Page 9 of Demon Kissed
I glance from his hand to him several times. Is he serious? I look at Asshole, who tilts his head and presses his lips together.
“Told you we shouldn’t have come here,” Asshole growls, crossing his arms so that his pecs pop and those ironic angel wings lift a little. I glance furtively at his eyes, which remain red.
I didn’t even see him slide in the colored contacts. Is he a magician? The Magical Murderers? Oh…all the television networks will fight to have their show.
“We’re not murderers,” Van calls out from his spot against the wall, where he perches with one leg up like he’s on some magazine shoot. “At least, not of humans. Though I do agree with you about the show. I’d watch the shit out of something like that.”
Wait. Did I say that out loud? My panic must have damaged my filter, just like with William. Fuck me. No. Don’t fuck me. No fucking. No fucking, and no murdering.
Van and Akor snicker, and I’m not sure if my random train of thought just now actually came out of my mouth. Possibly. Probably.
“Relax, we aren’t going to hurt you,” Zolroth speaks softly, as though I’m some cornered animal. Which I am.
Akor moves from near my feet and wanders into the kitchen. Without him right there, I feel a little more comfortable and confident. I consider taking Zolroth’s hand and shaking it, because he’s the only one offering me the tiniest sliver of hope that they are not about to cut me into a million pieces. But before I can, something comes flying right at my head.
“Think fast,” Akor shouts from the kitchen.
Zolroth saves my life by pulling me against his chest. Damn, that suit hides Marine-worthy muscles.
“Akor!” Zolroth and Asshole both shout.
“Let’s play the introduction game,” Akor says, lobbing another item—which I can now identify as an orange—in my direction.
This time, Asshole plucks it from the air.
“Thanks for volunteering, Raz,” Akor says with a grin, four more oranges held in his hands. “Now, peel that while you tell us all your darkest secrets.”
“Nope,” Raz replies, setting the orange down on the table.
Big mistake.
All four oranges smash into him at once. I don’t even know how that’s possible, but they do.
“Shit, Akor!” Van scolds, coming off the wall and sauntering forward. “Calm down, man!”
My eyes travel back to Akor, who’s breathing heavily, nostrils flaring. “We need…to introduce ourselves. It’spolite.” He looks like a rabid animal, or a bull about to be released from its pen.
“She knows my name,” Van protests.
“USE THE FUCKING ORANGE!” Akor’s yell can probably be heard by the neighbors. Hopefully, Mrs. Johnson. And the police she should have called by now.
I take a step to the side, away from Zolroth. Maybe I can slink out while they fight amongst themselves.
But Zolroth stops me by gently grabbing onto my wrist and then interlacing our fingers. His chocolate lava cake, delicious eyes stare down at me as he says, “Sometimes, it’s best to indulge Akor. I’m Zolroth, I’m four-hundred eighty-seven, and I’m a materialism demon.”
“Darkest secret!” Akor growls.
Zolroth says without a hint of a grin, “I’ve already been through your panty drawer. And I have to say…youneedmy help.”
My face is a lobster. The screaming-in-the-pot, being boiled alive kind.
“Next!” Akor calls out, before I can even form words.
How do you curse out a psychopathic magician? One with demon delusions? Would he even care?
“Nope, don’t care,” Zolroth whispers in my ear, confirming that I’ve once again spoken my thoughts.
Great.
