Sweet Temptation by Wendy Higgins

being what she’s supposed to be. I am. She doesn’t know that once you give in to the beast there’s no going back. You must feed it.
    But she keeps pushing me—keeps talking about shite she can’t comprehend—keeps trying to make me feel bad for what I am.
    â€œIt’s not like demons are monitoring your behavior,” Anna says.
    She cannot see the demons, the whisperers. She does not know how they network, how quickly I can be spotted “not working,” how they’d rush to turn me in. She doesn’t know what it means to live in fear of them showing up at any given minute. But I’m too enraged to communicate any of this.
    â€œDon’t push me, Anna,” I warn, grasping for control. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    Nobody has ever made me feel this way. I can see she’s worked up, too, her face pink and her eyes intense. I have to leave. As I turn to go, she shouts, “You can make it one night without sex!”
    Rage blinds me like a white flash, and my body reacts. Her next words are drowned out as a need to destroy something bears down on me, and I swing at the nearest lamp, sending it flying. It smashes against the wall with a satisfying crash , leaving my ears ringing. I point hard at Anna, who needs to get a bloody clue and stop pushing my buttons.
    â€œYou. Don’t. Understand!” I am panting with an overflow of emotion. She appears ashen, staring at me like I’ve kicked a kitten, and it’s all too much. I drop my arm. I’m out of here. “Don’t wait up this time.”
    I nearly steamroll an ancient couple when I burst into the hallway. I leave them tottering there as I take the stairs down to the first floor. The hotel has a bar and it’s hopping with a dance area.
    Ah, bloody hell. They’re square dancing to country music.
    My eyes dart to a bored-looking woman at the end of the packed bar, nursing a margarita. Early thirties. Gray business suit. Black hair waving to her shoulders. No time to waste. I sidle up next to her, waiting to catch the bartender’s attention. I feel the woman watching me, so I glance over. She quickly looks away, a fizz of orange excitement in her aura. My eyes drift to the cleft of cleavage exposed at the top of her blouse. I check out her ring finger. Bare. Possibly divorced? Her nails are manicured and she takes good care of herself.
    I give a nonchalant nod. “Hallo.”
    She smiles and confidently brushes her hair from her shoulder. “London?”
    I nod, sweep my eyes over her. She looks away again, and her body language says she’s not interested, but her aura says otherwise. I hope she’ll not play hard to get.
    â€œI’m Kaidan.”
    â€œCeleste. And I’m way too old for you,” she says, as if that will put an end to my interest. I laugh at her openness and stick out my hand. She eyes it a moment before shaking it, and turns her attention back to her drink.
    The bartender finally comes over. I hand him my fake ID and say, “Jack on the rocks.”
    I feel her perk next to me as she takes in the exchange; hopefully she believes I’m twenty-one now.
    â€œCeleste. Mind if I sit?” I motion to the stool next to her.
    â€œFree country. Do as you like.” She absently stirs her margarita as I sit. Methinks Celeste is a tad jaded. But I can work with that. I can work with anything.
    â€œStaying at the hotel?” I ask.
    â€œReal estate conference. You?”
    â€œI’m here for the night. Headed to L.A.” A blast of pain in my gut urges me on. Keep her talking.
    She takes a long drink. “What’s in L.A.?”
    â€œMy band,” I lie.
    â€œLet me guess,” she says sarcastically. “Lead singer.”
    I laugh and throw back half my drink, relishing the burn, before setting it down and looking at her again. “Drums.”
    â€œMmm.” A flash of red trots