Page 62 of Interior Design for Demons
And then Apollyon flings me into the air. I’m whirling, spinning high above everyone, descending right into his open jaws—I can see the blue fire glowing deep in his throat, between those long, glittering teeth—
But right before I vanish down his gullet, he transforms. He’s in human form again, winged and horned and beautiful, and he catches me in midair. One lean arm under my back, the other under my legs. He curls me close, and under his usual scent of gardenia and lemon there’s a heated, primal musk—the scent of the dragon. His hair is a wild crimson cloud swirling around us both until we settle in the center of the ring.
When he sets me down, I manage to stay upright, only by a Herculean effort of sheer willpower. His wings disappear, and his clothes whisk back onto his body. He’s all put together again, the glamorous ringmaster bowing for the audience.
“Give it up for my lovely assistant,” he says. And as they all cheer for me, for him, he picks up the whip and cracks it one more time, sending a dazzle of red sparkles over the crowd. With a hand pressed to the small of my back, he guides me toward the exit.
The instant we’re through the flap, Apollyon pushes me along behind cages and props, skirting chained monsters and ducking under acrobatic demons practicing their flips backstage. Seconds later we’re out of the tent entirely, at the back of the big-top. There’s a dark abandoned popcorn stand and other detritus that I barely notice because Apollyon clamps a hand to the back of my neck and kisses me with a frenzied passion that kicks my stomach into an entirely different solar system.
“You smell so good when you’re scared,” he says in a rough whisper. “The scent of your fear during that entire show—I could hardly stand it. So sweet, so decadent.” His sharp teeth scrape my cheekbone, his lips tease the new stud in my eyebrow. “I saw this, and the little jewel in your belly—adorable. Where else did they pierce you?”
“My ears—the cartilage.”
“That’s it?” His fingers cup between my legs, probing for new embellishments.
“Yes,” I breathe.
“Good. I like this part of your tender little flesh the way it is—unmarred. Delicious.”
“You’re being very extra tonight.”
He withdraws a little, panting. “Too much?”
“No, no. I love it actually.” My cheeks burn; in fact, all of me feels swollen, flushed, embers flaring into flames wherever he touches. Over his shoulder, between the tents, I can see the lighted midway—twisted shapes hunching and contorting, wings flaring, thorny tails whipping. In our dark space behind the big-top, Apollyon presses me against the wall of the popcorn stand, still moving his hand between my legs, and I’m suddenly conscious of how very damp my bike shorts are getting. “Oh my god—I’m the horny girl in the horror movies, the slutty one that the demon kills first.”
“No.” His form judders, and I seehim, skeletal and insatiable, with a heart of blue fire. His voice sinks to gravelly, impossible depths, a dragon’s growl. “No, you aren’t, because the demon in this horror movie is desperately in love with you.”
I push Apollyon back for a second. “What did you just say?”
He’s still a bit dragonesque, his teeth longer than normal, horns branching from his red hair, his eyes glowing blue. In the dark, he looks every inch a devil.
“I think you heard me, Grace,” he says.
“You can’t be in love with me,” I say desperately, breathlessly, wanting to believe it and convinced it can’t be true. “You’re a demon. Demons can’t—theycan’t— you don’t even understand what love is, because all you know is lust.”
He moves in again, fitting his hips to mine. “It’s preciselybecauseI’m a lust demon that I know how to identify real love.”
“I’m not buying it.” I shake my head, twisting away from the oncoming kiss. “No. It’s not true.”
Apollyon looks at me, uncertainty creeping into his blue eyes. “You don’t want it to be true.”
“I—” Of course I do. He voiced what I’m feeling myself, what I wanted to tell him when I thought I might get eliminated. But—
“You’re frightened,” he murmurs. “Not just of this freakshow around us, but of what my loving you would mean.”
“I want to win this,” I whisper. “And I want to go home.”
“I have no doubt that you’ll be one of the top three. You’re doing so well, Grace. And I’ll tell you something the other humans aren’t supposed to know yet—Ishtar is introducing audience votes into the next round. So there will be a popularity score in addition to the judges’ opinions. Among Hell’s denizens, you’re one of the most popular contestants, because you adopt demon-style tactics, and you’ve clearly developed a good relationship with your team. Some of the other human contestants still scream or shrink away if their demon assistants come too close. But you voiced appreciation for your helpers—treated them with respect. And that has won you a lot of points with my kind.”
“Hurray,” I say shakily. “I’m popular in Hell. Just what I always wanted.”
“It’s far better than being unpopular.” Apollyon’s voice holds a note of darkness.
Was there ever a time when he wasn’t as beloved as he is now? How did he climb the ranks?
“Look, we can forget what I said, if you want.” His jaw tightens. “I was—in the moment. Careless with my words. If you’re more comfortable with it, let’s just assume my interest in you is purely lustful.” His palms graze my thighs, shimmying the miniskirt up until it’s bunched at my waist. His thumbs hook the bike shorts, claws ripping through the fabric. “These are doing you no good anyway.” He flings the rag of material aside and sheathes his talons again before placing the pad of one finger on the sensitive nub between my legs. I freeze, helpless and craving, quivering. That touch isn’t enough—I need him to claw me, consume me, drive out all the horror of this night, blur the memory of what he told me, that he loves me. He wasn’t supposed to love me back. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I don’t know what possible future we could ever—
I rip my thoughts out of their spiral and knock his hand away. “Stop being gentle with me,” I snarl. “You’re a demon, right? I want you to tear me apart.” I kiss him, savage pressure and slick tongues, dragging his lower lip between my teeth. “Hurt me, heal me, soothe me, save me—make me forget I’m human.”
