Page 18 of Demon Stalked
“Yes… That would have to do… Yes,” she murmurs, more to herself than to me.
“Errrwhatareyoudoing?” My words rush together in a garbled mesh due to her tightening grip on my chin.
“Your man has paid me for the full experience,” she declares, twisting my face to and fro.
“Err…”
Please don’t be an Akor prank. Please don’t let this “full experience” be some sort of sex game. Or worse…a piercing of some kind.
My hands float up to protect my nipples. They like being whole, not holey.
The next few hours consist of more pampering than I ever experienced before in my life. I’m poked and prodded and even—shudder—waxed. My pink hair is curled into tight ringlets, half of it pinned at the top while the other half cascades down my back.
The white dress is surprisingly gorgeous, though I can’t help but think of wedding bells when I wear it. The V-neck makes wearing a bra impossible, so I settle on nipple tape instead. Because yeah, apparently, that’s a thing. The white lace stops just above my knees, cinching slightly at my waist. Whenever I move, the fabric twirls around me, the material unbelievably soft. It looks perfect with my pink hair, the two contrasting colors offsetting each other.
Hanna even applies a generous amount of makeup—light pink lipstick that gives my lips a fuller, natural look, blush on both cheeks, mascara and eyeliner, and a dark eyeshadow that gives my eyes a smoky appearance.
“I look…”
“Like a princess!” Hanna coos, patting my freshly curled hair like I’m some sort of dog. “Like…like an angel.”
I just barely—honestly, I deserve a reward for this—hold in my snort of derision. The fucking irony of being compared to one of those asslickers who want to kill my demons is not lost on me.
“Thank you, Hanna,” I say sincerely as I smooth my hands down the sides of my skirt. “I mean it, thank you.”
“Your fiancé is a lucky man,” she gushes before releasing a giggle befitting of someone half her age. “And a handsome one.”
Yeah…
Not gonna even bother to correct her on the first one. And the second…Zolrothisa sexy piece of meat. But he’s also mine, and I’m feeling kind of possessive and stabby, even though this woman is at least twice his age. Well, in appearance, anyways. I’m pretty sure my demons have her beat by a few hundred years.
“Katty? I have to go potty. And—” Adam cuts off abruptly as he enters the bathroom, blinking at me with wide eyes. After a moment, a beatific smile cleaves his face in two. “You look like a fairy princess!”
A delicate blush stains my cheeks as I duck my head sheepishly. The thing about young kids? They say exactly what they think. And Adam truly believes I deserve the title of a fairy princess.
Yeah, I’m a little teary-eyed. Sue me.
“Thank you, Adam,” I whisper as he continues to grin up at me.
“And to complete the costume…” Hanna reaches into her bag and procures a white, simple mask that covers my eyes. It molds to my face, the edges of the mask decorated in gorgeous pink gemstones that match my hair.
Tears prick my eyes at the knowledge that Zolroth did all of this for me. He made me feel like a fucking fairy princess.Me. I’ve always felt awkward. Invisible. Just one of those girls who drifts through high school, holding onto the promise of tomorrow because today is never quite good enough.
“I…I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to thank you,” I confess as I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
“You can start by not crying and ruining the makeup,” she scolds half-heartedly. A devious smile pulls up her lips as she stands on her tiptoes and squeezes my shoulder. “And you can allow me to design your wedding dress in the future.”
A nervous laugh escapes me as I twist side to side, watching the dress cascade around my thighs.
What the fuck has Zolroth been telling her?
* * *
I convincedthe guys to allow me to meet them at the dance. I know that it would’ve caused a massive argument (and in Akor’s case, bloody massacre) if only one of them was allowed to pick me up at the hotel.
After the babysitter arrived for Adam—Sasha from his daycare was more than happy to help me out—I head downstairs to the car I may or may not have stolen from Zolroth. Though, is it stealing if he knows I have it and hasn’t called the cops on me yet? I’m claiming Center privileges, dammit. And that includes fancy, gorgeous cars.
Damn. I just called myself Center. Am I accepting this? I shove that question aside and focus on the sleek leather seat and the hum of the engine as I start it up.
