Page 8 of Whispers From The Dark

“Everything okay?” Courtney reaches past me for a cocktail shaker. Her blue hair looks almost purple in the red lighting. “The rush is starting,” she says, bumping me with her hip.

The vampires will come later, after alcohol has lowered human inhibitions, but in the meantime, the downstairs bar gets crowded early.

“We’re fine.” I shoot a grin toward Courtney. “Aren’t we, Az?” I ask, remembering the name of the demon who has a death grip on my hand. Despite his aggressive grasp and the weird syrupy mind thing he did, I’m not as uncomfortable as I’d have expected to be.

Long, lithe limbs, ivory skin, and the suit he’s wearing could give him a Jack Skellington vibe, but it doesn’t. He’s ethereal in an elf-like, gender-swapped Liv Tyler-as-Arwen kind of way.

Regardless, that’s my type.

I wonder if the snake in the garden appeared as magnificent as the man across from me. Temptation as sweet as fruit intensifies. As I imagine beautiful, talking snakes, one corner of his mouth lifts.

“What do you desire?”

“Nothing,” I say, lucid enough to know a trap when I hear one. I remember Courtney telling me how to handle demons when she was training me for this job. Never make a deal with them and never give them your real name.

“Everyone wants something, Petra Russo,” he drawls. The twitch of his mouth is definitely a smile. He brushes a lock of rich brown hair from his forehead. His knuckles jut from long fingers, and I’m transfixed by them. So delicate and yet masculine, it’s what knocks me out of my trance.

I’m enchanted by nothing but a handsome face and a fit body.

There’s no fucking way I’m about to consider ruining my life over a hot demon. For all I know, the flesh he inhabits could be that of a trust fund nepo baby who has an open sexual harassment case against him at his job.

“Close,” Az says. “The accusation was dropped before his brain cancer diagnosis.”

I stare at him, open-mouthed. He can hear my thoughts.

Oh my god?

Az rolls his eyes, heaving a sigh. When I realize it’s because of the turn of phrase—uttered entirely in my mind—I can’t help but snort. Shaking my head, I get us back on track. Dwelling on that new and terrifying bit of information won’t get us anywhere.

“I want you to leave me alone.”

“Though you don’t have brain cancer, I’m not sure you’re faring much better than Joe here.”

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t get too far, but I’d like to understand you. You are far too nice to far too many, and for no real reason at all. You fascinate me.” He drops my hand, sitting back in his seat. When his lean, muscular arms cross over his chest, I refuse to look at them. “Let me in, and I’ll give you whatever your heart desires.”

My pulse is damning as it skips over his pronunciation of that last word. His mouth caresses the syllables, slow and deep, and it makes me think of low lighting and silken fabric. Wrists bound and eyes covered, I imagine the slow drag of his fingertips down my body. Pushing my legs together, I squeeze, attempting to soothe the sudden ache. Hazy, like a dream, I almost allow myself to tip into it before I understand what it is.

“The fuck are you doing to me?” I mutter, recognizing that strange, oily sensation from before. Shaking my head, I think of LA instead. A different sort of desire, but no less fucking desperate. He smirks as if he knows exactly what happened, and he probably does. Dismissing my thoughts of sun and palm trees and saltwater air, I mirror his stance and glare at him. His eyes move to my chest and linger there. I suppose demons don’t bother with manners.

“Will you let me in, Petra?”

“You’re a demon. Why bother asking?” I start, and as he’s about to answer, I lean forward, gripping the bar for support. “And why me? You could possess anyone. Hell, Courtney is working on her MBA—she’s far more interesting than I am.”

He sighs, head tilted back, and I watch the long column of his throat work as he swallows.

“I don’t have to ask, but do you know how tiresome it is to torment someone until they break and allow me in? Or worse, expending enough energy to force my way? I am quite impatient, and asking is far easier. Perhaps I have more in common with my brother than I’d like to admit,” he murmurs, and I’m not sure I want to know what he means by that.

“What’s your true name, Az?” I’m thinking about all the exorcism movies I’ve seen. They use the demon’s real name to cast them out. Half the time it doesn’t work—but still. Perhaps it’s based in truth.

He looks at me, a dark brow arched. His feline gaze caresses my skin, and I tighten all my muscles, refusing to shudder, though my body wants to. As it is, he must see the way my skin pebbles under his scrutiny. Logically, I should be horrified, the fact that I’ve caught the attention of a demon? Paralyzing. But I’m fine. All he’s done is distract me from something important, and I need to get back to it—right this minute.

“I suppose a morsel of truth might entice you to give me one of your own.” His full lips twist into a smirk. “My name is Asmodeus.”

“Well, Asmodeus, thank you for the offer.” I give him a curt nod. Considering the fact that I recognize his name, he is probably very old and very powerful. So, I act the only way that makes sense with an ancient being—politely. I don’t know what else to do. “As generous as you appear to be, I must decline. I hope you have a wonderful evening, but I have an important matter to attend to.”

His expression is dubious, but I don’t linger. Turning, I exhale a long, low breath. I can’t have him knowing I was holding it, eager to step away. The last thing I want to do is offend a demon, but I need distance from his unearthly beauty and charm.