Page 31 of Interior Design for Demons
“Okay, vampire.”
“Dragons don’t suck a maiden’s blood, darling. They consume her sweet flesh.”
“Good thing I’m no maiden.”
He’s still pinning my shirt aside with his other hand, and I feel exposed, uncertain—not frightened, exactly, because I don’t think he will hurt me. Rath has hurt me a few times, but Apollyon—I never know what he’s going to do next.
Apollyon presses his hand to my shoulder again and the pain eases immediately. A flex of his fingers, and the damp bloody spot on my blouse disappears. When I touch the place where the wound was, it is sealed over. Not a scar, not a scratch.
I look up at him wonderingly. “Thank you.”
He hitches a quick breath. “Don’t look at me like that, lovely. It’s too deliciously worshipful. Keep it up and I will make you do very wicked things to me.”
Scraping the blouse back onto my shoulder, I angle my gaze away from him, to the floor.
“I could make you do anything I wanted,” he muses, more to himself than to me. “I could put you under my spell right now and use you, tease you, torture you. And why don’t I? By Lucifer, why not?”
“Rules? Consequences?” I offer.
“Maybe.” He tips my chin up with a fingertip. “It’s something about your eyes. Something I want, inside them, that I can’t get with a spell. A pity I can’t pluck them out and preserve them. But then they would lose that vitality, that sparkle, that look of mingled admiration and disdain that I can see in them right now.”
“You’re disgusting,” I whisper.
“Am I?” Closer he bends, and he’s everything, he fills up the world, the universe, with so much wicked beauty I can hardly bear to look at him and yet I can’t stop.
A throat clears. “Lord Apollyon?”
Apollyon whips upright. “What is it, Melek?”
“Lady Ishtar is asking for you.”
Apollyon groans, rolling his eyes like a teenager. “What task could she possibly have for me now?”
“She wants to borrow your human.” The other demon, Melek, winces nervously. He’s attractive, as they all are—tanned and beautifully muscled, with a tattoo of a rose in the center of his chest. His brown hair flows just past his shoulders.
“She wantsme?” I ask. “Why?”
Apollyon’s face snaps around, and his blue eyes meet mine, shocked and gratified. “Not you, darling. Though it’s flattering to hear that you consider yourself my property. No, Melek is referring to another human, a pet of mine.”
Heat burns along my throat, flooding my cheeks and forehead until I’m afraid my brain will explode from shame. What possessed me to say that? Oh my god. What the hell is wrong with me? Why did I assume they were talking about me? Of course Apollyon has other interests, other people, other—of course I’m not special. I’m one of many bodies he has an interest in.
Grimly I turn my back and stalk away from him, as fast as I can. His cool, mocking laughter behind me only makes my face burn hotter.
Who is this other human of Apollyon’s? Male or female, or other? Does he care for them? How long have they been with him? Are they in Hell of their free will, or are they trapped under his sway?
Why should I even care? All I care about is that Isurvived. I made it through to the next round. My skin wasn’t flayed off me by bat-winged demons. I touch my arms and waist, just to reassure myself.
After several minutes of walking, I realize that I’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere. I don’t remember this part of the building at all. The hallway floors have an unnerving downward slant that gets steeper the farther I walk. And there’s no one around—absolutely no one. No furniture, no art, no demons or souls, nothing but endless stretches of hallway, colored in unbearably dull neutrals. There are a few doors, but they have no handles or knobs.
Finally I work up the nerve to tentatively say, “Hello?” outside one of those featureless doors. My heart is tripping fast, and my nerves tighten. Shouldn’t my anxiety and fear be summoning Rath to my side right about now? Except he’s furious that I let Apollyon give me a handjob, so it’s unlikely he’ll come to my rescue. And Apollyon is off dealing with Ishtar, lending her hishuman…
I turn around, looking back at the way I came. The angle of the floor has changed—it looks so much steeper from down here—a sharp slope, a slide into deeper Hell. Just the thought of trying to climb back up it makes my calves ache.
“Shit,” I whisper.
Something reverberates through the floor. Again. And again. Ponderous, slow steps, and the distant dragging clank of metal chain joints.
My tongue feels like dryer lint. I shrink against the blank pale wall and wait.
