Page 9

“But what if they do?” Her angry voice cracks. “They could keep you in Hell forever, Daemon. You’re half-incubus. The only reason you’re allowed on Earth is because they tolerate it.”

I reach the doorway Daemon spoke of.

My hand pauses on the golden knob, half-tempted to stay and eavesdrop. So little of their world and their rules are shared with my people. But I don’t want to get Daemon into any more trouble. So, I slip away and close the door behind me.

Daemon’s bedroom isn’t in the basement. It is the basement. I can’t help but feel that being down here is akin to being in the lair of a dark and ancient sex god. I suppose that’s not too far from the truth, given what he is.

Everything around me is red—a red tented ceiling made from thick and luxurious velvet, red and plum damask wallpaper, a four-poster bed surrounded by sheer red curtains. Burgundy lanterns hang from the ceiling and cast the room in a dim but warm light. Across from me, incense burns from silver mounts on the wall, turning the room hazy, filling it with thick and floral smoke.

Batting the smoke away, I pad across the room, squinting to see my way through it. Built into the floor is a large jetted tub that can be seen—or perhaps observed—from Daemon’s bed. I imagine all the women he’s had strip for him, bathe for and with him, and my face heats at the prospect. I’m more of a lights off, clothes on kind of girl. It’s hard to imagine being so intimate and stripped bare for anyone, even my mate.

Mate.

I shake my head and push the thought away. That’s a different problem for a different day.

Tiptoeing around the tub, I find one of several couches hidden within the room and sit on it, fidgeting with my hands as I consider the repercussions for coming here. To Daemon’s house. To Daemon’s room. Or is it worse than that? Behind me, heat seems to radiate from a curtained window—not unpleasant heat, but something akin to a sauna. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I brush the curtain aside just a fraction of an inch, because this is a basement and basements shouldn’t have windows.

Behind the glass pane is a red-tinged world with a crimson sky. Dark cobbled roads lead through what looks to be a bustling downtown—except there are no cars, just people—and skyscrapers jut impossibly high into the sky, extending for infinity. My throat turns drier than sandpaper. I glance at the people again, but they’re not people at all. They’re winged and clawed, and most of them are just as red as Daemon’s room and the cityscape surrounding them.

Heart pounding, I drop the curtain.

That can’t be Hell, right?

Daemon’s house can’t be in the literal, biblical Hell. Right?

My stomach twists into a thousand writhing knots. I peek past the curtain one more time, despite my very visceral fear of one of those things spotting me. There’s no lake of fire, or sulfurous fumes, or chained and screaming humans. The demons don’t wield weapons or torture implements. They dress in suits like Daemon, or in provocative fabrics that expose everything. Forked tails. Pierced nipples. Dark tattoos that swirl around their bodies, forming glyphs like the ones the angels use.

I watch them bustle around the city, dipping into shops and skyscrapers. Tall walls divide the city streets, turning it labyrinthine. I stare at a pink-skinned woman as she passes by the window in a leather bikini with shimmering golden cuffs around her ankles and wrists. Long and twisted black horns protrude from her temples, and a delicate golden choker wraps tightly around her neck—except it doesn’t look like a choker, it looks like a chain, and dark blood seeps from it. I grab my own neck and swallow.

Her head snaps in my direction, and my blood freezes.

I whip the curtain back just as Daemon creeps through the door, his red eyes dark and sparkling.

5

GATEWAY TO HELL

“Of course you found the only window.” Daemon steps closer to me, and I back into the couch, tucking my legs into my chest as if that can defend against him. He snorts. “I suppose you’ve already looked through it.”

“You took me to Hell,” I hiss.

“I took you to my house.”

Like a cat who’s cornered their prey, he slinks through the room until we’re face to face, and I grab my bare legs tighter, feeling more exposed and defenseless than ever before. Like always, I can sense my magic surging through my veins, but it’s only a matter of time before the angels take it away. Witches who refuse their baptism lose their gifts. Knowing my luck, it’ll fade the moment I try to protect myself.

Daemon rolls his eyes and sighs. “You’re not in Hell, Annie. You’re in my bedroom.”

“Which is in Hell. It’s a distinction without a difference.” I flinch when he joins me on the couch, sitting crisscross applesauce like we’re kids again, like he isn’t a demon who owns my soul and, now that we’re in his domain, can torture me at any time. He puts his hand on my shoulder and I shove it away.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Annie,” he purrs. “You’re not in any danger, and you’re not in Hell. My house exists between the two worlds. Upstairs, you’ll find the front door opens into a pretty suburban neighborhood. It even has an HOA.”

I refuse to relax or let my guard down. This is a betrayal, whether he admits it or not. “And the door down here—” I assume there is one even though I can’t see it— “leads to Hell. Why are you playing this off like it isn’t a big deal?”

“Why are you making such a big deal out of it? I’m a demon. It’s not like this should come as a surprise to you.”

He’s right.