Page 17 of Demon Sworn
Who could be coming that would have all of my guys so…so afraid? And make no mistake, that’s what they are. Even Kastros is staring sullenly at the brand-new blood-red carpeting—Zolroth nearly threw a fit about it, but all of the others agreed that red was a must with Akor in the house—almost as if his eyes can physically penetrate the fabric to see the boards underneath. His hands clench and then unclench repeatedly on his lap.
I want to make a joke to lighten the mood, anything to alleviate the tension I can feel pressing on my chest like a bowling ball and breaking my ribs, but I’m afraid that if I start speaking, I’ll start crying as well. And once I start, I’ll never be able to stop, because badass me has a superhero cape the size of a fishline—it’s only the tiniest fucking thread.
So silence it is, then.
Or maybe stupid facts. I rattle off dumb decathlon facts, trying to soothe my antsy nerves. Dreamt is the only word in the English language that ends in “mt.” Pineapple pizza was invented in 1962 when a Greek immigrant to Canada decided it should be a pizza topping. “Eigengrau” is the nineteenth century name for the dark gray color that you see when you open your eyes in a dark room.
I tap my fingers against the armrest of the couch as all of my guys display varying degrees of agitation. At this point, I’m pretty sure Van is going to be bald by the time our visitor arrives.
As if my thoughts summoned him or her, the doorbell rings, the melodic sound a laughable contrast to the despondent mood permeating the air. The menagerie quickly responds with its own chorus to the new visitors, though most of them have been trapped in the backyard.
“Stay here,” Raz growls, casting me a pointed look. He then turns his gaze onto Van, and with no explanation needed, my lust demon grabs my waist and deposits me onto his lap.
“Everything will be okay, Trina,” Van coos in my ear.
But I don’t know if he’s trying to convince me or himself.
“Okay my ass,” I mutter in irritation. Because how can anything be okay when my parents are dead and my brother is miss—
I shut that thought down. Bury it and slap a gravestone on top of it. I know I’m only seconds from falling apart, from breaking at the seams and unraveling entirely, until there’s nothing left of the girl all of these demons claim to love.
How can a person survive hit after hit and still be standing? Still breathing? I want nothing more than to sink into a puddle of despair, existing only as a collection of blood and guts with no brain to torture me with endless horrid images. Maybe I should feed my brain to Jason.
And apparently when I’m depressed, my thoughts turn pretty damn morbid. Duly noted.
“Jason! Get your ass back here! Unless you want to be eaten by hellhounds! You bloody wanker!” Zolroth calls out as the blond quarterback races around the corner with the rest of the animals, his tongue hanging out of the corner of his mouth. He must have opened the backdoor and freed them.
The menagerie yips and howls and bays in excitement for the doorbell.
“Visitor! There’s a visitor!” Jason jumps onto Kastros’s lap and nuzzles my vengeance demon’s chin with the top of his head. “Visitor! Must see visitor! Must lick visitor’s butt!” He tries to hop back off Kastros and head for the door with the other pups, but Kastros wraps his arms around Jason’s waist and holds him in place as the zombie-dog-man wiggles and whines.
“Please!” Jason begs.
“No licking the devil’s butt,” Akor says sternly, stalking forward to boop Jason on the nose with his grenade. “No butt licking for you.”
“But—”
“No. Butt. Licking. For. You,” Akor says slowly, emphasizing each word with a pointed glare.
But something he says sticks with me…
“The devil?” I screech, my voice rising in pitch as terror infiltrates my lungs and inflates them. Am I hyperventilating? Fuck, I’m hyperventilating, aren’t I? A-fucking-gain. This is becoming a horrible, panic-inducing habit of mine. “The devil himself is here? At our…this place…house?” Words are failing me.
“Herself,” Van corrects, holding me tighter against him and nuzzling my cheek. I wonder if he can feel the tension thrumming through my body like bolts of electricity, if he can sense my fight or flight response firmly fixed onflight.If he knows I’m seconds from running away as fast and as far as I can, building an igloo in Antarctica, and living the rest of my years as the queen of the penguins.
Akor says, “Awww. She called it ‘our.’ She really loves us.” But I can’t really take him seriously when he’s scratching a grown-man’s zombie belly while Kastros latches on tight to said zombie-dog-man.
The devil is here. The one being in the universe who’s strong enough to rival God, to give him the finger and fuck with all his meticulous plans for cosmic control. “Holy shit,” I mutter, then immediately clap my hands over my mouth. I can’t be saying things like “holy” with the devil in my house! What if that pisses her off?! My heart speeds up faster than a hummingbird’s wings, and I grow lightheaded.
Soft voices reach me from the foyer of the house. I recognize Raz’s growly timbre followed by a tinkling laugh, one that reminds me oddly of bells.
A moment later, Raz re-enters the living room, his expression pinched tight with stress, followed by three creatures who instantly have me sitting ramrod straight in Van’s lap, my eyes jumping out of my head like a comedic cartoon character.
They’re…dogs. But unlike any dogs I’ve ever seen before.
Their skin is wrinkly, almost leathery in texture, and expands the length of their long, muscular bodies. Donkey like ears rest on either side of their dog like, black heads, and I swear I can see rivulets of lava cascading through their ear canals. Purple fur sprouts from their heads like mohawks before climbing down the length of their backs, ending in a lion’s purple tail.
They’re beyond intimidating. And also so damn mesmerizing that I can’t seem to look away.
