Page 3 of Demon Stalked
Note to future self—look into the secretary for corruption. Her soul is teetering on the brink and should be easy to convince.
Stacy’s practically squealing as she stares over Katrina’s shoulder at what I know to be inside of the case.
It’s a charm bracelet I bought specifically for her. The bracelet itself is constructed out of pure silver with a dozen minuscule diamonds interspersed throughout. Each charm represents something Katrina loves more than anything—a LEGO for Adam, a book for decathlon, a clapper to symbolize her love for movies, and the horns of a demon. Subtle? Not especially. Effective. Yes.
Her eyes shoot up, scouring the hallway until they rest on the spot where I hide. I don’t even bother trying to slink further into the shadows. Instead, I step forward and swagger forward with a cocksure grin.
Katrina says something to Stacy before marching across the hall and meeting me directly in the middle.
“What is this?” she demands, holding up the gorgeous bracelet nestled snugly in velvet.
“It’s a gift,” I respond easily as her eyes narrow adorably.
“Zolroth…” She takes in a huge breath, shoulders touching her ears, before she releases it on a long exhale. “You need to stop.”
“Stop…?” I pretend to feign confusion as she bites down on her pillowy lower lip…a lip I, too, have imagined biting down on.
“Stop with the gifts. The calling. The messages. And tell the others too.” She raises her chin stubbornly, a hard edge creeping into her eyes. “I made my decision, and I’m not changing it. I absolutelyrefuseto cause you guys harm—”
“It’s not technically you causing us harm, love,” I cut in before she can continue her tirade. I know once she starts, she’ll never stop, and she’ll grow even more sure that she made the right decision.
“You only get hurt when you’re around me,” she counters immediately. “So you guys need to leave. Go back to Hell or wherever it is you demons go.”
“I’m hurt, love. I don’t think I ever had a girl tell me to go to Hell before.” I try to keep my voice teasing, soothing, even, but inside, my heart feels like it’s shattering into thousands of delicate pieces. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tape them back together again. And maybe I don’t want to. Maybe if I don’t have Katrina, it’s worth carrying around the heavy shards.
“Zolroth, please.” Tears prick her eyes as she wipes a hand down her face. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
“Katrina…” I take a step closer and place a hand on her soft cheek. “I’m never going to stop fighting for you, forus, and I don’t think the others will either. It doesn’t matter to me that you make us vulnerable. It actually makes me feel more…human. But what I can’t handle is you pushing me away. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to handle that.” I hold her stare in my own, willing her to see the sincerity emanating from my eyes.
I want to tell her that I love her, that demons mate for life, that even if she pushes me away, I’ll always be here on the sidelines. Loving her. Wanting her. Protecting her.
“Zolroth…” I can see her resolve wavering—she wants me just as desperately as I want her.
“The dance.” I nod towards the poster directly behind her. “Let me take you to it. Let me prove to you that I care about you more than words can say.”
“I don’t…” She trails off again, face aflame, and I dive in for the kill.
“At least consider it, Katrina. Please.”
Let me prove myself to you, my love. Let me shower you with everything your heart could ever desire.
“I’ll consider it,” she relents at last, sounding forlorn and unsure. She scratches absently at the inside of her wrist. “But I’m not making any promises.”
“That’s all I ask of you.” I lower my head to hide my gleeful grin as she turns on her heel, walking briskly down the hall to catch up with Stacy, who’s squealing with excitement.
I’ve gotten her to agree to keep an open mind about something that’s clearly outside her current comfort zone. That’s always the first step in temptation.
Now, I can move on to my next phase of the plan…
* * *
There are onlya few people present when I step into Madame Cherry’s dress emporium. The tiny boutique is located in the downtown district, conveniently between a dry-cleaning service and a community laundromat. Despite its horrendous location, the dresses are top-of-the-line quality.
“Hello,” I say pleasantly as the tiny bell overhead signals my arrival. Hanna, one of the workers, glances up from where she’s fixing the hem of a wedding gown. She’s an older woman with gray hair smoothed away from her weathered face and dressed in a pressed pantsuit.
“Hello, darling.” Her distinct French accent makes me smile softly.
“Did you get the measurements I sent you?” I inquire as I run my fingers across the silk bodice of the nearest dress.
