Page 51 of Demon Sworn
And slam, the clouds are upon us, and we’re inside the storm. Fear’s talons drag down my throat, and my eyes scan frantically, searching for my brother, hoping he’s not reliving some awful moment of his life.
With a flap of his wings, Raz angles us down, and we burst through the clouds. That’s when I see Adam standing on a rug, just like the one in our old house, stomping his foot and throwing a Godzilla toy right into the face of Wade, the zit-faced guy from my decathlon team.
Next to Wade, sitting cross-legged, is Tim. Tim’s smirking as Adam roars, “You cheated!”
My hand flies to my heart, and I want to laugh until I cry. I’m so damned relieved. Adam’s nightmare is about playing with toys and losing against the teammates he met on my school trip.
I start to chuckle, but then I feel Raz stiffen behind me. He clearly isn’t seeing what I’m seeing. What did I miss?
“What?” I whisper, trying not to let my voice carry.
Raz points a claw, and I have to squint, but then I see it. In the corner of Adam’s dream bedroom, the closet door is cracked open. And staring out of the closet are a pair of red eyes.
Raz’s wings smack together, and we dive like a hawk, but before we can reach anything, the entire vision—Adam, Wade, Tim, the closet…vanishes in a puff of smoke.
The demon who was toying with my brother's dreams is gone.
21
Katrina
My mind is still reelingfrom the discovery the night before. One of the demons hunting us is a nightmare demon? I suppose that provides us some help, though not a lot. None of my guys can think of any nightmare demon who has a problem with them. Not Raz, who once spent the majority of his time in that dark, desolate place. Not Van, who probably fucked ninety-nine percent of all demons who exist. Not even Akor, who tortured his fair share of them.
So we have new information, but not enough to actually put the damn puzzle together. Meanwhile, this nightmare asshole can just crawl inside Adam’s head at naptime. Nighttime. Whenever. Based on what Raz said about nightmares when we came back home, demons can suggest things, can make dreams appear friendly and enticing…which is almost scarier than all those creepy dreams we flew through.
A nightmare demon could make Adam think he’s a friend.
I’m at the point where I want to stomp my feet and Hulk-out, flipping tables and cracking chairs in half and other badass things. But alas, I’m forced to once again attend school and “get an education to better my future.”
Raz’s words. Not mine.
Stupid alpha asshole demon.
Who can concentrate on the future when the present doesn’t guarantee a damn future? But I’m dolled up as Zolroth pleases, in a short skirt and thigh high socks he insisted on pulling on himself, which leaves me in a state. A needy one. The fucker grins smugly like he knows it and just gives me a wink before leaving to help Raz with whatever secret plan my demons have going on today that they claim is too dangerous for mortals.
Yes, it probablyisdangerous. I know. Don’t fucking logic me right now, okay? I’m pissed and horny.
When Van sees me in the hall outside my bedroom, he grabs my hand and steps close so that he can whisper in my ear, “Pigtails, Trina. Please.” His breathy whisper is desperate. So because I don’t really want to waste my time at school doing calculus while my demons do real-world important shit, and there’s a very good chance I can easily seduce my lust demon into giving me all kinds of naughty assignments that have no relation to graduation…
I wink and trot off to the bathroom, dutifully tossing my pink curls into two pigtails and adding some bright pink gloss to match.
Van is distracted the entire drive, and I can’t help the thrill that races down my spine, knowing that I’m the distraction. When we park, he insists I walk in first, however, so he can guard my back. Part of me wonders if he just wants to watch me walk in the skirt as the breeze trails along my skin and lifts it lightly. Probably.
After a minute or two, he catches up, and while he doesn’t hold my hand in public, he walks very, very close. When I see all the interested looks from other girls in the senior class, I resist the urge to pull him close and snuggle underneath his arm as he leads me down the hall.
“I was thinking tonight, we can watchTitanic. I haven’t had a good cry in a while,” my lust demon begins conversationally as we move down the hall, currently teeming with wide-eyed students casting us curious looks. My fear and anxiety over the uncertain and tenebrous future dissipate like tendrils of mist floating in the air, being called home by the sky. There’s something so…endearing about Van talking about romance movies. And sexy as well. Because a guy who can look like him—with tattoos covering one shoulder and pec and cascading down his arm, an impressive eight-pack, and gorgeous russet hair—and still be sweet enough to cuddle with you on the couch and watch a sappy romance together? Yeah, he’s a keeper.
But this demon is mine. Get your own. I can recommend a few summoning books on Amazon, if you’d like.
Our newest thing has been to read a little together at night. Usually reverse harem novels. Because, yes, there is an entire romance genre dedicated to what I have going on with my own men—one female, being worshiped and adored by three or more sexy as fuck men. My face flames like crazy whenever Van gets to a sexy scene and begins to read in a voice that puts audiobook narrators to shame. It practically oozes raw sex appeal. My panties become damp just from the sound of his voice, fuck what the words actually say.
Unfortunately, we had to take a teeny tiny little break from those books. I end up climbing Van like a tree and riding his face into oblivion. Not that having oral sex with him is a bad thing, because let me assure you, it’s definitely not. It’s more the fact that I haven’t had sex withallof my men yet and guilt settles in the pit of my stomach, sluicing about. Like…Kastros. He hasn’t pressured me, and I’m sure he’ll be content to wait forever if I choose not to forgive him, but I can see the jealous glances he directs Van’s way when he thinks no one’s looking.
Sooner or later, I’m going to need to be vulnerable with the hulking vengeance demon. I’m going to need to bare my soul to him and take that running leap off the steep incline. And all I can do is pray that he catches me this time.
“Earth to Katrina. Hello. Anyone home?” Van questions teasingly, his eyes smoldering with banked fire. I can tell he wants to push me against the lockers and kiss me senseless, maybe put his knee between my legs under my skirt until we both get off.
But we can’t do that here. Not until I graduate. Not while Van is technically a counselor. The sexiest counselor that ever existed, but a counselor all the same. I’m pretty sure that attendance has increased by two hundred percent since he arrived. Before, students would use those little pink slips as excuses to skip class. I mean, no one actually attended counseling. Not when perverted old Mr. Grundy was the sole counselor for wayward teens.
