Page 47 of Interior Design for Demons
“Clothes?” He arches an eyebrow. “Those were mere threads, begging to be torn from that luscious body of yours. By now most people on the floor will be halfway naked or completely so. You’ll be in good company. Well—terrible company, since it’s Hell and all, but—” He shrugs, laughing. “Besides, they all saw you naked and climaxing in Episode 1.”
I moan and bury my face in the sofa. Apollyon’s cool hand glides along my back and my rump, down my thigh.
“I’ll fetch you something to wear,” he says. His hand disappears, and I remain motionless, face-down on the couch, trying to make sense of what has happened this evening. I ran from Rath, I met an angel, and I had sex with Apollyon. Mind-blowing, cosmos-shattering, reality-altering sex that apparentlymeant somethingto both of us. And helikesme.
He’s back in about ten seconds, before I can really process it all, and he throws me a skimpy costume of scaly green, with a shimmery blue mask.
I inspect the filmy material. “Where’d you get this?”
“It was lying around. I told you most of the guests are getting naked.”
“So you just—stole someone’s costume.”
“Relax, dove. Everything is fair game on nights like these. From what I hear, Hell used to be fun and free like this all the time, until everything went corporate.” He sighs plaintively, his blue talons raking through his hair, disentangling the snarls caused by my eager fingers during our lovemaking.
The costume is tight on me, but I work my legs into the lower half, inch by inch. “You said you’re a couple hundred years old, right?”
“Yes. Quite young for a demon.”
“So it’s odd that you’re degrading into a monster so quickly.”
His delicate features harden. “Yes.”
“And what were you before?”
Apollyon stares. “I don’t understand the question.”
“Were you an angel who fell? A human who got recruited for eternal servitude? The offspring of a pair of demons?”
“I—they never told me where I came from. Our former lives are wiped away when we awaken. Those who fall in love with demons and endure the trials to become demons themselves are allowed to keep their memories. The rest of us must start as blank slates, ready for Lucifer’s use.” His lip curls a little.
“Very suspicious.” I narrow my eyes at him. “You told me you were soulless, but I don’t think that’s true. I think you and a few other demons have fragments of souls left over from your origins.”
“And what other demons have you encountered that would lead you to believe such a thing?” His claws prance along the rim of the ice bucket.
“Naamah, for one.”
Apollyon looks at me sharply. “She showed you her forest, didn’t she?”
“She showed it toyou?”
“Oh yes. She knew I wouldn’t tell anyone. I’m a rule-breaker myself, as you said.” He taps his chest. “And I told her about my own troubles. She suggested a cure, which I am in the process of trying.”
“A cure? Something to help you control the change and stop the decline?” I hitch the neckline of my new costume higher, but it’s no use—it slides right back down. I’ll have to walk around with my nipples nearly showing.
“It’s a rather far-fetched remedy.” Apollyon watches my struggle with a sly smile. “But it seems effective so far. Stop messing with it, dove—it suits you.”
“Fine.” I pull on the blue mask. “Shall we dance?”
“If you have the nerve to face what’s out there.” He grins wider. “It may be too much for your human sensibilities.”
When he sweeps aside the curtain, it looks as if I’ve stepped into that scene in “The Witcher,” where Yennefer puts everyone under her spell and makes them participate in a big orgy. There are people doing it literally everywhere, pounding each other while other party-goers dance around them like it’s no big deal. Clothes and masks litter the stone floor like sparkling leaves, and the music thrums a sensual beat with a stinging overlay of sharp strings and throaty voices.
Apollyon leads me through the roiling mass of demons and humans, to an area where most of the guests are still dressed and dancing. We enter the music together, our bodies writhing and coiling slow and seductive against each other. Heat floods my core, enflames my stomach and lungs, melts my inhibitions. I’m tingling, trembling, panting, sliding against Apollyon, every inch of my skin on fire. Grunts and whimpers sift through the crowd around us, and Apollyon’s lips float a bare inch from mine, parted and tempting, his dark red lashes a decadent fringe over his blue eyes.
He traces my cheek with his claws. “Curse this competition. I don’t think I can let you die.”
A knot of dread hardens in my stomach as the reality of my perilous situation crashes back in. “I’ve been wondering—where do the contestants’ souls go, after the elimination? Do the good ones get to go to Heaven?”
