The Accidental Kiss (The Kiss Book 1) (6 page)

“There are a thousand words to describe a shared passion between two people. Love, fervor, infatuation….”

Emily held up her hands in surrender, laughing. “Ok, I got it. I’ll never use
yearn
again but sheesh, would it be really the worst thing in the world if Daemon wanted you?”

Her question gave me pause. Before Daemon opened his mouth or was reveled as a zombie, I did find him insanely hot and out of my reach. Guys like him who had a gaggle of women hanging on their every word never gave me a second glance. I wasn’t ugly per se but I wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I had long chestnut hair, an olive complexion with freckles dusting my nose, and a curvy bottom due to my donut consumption. So was it the worst thing in the world if Daemon wanted me? No, but he was a temptation I wasn’t willing to indulge in. The sound of Emily’s fingers snapping threw me back into reality.

A smug smile danced across her lips. “I got my answer!” I was about to correct her when she saw somebody down the hallway. “I have to go talk to my lab partner. I’ll see you at lunch.”

I watched as she dashed off, her backpack slung over her shoulder. Sighing, I grabbed my History textbook and headed to class. Out of nowhere, a hand gripped my upper arm and yanked me inside a utility closet. One minute I was walking, the next I was jammed into a room the size of my left pinky toe. A flickering light turned on overhead. Squinting against the harsh assault, I nearly groaned when I saw who was in charge of my ambush.

“What the hell, Daemon? You can’t just kidnap me,” I yelled.

He slapped his palm over my mouth, stifling my words. “Lower your voice. Do you want the whole school to know we are in here?”

Offended, my body bristled. It seemed like I was right and Emily was wrong. Daemon didn’t yearn for me; he was embarrassed to be seen with me.

My fingers tried to pry his hand off my face but Daemon was freakishly strong. His arm snaked around my waist and pulled me against his chest. A bone chilling cold radiated from underneath his thin t-shirt.

“I just want to talk, Sky.” The way he purred my name sent a secret thrill down my spine. “But in order to do that, you need to stop fighting.”

It seemed like lately all I did was fight. I had fought the reality of Melissa’s death, moving to a new town, and now my attraction to Daemon. My body relented.

“That’s a good girl,” Daemon praised as he removed his hand.

“I am not a fucking kitten,” I grumbled.

With nowhere to run, I walked over to a shelf lined with paint cans and sat down on an over turned crate. Daemon leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. A Mexican standoff ensued until I couldn’t stand the silence any longer.

I threw my hands in the air in surrender. “Fine, you are the one who trapped me in this closet and are also the one who wanted to talk. But if you don’t want to begin, I will. You are a zombie, supposedly I can see the future…blah, blah.”

Daemon’s expression remained natural. “That’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

Surprised, I nearly tumbled off the crate.
Shit, did I just reveal my gift to Daemon?
What if my mom lied and he wasn’t a zombie? Daemon would peg me as a level three psycho. Panic sent my heartbeat to skyrocket and a blazing heat crawled up my cheeks. See, this was exactly why he should have spoken first. My inability to handle silence always got me into trouble.

Daemon took notice of my alarmed expression. “Don’t worry, what you said is true. I am a zombie and I already knew about your gift. Old news, as far as I am concerned.”

Old news? That wasn’t how I would describe it since these two pieces of information were revealed to me a mere twelve hours ago. Then again, Daemon probably had that knowledge for God knows how long. Years, decades…I can’t remember if zombies were immortal or not.

I cocked my head to the side. “Can you die like a normal human?”

“Yes.” Annoyance lined his mouth. “Can we get to the real issue?”

My expression matched his own as I resisted the temptation of throwing a paint can at his head. He had yanked me in here against my will and he was acting as if I was the irrational one.

“Sure. I would love to know why I am sitting in a shoebox instead of my English class.”

Daemon pinned me to the wall with his stare. Any other smart ass remarks I had died in my throat. He began to stalk the small square footage like a caged animal, muttering. As I was about to grow worried about the state of his mind, Daemon stopped and looked at me. His mouth opened, then shut. Shaking his head, he ran his fingers through his hair.

“I can’t believe I am about to do this,” he muttered. Finally, his chin tipped upwards. “Somebody wants to kill you Sky, and they won’t stop until you have been bled dry.”

The air felt like it had been sucked out of the room, as I looked at Daemon, wide-eyed in disbelief. I drove the speed limit, turned my homework in on time, and helped old ladies cross the street. Why would anyone want to kill me? He had to be yanking my chain. A high-pitched laugh broke free from my throat.

He looked at me uneasily. “This isn’t a joke, Sky. Somebody wants to kill you.”

I felt myself unravel further when Daemon uttered the dreaded k-word.
Kill
. I bent over in half, clutching my stomach as a round of hysterical giggles racked my body.

“This wasn’t the reaction I was expecting,” he uttered.

Out of breath, tears streamed down my cheeks as I looked up at him from underneath my eyelashes. “I didn’t peg you as a funny man, but you are hilarious.”

“You won’t see your death coming until you’re hung by your ankles, being bled out like a pig at a slaughter house.”

The gruesome description stopped my giggles cold. With the back of my hand, I wiped away the moisture from my face and studied Daemon’s unflinching expression. He wasn’t joking. Bile turned in my stomach as the room swayed.

“Who?” My voice cracked. “Who wants to kill me? I don’t have any enemies.”

“The Priest of Santeria, but he won’t do it himself. His zombies will carry out the order.”

The hair on the back of my neck bristled. “But you’re a zombie…”

Daemon read into what I was implying and his eyes softened. “You don’t have to be scared of me, Sky. Violence isn’t part of who I am anymore.”

The word
anymore
hung heavy between us. I reached behind me for a paint can, in case I needed to defend myself. Daemon closed the distance and kneeled in front of me. I scrambled away from him, knocking into the rack. The cans wobbled precariously.

“Don’t come any closer,” I choked out.

He took a step backwards, not nearly enough breathing room for me to gather my thoughts. I would have preferred if he crab walked out the door, down the hallway, and outside to the front lawn.

“I’m going to tell you a story,” Daemon said.

“Since when did this turn into fucking story telling hour?” I replied ludicrously. “If you’re going to kill me, kill me.” Getting to my feet, I snatched a paint can and held it over my head. “But I’m not going down without a fight.”

Daemon looked at me with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Sky, put down the paint can. I told you I’m not going to kill you.”

I eyed him skeptically. In horror movies as soon as you let your guard down, BAM! Your head gets chopped off.

Daemon sighed. “Fine, don’t, but at least listen to my story. You ready?”

My arms grew fatigued. Cursing my lack of upper body strength, I plopped back onto the crate and placed the can between my legs. “What other choice do I have? If you get out of line though, don’t think I won’t hurt you.”

He waved away my threat like it meant nothing. “Sure you will. Ok, I’m going to start at the beginning.”

I groaned. “Really? The beginning? Can’t you start in the middle or something? Or even better, wrap up the story in a paragraph or less?”

“You are a huge pain in my ass, Jesus. Just shut up and listen.”

Rolling my eyes, I crossed my arms over my chest and closed my mouth. The sooner this was over, the sooner I could get to History class and away from Daemon.

He changed positions, stretching out his long legs. “I was a punk ass kid growing up. My parents were too busy with their careers to pay attention to me so I rebelled. I ran with a group of five other boys. We used to break into cars, steal, and commit other petty crimes that are not worth mentioning. One night, we broke into an abandoned mental hospital. Real creepy shit. My friends and I took turns scaring the pants off of each other. It was fun.” A haunted look entered his eyes, wiping the happy trip down memory lane off his face. “Until the situation got out of hand.”

I leaned forward, engrossed. “What happened?”

“My friend brought a knife none of us knew about.”

No story ends well when there is a knife involved, unless you’re a ninja. “Oh no,” I said.

Daemon turned his fierce gaze on me. “Oh yeah. He thought it would be useful to have. Little did we know this mental hospital was a hang out spot for junkies. I was downstairs exploring when I heard a blood-curdling scream. The place was a maze so it took me awhile to find the source but when I did…” He trailed off, white as a bed sheet. “When I did, it was too late. A young woman was lying on the floor dead with my friend over her. Knife in hand. Supposedly, she bum rushed him when he came around a corner. The gaping wound in her neck said otherwise.” I instinctively ran my hand across my neck and winced. Eyes shut, Daemon leaned his head against the metal door. “When I tried to call the police, my friend knocked my phone out of my hands and said she was a no good junky. Spending a life behind bars wasn’t worth it. Her life didn’t mean anything.” Daemon hissed.

“What a psychopath.”

“And a traitor. Desperate, I rushed over to where the woman lay and ripped off my shirt. I pressed the material against the wound but it didn’t do any good. The knife had slit an artery. When I turned around to give my friend a piece of my mind, the Priest of Santeria stood in his place. He told me that there was no other choice but to give up my soul, or else I would spend the next 100 years in jail. I found out later my friend and the Priest orchestrated the whole thing. They killed an innocent woman to trick me into joining their enclave.”

“Shit,” I breathed. After a short heady pause, I spoke. “So you really don’t have a soul?”

Daemon, eyes still closed, shrugged. “Well I do, but it’s trapped in a jar like all the other zombies’ souls the voodoo priest stole. They are used as leverage. If we do his bidding, we might get our humanity back along with our freedom.”

My heart reached out to Daemon in sympathy. I couldn’t imagine living a life I was tricked into with my own soul used as a dangling carrot. A strong urge to hug him washed over me.

“Come here,” I whispered.

Daemon’s eyelids snapped open. “What?”

My arms widened, inviting him into an embrace that had an eighty percent chance of being awkward. Still, whenever I was upset, I wanted to be held and even though Daemon wasn’t human, I was guessing he wanted comfort. Daemon’s unflinching gaze roamed over my body. I squirmed under the scrutiny; a red-hot blush heated my cheeks.

“You want me to hug you?” Daemon said slowly as if it was the world’s dumbest idea. “Just minutes ago you thought I wanted to kill you.”

Humiliation churned in my stomach. I dropped my arms to my side and got to my feet.
Remind me to never be nice to Daemon again. He was a class-A douche canoe and didn’t deserve my sympathy.