Page 9 of Interior Design for Demons
“The competition will be broadcast throughout Hell, for all demons to enjoy. Those in the Abeyance will also be allowed to view the contest, although they will be barred from seeing the last episode, as part of their eternal suffering.” The narrator’s voice continues cheerily, “Thank you for participating, and please do your best! Remember, souls are at stake!”
The video ends, the lights flare, and Apollyon walks forward again, his fingertips pressed together. His nails are painted cerulean, probably to match his wings. “Lovely. So now you know what’s expected of you. You will have access to vast store-rooms of furniture, accessories, paint, building materials—any supplies you could wish for, including anything you’d like to order from the earthly plane. The only limit here is your imagination, your skill, and of course, time.” His smile is hideously beautiful. “But before we begin the competition, we’d like you to enjoy yourselves. You’ll be taken to your rooms now, and tomorrow you’ll be given a tour of Hell and briefed on its history. Then you’ll be assigned the rooms you are to decorate for the first round. You’ll have seventy-two Earth hours to complete the rooms.”
A despairing murmur ripples through the crowd of humans. Apollyon stills it with a raised hand. “Never fear! You’ll have at least one more chance to experience all the decadence Hell has to offer. The night after you complete your first rooms, you are all invited to attend our kickoff gala. Think of it as your last hurrah, the greatest event of your mortal lifetime. It’s our gift to you, to thank you all for lending us your time and talents.” His grin widens. “If you have any questions, please ask the demon who harvested you—I mean, recruited you. Silly me—the old terms do tend to stick on the tongue.”
He flicks his fingers, and the other demons seated throughout the room rise. Some of them haul their humans out of their chairs roughly, while others are more politely insistent.
Rath stays in his seat right beside me. My knuckles brush his thigh as I slowly loosen my grip on my chair. “It’s my father, isn’t it? He’s the one in the Pit.”
Rath nods.
“Are they doingthatto him? What I saw in the video?” I can barely force the words out.
“The mode of torture is different for every soul. But yes—something equally painful. I could show you, if you like.” He shifts on the seat, sliding his phone out of his pocket. “This app lets me pull up the torture feed for anyone in the Pit. It’s a perk for mid-level demons.” He opens his mouth, and one of his canine teeth elongates into a sharp fang. He presses his thumb over the tip until a drop of blood oozes from his flesh, and then he smears the blood across the app’s unlock screen. The blood actually soaks into the phone, as if the screen is drinking it in. I’d be weirdly fascinated, if he hadn’t just offered to show me live video footage of my father being tortured in the deepest Pit of Hell.
“Stop,” I gasp, grabbing his hand and crushing it fiercely under mine. “I don’t want to see.”
“You don’t?” His dark eyes are fathomless and impassive.
“No! Why the hell would I want to see that?”
“I thought you might be curious. You’re a curious girl.”
“Woman,” corrects Apollyon’s silky voice behind me. “How rude, Razenath—offering to show her the torment of her loved one.” Cool fingers creep over my shoulder. “Darling, if this clumsy clod is disturbing you, I can show you to your room, where you can be alone, if you like.”
Rath glares. “Don’t you have more important business to take care of?”
“There’s nothing more important than making our guests feel welcome,” returns Apollyon smoothly. “After all, we want them to be at their best for the contest, don’t we? I’d like the privilege of ensuring that you are comfortable, Miss Labelle.” He manages to make the word “comfortable” sound incredibly sinful, and his fingers squeeze my shoulder lightly. “Would you give me the honor?”
He sounds so sincere, and his voice is so lovely. Maybe it’s not his fault that his charms overpowered me earlier, when I first met him. Maybe I should let him take me to my room.
Maybe I should let him make me—comfortable.
I’m not sure if I’m slipping under Apollyon’s spell again. It feels as if I’m acting of my own accord; I’m not as dizzy and worshipful as I was earlier, the first time he spoke to me.
Rising from the chair, I turn to face him, looking deep into his eyes—glittering blue, like crystals growing in some deep cavern. There’s a sharpness to that crystalline blue, razor edges and incisive corners. He is blades and darkness, encased in smooth white flesh and rivers of scarlet hair.
I’m half-conscious of Rath lunging out of his own chair, rising dark and angry at my side, but I don’t break my eye-lock with Apollyon. The red-haired demon holds up a hand, halting Rath’s half-spoken protest. His voice is keen with command this time.
“Go, Razenath. Make your report. You’ll see Miss Labelle tomorrow. I hate to pull rank, but—what am I saying—Iloveto pull rank. Begone, underling.”
Rath makes a sound very much like a snarl. Out of the corner of my eye I see his shape receding. Why do I feel as if a measure of safety and security has left with him? He’s the one who hauled me into a car, dug his claws into my shoulders, kicked me, and tried to show me my father’s torment. I shouldn’t miss his presence. Not when Apollyon is here, with his perfect profile inches from mine, gazing into my eyes with increasing heat and interest.
“What are you looking for, darling?” he whispers.
“Your soul,” I answer.
“I don’t have one, dove. I am nothing but impulse and energy and lust, with a sprinkling of personality for flavor. I live for pain and for pleasure in equal measure. Care for a taste?”
He curls aside the lapels of his open red coat to show his beautifully cut torso. The ledges of his hips form the corners of a perfect smooth triangle of muscle leading down below his belt.
I haven’t had sex with anyone in so long. And now I have a chance to sleep with a demon, before I’m thrown into this design contest of death.
Should I?
I need more time to decide.
“I—I haven’t had dinner,” I murmur. “Do you have food here in Hell?”
