Page 42 of Interior Design for Demons
“Okay then.” I proceed to uncork the wine. “Guess I should let this breathe—and sit on this ugly couch while I wait. You want to sit, or—or go?”
The figure seats itself gracefully, and I ease myself onto the opposite end of the sofa, careful not to let any of my costume’s straps shift and reveal private areas.
My companion scoots closer, reaching toward me with gloved fingers. I freeze while those fingers prod the tiny bars across my mouth, sweep under my chin, drift along the bandages concealing my throat. The gloved fingertips draw a line along each of my collarbones, nestle in the hollow of my throat, and continue down, between my breasts.
I lean back, away from the touch. “Okay, you did me a favor, but that doesn’t mean I have to do one for you.”
The hand drops to my thigh, to the exposed skin between two leather straps. A flicker of rebellious lust traces the seam between my legs, and I shiver a little.
At that tiny shiver, my companion’s hand stills. And then he or she eases their hand upward along my thigh, toward my quivering center. My privates are armored by black leather and chains, inaccessible unless I unbuckle a few straps—still, the advancing touch makes me tremble and yearn.
I sigh, drawing away and pinning my knees together.
“I wish you were someone else,” I confide. “If you were, I might let you do this.”
“Who do you want?” The figure speaks in a hoarse, unfamiliar whisper.
“I suppose it’s not really a secret,” I muse. “Everyone in Hell saw him and me together. It’s obvious I have a thing for him. I thought it was just a sex thing at first, but I think I actually like his personality? Which is really fucking strange, because he’s ademon. No offense.”
The figure waves a hand, like an unspoken,None taken.
“I’m a novelty to him, that’s all,” I continue. “Once he had me, that would be it. It’d be over. And even if he came back for more, he’d probably keep sleeping with other demons and people and who knows what else. I couldn’t stand it. I’m way too jealous for that.”
Rising with a sigh, I take off my claw-rings and pour out some of the wine. I’m going to have to remove my mask-headdress thing to drink it.
“Mind if I close these a bit more?” I gesture to the curtains.
The robed demon assents with a silent half-nod.
I draw the curtains until there’s only a scant foot or two of space, through which we can watch the churning crowd and the strobing lights. In this alcove, there’s a single crystal light fixture overhead.
“I never expected to find a cozy nook like this in Hell,” I say. “I’m so tired of things that scare me and stress me out. Do you know I haven’t been outdoors in like, two weeks? I haven’t seen the sun in what feels like forever. And trees—I miss trees. And grass.” Why am I choking up? “Everything beautiful here has an ugly side, a terrible twisted side.” My gaze catches on my companion’s mask, the duality of it. Beauty on one side and torment on the other. “You get it, don’t you? What kind of demon are you?”
Another hoarse whisper. “Maybe I’m not a demon.”
“But you’re not human either.”
“And what’s left?”
It clicks in my mind, like a sudden flare of light in a dark room. I can barely form the word. “Angel?”
The robed figure nods, affirming my guess.
So I’ve just met my firstangel.
Red-letter day for me.
“But—why are you here?” Even as I ask the question, I remember what Rath said, about how angels sneak down to hell occasionally for a tryst with a demon. Angels can’t get in without a demon to admit them through one of the portals. “Are you here for a date?”
The robed figure gives a faint laugh. “We don’t call it that. Sexual activity is not permitted in heaven, and angels who develop urges they cannot control are demoted or banished. Our interactions with humans are closely monitored, so a visit to Hell is usually the only way to take care of our desires when they become—impossible to ignore.”
“And who are you here to meet?”
As the words leave my mouth, the curtain swishes aside, and a tall figure in dazzling white robes flashes in, scarlet hair swirling around his shoulders. He’s wearing a golden mask that conforms perfectly to his beautiful features and leaves his dazzling blue eyes clearly visible.
Apollyon.
“Karaziel,” he says, his voice a seductive melody. “So glad you could make it.”
