Page 45 of Demon Loved
“Oh really?” Raz dissolves the map and steps into the middle of the room. Gaudy white wings erupt from his back and golden hair sluices down his head until it brushes his biceps. His lashes grow to ridiculous lengths as his outfit transforms into a white robe. The only way I can tell it’s still Raz is his expression.
“You’re the grumpiest angel ever,” I tell him with a grin. He just flips me off, waves a hand to erase the nightmarish illusion, and turns to Katrina.
“When the time comes, we’ll take care of it, princess. Don’t you worry,” he says with a wink. “But we need a little more information first. I called, and our demon friends are out of town right now, but they should be back next week. And who better to ask about Heaven than a murder made up of fallen angels?”
17
Akor
Human parties are so much…tamerthan the ones down in Hell. Where are the knives? The flaming swords? The intestines being used as sex swings?
Instead, you have people grinding against each other, sipping “alcohol” (definitely not as good as the shit down below) from these hideous red cups, and doing this thing called the “twerk.” Or is it called the twerking?
All I know is that it’s not torture or murder, so it doesn’t hold my interest.
Now, if it were my sweet Katrina tweeking (twerk-tweeting?) against me, I would be a very, very happy demon.
“Stay with us at all times,” Zolroth warns, tugging on Katrina’s sleeve. She twists her head to smile up at him, and though the smile isn’t directed at me, I feel it travel all the way to my cock. I’m going to need my pretty darling wrapped around my cock…and soon. Call me dramatic (seriously, I dare you. See what happens), but I’m desperate to claim Katrina once and for all. I might just die if I don’t.
“Zolroth, it’s just a party,” she assures him gently. “But if it’ll make you feel better…”
“It will,” he states firmly, and I have to agree. Both because angels can be lurking about, preparing to strike, and because…teenage boys. Need I say more?
Already, I’m envisioning throwing that fuckwad, William, over the edge of the roof and watching his body go splat on the cement below.
As we step farther into the large house, I begin to hum “It’s Raining Men.” Katrina throws me a strange look, but fortunately, my bae (apparently, that means “back ass entry,” as in, her ass is mine) knows me well enough not to question my madness.
“Akor, stay with Katrina,” Zolroth instructs, and I bristle at being bossed around…until I stare into Katrina’s heart-shaped face and my ire dissipates.
Now, when he says “stay with,” does he mean simply standing beside her or using handcuffs? Maybe some silky rope? Honestly, I’m fine with either option. I can tie my girl to the bedpost and fuck her until she’s screaming my name. Or does he mean superglue? I might have some in my car—
“Where are you going?” Katrina quirks a brow as Zolroth shifts cagily on the balls of his feet. I lift my hand to hide my smirk.
“Getting us drinks, love,” he practically purrs, his British accent becoming more pronounced as he lies his ass off. Technically, he’s not lying, though I doubt getting us drinks is the only thing he’s doing.
Raz made it very fucking clear that every half hour, we need to check in with him and the others. If we don’t, he threatened to “gut us and hang us like piñatas.” Not exactly creative as far as threats go. I much prefer my death threats to have a little more…flair.
But yeah, the guys are being a little overprotective with Katrina away.
Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m pretty sure Van broke into the house a few hours earlier and installed cameras.
I turn towards one of the cameras, practically invisible where it’s positioned inside of a hanging plant, and wave cheekily. The second Katrina turns towards me, I nonchalantly lower my hand to my pink mohawk, as if that was my intent all along.
Because apparently, stalking girls through cameras is “weird” and “creepy.”
Obviously, they haven’t been the ones doing the stalking. It’s quite invigorating, if I’m being completely honest. A real thrill.
As Zolroth disappears into the crowd towards the kitchen, I finally take the opportunity to survey the home I find myself in.
The exterior was simple, a two-story farmhouse. Immediately to the left of the entryway is the living room, where the couches have been pushed to the side to make room for a misshapen dance floor. The kitchen is visible through an archway, with a dining room sitting adjacent. I count exactly two hundred and twenty-three teenagers present. Oh wait…two hundred and twenty-five. Two of them were bumping wieners together in the closet. Or is it hot dogs? Wiggle worms? What’s the term for “cocks” these days?
I drape myself around Katrina, rocking us from side to side, as the music changes to an upbeat party song.
“Do you wanna dance, my cherry?” I whisper enticingly in her ear, biting down on her sensitive lobe. When goosebumps travel across her neck, I just barely conceal my smirk of satisfaction. I love knowing I can affect her so much.
Without waiting for her to respond, I take her hand and drag her into the throng of writhing bodies. A few girls glance at me hungrily, but I simply bare my teeth at them as I drop my hands to Katrina’s waist. They can fuck themselves straight off, thank you very much.
I remain vigilant as I survey the room for any threats as we begin to slow dance in the middle of the living room, ignoring the bodies thrashing and dry-humping each other beside us.
