Page 17 of Interior Design for Demons
Creepy things. From human remains. But I don’t say it aloud; I only smile. “This is fascinating, Naamah. You are unique, and so is your work.”
Pleasure flushes her face. “I knew you would appreciate it. But you can’t tell anyone. If you do, I’ll flay you and weave you into my work. Okay?” She grins, jostling my elbow as if she’s joking—but she isn’t. The poison-green flare of her eyes tells me she’s deadly serious.
“I’ll keep your secret, of course.” My forced smile feels paper-thin. “Thank you for showing me this.”
We spend a little longer walking through her “forest,” and then Naamah takes me back to my rooms via another terrifying drop that makes no sense but somehow leads to a series of slime-slicked tunnels that merge into steps and finally deposit us in the lower levels of the headquarters building. From there it’s a quick elevator ride back to my room. Smiling, I say good night to Naamah and close the door.
Then I run to the bathroom and vomit into the toilet.
A pair of hands scoops my hair out of the way, smoothing loose strands back from my forehead. I can’t see who it is, but I smell him—vanilla and wood smoke. Razenath.
“Why—are you here?” I ask between retches.
“Your misery calls to me. What happened with Naamah?”
“She showed me some things. I’m fine.”
“Clearly.” He pauses, waiting while I finish emptying my guts. I flush the toilet, but I’m too weak to get up. Rath snatches a towel, dampens the corner, and wipes my mouth.
“How are you so good at this? Massages, and taking care of sick people?” I rest my cheek against the toilet seat, because my head is too heavy to hold up.
Rath doesn’t answer. Instead he picks me up and carries me into my crazily-decorated room, dropping me unceremoniously onto the bed. “You should sleep. You’ll be given your assignment tomorrow, and you’ll have seventy-two hours to decorate the room.”
“Three days? Not long enough.”
“It’s enough.”
I open my eyes a crack. “You still believe in me?”
His arms are crossed on his chest, his biceps bulging. And those forearms of his, strapped with muscle—I’m blushing just looking at them. “I’m not your coach, Grace.”
“But you were kind of coaching me the other night.”
“It’s my job to keep you in good shape for the competition.”
“Yeah? Okay then. Why don’t you call Apollyon in here and have him go down on me? That’ll put me in agreatmood for the competition, and maybe blur the memory of what I saw today.”
A muscle under his eye twitches. “You think you’re shocking? I’ve heard much worse vulgarity.”
“Not being vulgar.” I throw my arms above my head, across the mounds of pillows. “Just being practical.”
My eyes are drifting closed, and my body feels heavy with weariness. Even if he did call Apollyon, I’m not sure I could stay awake for the fun.
I’m nearly asleep when fingertips trail across my hipbone.
I keep my eyes closed and my breathing steady, though my body inflames immediately at Rath’s touch. His fingertips travel across the exposed strip of skin between the bottom of my shirt and the waistband of my pants.
“I could do it,” he says.
“Do what?” I breathe, although I know exactly what he means.
“I’ll take care of you. Help you relax.” His fingers dip beneath the waistband, then back up, pressing lightly just below my navel, moving back to my hipbone.
My eyes flare open—I can’t help it. He’s standing beside the bed, looming above me, and the only points of contact between us are those naughty fingers. His crisp shirt collar lies open, exposing the hollow of his throat, and his hair is still in a thick, loose braid. His jaw muscles are hard, but his mouth looks soft as velvet.
“What about the rules?” I counter. “Demons can’t have sex with contestants, remember?”
“Who said I was going to have sex with you?” He frowns mightily. “I would be offering a simple, essential service. It won’t take long.”
