Page 8 of Demon Kissed
“Fuck you!” I scream as his eyes widen in panic, releasing me instantly. The fifth man—a fucking giant—falls to his knees and stares up at me through a fringe of thick, ebony lashes as his face creases with pain. Laughter erupts from the four men behind me, but I’m already running.
If I can make it to the front door…
If I can escape…
“I’m afraid we can’t let you leave, sweetheart.” The gorgeous man with auburn hair and the full sleeve of tattoos is suddenly behind me and hauls me backwards.
I scream, digging my heels into the ground in a desperate and futile attempt to escape him. But he’s strong. So much stronger than me. And he smells really, really good, though I know I shouldn’t be thinking about that when he’s trying tofucking murder me and eat my insides.
Is this how I’m going to die? In my very home at the hands of these five men?
Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Enough! Van, release her!” the mail-thieving heathen snaps, and I begin to realize that he’s the leader of this merry band of psychos.
The supermodel—Van, apparently—deposits me onto the armchair opposite the couch. Immediately, crazy Akor flops onto the floor in front of me, leaning his bare back against my legs.
“Nice and cozy,” he purrs, tilting his head back to offer me a wink.
“What-what are you doing here?” I stutter out, trembling. “What do you want from me?”
“I believe the better question is what you want from us,” Van snipes, eyeing me distastefully, as ifI’mthe one who broke into their house, terrorized them, and is now holding them hostage.
Ugh. Even with that asshole expression, he’s still hot. Part of me hates him just for that…well, in addition to the whole “about to murder me” thing.
“You asked for us,” the dark-skinned man in the suit replies with a soft smile. “And we came.”
“I don’t know you!” I protest immediately.
The fifth man takes a step closer, and I automatically tilt my head back to meet his piercing, glacial gaze. This guy…this guy is fucking massive. And I totally just kicked him in the balls. His dark hair is artfully tousled and frames a lightly tanned face. It appears as if even his muscles have muscles…and those muscles have even more muscles. He’s probably the type that names them all. His right bicep? That’s Betty. His left? Gertrude.
It’s official. I’ve lost my mind.
He doesn’t speak, continuing to watch me with unnerving intensity, his eyes as dark as his pitch-black soul.
He’s going to kill me. He’s totally going to kill me. I just kicked that giant in the nuts. Well, it was nice knowing you, world. Send me a postcard.
The sarcasm leaves when Adam’s face flits through my mind again, and I’m suddenly sad. So sad—for him, not me. He deserves to be taken care of… But these men drag me out of my thoughts.
“You summoned us,” the leader with the angel tattoo states in a tone that brooks no room for argument. “Last night. At your…Halloween party.” He makes a slight face, as if it pains him to speak of something as trivial as a high school party.
“What?” I gasp out, heart beating in tandem to my racing thoughts. Nausea swirls in my stomach, threatening to expel the meager contents from the night before.
The leader—let’s just call him Asshole for now—kneels down until he’s at eye level with me. His eyes are a light shade of blue, almost gray, like that moment before the sun fully breaches the tree boughs in the morning. It’s a surprisingly beautiful color for something so mundane. And then, the blue is swallowed by a red so bright and vibrant, it reminds me distinctly of staring into the twin abysses of Hell. I’m struck speechless, my mind whirling, as I stare into eyes that seem to embody evil. Pure, undiluted evil.
“What… How… Huh?” I manage to ask, rather articulately, if you ask me.
“We’re demons, sweetheart,” Van states indolently, crossing his tattooed arms over his chest where he now leans against the far wall. I have to crane my neck to the side to stare at the Vogue-worthy man, but when we make eye contact, he looks away immediately, lips compressed in a stubborn line. “And you summoned us.”
4
Holy mother of fuck!Is it possible to have a heart attack at eighteen? Because I’m pretty sure that’s what just happened.
“I’m stroking out. This is just a dream,” I mutter, tossing a hand over my heart in a futile effort to get it to stop trying to escape my chest.
Akor reaches back from where he’s perched at my feet and pinches my thigh, hard. I jump and squeal as he says, “No dream, Cherry.”
The man in the suit on the couch sighs. “Akor, knock it off. You’ll terrify her, and then we’ll never get this mission completed.” He stands, smoothing down his jacket and buttoning it before he strides over to me. He stands next to Asshole and extends a hand. “I’m Zolroth.”
