Page 91 of The Devil's Canvas

“No,” I reply, voice flat enough to iron linen. “But you’ve got that ‘speech incoming’ look, so go ahead.”

He pulls me into his lap in one smooth motion, hands landing on my hips like they belong there—and, annoyingly, they do. “I think you’re looking for reasons to stress because you’re too afraid to admit you might actually be handling all of this just fine.”

I shoot him a look. “That is… not entirely wrong. But also, rude.”

“You're panicking because you're brilliant,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “But you forget one thing.”

“What?”

“I know exactly how to shut your brain up.”

My breath catches. “Julian.”

“Mm?” His hand slides lower, fingers tracing along my inner thigh. “You were saying?”

“I was saying you are absolutely not seducing me out of a stress spiral right now. That’s not how mental health works.”

He nips at my neck, just enough to make me gasp. “Maybe not for humans. But for demons?”

I swallow. “This is emotional manipulation.”

“Correction,” he says, dragging his mouth back to mine. “This is effective multi-tasking.”

I shove him off with both palms to his bare chest—he lets me, but he’s smirking like he won anyway.

“No,” I say, standing up and realizing—shit. “I have no clothes. I’m naked.”

Julian reclines against the headboard like a smug demon prince. “Just will something on.”

My brain short-circuits. “Excuse me?”

“You’re immortal now. Your energy responds to intent. Just focus on what you want to wear.”

I stare at him. “So you’re telling me I can just… manifest outfits?”

He shrugs. “It’s Hell, love. We have standards.”

“Oh my god,” I say, eyes wide. “I’m about to have a power-induced identity crisis. This is dangerous.”

“I’m begging you,” Julian says, already grinning. “Please make it dangerous.”

I close my eyes and focus, envisioning something simple, classy, timeless.

There’s a flash of heat—and I look down to find myself in a black silk slip dress with thigh slits that make it feel like a threat.

Julian whistles. “Not subtle.”

“This is me trying to be respectable,” I snap.

“Try again,” he says, clearly having the time of his afterlife.

I throw a hand up. “Fine.”

Flash—now I’m in red leather pants, a sheer corset, and platform boots that could double as weapons.

Julian sits up straighter. “Okay, that one’s disrespectful—in the best way.”

“Ugh!” Another wave—now it’s a blazer with nothing underneath, tailored to filth.

---