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Hungover, I clutch the side of Daemon’s toilet bowl and vomit up whatever remains from last night. Daemon kneels beside me, holding my hair back as chunky bile pours from my mouth. When I’m finished, I lay my sweat-soaked forehead against the toilet seat and groan. Letting go of my hair, Daemon reaches around me and flushes the contents before rubbing soothing circles down my back.
“Why did you let me drink so much?” I whine.
“Let? Oh no, I’m not taking credit for this. Last night was all you.” He keeps rubbing. “I’ve never seen a person vomit so much. You ruined my carpet.”
“Fuck your carpet.” I say it reflexively, though it takes me several minutes to remember what he’s talking about. Once I do, my half-lidded eyes shoot open. “Salios? Did that really happen?”
God, last night feels like a drug-induced haze.
“It did.” Daemon’s voice is grim. “I think he’s more entertained than angry though, which is good for us.”
“Yay us.” Head throbbing, I close my eyes and let him work the knots in my lower back. Goosebumps prickle my spine, and my stomach roils again, though there’s nothing left to lose. I dry heave anyway, wishing someone would put me out of my misery already.
Despite the fact that we’re on a ticking clock, Daemon doesn’t prod me to stand. He doesn’t force me to discuss strategy either. We stay on the floor in peaceful silence until I’m finally ready to get up. When I see the unopened toothbrush on the counter, I practically beam.
“You’re a lifesaver,” I say, ripping the package open.
“Believe me, that’s as much for me as it is for you. Your breath reeks.”
“Asshole.” I stick my tongue out at him, and he laughs.
On Daemon’s ruby countertop is an assortment of other toiletries too—my favorite lotion, face-wipes, a hairbrush, and the toothpaste tube, obviously. It’s mango-flavored, which is definitely a choice. But beggars can’t be choosers. I make a face before uncapping the tube and spreading the orange paste across my new toothbrush.
It’s as disgustingly sweet as it looks, and does not mix well with vomit.
As I scrub my teeth—maybe a little too vigorously—I catch Daemon’s reflection in the mirror. Even now he’s wearing a suit—not the one from last night, but something equally formal. His dark hair is already brushed, and he smells of sandalwood shampoo. Clearly, he’s been awake for hours waiting for me. And yet, there’s no coffee in here.
“What’s the point in having a demon-bond if they won’t bring me caffeine?” I ask, the toothbrush still in my mouth. The words come out all garbled, but after thirteen years of this, Daemon is a master at deciphering my incoherent babble.
He snorts. “Don’t worry. There’s coffee and lunch upstairs.”
Lunch. Because that’s how long I’ve been asleep. Great.
I keep staring at him in the mirror, unable to turn away. It’s uncanny how much he and Salios look alike. As I spit the disgusting toothpaste out and rinse it down the sink, I ask Daemon the question that’s been eating at me since I made my bargain. “Is Salios your father?”
His brows furrow. “Why on earth would you think that?”
Is he being intentionally obtuse?
“Because you look identical,” I say, gesturing to his body.
“Oh.” His eyes light up in realization. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, though he quickly covers it up, smoothing his face into something neutral. “No. My father is a lower-level demon. Unfortunately, you’ll probably meet him at the club tonight.”
“We’re still going?” I ask. “After what happened?”
Daemon arches a brow. “Do we have a choice?”
“No.” The grounding stone is still our best option. Our only option.
As I brush through my tangled locks, the grounding stone, and the stones surrounding it, scrape against my neck and chest. And then I remember what I’m still wearing—or rather what I’m not wearing—from last night. My hands shoot to my breasts, covering them, though Daemon’s had hours to take them in. Honestly, there’s no sense in being modest now, but I can’t help it.
Daemon catches what I’m doing and, mercifully, turns away. “There’s a change of clothes on the bed, and shampoo and conditioner in the shower. I’ll meet you upstairs when you’re ready.”
My gaze lingers on him as he leaves. As I turn on the shower, I can’t help but wonder, if he and Salios aren’t related, why are they identical?
My phone pings over and over again as I finish charging it and it powers back on. Wrapped in nothing but a plush red towel, I pick it up, then cringe.
Fifteen missed notifications. All of them from Christopher.
