When he returned, he had my bra and panties and handed them over without looking at me. They were warm and smelled of detergent. He washed them? "Thank you," I said, standing there awkwardly with my jeans hanging off my hips, a borrowed robe that was too big, and a fistful of red satin and lace. "I'll just, um…" I motioned towards the stairs with the undergarments, scooped up the dropped shirt, and ran to take the stairs two at a time with one hand clutching at my pants with one hand to keep them from falling down around my ankles.

I locked myself in the bathroom to finish getting dressed. And evidently another shower, cold this time, was in order. I settled for a cold washcloth. Damn demon pheromones were as bad as vampires! But he'd been pissed off around me before and it hadn't affected me this way. Something must've changed, and I had a sinking suspicion I knew what had triggered it. Finally, in my own clothes it was easier to remember who I was. Which was a stupid, stupid demon-witch.

Not ready to face what was downstairs, I sat on the toilet lid and admired my ability to pick out the psycho ones. Who was I kidding, they were all like that, especially if the sex was good. Deciding I'd avoided the unavoidable long enough, I dropped the robe in a wicker laundry basket under what looked rather like a medicine cabinet. Towels, toilet paper, a few extra toiletries… Well, that explained the spare toothbrush. And absolutely no curses of any kind.

Naturally, he was waiting when I came back down. God, I can't do this, I mentally groaned. He smelled so good that I wanted to shove him onto that couch and… And that was the problem.

Feet wide, he turned with my boots in his hand. He cleared his throat as I snagged up my bag. The slippery catsuit fell out and I muttered four letter words, bending to snatch it up. "Kyra." He said my name like a cross between a caress and an apology, but his face was closed to me. I had heard it too many times before.

"Give me my boots," I snarled, holding out my hand.

"Fine." He tossed them on the loveseat closest to me and threw his hands in the air. I grabbed them and strode, not ran, towards the door. "But don't come crying to me when you're knocked up!" he yelled at my back.

"I'll be fine," I shot back through clenched teeth. I'm fine as long as I'm alone. If guys are like this, then why would anyone ever want one?

"Demons are not the same as witches, Kyra," his rich voice called out. I froze. A piece of ice slithered down my spine.

Oh bloody hell, I'm going to regret this. "What do you mean by that?" I asked over one shoulder.

"Over the counter charms won't work the same way." Now he just sounded resigned. If he really knew what he was doing, he'd be trying to woo me back to forgive him his outburst.

"And why not?" I didn't dare turn around now.

He said snidely, "Well when a daddy demon and a mommy demon…"

Howling, I spun and flung the boots, one after the other, at his head. His face went slack in shock for a fraction of an instant before dodging. Then I threw the backpack for good measure, which did smack uselessly into his chest.

"Look, you pretentious preening peacock!" I screamed, stalking towards him. I connected to the line a few blocks over and was spindling energy until I must have glowed. "I get that you're over a hundred times older than I am." I flung a curse at him, which he easily deflected. "I know you're a big shot actor and I'm just another notch on your bedpost." His face grew dark and those soft curls moved in a gentle breeze as he tapped the line.

"And yeah, you could squish me into raspberry jelly without even thinking about it." I flung another and he ducked behind the couch. "But you don't get to be a condescending asshole!" I circled wide around the furniture, keeping my back to the wall. "It may have escaped your notice, Mr. High and Mighty, but there isn't exactly a sex ed course for demons!" He had moved from behind the couch and now had no idea where he was. I threw a fireball at the window, which fell with a particularly loud crash. He didn't give away his position at the noise like I wanted.

"Because if there was, I sure as freaking hell would never have screwed you and ended up bound, or whatever the hell the demon version is, to your lame ass!" The last thing I remember was being enveloped in strong, musk-scented arms and a rich British accent whispering Latin in my ear.

Mother pus bucket. I frowned at the wreckage that had been my living room. At least the broken window was airing out the stench of the melting couch. She thought that the pheromones mixing was like vampiric binding? No wonder she lost it. I had thought that a couple of her scars looked suspiciously like vampire bites before she covered them. It was going to be worse when she woke up, and we would be right back where we started.

There was always the zip strip. She would do her best to kill me with her bare hands, but she would be easily subdued until some sense could be talked into her. And once the strip came off, she would still kill me first chance she got.

Rachel was going to laugh. Then she would have my hide for a fireside rug for mishandling the situation. At least one could always assume she was mad, in both senses of the word. However, with this tiny witch, she only fought when surrounded. The only issue was in knowing when she felt cornered.

With all the excitement over the revival of our species, few of us had fully comprehended the ramifications of trying to teach them what it meant to actually be a demon. Even less how to be a demon under the sun. And like some crap for brains idiot I allowed my pride and lust to destroy any possible ties she might have had to her own kind.

As I began cleaning up the mess, I wondered what to do with her. That is to say, what to do to prevent her from going for my throat when she woke up. Spells were out of the question. She would see them as the manipulation that they were. While tying her up presented many delicious fantasies, it wouldn't last long and then she would be even more furious than before.

I even entertained the notion of going to Rachel for help as she had done to me so many times, but with Kyra there was no assurance that she wouldn't have an even more adverse reaction to the redhead. Yet my hubris would not allow me to call her up.

The only solution I could conceive was to use the pheromones to calm her down. Vampires were created from demons, so their hormonal composition was comparable to our own, albeit more specialized in some ways. While I could not bind her using the same methods, my pheromones would subconsciously calm her.

I hope this works as well as it used to with Celfnnah, I thought as I took her in my arms. Her head lolled against my chest where it would hurt less when she would inevitably try to bash backwards. While teaching Rachel, I in turn had learned a fair bit myself. I locked my legs at the ankles around hers and crossed her arms to take her wrists at her shoulders in my hands.