Page 2 of Demon Loved
Because shielding me isn’t a solution. I’mthe problem. As their Center, I’m the demons’ Achilles’ heel. I’m a weak point for them, since they can only be mortally wounded when I’m around, which means that damned scythe can’t just hurt me. It can do worse. It can hurtthem.
That thought punches my heart so hard that it skips a beat. When it staggers back up, I shove at Kastros’s wings.
“Get me out of here!” I whisper frantically at my silent demon.
I hear Raz snark with confidence, “Don’t worry, princess. We’ve got you. This stupid little bleached-blond pigeon won’t touch you.”
I hear a stranger’s low, dark chuckle.
Van’s voice comes from nearby. He pitches his tone low, the warning hushed. “Katty, if we leave, the rest of his flock will be waiting. Right now, it’s one versus five.”
Shivers start to rack my body. Dammit. We’re trapped. I can’t watch one of them get hurt! I can’t!
That asshole has a scythe! A fucking knife the size of the crescent moon that’s shining through the gym windows! It is flipping huge! And my guys have nothing!
My eyes dart side to side, and my breath comes in short gasps. When I hear the rip of fabric and thethwapof four other sets of wings unfurling around us, I start to shiver.
They’re going to fight. I can feel it in my bones, the same way I could feel that this stranger was a real angel.
I can’t even watch the gory scenes in horror movies.
My eyes squeeze shut for a second, and I send a quick thought towards my baby brother, Adam, who is currently harassing some babysitter with wooden trains andPaw Patrolfigurines so I can attend this dance. I hope he’s okay. My teeth scrape over my bottom lip, and I stop short of praying, because I’m pretty sure I’m not on God’s good side anymore.
Fuck me. Does the devil help?
Could I try to summon Lucillania and make a deal with the devil? That might backfire… Okay, no help then.
When I crack my eyes open, I harden my resolve. I have to get out of here. It’s the only way for the guys to be safe. Even if more angels are lying in wait…
An unnatural scream tears through the gym and echoes. Next door, idiot students cheer, thinking the spooky sound effects got one over on them.
But those aren’t sound effects, and I can’t tell if that scream came from one of my demons or the angel.
I put up a hand and shove Kastros’s wing back, desperate to see if one of my guys is hurting, despite the fact that I only know CPR for Adam’s sake and I’m the most useless member of our group. My giant demon clamps down harder on my wrist and pulls me back against his chest before he lowers his wings so I can see a little.
The small gymnasium, which is usually relegated to the girls—because Lakewood Prep is sexist like that and makes the girls’ teams practice in the room with only three rows of bleachers so they can get used to a non-existent audience—does not look like a gym anymore.
It looks like Hell. There is no ceiling, only a vast stretch of blackness. I see a tornado of blood whirling in the corner, and my free hand automatically reaches back to clench around Kastros’s waist as the blast of wind splatters me with blood. His free hand comes around my torso, just under my breasts, and secures me to him. The wooden floor beneath my feet looks like clouds. But when I move my foot, I feel the steady boards of the gym floor beneath them instead of the buoyancy I always feel in my dreams.
Hesitantly, I feel my shirt for blood. But it feels dry.
Is it real? I don’t know.
Molten glass blocks the doors, both the one the angel came in and the emergency exit I’d hoped to sneak out of. It rises up in deadly bubbles, and a scent like beeswax drifts over to me from the molten glass droplets.
That certainly smells real.
My eyes dart around, wondering how this is possible. I have no idea what’s happening right now or where this magic comes from, but I do see all of my demons and they’re all upright. It doesn’t look like they were the ones who screamed.
Raz, with his sandy brown hair, has black ram’s horns protruding from his head and his wings fanned out, the back of his shirt falling in tatters down his spine as he extends one hand towards the angel. But I don’t see magic emanating from his hands, so I’m unsure what he’s doing.
Next to him, the tornado is whipping Akor’s once-tame mohawk up so that it floats eerily. His white suit is wrinkled, the jacket unbuttoned and flapping in the wind from the blood tornado, streaked here and there with little lines of red as a random droplet or two hit him, which makes him look a little more wild and unhinged than normal. Both of his hands are extended, and a strange, orange-colored lightning flickers between them before shooting out and hitting the angel in the leg.
Immediately, I hear the unnatural scream from before, and bile shoots up my throat when I see the angel’s kneecap dislocate.
My eyes try to close, but I force my lashes apart. I’m no help to anyone if I’m cowering and unaware of the dangers around us. I’m no help anyway in a battle between Heaven and Hell, but I figure it’s like dodgeball—you don’t have to be any good to survive, you just have to be alert and aware.
Damn my clit for stealing so much blood from my brain. I’m making stupid dodgeball references when I should be doing something. But what?
