Page 18 of Demon Kissed
7
P.E. class has always beenmy idea of torture, but today’s lesson takes that torture to a whole new level.
Mr. Dämon’s eyes feel like they’re burning when they land on me, and I’m torn between screaming “stalker” and trying to convince people he’s a horny bastard (the demonic horns-on-head style of horny that’s scary instead of the type of horny that’s fun). But I honestly don’t think people would believe me either. I mean…me. With stalkers? Ha. Even I have trouble believing that, and I’ve been running from them since yesterday. As for the other thing…well, that kind of declaration might get me sent to the school counselor.
Been there. Done that. Got the T-shirt. Burned it.
“Listen up,” Raz, aka Mr. Dämon, calls out, not bothering to use the dorky red whistle he’s got looped on a string around his neck. But he doesn’t need it, because every girl in the place immediately freezes, and when they stop talking, so do the guys, who seem delighted by the nipples parade thing going on today. Mr. D—for douchebag demon—continues, “We’re apparently required by the state to have adanceunit.” He grimaces while titters and applause break out on the bleacher around me.
I turn to look at Stacy, about to mutter that I’m probably going to attempt fake cramps, but her face is slack-jawed with puppy-like adoration.
Oh, shit. Is that what I look like around William? Ew. How can he even stand the sight of me? I try to be a good friend and help push her mouth closed, but she just waves me off.
“Stop it!” she grumbles.
So I recline back on my elbows and wonder why God decided to torture me with two hot stalkers at my school, who seem bound and determined to make the impossible happen. Two, wait. There were five. Where are the others?
I sit up and glare daggers at Zolroth, who’s staring right at me. If any one of those bastards is at Adam’s school, I’ll kill them. I have half a mind to ignore Mr. D and stomp over and demand the truth from “Roth,” since he’s the less intimidating of the two.
I imagine grabbing his collar and forcing him to tell me.
And…I realize that Mr. D has been calling my name. Several times.
Shit.
My cheeks glow hot pink as I stand slowly, unsure what the hell he wants.
“Well, get down here,” he growls as he tucks the attendance sheet into his pocket.
My eyebrows shoot up into my forehead. All the eyes of my classmates trace over me, the girls’ with jealousy and the guys’ with amusement. I don’t dare look at William, because if I do, I just know I’m going to miss the next step and go flying face first onto the basketball court.
I come to a hesitant stop in front of Mr. D. I cross my arms and stare up at him, trying but failing to intimidate him with defiance.
He just chuckles, his light blue eyes dark and his expression borderline cruel. “Hands out, Ms. Colt.” I stick my hands out at my sides like I’m being crucified. I’m pretty certain that’s what’s about to happen. He’s going to kill me in front of an audience and—
His huge hands skate over mine, and he flips them palm down. His rough palms slide underneath mine. He doesn’t clasp our fingers, just lets my fingers rest lightly on his. And all of a sudden, my body is thrumming with awareness…just from those hands. They are warm and huge, and my skin tingles where it touches his.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Raz mutters.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I growl in response.
“I agree.” His fingers curl slightly and scratch lightly over my palms. Then he announces to the class, “Men will put their right foot out to the side like this, women their left foot. Then stick your toe in the air and touch with your heel. Tap down your toe. Heel. Toe.”
I stare down at his foot in disbelief. There’s a demon in my gym class. Doing the polka. With me.
WHAAAAT is happening?
I blink rapidly. “I need to go to the nurse’s office,” I whisper, thinking it best to enact my earlier plan. Maybe I’m seeing things that aren’t there. Just like after the accident when I lost my hearing.
“Nope. If I have to live through this shit, so do you,” Mr. D commands softly.
“You don’t have to,” I hiss.
“You’re the one who cast a damn spell,” he retorts. Then he announces, “Now, you slide, slide, slide to the men’s right, girl’s left.” And, I shit you not, we skip sideways holding hands. I see Raz’s eyes flash red as we do, and that’s the only reason I don’t yank my hands back, grab my stomach, and run from the room screaming, “Cramps!” Because it really is punishing him as much as it is me. And if anything, after my panic in the wake of his visit, I think a little payback is in order.
We skip to his right. Then we do the heel, toe, heel, toe thing again and skip back the other direction. After that, we stop. I stare up at him and watch the ring around his pupils turn a smoldering lava red before he takes a breath, calms himself, and is able to say, “Now. We clap.”
“Like second grade girls?” I ask.
