Page 66 of Demons in My Bed
“Put her in the backseat,” Ash ordered, opening the door for me. “Where’s Rhodes?”
“Coming.” I slid her as gently as I could into the vehicle, but she still cried out. I didn’t like the sharp feeling it gave me in my chest. Maybe I was having a heart attack. No, impossible. Demons never had heart attacks. Though other demons didn’t have a fucking Palmer to deal with.
I was steaming now, I was so pissed off. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure what it was that had me so mad. The fact that we’d looked like idiots? Nah, I didn’t really give a fuck what anyone thought about us.
“Here, ride up front,” Ash told Rhodes, who had just limped his way over to us. He helped him get in the car and then shut the doors, turning to me. “You want to drive or sit in the back?”
I clenched my jaw. “Can’t get in there. Meet you at home in a bit.”
“Misha,” Ash warned, and I snarled.
“You don’t want me in there. I said I will meet you at home,” I repeated, hoping that he’d let it drop. I was at my max right now and needed to blow off some steam before I could think straight.
“Alright, alright,” he acquiesced. “Just be careful.”
I grunted and slipped through the dark field of cars like a phantom. The woods were calling my name, and that’s precisely where I was going.
Seeing Rhodes and Palmer both bloodied and beaten had done something to me. It had been a fucking long time since I’d seen Rhodes looking anything less than perfect, and it was that little witch who had stomped him. Incredible. And concerning.
As I passed by car after car—several of which that were shaking, thanks to the people fucking inside of them—the urge to destroy shit rose up within me until it was all I could think about. My muscles were coiled, ready to strike, and I needed to completely exhaust myself before even thinking about returning to Haunt.
Finally, the tree line came into view. Twigs crunched beneath my boots as I approached the woods. I could already hear the scampering of animals through the brush as they scattered, sensing the incoming predator. Night had fallen long ago, and it was increasingly darker within the cover of the trees.
My horns were done waiting, and they sprouted, making me growl. It always felt like such a relief to let my natural form come out. About a quarter of a mile into the forest, I spotted a fallen tree that would be perfect for what I needed. Luckily, it had snapped in half so there was a section that was about three feet long. Grunting, I hoisted the tree trunk over my head, loving the strain against my muscles. With a burst of power, I launched it through the forest, narrowly missing other trees.
Learning to control my anger was something I’d struggled with for most of my life. I suppressed a roar that wanted to escape when I thought about the two men who were responsible for my anger issues. Ironically, one of them had taught me control. For the longest time, I’d thought I had someone in my corner. Someone who actually gave a fuck, but in the end I was wrong.
It had been several years since King Thane’s soldiers came to retrieve me from my father’s house. They came back for me four years after that first visit. Four years since that day my father locked me in the cellar as punishment. Four years I had to endure his increasing abuse for ruining his life.
He was beyond livid when the soldiers finally returned and were only interested in taking me back to the capital of Besmet, Naryian.
I laughed to myself every time I thought about how enraged he’d been, the way he’d lashed out at the soldiers and looked like a complete fool. If I was a better blacksmith than him at age ten, then I was like a fucking master at age eighteen. Not to mention, when my powers had shown themselves a few years back, I’d made it my personal mission to use my father as a test subject as often as possible.
Sleep walkers were rare, which just added to my value for the monarchy. Not only could I create the most lethal and lightweight blades in the realm, I could also slip into dreamscapes and fuck with people’s realities. Since then, I not only created weapons, I became one.
I was in my workshop on the castle grounds, enjoying the peace and quiet of a cool summer morning, when he showed up. Stumbling in through the wooden Dutch door, he tripped over a bucket I kept by the door for trash. All I saw was a flash of red hair, and I hopped up off my stool, catching the person before they hit the ground.Or worse, my tools.
“Fucking hell, I’m sorry. Didn’t see that bucket there and—”
I wasn’t listening. I was too busy staring down at the man I’d caught. He’d thrown his hand over his eyes, clearly embarrassed. I could see his pale skin and the freckles that dotted his face. Slowly, he separated his fingers and peeked out at me with one strikingly blue eye.
“Well, they certainly know how to feed the boys around here, don’t they?” he muttered, dropping his hand and righting himself so he could stand on his own. I was still staring at him like a dumbstruck idiot; I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
He was just so... pretty. I’d never seen a man look anything less than rugged and rough. This one was almost feminine with his soft facial features, the high cheekbones, and slightly slanted eyes. His long, red hair fell in waves well past his shoulders.
“I didn’t uh, hurt you, did I?” he asked shyly, biting his bottom lip. My eyes zeroed in on that point of contact. What would it feel like to bite his lip like that? “Well, um, I really am sorry. You look kind of pissed off, so I’ll just fuck off.”
He turned and walked a few steps before I snapped out of my little episode. I caught up with him easily, reaching for his arm. He gasped when I gripped his bicep and turned to face me again.
“Look, I might be smaller than you, but I bet I’m faster than you. If you try to beat me up, I will poke you right in the eyes, mark my words.”
Not sure what I was expecting him to say, but it wasn’t that. For the first time in years, I laughed out loud. It sounded atrocious. Like I had glass in my throat or I was a dying cat. Not to mention it startled me so fucking bad, I clapped a hand over my mouth in shock, silencing the horrid noise.
As much as I thought I was over my past, the fear that had been instilled in me for years sprang to life. My laugh served as a spark to start the wildfire of my PTSD.
My ass hit the floor first, and the next thing I knew, I was covering my head with my arms and trying to make myself as small as possible—which, given my size, was a fucking joke.
“Hey, hey,” the guy whispered. “What’s wrong? I’m not going to hurt you.”
