Page 12 of Whispers From The Dark

There are no physical details to this form, no eyes or hair or skin or anything that might give me an ounce of peace. But, as Az glides toward me, more propelled by wind than anything else, an eerie calm settles over my body. Instead of fear and trepidation, I feel only...excitement.

I knew when we flipped that coin, that my odds weren’t good. For all I know, he could have tampered with it somehow and rigged it for his benefit, even if he claims he didn’t. But I’m desperate, and the idea of a comfortable life for me and my brother is far too tantalizing. I know that’s how it works—a demon lures you in with enticing promises and then ruins your life instead. But I don’t care. Even if that’s what happens, Az explained the creepy contract written on my soul. When a year is over, Jack gets what I bartered for—no matter what.

Even if I’m not capable of caring for Jack after the year is up, he’ll be better off away from our shitty mother. His dad sucks, but he’s better than the raging narcissist who fucked us over, yet again. It’s a better start than I ever got. I can’t pretend I’m not eager. And, if I’m completely honest with myself, the idea of being a conquest for the Prince of Lust ties a neat little knot in my stomach, but I dismiss it.

Everything happens all at once, and I think I might just die.

The shadowy figure comes closer, and I go cross-eyed trying to focus on him. When the smoke touches me, I gasp. I’d expected heat, but Az is ice cold. Though it doesn’t hurt, I stumble backward and grip the sink. I stop breathing as he walks right through me.

Spinning around, I gasp when I catch sight of my eyes in the mirror.

Black.

The whites of my eyes are solid, infinite darkness, just like the woman I’d seen all those years ago. My breath catches in my chest just as someone pounds on the door.

“Petra, what are you doing?” Courtney yells. “Margot specifically requested you! Not for her either! For Roman!”

“Give me a minute,” I respond as I stare into my reflection. The corner of my mouth lifts, just a hint, and I’m smirking—but it wasn’t my own doing.

“Az, our deal was inhabitation only. No control.”

“Sorry, love. I couldn’t help it. Won’t do it again.”

His words startle me—for so many reasons. Far deeper sounding than his last human body, the voice in my mind must be his true one. There is no way to explain the fathomless depth and coarse richness that caresses my consciousness. There’s a faint accent, almost British but not quite, and I wonder where it’s from. He’s a demon from the bowels of hell, for fuck’s sake, but perhaps he picked it up somewhere.

“I’ve always appreciated that saying—bowels of hell. But it isn’t accurate. If anything, hell is a stomach. It consumes, Petra. It’s hungry. Hell is a voracious appetite with not nearly enough to eat.”

A chill pebbles my skin. His words echo as the black fades from my eyes. Suddenly, a noise to my right startles me, and I turn, not quite understanding what I’m seeing.

“Fuck,” Az murmurs as the body he’d inhabited slumps over. Just as I step closer to help, the man smacks his head against the brick wall and stops moving.

“Should I call 911?”

“He’s already dead. Just go. I’ll deal with him later.”

“Petra, who the fuck are you talking to? Hurry up!”

Overstimulated does not even begin to cover how I feel right now. Between my body not feeling like my own despite Az’s release of control, the dead man a foot away from me, Az’s grinding rock and molasses voice in my head, and Courtney’s shrill one outside the door, I’m about to scream. I expect Az to have some sort of comment in response to my thoughts, but he stays quiet. Perhaps he’s preening over my compliment.

“I’m not preening. Since when is grinding rock and molasses a compliment?”

“It just is, okay?” I mumble, checking my dress and tugging at my fishnets so they sit more comfortably. Slipping a hand between breast and bra, I adjust myself. Cleavage pays my bills, so I do my best to make them look nice. “Wait, did you feel that?”

“Yes.”

He says nothing else. My skin heats and my nipples harden. They’re more sensitive since I got them pierced, and it has nothing to do with my strange attraction to the literal demon inside my head. I decide I need to wipe my mind of all thought and stop thinking stupid shit since Az is privy to literally every passing notion.

This is insane.

“Should I just tell her you’re sick?” Courtney again.

I turn the light off before unlocking the door and swinging it open. “Don’t go in there. The toilet won’t flush again,” I lie, very much aware of the dead body I’m leaving behind.

“Interesting.”

I curse the demon inside my mind, willing him to shut up, and he chuckles. I feel myself start to smile, unable to fight it off.

“Oh my god, ew,” Courtney says, before dragging the bright yellow Out of Order sign over and propping it against the door. “Dmitri’s cheap ass needs to handle that or I’m going to complain to Vanessa. Come on.” She grasps my hand and drags me along behind her. For once, I’m glad she never shuts the fuck up. Because while I’m walking up the stairs behind her, and she won’t stop yapping, it distracts me from the fact that I was entirely unbothered watching a man die.