Page 72 of Cry for Help

I chewed my bottom lip nervously. Caim reached forward, placing his hands on my hips and turning me to face him. He kissed me gently, almost reverently.

I reached up, tangling my fingers in his curly hair, feeling the ridges of his curved horns under my fingertips.

He groaned into my mouth, but the sound was irritated. My brow pursed, and I broke away.

“That’s not the response I was hoping for.” I pointed out.

Caim glanced at the door. “Hair and makeup is here.”

“Do I really need—”

“The summit is being televised. In parts anyway.” He interrupted.

Someone knocked on the door.

I sighed and went to answer it.

Darla.

My nostrils flared.

Just when I’d been having such a good day as well.

I shot Caim a glare, but he feigned innocence. He hadassured me he hadn’t slept with her, and Murmur, my demonic lie detector, had vouched for him. Still, he had used Darla to make me jealous; he’d admitted it.

I wasn’t about to let Caim off the hook for that just yet.

Before Darla could say a single word, Caim slipped out the door with a sing-song, “Bye, ladies!”

I could have brought him back, tugged on the claiming to drag him to the room by the scruff of his neck, but there was no point.

I didn’t hate Darla. Not really.

Envy was a strange beast, and I wasn’t immune to it.

Darla’s eyes were wide. She gestured to the case at her feet, waist height with golden clasps. “I was told there was an important client.”

My smile was straight-lipped, and I waved a hand to myself. The movement was self-deprecating.

Though I was growing more comfortable using my voice around my demons, I still struggled around those I didn’t know well. My magic sat in my voice, and though the claiming had helped control it somewhat, I didn’t want to risk it.

Darla followed me into the room and searched for an outlet, plugging in her various tools and dragging one of the chairs away from the vanity. She ignored me as she set up, working with quick and practiced efficiency.

I should have expected to see her. Or Aimee, at least. The summit was being filmed by the Real Housewives of the Red City for their upcoming season. At the very least, the red carpet was going to be televised.

I didn’t understand the pageantry. I was going to a meeting with Asmodeus and Beezlebub—the Behemoth’s boss—hoping that I didn’t have to fight them for the right to claim a city I had already claimed.

Demons and Fae didn’t mix, and though no one knewexactly who I was, every demon in the Red City had felt the power shift. Even if they hadn’t seen the Behemoth burst like a balloon into thin air.

“I’m ready for you,” Darla announced, steeling herself as she turned to face me. “Did you know what you wanted to do with your hair?”

I shook my head, hating that my voice had died between my tongue and lips.

Darla clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Well, we’ll figure something out. You’ve got enough hair. An up-do?”

I shrugged, getting comfortable in her chair as Darla grabbed her comb and sectioned my hair.

The silence was awkward.

---