Page 26 of Interior Design for Demons
He grips my hands as the song changes, forcing me into long sweeping steps with him. His eyes are azure fire as he leans in. “Freedom,” he breathes at the entrance of my ear. “Love, the kind that glorifies and consumes. And we are not eternal, as I’ve told you. We expire. All that you see, this glow and glitter, this dark beauty—it is nothing but a rotting corpse, a wasteland of putrefaction hidden beneath a veil of glamor and delight. Look at me, Grace. Really look.”
I stare at him, and his features alter, cheeks sinking and eyes hollowing into dark caverns. For a second he’s a shriveled corpse with pointed black teeth and rags of skin. Behind his naked ribs burns a core of blue fire. His bony fingers clutch my hands, spastic and painful. The vast gnawing hunger of him presses against my skin, a groaning, remorseless lust that can never be satisfied.
Then he’s back to normal—calm and smooth, so deliciously beautiful.
“That is what we are, inside,” he whispers. “Do not forget it.”
Apollyon darts away through the crowd, and I’m left motionless, open-mouthed. Stunned.
“Grace?” The deep voice behind me is a familiar one—Razenath. I sigh and turn to him.
“I sensed your distress,” he says. “What happened?”
“Apollyon showed me something—unpleasant,” I murmur.
“His tiny dick?”
I glance up at Rath, startled, smiling in spite of myself. “Did you just make a joke?”
His Cupid’s bow mouth bends in an answering smile—a small one, restrained, but it counts. “Perhaps.”
“You did.” Of course I know from personal experience that Apollyon’s dick is anything but tiny—but I’m not about to tell that to Rath. Pretty sure he already knows Apollyon is well-endowed. After all, what kind of lust demon would be sporting miniature hardware? “Anyway, he left, so will you dance with me?”
He lets out a gust of breath. “I suppose.”
“Such a chore, dancing with a pretty girl.” I take his hands, weaving my slim fingers between his thick tanned ones, delighting in the visual contrast. I just might have to make an exception to my rule for him. Not tonight, but sometime. I’m unreasonably allured by the fact that I obviously tempt him, and that he’s trying to resist it. I tempt ademon.Me. Sure, he probably has a creepy shrunken core like Apollyon does, but the external disguise ain’t half bad.
As we begin to dance, I glimpse some of the other human competitors in the crowd. Linnea is dancing with a broad-shouldered demon with deep brown skin and green eyes. And Hisae is swaying half-heartedly with a pair of demons—one female and one of indeterminate gender. She looks irrevocably sad, and I think of her husband and her boys. Rath told me they took people who wouldn’t be missed… yet surely her family would miss her? Why is she the exception to that rule?
“Why was Hisae brought here, when she has people at home who need her?” I ask Rath.
He glances at Hisae. “She was always traveling and working,” he says. “She hardly ever saw her family. They will miss her, yes, but her absence won’t make much of a difference in their daily lives.”
“That’s harsh,” I reply.
He shrugs. “It’s true.” His fingers flex around my hands, urging me to focus more on the rhythm and less on my fellow contestants. His eyes meet mine, dark pools of everlasting night. Is it my imagination, or is the fire around his irises glowing brighter as my breasts brush his chest, as my body swerves against his? I can feel the power of his muscled torso despite the layers of his crisp suit—the fabric swells and stretches as he spins me, as he tucks me close again and we slow-dance, our footsteps interlaced.
Tipping my head up to his, I watch his mouth. It’s a couple of fingers away from mine. The warm cinnamon-and-vanilla scent emanates from his lips, bathing me, fading my thoughts to a golden haze. He’s yearning to kiss me—I can feel it.
I trace my lips with my tongue, slow and languid, and when his gaze flicks from my mouth to my eyes, I smile. I don’t know what I’m doing, or why I’m doing it. I told myselfno physical entanglements, yet here I am purposely playing with the desires of an actual demon. Stupid, stupid.
“You are tempting me,” Rath says wonderingly. “I forgot how it felt to be tempted, until I met you.”
“You’re resisting it very well, so congrats. Have you taken some kind of chastity vow?” I release a short laugh. “Do pride demons not have sexual partners?”
“We do. For a long time I was with Naamah. But then she began to break rules in small ways, and I had to end the connection.”
Naamah—the demon who is different, the one who shows creativity—in a super creepy way, sure, but it’s creativity nonetheless. “She seems—interesting,” I say. “And you broke up with her just because she has a rebellious side?”
“Yes. There is no place in my future plans for such carelessness.”
“Well, I’m all about breaking rules and challenging the status quo,” I tell him. “So it’s a good thing we’re not really interested in each other.” I chuckle at the thought. “Like any of you demons have a chance with me. I might sleep with you, sure, but no one here has a snowball’s chance in hell of making me fall in love with you. Pardon the expression.”
Rath’s dark brows bend. Why does he look even sexier when he’s grouchy and confused? “So you could never fall for a demon?”
“Not a chance. Sex, sure. Love—absolutely never. You might be beautiful but you’re all fake, really. Hollow emotions, no souls, false forms. No human in their right mind could love someone like that.”
Rath tenses all over, his features going rigid and hard. I’ve offended him, wounded his pride. “Is that a challenge?”
