Page 32 of Demon Kissed
Can I get it in writing?
It’s better than the other demons, I suppose. If he keeps to his word. And stops throwing books at people. I’ll make an exception this time because Wade is Wade. “So Alanna will be in charge? And you’re not going to interfere?”
The question is out of my mouth before I can think the better of it.
Kastros nods, and I feel something tighten in my chest. It’s almost like I’m disappointed he’s not going to be more involved…which is crazy, because I’m not disappointed.
I want this promise. I like it.
But are demons known for keeping their promises?
That thought throws me for a second.
It’s not until Alanna yanks on my jacket and looks at me with wide, panicked eyes that I realize I spoke aloud.
I just called Kastros a demon in front of the other students.
Crap. Maybe I need to have my tongue removed like his.
My gaze flicks back to the desk, and I’m not thrilled to realize that there’s still a book on top of it.
I look up at Kastros, whose eyes growl at me.
But he doesn’t reach for the book. Instead, he lets the tension and anticipation build, which is almost worse.
Shit.
I glance around and see Tim and his friend, Darrel, staring at me.
Well fuck.
My normal reaction would be to book it and run and then just never show my face here again. But I think yesterday’s hijinks might have loosened a screw in my head or something, because I walk forward, through tension as thick as tar, until I stand right by Kastros’s desk.
Our eyes are locked together, and everyone else in the room seems to fade away. I only see him.
Breathless, I reach down and slide my fingers across the textbook lying open in front of him. I gently shut it. Then I pick it up while Kastros watches. His eyes trail up me like vines and wrap around my wrists.
I gently bonk the side of my head with the book. “There. Justice served.”
There’s an audible gasp from the rest of the class as they wait to see how Kastros will react.
He’s slow and deliberate when he picks up a pen and pulls out a sheet of paper from the top drawer of the desk. His script is elegant and old-fashioned when he writes,I am vengeance. Not justice. You can only serve vengeance on your knees.He underlines the last three words.
As if he’s commanded them to, my knees start to tremble. When he hands me the note and his fingers brush mine, electricity shoots through me.
I feel as though I’m half a second from death. And as terrified as I am, I’m also a little, tiny bit thrilled.
I fold the note in half and slowly back away. I return to my seat with my throat still tight.
Everyone is dead silent and still, like rabbits watching a predator, hoping it won’t see them. When Kastros stands, every eye is on him. When he turns to the board, startled glances are exchanged. When he writes,Get to work,there’s a mad scramble for notecards.
As I tuck his note into my bag, I see it one last time. And it’s only then that I realize that “on your knees” might have a different meaning than I originally thought. It might not mean at the tip of a sword—I mean a sword-sword, a real sword, not a…never mind.
My eyes fly up to Kastros, wondering if my brain’s just in some fevered, near-death state of horniness—is that even a thing?—but just then, Janie St. James and the bimbo crew walk in the door.
Janie leans across the teacher’s desk, her shirt in clear violation of the dress code. She’s not wearing an undershirt, and she has one too many buttons undone on her uniform blouse. I swear I can see her nips from here.
“Hi! Are we late for decathlon?” she asks in a simpering tone. “We all want to join.”
