Page 7 of Interior Design for Demons
“Enough.” Rath’s harsh voice is closer now, at my shoulder; but I don’t look at him. I’m drinking in the sight of the beautiful Apollyon—his moon-white skin, his delicate features, and his sinfully pretty mouth. He wears a long scarlet coat that matches his hair, and he’s shirtless beneath it. His chest and abs are as crisply cut as if they’ve been carved from purest marble. I want to stare at him forever.
“Enough,” Rath grates again, and then his mouth is on mine, rough and furious.
Rath is kissing me. Ademonis kissing me.
His lips are hot and rough against mine.
I barely have time to register what’s happening before it’s over. I blink, confused. Apollyon looks as sexy and gorgeous as ever, but I can move now, and I don’t feel the compulsion to stare at him and be his slave.
Apollyon’s blue eyes spark with anger. “I was about to release her. You didn’t need to interfere. And was that a claim, Razenath?”
“No,” Rath growls. “Just a preventative measure.” He grips my wrist, dragging me along with him. “Let’s go. We’ll be late.”
I glance back to see Apollyon stalking after us, a look of intense displeasure on his face. Clearly he is supposed to be at this meeting too, but he’s too pissed at Rath to keep pace with us—or he thinks himself too elegant to hurry.
“I didn’t realize Hell’s denizens were such sticklers for deadlines. Isn’t punctuality more of a ‘goodness’ thing?” I gasp the question as Rath rushes me along bland gray corridors into the heart of the building.
“Not at all,” says Rath tightly. “In fact, God operates beyond all that, so He tends to be a bit more fluid with timetables. But we demons are bound to time, since we are beings who deal in souls and death appointments. So we have to measure and mete it carefully.” He hustles me toward an elevator. “Damn it—that will be too slow. Come here.” We hurry along a short passage and burst into an open room with no ceiling—an atrium of sorts. Several winged figures are whirling through the air multiple stories above us. Some land on balconies and disappear, while others leap from ledges and drop, carrying stacks of paper or bulky bags. One of the demons, a hulking figure with golden skin, carries a human head in one hand—a head whose eyes and mouth move in desperate silence.
The golden-skinned demon lands near us with a nod to Rath and stalks away into the building.
“Put your arms around me and hold on,” Rath says.
“Put my—what? Why?”
He groans in frustration. “Just—hang on tight.” He wraps me in both arms, pulling me to his chest. I barely have time to slip my arms around his torso before he leaps into the air, unfurling a pair of ashy dark-gray wings. Soot flakes from his feathers and drifts toward the tiled floor as we rise together, higher and higher, past balconies and ledges, past other demons with the wings of bats and dragonflies, ravens and vultures.
I tighten my arms around Rath’s chest and hitch my legs over his hips, fighting the swell of a scream in my throat. We are so, so high off the ground. A fall from this height would—well. I’m not sure what would happen.
“Would I die if I fell?” I speak the question into Rath’s ear, because in this position my face is next to his, my cheek brushing the scruff of his jaw with every ascending beat of his wings. The flex and surge of his body against mine is distracting, to say the least. Which is why it’s good to have the fear of imminent death as a lust inhibitor.
Rath flinches when my voice enters his ear, and he shifts his hips a little. “You have the strangest way of thinking. No, you would not die, unless the Infernal Sovereign wished it.”
“But what about God’s will, or Fate, or whether it’s ‘my time to die?’“
“Normally that sort of thing comes into play, yes. But you’re in this plane now. You’re an exception to the usual rules.”
I’ve always been an exception to the nice kind of rules, like having a family who gave a damn about me or having a dad who wasn’t part of a sex trafficking ring. Being the exception to the usual “life and death” rules is new to me, and weirdly cool.
“So I’m temporarily immortal.” If so, I can do anything here and not die. If not—well, maybe I’d rather die now than go through whatever these devils have planned for me. My encounter with Apollyon showed me that they’re not big on consent here. I mean, they’redemons. One can’t expect them to be good, or honorable, or kind.
I repeat my statement. “I’m immortal. For now.”
Rath is quiet, still beating those powerful ash-colored wings. Their edges brush my arms as I grip his muscled torso. The wings are feather-soft, whispering over my skin.
“Yes,” he says. “You are temporarily immortal, until you are eliminated in the competition. And then your soul will be taken. Unless you are one of the three left at the end.”
He doesn’t sound delighted by the idea this time.
“Cheer up,” I tell him. “If you’re right, and I fail in the first round, you’ll be rid of me soon. Maybe sooner than you think.”
I release my grip on him, and I fall.
It’s a glorious rush—a shock to my brain and body, terrifying and exquisite. I plummet between startled demons, my arms flung wide. The air blasts my pants and blouse, whipping them tight against my body.
The floor is coming nearer—will I smash on it, or bounce off? Will it hurt? Will I—
Claws sink into my shoulders, ripping me away from the oncoming floor and carrying me upward again. I yell in pain and protest, but Rath doesn’t let go. I’m not sure where the claws came from—his nails were short and neatly trimmed when he was driving earlier. But he certainly has claws now. His sharp curved talons have sunk so deeply into my shoulders that they’re scraping bone. I scream with the agony of it, but Rath ignores me until we’ve reached our destination—a ledge a couple dozen stories up. He drags me onto the ledge, and when I crumple with pain, he kicks me further from the edge. His wings vanish in a whisper of smoke.
