Page 49 of Interior Design for Demons
His tanned chest heaves. “I thought you and I were going to—”
“You said I should let you know clearly, how and when I wanted to sleep with you,” I say. “I didn’t let you know, which means I didn’t want to. Not tonight.”Not ever, my mind adds, but I’m not brave enough to say it, not with his massive hand blazing hot around my ankle.
“I thought—” His mouth twists in a snarl. He’s trying not to lose it and hurt me.
“Thank you for understanding.” I keep my tone as calm as I can. “I’m sorry if I made you worry about me.”Bastard. You lost me my only chance at Heaven.
“Worried—yes, I was worried.” He releases me.
“You should go,” I tell him. “I only have a few hours to sleep before the next task begins.”
At first I fear he won’t leave. But after a long moment, in which he sniffs the air suspiciously, he vanishes.
My sleep is patchy for the rest of the night. I’m terrified that Rath will come back, that he’ll stay, that he’ll decide to force himself on me. He could. The only thing holding him back is the fact that the demons don’t want their captives too deeply traumatized, or we won’t be able to work. And I think he really hopes I’ll give in to him of my own free will, sooner or later. His pride demands that I come to him, that I beg for him.
When did I go from viewing Rath as a source of safety to seeing him as a threat? Right around the time he started yielding to his lust for me, and showing me his true colors. Under the veneer of the logical scholar, the perfectly groomed teacher’s assistant, he’s a ravening beast, all too eager to devour. Strange how at first I thought Apollyon was the one I should mistrust.
The next morning, instead of taking us each to the rooms we’re supposed to design, the demon sponsors gather all of us in the meeting room where we had orientation. Apollyon is there, and so is Ishtar.
As soon as I enter the room, I feel Apollyon’s eyes on me, a subtle pressure. I pretend not to notice at first, and I refuse to look his way. Instead I say “Good morning” to Aghilas, who’s walking a little stiffly, like he’s sore. Perhaps I wasn’t the only one involved in something naughty last night. I move past him and take the seat between him and Linnea. Rath sits in the row behind me, probably so he can breathe possessively down my neck.
“Why do you think they’ve brought us in here?” Linnea’s voice quakes, and she clears it anxiously.
I shrug. “An announcement? A change to the rules?”
“A surprise elimination?” Amanda says from the row in front of us. “I hope it’s you, Labelle.”
I hold up my middle finger, though she can’t see it without turning around. And I allow my eyes to drift up, to meet the crystalline blue ones fixed on me. The corner of Apollyon’s mouth tips up.
It’s all the reassurance I need, and I give him my most blazing, beautiful smile. He stumbles on his way to the podium, and I stifle a laugh.
“What’s going on with you?” Linnea whispers. “You don’t seem worried at all.” She glances from me to Apollyon, and suspicion darkens her eyes. “So it’s true. You have made a bargain with one of the show-runners.”
“No, I haven’t—”
“It’s unfair, you know.” She lifts a trembling hand to her brow, brushing back gray hairs. “Just because no one will miss me doesn’t mean I don’t want to live. I may be old, but I still have time left.”
Apollyon’s voice ripples over the room, smooth and sweet, as expansive as if he were speaking to a large assembly instead of a couple dozen people. “Gentle contestants,” he says. “Until now, we’ve been letting you acclimate, allowing you to enjoy your last days of existence. There are two down, eleven to go, and it’s time for things to start getting serious. So it is my exquisite pleasure to welcome you to the Torture Round.”
The Torture Round?
What the hell is Apollyon talking about?
“Here to explain the Torture Round is its inventor and sponsor, the lovely Ishtar.” Apollyon steps back from the podium, slow-clapping, as Ishtar walks forward to take his place. She wears a scarlet suit today, the perfect match for Apollyon’s hair, and the bright jeweled brooch on her lapel is as blue as his eyes. Did she coordinate with his coloring on purpose? Maybe it’s not only his human lackey that she desires.
“In the torture round you will each be redesigning one of Hell’s many torture chambers.” Ishtar’s voice is smooth and sinister, and her smile reminds me of crocodiles and sharks and other toothy, dangerous things. “But for you to thoroughly understand the challenge, you must first have a taste of torture yourselves.”
Panicked gasps shiver through the assembled contestants. My lungs tighten, and I turn frantic eyes to Apollyon. He’s smiling, looking wickedly pleased with himself, and I can’t tell if it’s an act or if he’s really enjoying our fear. Butof coursehe likes our fear. He’s a demon, and they thrive on fear. They consume it. Even now I sense Rath leaning in, his hot breath skimming the back of my neck as he drinks in my anxiety and apprehension.
“They can’t do this.” Linnea’s voice is a strained whisper.
Beside me, Aghilas sits with fists clenched, and beyond him, Hisae is pale and stoic.
“The show-runners and sponsors have custom-designed a torture experience for each of you,” says Ishtar. “And I have reviewed them to ensure they are equally painful—more or less.” She allows herself a smirk. “Sponsors, please take your contestants to their assigned torture experiences.”
One of the women screams as her demon picks her up and carries her out of the room, grinning, his yellow tongue flicking between pointed teeth. Hisae’s demon, a tall gaunt female who looks like some sort of Reaper, escorts her firmly to the exit.
Rath’s claws sink into my shoulder, a familiar sensation, a sign that he’s still displeased with me for avoiding him last night. The first time he clutched me with his sharp nails, it was to save me from falling, and he healed me afterward. I wonder if he thinks it’sour thingnow, some perverse act we share. Maybe he thinks I won’t mind an injury in that spot, since I already have scars there. I don’t know what kind of twisted demon logic inspires him to repeatedly hurt me, while claiming to want me. Tears gather in my eyes as he steers me along the row of seats, every flex of his claws sending fresh pain through my shoulder. To fortify myself, I steal one last glance at Apollyon.
