Page 39 of Demon Loved
I wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze. I know we’ve just delayed this battle with my parents to another day, but Kastros gave me more time with Adam. And no matter how this feud ends, I’ll be forever grateful to him for that.
15
Raz
I’m beginningto hate the cretins at this school. Teachers who lust after me, as if I’ll ever give them the time of day. High school girls attempting to push their breasts out in some poorly thought out, utterly failed attempt to replicate attractiveness. Teenage boys who are unsure which head they should be thinking with. Plus, the smell of the guys’ locker room. It’s like someone took some guy’s sweaty swamp ass and turned the scent into air freshener and sprayed it all over that room. Ugh.
It’s a miserable existence, and if Katrina wasn’t a part of it, I would almost wonder if I’d somehow transferred myself and my murder to a deeper layer of Hell.
Stalking briskly through the halls, I’m barely aware of the blatant “come fuck me” eyes from some of the girls and almost all of the female teachers. Hell, even some of the men. I ignore them all as I lean myself against the wall in front of the decathlon classroom.
I haven’t seen my Katrina since gym class, and already, I feel like some sappy fuck who can’t last more than five minutes without being in his lover’s radius. Oh, fuck me. Am I going to be the type of fool who calls her on the phone and then refuses to hang up? If that ever happens, I’m going to give Akor permission to kill me. He’ll like that.
My scowl is firmly in place as my eyes drift to the clock above the row of lockers. Comically enough, it’s locked away in a steel cage, as if some fucker actually has intentions of stealing it. That’s the problem with mankind—they always assume the worst of each other. Us demons? We don’t assume anything. Weknow. We’re the meanest, baddest, scariest motherfuckers who have ever walked this planet.
“Mr. D!” a saccharine sweet voice—so fucking sweet that I’m liable to get diabetes—calls from farther down the hall. I pretend I don’t hear her as I glare purposefully ahead.
Take the goddamn hint, you brainless twat.
But alas, the students in this school have more money than brain cells, and Janie St. James comes to a haltering stop before me, flushing from head to toe. I give her a dismissive glance, one that would make a lesser demon shit himself, but she merely smiles up at me as if I’m not the thing of nightmares.
Has Katrina made me soft?I’m gonna have to test this theory as soon as possible. Maybe I’ll travel down to Hell’s fighting ring and pummel a few demons into the ground. I need to maintain my street cred, after all, especially if I’m going to protect Katrina. I don’t want any fuckers lurking around here because they think my murder has been pussy-whipped.
“Mr. D,” Janie tries again, and I notice—in a sort of vague, clinical way—that she has unbuttoned her blouse to reveal her pink bra and the dusky brown of her areolas, which top the demi cups. If she thinks she can entice me, she’s sorely mistaken. Honestly, even if I wasn’t head over heels in love with Katrina, I wouldn’t ever go for someone who holds so much disrespect for herself. I’m pretending to be a teacher, for fuck’s sake. What does she think is going to happen?
I almost pity girls like her—girls who use their bodies as a weapon against the world and who put everyone else down in order to make themselves feel big. It’s a shitty way to live. A lonely way. I have no doubt that there’s a special place in Hell reserved for bullies like Janie.
I have no doubt because I’ve seen it. It’s called the Penetration Palace, and girls spend all eternity fucking themselves on inanimate objects because they treated everyone else like fuck-toys…so Lucillania thinks it fitting they only get to fuck toys for the rest of their existence. But not the good kind. Floppy dildos, vibrators whose batteries die… It’s one of the saddest places in Hell.
“I was wondering if I could ask you a question about the upcoming assignment,” she persists, and I have to admire her tenacity. She’ll make a fine demon one day. Though I wonder how she’ll feel when she learns she’ll have to share her soulmate with four other women. She seems like a selfish type of girl. Maybe she’ll be a pride demon.
“I teach gym class, Jamie,” I say, purposely messing up her name. When her lips purse in irritation, I know I’ve hit a sore spot. “There’s nothing for me to help you with. You run the fucking lap or you fail. Simple.”
Dumb bitch.
I know I’m being unnecessarily cruel—both out loud and in my mind—but I can’t forget that this woman tortured my Center for fucking years. I’ve heard numerous stories from Katrina when I was Ziel about the things Janie did to her. Threw milk on her head. Laughed at her. Told her she was ugly.
So, yeah. Sue me. I’m a heartless monster, and the one shred of decency I possess rests solely with Katrina.
At least I’m not Akor. That demon has no fucking sanity left whatsoever.
“But—”
“I’m busy,” I snap, despite the fact that there’s no one around. “And aren’t you supposed to be at decathlon practice anyway?”
“I quit that,” she replies with a sneer, before instantly perking up. I realize my mistake a second later. Fuck! Now she thinks I actually pay attention to her. Which I do, but not for the reasons she thinks. I need to make sure she’s not a threat to Katrina or my murder. Not every threat is physical, and I know Janie is a bitch who prefers emotional manipulation. “Mr. D—”
“I said I’m busy.” I wait for the little brat to get the hint, and after a long moment, one where I seriously question her sanity, she storms away with an enraged huff. Her tantrum is barely a blimp on my radar, because a second later, the door to the decathlon room is pushed open.
Immediately, I straighten my spine, not even bothering to remain nonchalant. I know that it’s technically “frowned upon” and “illegal” for me to be hooking up with one of my students, but I don’t give a fuck. I’m a demon, and these human rules are hindrances that are made to be broken. Besides, if any of these little shits question what I’m doing here, I’ll lie and say I was looking for Kastros.
A few of Katrina’s classmates come pouring out, and I roam my eyes over them dismissively. One of the little human men—Tim? Tom? Augustus? Fuck if I know—seems to have gotten that hideous mole on his face removed. Good for him. I always thought he was an ugly fucker with it.
Alanna—that weird girl with braces—levels a piercing glare my way, one I give her right back, and she pauses suddenly, before nodding in what looks like respect.
And then there’s William, a jovial smile lighting up his stupid face. I resist the urge to bare my teeth at him as he swaggers by, because I’m jealous as fuck that this is the first man Katrina ever loved. I don’t want to think about her with anyone that isn’t a part of my murder. From our conversations, I know she didn’t do anything with this cocky prick, but the mere thought that she might’ve makes me see red.
When Kastros finally exits the classroom, sans Katrina, I feel my heart taking a running leap straight off the side of a cliff.
