Page 9 of Summoning Mr. Wrong
I couldn’t help but smile. “You’re terrible.”
“Demon,” he reminded me with a wink. “It’s literally in the job description.”
We ended up on the couch again, the wine loosening my tongue and lowering my defenses. Deus put on some movie I barely paid attention to, my mind still circling around the question of why he seemed so invested in my love life.
“So what happened with your last relationship?” Deus asked during a lull in the film.
I considered deflecting but found myself answering honestly. “Ended about a year ago. He got a job offer in Seattle and didn’t even discuss staying before accepting it. Said long distance never works.”
“His loss,” Deus said, his eyes reflecting the TV’s glow in an otherworldly way.
“What about you?” I asked, emboldened by wine and curiosity. “Do demons date?”
Deus laughed. “Not the way humans do. We have… arrangements. Mutual beneficial situations.”
“Friends with benefits?”
“More like enemies with benefits, sometimes.” He swirled his wine thoughtfully. “Immortality makes relationships complicated.”
“I can imagine.” I couldn’t, actually, but it seemed like the right thing to say.
Deus turned to face me fully, setting his wine glass down. “Can I show you something?”
My heart rate kicked up a notch. “Depends on what it is.”
He held out his hand, palm up. “Give me your hand.”
Cautiously, I placed my hand in his. His skin was hot, almost feverish, and the contact sent a jolt up my arm like a mild electric shock.
“Don’t freak out,” he said, which was not reassuring.
Before I could ask what he meant, the tattoos on his arm began to move more rapidly, some of them seeming to lift off his skin and crawl onto mine. I yelped and tried to pull away, but he held firm.
“It’s okay,” he soothed. “They won’t hurt you. Just watch.”
The inky patterns swirled around my wrist, forming shapes that resolved into tiny scenes—people dancing in what lookedlike an ancient ballroom, couples embracing in gardens I didn’t recognize, figures moving together in ways that made me blush.
“What am I seeing?” I whispered.
“Moments I’ve witnessed,” Deus said, his voice low and intimate. “Humans in love, in lust, in all the beautiful messy states in between. I’ve observed your kind for millennia, Julian. The clothes and customs change, but the desire remains the same.”
The tattoos continued their dance across my skin, showing me glimpses of history through Deus’s eyes. A couple stealing kisses behind a Victorian manor. Two men embracing in what looked like ancient Rome. A woman in 1920s clothing laughing as her partner twirled her.
“It’s beautiful,” I admitted, mesmerized by the moving images.
“This is what I do,” Deus said. “I witness desire. I help it find its way.” His fingers tightened slightly around mine. “Sometimes I even create the opportunities for it to bloom.”
The implications of his words hung in the air between us. Was that his favor? Creating opportunities for desire—my desire—to bloom?
The tattoos slowly retreated back to his skin, leaving mine tingling where they had touched. But he didn’t let go of my hand.
“Your doctor date,” he said, thumb brushing over my pulse point, “would never have appreciated you properly.”
“And you would?” The words escaped before I could stop them.
Deus’s eyes darkened, the amber color intensifying to something molten. “I’ve had centuries to perfect the art of appreciation, Julian.”
My mouth went dry. “Prove it.”
