Page 4 of Gift for a Demon

“Okay.” Dave swallowed. He’d pictured grabbing something from a room when this “Melchom” wasn’t looking. A lock of hair would involve more stealth. He wasn’t sure he had it. “And how would I bring that to you?”

We have eyes everywhere. Something resembling laughter resonated within his ears. We’ll take it from you.

If you manage to do it.

“Sure, okay.” Dave nodded.

Did demons sleep? If they did, it shouldn’t be so hard. He’d just need to survive a few hours, tops. If they didn’t sleep…

No, it would be okay. He wasn’t going to stay here that long.

He couldn’t.

Dave had just managed to convince himself of that fact when a loud, screeching sound set him on edge. His head snapped up to see the bars sliding to the side.

Did grease not exist in Hell? Combined with the perfectly-tuned voices in his head, it could be the perfect ring of Hell.

Ohh, good idea! Note it down, sib.

Well, shit.

Did they ever leave his head?

“Kneel before me, human.”

Double shit.

Had they done it on purpose? Kept him distracted so he didn’t notice when the looming body materialized?

Dave shook his head. There was no point in losing sleep over that.

Now, losing sleep over the demon before him…

He was pretty sure his gasp was audible when his gaze trailed upward.

Where the hell had his brain gotten the idea that demons were fucking giants? Dave would be impressed if he reached past the guy’s waist. He didn’t feel his knees would hold him upright long enough to test it out, but still.

The demon had the widest shoulders, too.

And those pecs…

Dave would totally be salivating over all of that if he wasn’t fearing for his life at the same time. At least, if this was all his brain again, he’d given Dave good fodder material. The demon wasn’t wearing clothes either, except for a piece of dark cloth covering his groin.

Which meant this had to be his imagination, because why on Earth would demons have any kind of decorum?

Are you deaf?

Huh?

The new voice in his head wasn’t like the others. The opposite, actually. Low-pitched and gravely, it exuded power and made him want to submit in every possible way.

His delirious episodes didn’t usually involve sexy times.

“I’m… I’m not deaf.”

What stuck with him was how there had been no mockery in the question. Should he make the argument that Hell wasn’t ableist when one of the local activist groups set up a new protest?

Then again, he imagined that if the person hadn’t heard a sound in his life—or in years—and they suddenly heard that voice in their heads, it would be quite terrifying.

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