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14
Joy
The demonsaround me begin to drop like dominos, even Cal, who topples forward with his lips slightly parted. His eyes flutter before he seems to realize what he’s doing.
“I’m sleepy,” he murmurs, but he attempts to scramble to his feet again anyway.
Somehow, I seem to be the only personnotaffected by Bryn’s sleepy power. I don’t know if it’s because I’m half-angel and half-human, or if it’s because I’m his Center. Either way, I need to move. Fast. Before his spell wears off and I become target numero uno.
The cane almost seems to taunt me where it rests surrounded by plastic dolls with bleached-blonde hair and perfectly proportioned bodies. I can practically feel the power the cane exudes—power capable of ending this shit storm once and for all. Of freeing the cherubs and saving Christmas before the holiday crashes and burns in the fires of Hell.
I break into a run in the direction of the cane, my arm extending, my fingers mere inches away—
When something tackles me from the side. I hit the ground with an “oomf,” pain reverberating through my body as the demon positions himself so he’s straddling my waist. I recognize him immediately as the leader of the rival demon murder. Bangs, as I’ve named him in my head. His greasy blond hair flops over one eye as he holds a dagger up to my throat.
His eyes are hooded with fatigue, and I can tell that he’s seconds from toppling over and falling into a deep, blissful slumber. However, the fucker seems determined to put me into aneternalslumber before that happens. Asshole.
“Such a pretty little thing,” he purrs, and I can feel the sharp blade of his dagger caressing my cheek.
“Sorry, dude. I’m not into knife play,” I hiss, struggling to come up with a solution to get myself out of this precarious position. I could wait until Bryn’s magic consumes him completely, but I don’t know how long that’ll take. I don’t know if he’ll have enough time to slash my throat before he’s consumed by the magic. And I happen to like my throat in one piece and, you know, not slashed, thank you very much.
“Stupid, insolent girl.” He continues speaking in that soft, reprimanding voice, almost as if he’s attempting to seduce me with his creepy words. Like,hey, I have candy in my rustic van with the muffler falling off. Why don’t you come inside and grab some?I swear, the second I get free of this heavy asshole, I’m going to make him suffer. “Such a shame. Such a shame.” He shakes his head sadly, even as his mouth opens in a wide yawn, one that reveals yellowing teeth embedded with black and brown gunk. Aren’t demons supposed to be…attractive? Or something? I’m pretty sure I read somewhere that the devil designed her demons to be semi-attractive.
Obviously, I’m not dealing with the top brass here. Or maybe they’re anomalies. Maybe that’s how they defeated Dad. Their entire existence feels super off the books.
“You’re going to die, Santa bitch.” He throws his hand back, raising the dagger, and I prepare myself for death. Fuck, why does this have to happen to me? Why do I find males who are sexy and charming and adore me, and then fucking die? That’s not fair. At all. Someone is going to get a stern talking to in the afterlife, that’s for damned sure.
For a brief moment, I close my eyes and allow the demons’ faces to flicker behind my closed eyelids. These are men that I’ve barely gotten the chance to know but already mean the world to me. Cal’s domineering presence and the way he takes charge of any and every situation. Gus’s customary scowl that only seems to soften when he directs it at me. Yes, the fucker still scowls and glares at me, but there’s a myriad of emotions behind that expression, emotions that send my heart into overdrive. Bryn’s droopy smile and his warm cuddles. I always feel safe and protected around him, as if not even the fiercest snowstorm on Christmas morning can hurt me. And then there’s Dem, with his sneaky ways. His pretty boy smile that makes me feel as if I’m the only person in the world worth stealing from. And finally, Nico. He embodies good-natured naughtiness. And some might call them evil, but to me…they bring smiles and laughter. And isn’t that the point of Christmas? Happiness? I didn’t even realize how much of that I was missing until Nico stomped into my life with his makeshift kilt and tangled red hair and lilting Scottish accent, fucking shit up and frustrating everyone in his presence.
My demons.
My mates.
And I’m going to die before this bond between all of us can truly develop into something more, something amazing and incredible and life-altering.
There’s a whoosh of air, and a single tear trails down my cheek.
I’m sorry, Dad. I tried.
But the pain I expect never comes.
I hear a roar and snap my eyelids open.
Bangs is now lying on the floor beside me, knife knocked away, while a sleepy and disheveled Cal sits on his chest and throws punch after punch into his face. The punches get slower as my mate gets sleepier. But so do Bangs’s reactions. The entire fight starts to look and sound like a slow-motion movie.
“No one.” Punch. “Hurts my.” Punch. Punch. Punch. “Mate.”
“Fuck.” Long ass yawn from Bangs. “You.”
“Cal…” I breathe, sitting upright and placing a hand to my throat. I half expect my palm to come away red with blood because you don’t always feel sharp knives. Luckily, my hand comes away dry.
“Go! I don’t have him!” Cal punches the demon again. Both of their motions suddenly speed up, as if some of Bryn’s sloth magic is wearing off. Despite the direness of the situation, I can’t help but snort at Cal’s contradictions. It’ll be a different experience dating a demon who lies all the damn time, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Not when he also saves my ass.
I stumble to my feet, my pulse quickening when I see the rest of the demons getting up around the workshop. Apparently, Bryn’s power has worn off everywhere, though the sloth demon himself is still fast asleep on a pile of brightly colored bean bags near the door.
I run toward the big container of dolls and yank the cane out of it, making several electronic babies start to cry when they tumble around. I grip the Christmas cane hard, reveling in the power just beneath my fingertips when I touch it, and stagger towards where the cherubs are beginning to wake up, still pinned to the ceiling like albino moths.
“Where’s my father?” I demand when I’m close enough for them to hear me. When no one immediately answers, I reach for the nearest one pinned only ten feet off the wall—a girl I recognize as Jewels—and pat her shoulder with the hand not holding the cane. “Santa,” I repeat curtly. “Where is he?”
