically appeared on the table, and she shot him a quick glance.

“I did not see the need to go back and fetch them,” he explained.

“Well, thank you,” Cat said. “I hope you like the food.”

Loc didn’t reply, but instead scooped up a forkful of chilaquiles, took a bite, and then another, this one observably more enthusiastic. After the third or fourth bite, he slowed down enough to say, “These are very good.”

His comment sent a shiver of relief through her. It wasn’t that she’d feared what he might do if it turned out that he didn’t like the dish — after all, he could probably make whatever he wanted appear in front of him — but that she was glad he enjoyed something she also liked. The way he was able to communicate mentally with her seemed to indicate that they had some sort of strange connection, although Cat wasn’t sure she wanted to explore the ramifications of their unexpected synergy quite yet.

“Thank you,” she said simply, and had a few bites, followed by a sip of coffee. After that, she set down her mug and added, “We’re going to have to come up with some sort of cover story to explain you.”

“‘Cover story’?” Loc repeated. He still held his fork, but it was idle now as he sent her a quizzical glance.

“To explain who you are and why you’re here.” She tapped her fingers against the rim of her plate, pondering the conundrum. If she’d only had to worry about Roberto and Miguel, the vineyard overseer and his son, then she could have simply told them that Loc was a Castillo cousin visiting from the southern part of the state. However, while Rafe and Miranda didn’t come up to the winery all that often, Cat knew that sooner or later their paths might cross, and so the “Castillo cousin” story wouldn’t exactly fly.

“What’s wrong with the truth?” Loc’s voice sounded mild enough, but his eyes narrowed as he asked the question, so clearly he didn’t see any reason for her to lie about who he was.

“Well, my overseer and his son are both civilians, so it’s not as though I can just casually tell them that my guest is a disguised demon lord.”

A lift of his heavy arched brows. “‘Civilians’?”

“Nonmagical people. Not born of witch-kind.”

“Ah.” Loc was silent for a moment, appearing to consider what she’d just told him. “They come here often?”

“Every day except Sunday,” Cat replied. Before this moment, she’d been grateful for Roberto and Miguel’s work ethic, knowing that they had everything handled, and that they would take as good care of the precious grapes as if they were their own. “In fact, they’re probably here already, since it’s after eight.”

“You let them come and go as they please?” Now there was a slight note of disapproval in Loc’s tone, as if he didn’t think much of her handling of the situation.

Well, he could disapprove all he liked. This was her property, and the grapes were her crop, and how she managed things was really none of his business. “Yes,” she said, her voice a bit sharper than she’d intended. “Usually, they get here fairly early, and then leave in the mid-afternoon. They don’t generally come to the house and interrupt me unless they have a specific question or concern.”

“Ah.” Loc picked up his mug of coffee and drank from it again; he’d probably consumed enough already to have finished what she’d poured for him originally, although Cat guessed he could give himself a refill whenever he felt like it.

“Anyway,” she went on, “it’s not Miguel and Roberto who’re the real problem. It’s Rafe and Miranda.”

“Your brother and his prima wife.”

“Yes. To be fair, I’m pretty sure Miranda won’t care if you’re here, but Rafe is a different story.”

This remark made the demon lord’s brows lift again. “Why would he care? You offered assistance to me, nothing more. And he is somewhat indebted to me.”

Well, that statement was true enough, but Cat doubted Rafe would enjoy having it pointed out to him. Of course, he’d been just as glad as everyone else that Simon Escobar had been defeated, but she knew it still rankled her brother to admit that he hadn’t been as able to participate in that final confrontation as he would have liked. In the end, it had been Miranda who’d taken down the dark warlock, with a very valuable assist from the Lord of Chaos. And it was probably because of his help that Cat hadn’t hesitated too much about allowing him to stay here. Witch families made sure to take care of those who had given them aid.

With Loc staring at her, depthless dark eyes fixed on her face, Cat found herself hesitating. The one thing she really didn’t want to say out loud was that Rafe would have issues because the demon lord now looked like a very attractive human male, and might present too much of a temptation to his long-single sister.

God knows, she would be the first one to admit that her brother might be right about that. Cat had to keep reminding herself of the true nature of the being who sat next to her at the dining room table, because otherwise she might start to dwell way too much on the romance of the situation, the dark-eyed stranger taking refuge here at her home.

“He does owe you a debt,” she said distinctly, reaching for her mug of coffee as a distraction more than anything else. “But…he’s my big brother. He tends to be a little over-protective.”

This remark only made Loc frown again. “Why? You are a grown adult as your people measure such things, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Cat replied. A grown adult with her own home, her own responsibilities, even though she still had days where she felt like an interloper, as if someone was going to burst in and show her for the fraud she was, thanks to those times when she felt as if she was still only twelve years old. “But there’s not exactly a cut-off date for when older brothers stop feeling protective.”

Loc was silent then, obviously thinking over her words. How much had he known of human society before he was called here? Did he have any frame of reference at all?

Well, if nothing else, the eight months he’d spent stuck here had to have been highly educational.

At last he spoke. “I think I understand what you are trying to tell me. If you prefer that your brother not know who I am, then what is this…cover story…going to be?”

Luckily, she’d already come up with an idea last night as she tossed and turned in bed, but at least it was something that sounded remotely plausible. “You can be a visiting fiber artist I offered to put up at the house. There’s a big show in less than a week, one I’ve been preparing for most of this past spring.”

“‘Fiber artist’?” Loc repeated, clearly having trouble connecting the two words.

Cat couldn’t really blame him for that, since her field was a little obscure to those who expected artists to work with paint and canvas, or bronze and stone. “I can explain it more after breakfast,” she said, then added, “Or now, I guess, since it looks like we’re both done.” She folded her napkin and set it down on the tabletop. “Let me show you my studio.”