Page 10 of Dormeo
Gaap knows our master has a bigger play going on here, one that will be revealed to us in good time. We’re pawns in his game, but there is no point arguing. Not yet at least.
My best friend hates to be left in the dark, however, and he drums his talons on my desk impatiently, trying to figure out what the play is.
“He might not allow her to be one ofthem, but he won’t send her home untouched.”
Bythem,he means the women he was with earlier, who’ve been lured into sexual depravity by their proximity to hell. It pulls you in, changes you, loosens your inhibitions, and exaggerates all the wants and desires you may have in the human realm.
Rose is not to be adopted into some demon’s harem but that doesn’t mean my father won’t delight in ruining her suitability for marriage just to fuck with Farly. With a waterfall of pale blonde hair and sun-kissed glowing skin, she’s like a beacon to the depraved who dwell here. She’s too pure to be dumped here with the likes of Gaap chomping at the bit to ruin her innocence and expect her to come away unscathed. And my father knows that.
He will mark her in some way, just to ensure Farly never forgets who he was dealing with.
“Maybe. But until he tells me otherwise, nobody touches her.”
She’s under my protection, and I take my orders very seriously.
“And you think you’ll last two weeks without giving in?Please.” Gaap’s booming laughter echoes around the minimally decorated space as he tips the rest of his drink down his throat. He’s taunting me, but with Gaap, it’s more for sport than part of any elaborate plan. Still, it makes me uneasy.
“I won’t lay a finger on her until I’m told otherwise, either.” I choose my words carefully, and Gaap nods. We’re friends, as much as you can be with an ancient and powerful demon who tortures people for a living. He might be a bit younger and reluctant to play the part, but Gaap is still a prince of hell.
His ultimate loyalty is not to me. And you can never be too cautious when dealing with fallen angels. They’re always working an angle or a deal with someone.
Ruffling the hair on Barghest’s head as he passes the sleeping beast, Gaap yanks his hand away quickly to avoid snapping teeth that would easily crush bone. The grumpy hellhound snarls at him before settling back again, keeping a wary eye on my friend’s movements.
There’s nothing a hellhound hates more than being treated like a common pet. Of course, that’s the only reason why the demonic bastard pets him. It’s a love-hate thing they’ve had going for years.
“Good luck with babysitting duty. I’d suggest recruiting some more help than that,” he suggests, while pointing toward my loyal hellhound with disdain.
Barghest growls again without lifting his jowls from the seat cushion.
Gaap is undeterred and continues his words of warning.
“Word has already spread of an off-limits human holed up in your quarters. And there is nothing a demon loves more than breaking the rules. You need to be prepared.”
With those ominous words, he departs, snagging the open bottle of whiskey on his way out.
He’s right. I’m going to need help. But who can I trust? Exchanging a knowing look with Barghest, he wearily gets back to his feet and slips from the room silently.
After he leaves, I make my way out to the living room area and lie down on the sofa. With one arm slung across my eyes, I try to get some sleep. But it’s useless. Noises outside my door keep me on high alert throughout the night.
Telling myself I’m just obeying orders to protect her, I creep over to the door and press my ear to it, listening. She’s still sound asleep. With a defeated sigh, unable to resist her lure, I push it open and step into my room, closing it quietly behind me.
As a precaution, I create dense black shadows to hide my form in case she stirs.
Settling into a large wingback armchair in the corner, I watch her delicate features as she begins to dream. Her eyelids flutter, and she lets out a contented sigh that I’m not sure I’ve ever heard from anyone stuck in hell before.
She rolls onto her side to face me, one hand stretching out to the side of the bed, reaching for me, as though she can sense my presence nearby. The blanket slides off her shoulder, revealing her tiny excuse for a nightdress.
I stare, mesmerised by her pale, ethereal skin, until I hear a faint clink from outside.
Moving toward the huge, arched gothic windows, I poke my head out and turn to look at the massive grey gargoyle perched on the balcony plinth. Without me even asking, he came.
“Thank you.”
He blinks slowly, but otherwise, remains perfectly still, settled into his position with a perfect view of anyone coming.
“Anyone tries to come near her, Buzz, you kill them,” I order. “Doesn’t matter who it is.” There will be no questions asked, or excuses accepted.
When he doesn’t object, I nod, satisfied he’ll do his job, and pull my head back inside before marching from the room without looking back.
