Page 30 of Interior Design for Demons
“Please,” I sob, screwing my eyes shut, pinning my hands over my ears. “Please turn it off!”
I can still hear the screams and jeers, even through my palms—
Until the sound shuts off abruptly.
A sweet cool fragrance wafts to me, and I inhale instinctively. When I open my eyes, the screen is completely dark, and Apollyon stands before it, smiling at all of us. “Congratulations, my lovelies,” he says. “You have made it through the first round. I have such high hopes for all of you. Go on now—enjoy yourselves for a few hours before the celebratory dinner.”
He goes to pour himself a drink while everyone files out of the room, accompanied by their sponsors. As Amanda leaves, she bumps my shoulder and coughs, “demon fucker” under her breath. Maksim, the other guy who was nearly eliminated, snickers in response.
They probably think I made it through because of Apollyon’s preference for me—which he just demonstrated by turning off the TV for my sake. Damn it.
Rath is nowhere to be seen, and Slate and Rusala are still out in the audience, so I wander out of the lounge alone. Linnea, Aghilas, and Hisae somehow ended up way ahead of me. I could hurry to catch up with them and follow them back to our rooms, but as much as I like them, I kind of want to be alone right now. I’ve spent so much of my life alone, celebrated so many little personal victories alone—I almost prefer it.
I wander down the long corridor, marveling at just how bland and pale it is. They could use some richly colored carpet along here, or a nice geometric tile, or some hardwoods—any kind of texture, anything but this drab ivory linoleum and bland eggshell paint. My fingers trail along the drywall, itching to bathe it in some color.
My design wasgood. And it’s going to exist here, in freaking Hell, probably for centuries. Maybe millennia. Demons are going to use that office for their daily activities. In just a few days, I’ve made my mark in a more permanent way than most designers can hope to do in a lifetime. It’s a weird, scary, heady thought.
A whisper of breath on the back of my neck, and a melodious male voice at my ear. “You survived. How delightful.”
I whirl, glaring. “Did you know about the camera in the bathroom?”
“No.” But Apollyon’s blue eyes are so sly, so salaciously mischievous—I can’t tell if he’s lying.
“Why did they show that clip?” I mutter, continuing down the hall. “Why not show Rath rubbing my shoulders, or Slate and Rusala trying to give me piercings, or me taking a shit?”
“Because it causes drama,” he says. “And demons, like humans, delight in a bit of saucy drama.”
“Well, I hate it. I’m pretty sure my fellow competitors think I made it through because ofyou, instead of on my own merit.”
“That isn’t true.” He leans casually against the wall, one leg bent. “I don’t have that kind of sway with the judges.”
There’s something tight and strained about his face, and he’s avoiding my eyes.
“Are your superiors going to punish you for what we did?” I ask. “Or have they already? I’m sorry if you got into trouble—I know you don’t like pain—”
His head snaps up, defensive alarm written across his features. “Who said that? I love pain. I’m a demon, and demons enjoy sweet, sweet agony. You want to test me? I’ll let you carve me up if you want.”
“God, no. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
He stares at me. “Have you forgotten what I showed you at the gala? Who I really am, inside?”
“No, but—”
“You don’t need to ask if I’mokay.” He’s growing taller as he says it, his chest rising and falling fast, breath hissing between his elongating fangs, eyes snapping blue fire. An unseen wind whips his scarlet hair back, and his voice deepens to a throaty growl that shakes the very walls. “I am a fucking demon lord, and I don’t want your concern.”
I should be scared of him. But I’m not. Not one bit.
“Chill out, geez.” I set off along the hallway again. “Didn’t you ever have a friend who worried about you?”
“No,” he snarls through his sharp teeth—very dragon-ish teeth, and the structure of his face has shifted, features stretching, the pale skin taut across bone. “Why should you care about me? I don’t care about you.”
I shrug, and then I wince, because the place where Rath’s claws dug into my shoulder flashes with pain.
Apollyon’s eyes widen, and he reverts to his usual human aspect, all traces of dragon disappearing. “What happened there?”
“Rath was angry when he saw the two of us—you know. In the episode.”
“You’re lucky he did not do worse.” Apollyon casually unbuttons my blouse and pushes it off my shoulder, nudging my bra strap aside as he inspects the wounds. “He’s a pride demon, and they tend to take offense easily and deeply. Their lust for vengeance is strong when they feel they have been slighted.” He’s smirking as he prods the claw punctures. When his hand comes away wet with my blood, he opens his mouth and slides a fingertip over his tongue, watching me out of the corner of his eye. “You taste delightful.”
