Page 20 of Dating the Dealing Demon

Val

Theo doesn’t move from where he slumped onto the couch. With his eyes closed and without him bossing me around, he looks more like a storybook prince than the evil villain who came to kidnap a fair maiden and got me instead. Blue seeps from his body onto the fabric, puddling beneath him. Blood, he’d said. The pool of deep sapphire gives new meaning to blue-blooded pedigree. When he’d mentioned royal blood, I hadn’t imagined this.

“Thanks, Monty,” I tell my new little friend. “I wouldn’t have gotten him to the couch without your help.”

The dragon flies above Theo, hovering as though he’s as worried as I am. He dips his nose with its glittering scales against the demon’s hand.

Theo doesn’t move.

Thisisbad. Really bad.

What if I’m trapped here without any way to remove the wards he put on this place? How will I get home? Can I find my friends without him?

“Theo.” My voice booms too loud in the silent room.

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t move, doesn’t open his eyes.

I can’t tell where the blood is coming from. His human glamour flashes in and out, revealing his much larger demon form hanging partially off the furniture. No wonder he’d been so heavy. I’d been half-carrying, half-dragging a massive monster. Giant red and black wings fold around him. Their leathery texture strokes soft against my hands as I pull them away to check his injuries.

His crisp dress shirt sticks to his skin, and a large navy splotch spreads over the lower right leg of his pants. I need to know how badly he’s wounded. I could call for help, but without knowing what’s wrong with him, I don’t know what to say or who to call who won’t take one look at his injuries and decide to kill me first and ask questions later. Reaching for his belt buckle, I freeze at the metallic jangle of the clasp against the hook. The absurdity of the situation hits me.

“If you’re faking this, I will knock you out for real,” I threaten. “I can’t believe I’m stripping you after you forced me to hell with the whole fated mates claim.” The belt won’t slide off. I abandon it and go after the shirt buttons. “Especially after you left me here to deal with your mother instead of letting me search for my friends. It’s not like you know them a fraction as well as I do.”

I lose my grip on a button when his glamour flickers away again. Blue blood slicks my hands. Monty nudges my shoulder as though warning me away.

“I can’t just leave him like this,” I explain to the little dragon. “I need a blade, something sharp to cut through the fabric so I can see what’s wrong.” The sword from earlier comes to mind. The one I’d swung at Theo, trying to stab him before I realized he was my best chance of getting my friends back. “I’ll grab the sword I dropped when you popped out of wherever.” I standand take barely a step before Monty zooms toward the study, disappearing along the way.

He blinks beside me, the weight of the sword clutched in his claws pulling him down.

“Thanks, Monty.”

Taking the sword from him, my gaze lands on the rocket launcher I’d asked the suite to magic me. If it’ll send me that, then it can score me other stuff.

“Right,” I tell the room, still feeling stupid talking to air. What name had Nic used for the castle? “Shadowvale, could you send me a first aid kit? Or a healing potion if those exist here? Maybe both.”

Nothing happens.

“Fine,” I mutter. “Ask for a rocket launcher that I can’t use without blowing up innocent people, and it appears. Request something for healing, and the demon castle?—”

A plastic box lands next to us, and I flinch, my fingers curling around the sword’s hilt. I manage not to slice Theo or myself. A familiar red cross decorates the top of the white plastic.A first aid kit. A bottle shimmers to existence atop it. Purple gel glows inside the glass wrapped with intricate metalwork.A healing potion, I hope.

“Thanks,” I tell the room. Picking up the potion, I pry open Theo’s mouth and tug at the stopper. “Wait, is he supposed to drink it, or is it more like first aid cream? Shouldn’t it have come with instructions?”

I look to Monty for an answer.

The dragon sneezes a ribbon of flame that lights a nearby chair.

Scrambling to my feet, I beat a blanket over the sparks to smother them. A puff of smoke billows from his nostrils, and he tucks his gold and copper spiked tail over his face.

“All right,” I tell him. “Magic’s unpredictable. I get it.” Or at least I think I do. “I’ll check his wounds. Then figure out how to treat him.”

With the sword, I rip through the fabric carefully, not wanting to carve Theo up any more than whatever damage has already been done to him. Not until he’s able to fight back anyway. With each inch of exposed skin, I find recent wounds and old scars.

Bruises cover his upper chest. A deep gash from his knee to his ankle has me wondering how the hell he was still standing.

His glamour flickers so fast from human to demon that my attention zeroes in on not getting knocked across the room by a wing with bones longer than my arm. I don’t catch the sword slipping in my hand until it’s too late. The slickness of blue blood and sweat—because yeah, I’m freaking out at being trusted with anyone’s physical well-being—sends the blade sliding across my palm, splitting the skin with its insane sharpness.

I drop the sword.

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