Page 6 of Interior Design for Demons
“Great. Who doesn’t love a good orientation?”
At my doleful tone, Rath chuckles. He seems to relish my fear and suffering; go figure, he’s a demon. Does he have any empathy at all?
“Here we are.” He pulls up to a building with a pair of immense pointed doors. The doors are at least three stories high, ridiculously tall and broad.
“That’s an awfully big entrance,” I comment. “Especially when you demons are human-sized.”
“Not all of us are.” When Rath opens his door, the car door nearest me springs open as well. “In my natural form I’m somewhat larger than this.”
Is it weird that I want to see his natural form?
He walks around to my side of the car and peers in. His eyes are dark as chocolate with that molten ring round the irises, and his lashes are so thick and black that I half-expect them to leave traces of ash on his cheekbones when he blinks. But his hair ripples and glows golden, like the crowning glory of an angel. I’d love to pull the hair tie out of his ponytail and watch those locks tumble around his shoulders. Better still if those shoulders were naked—
“Are you getting out?” he demands.
“I—I don’t think I can.” It’s the truth. My stomach is all weak and watery, and so are my legs. My head thrums with an ache so fierce it’s inciting more nausea.
“Here.” Rath steps forward, hauls me out of the car, and pushes me back against the fender. Then he presses his hand to my forehead. His palm burns so hot against my skull I’m afraid it might singe my hair. I don’t pull away, but I whimper softly. At the sound, his eyes flick to mine, wide and full of sensual awareness. His lips—a perfect Cupid’s bow—part a little, offering me a glimpse of his white teeth. The scent of him is strong—the vanilla, cedar, and cinnamon fragrance I remember from our first meeting in the lecture hall.
“Don’t make that sound again.” Rath’s mouth barely moves over the whispered words.
“You’re burning me,” I whisper back.
“I’m helping you.” He withdraws his hand. “Better?”
Frowning, I mentally inspect myself. My headache is gone, and my nausea has receded. My legs feel stronger. “Yes. I do feel better. What did you do?”
“I took your discomfort into myself.”
“Wait, what?”
“Don’t worry, I can handle it. I told you I’m used to pain. It will pass quicker through my system than through yours, since I’m stronger.”
“But you didn’t have to do that for me! Are you okay?”
He stares at me quizzically. “I didn’t do it for your sake. I did it for mine, so I won’t be slowed down by your weak little body.” He snorts derisively. “Humans. You always think everything is about you. And you’re so very fragile. Look at this arm.” He lifts my wrist in his hand, flexing his fingers until my bones begin to hurt. “I could break it, right now. And this body—” He places his other hand against my ribs, the tip of his thumb grazing the underside of my breast. “So frail—and soft—I could snap you in half. I could crush you. I could—” He hesitates, with burning awareness in his eyes.
My skin prickles with heat, trickles of desire snaking along the crease between my legs. Rath is only touching my wrist and side, and despite the sexy rasp of his low voice, he’s threatening me with real bodily harm. Why do I feel so wildly aroused right now?
Is it my imagination, or is Rath breathing a little faster? Do demons even need to breathe? I mean he’s definitely breathing, but does he reallyneedto?
He looks confused and frustrated. “What iswrongwith you?” he hisses.
“What do you mean?”
“Why do you—” He licks his lips and lets go of me, stepping back. “Never mind. Let’s go—we’ll be late for orientation.”
As if on cue, the ultra-tall doors split in the center, the gap between them widening to reveal a very tall man—well over six feet if I had to guess. He’s slim, with an almost girlish narrowness to his waist and legs, and a face as finely cut as the prettiest marble statue. His red hair flows around him like a curtain, reaching all the way down to his hips. His eyes are ocean blue, with a sultry hooded look that matches his seductive smile.
“Welcome, welcome, Grace Labelle!” My name has never sounded so lovely from anyone else’s lips. His voice is honey and music, starlight and all the best songs in the world. I could listen to him speak all day, and all night, and quite possibly well into eternity.
Mutely I move toward him, drawn despite myself. My anxieties are foggy half-forgotten things, somewhere in the background of my mind. I need to be near this being, to press myself against him, to worship him and do whatever he asks. Tears of utter joy bead on my lashes.
“Oh, my darling,” says the beautiful red-haired demon, sweeping one long-fingered hand under my chin. “Don’t cry. We’re all so happy to have you here. I’m thrilled to meet you.” He exhales into my parted lips, filling my mouth with the sweet scent of his breath. My body thrills all over, frozen in place and completely yielded to him.
“Stop it!” After the music of the red-haired demon’s voice, Rath’s tones are husky and jarring. “Stop it, Apollyon. We need her sharp and lucid for orientation. This isn’t about your pleasure, for once. It’s about actual work getting done.”
“Ugh, Razenath, you’re such a killjoy.” The red-haired demon runs a fingertip across my lips. “You picked a pretty one, didn’t you? The others are well enough—after all, we have standards here in Hell—but this one—there’s something quite interesting about her kind of beauty, isn’t there? I think it’s the mouth. The pertness, the kissable irreverence of its shape. And her eyes—so enormous, in that fascinating color that isn’t quite gray, or green, or blue, but somehow all three! Enchanting. And the way she looks at me—not the dead-eyed zombie stare some of them have under my influence. This one’s eyes speak of true adoration, of passion. Oh, I do like her.”
