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I’d fantasized about playing in public, but I’d never done it before tonight. I’d allowed myself to be vulnerable in front of that massive crowd. I’d watched as those around me were frenzied by my pleasure, my bliss the center of their attention. I felt as if I’d ripped down another wall, like I’d overcome a fear without even realizing it.
Letting go felt good, it felt even better than I’d imagined. This place was like a bubble, isolated from the dangerous world outside. It truly was a little Hell on Earth — a peek beyond reality, where there were no rules to be followed, and I had no fear of being mocked or rejected for who I was.
Zane led me up a metal staircase to the floor above. There were more couches here, a lounge where everyone could look down on the dancefloor and watch the pulsing crowd. That was where we found Hana and Sadie again, cuddled up on the couch together.
“Satan’s fuckingballs, that was hot!” Hana exclaimed, as Zane flopped down on the couch and pulled me down with him, holding me on his lap. All I could do was grin, and Hana laughed.
“Damn, you finger-fucked the sass out of her.” She laughed.
“It’s the only way to do it,” Zane teased, giving my face a little squeeze. “Don’t worry, she recovers quickly. There’s more sass in her.”
“Oh yeah, there’s more,” I said, still a little breathless. “One orgasm won’t shut me up for long. Just gotta...come down a little.”
Hana shook her head, but kept her smile as she watched Sadie dance in her seat. The affection between them was undeniable: Hana watched her protectively, possessively.
It was nice to sit for a while and just observe the events unfolding around us. The orgies below, the dancing, the soft-spoken conversations from the others gathered here. It didn’t matter how late in the night it was; the party showed no signs of slowing.
But I was curious about Sadie. She was the only other human I’d met who’d sold her soul. I’d caught sight of the marks on her shoulder when she turned, the scars etched carefully into her skin. She noticed me staring at her and smiled, so I decided to go ahead and ask, “So, uh...what got you to sell your soul?”
“I needed help removing someone from my life,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Best decision I ever made.”
Hana leaned over her, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before she said, “I killed her fucking husband for her. Sick bastard wouldn’t stop beating her, so I beat his face in.” Their eyes met, and a little blush rose up Sadie’s cheeks before Hana gave her another kiss on the mouth.
“I thought I was going to suffer in the afterlife for it,” Sadie said. “I thought selling my soul meant I was damning myself, that Hell would be torturous.” She shook her head as she looked around. “But it set me free. It saved me.” She looked down for a moment, but her expression wasn’t one of sadness. It was soft, teary-eyed happiness. She smiled again as she looked back up at me. “What about you?”
“Shit, well…” I swallowed hard, and felt Zane’s hand on my back. He didn’t say anything; he didn’t need to. His touch was his reassurance, his gentle push for me to speak. Even though it made instant anxiety bubble up in me, I said, “I was the victim of a cult. They tried to kill me years ago. I made a deal to take revenge.”
Sadie nodded, wide-eyed but not disbelieving, as if cults and selling one’s soul were simply an everyday occurrence. But Hana sat up suddenly, snapping her fingers. “I should haveknown! Of course. The cult girl. Damn, you had quite a few soul hunters on your trail. I heard Zane pulled some intimidation shit and claimed you early. No one dared even get near you.”
“He, what?” I stared at her in surprise, then snapped my gaze over to Zane when he shifted in his seat beside me. “Others were after me?”
“Not for long,” he said. “I made it clear no one was to touch you.”
“Why?” The question slipped out before I was even sure why I was asking it. I’d known he stalked me for years, ever since I left Abelaum. All those months when I’d felt most alone, he’d been watching me secretly, waiting. But I’d thought it was just because he was curious, simply deciding if I was worth the trouble.
“I knew what I wanted,” he said. “And even if it turned out you never wanted a deal with me, fuck…” He shrugged. “I still wouldn’t have let another demon have you.”
Hana was chuckling. “Aww, Zane found his soft spot.”
“What’s that mean?” I said.
Zane groaned softly, but Hana said, “It’s when a hardass demon finds a human that makes them go all soft. The human that makes them wanna do sweet shit, the kind of human you’d take for long romantic walks around Hell. Sadie is mine.” Sadie blushed again. “She loves roses so fucking much, she has me planning ways to get them to grow in Hell for her.” She chuckled, shaking her head as she tugged Sadie close. “Didn’t think I’d see the day, Zane. Damn, you’ve even let her carve you up a little.”
I looked over at him again, expecting to see him protesting or shaking his head. But he was just looking back at me, his fingers tracing over the scars of my name on his shoulder. “I knew what I wanted, and I’ve been chasing it every day since.”
Those words felt like a hand slowly squeezing around my heart. It wasn’t painful, no — it was a comfort, an embrace within my ribcage. It stopped my breath for a moment. It made the ecstatic chaos around me slow to a mere blur.
It felt like walking into a familiar house and feeling warm, like sighing, like realizing you can rest after a long day. A little bit of light on my jagged edges.
“Have you marked her yet?” Hana’s question cut through my soft thoughts, and the thump of music and cries of ecstasy around us roared back into my focus.
“Not yet,” Zane said. I remembered him saying that marks —piercings— were used to signify loyalty and devotion amongst demons. It had a different connotation than the scars he’d given me: the scars were our contract, but a piercing, well…
A piercing was more than that.
“This is the perfect place to do it,” Hana said excitedly. “Vian is here. They’d gladly give you some metal to use. And you know how good their pieces are.”
“Not until she’s ready,” Zane said, squeezing his hand possessively around my thigh as he sipped his drink. His tightened grasp made me feel good — bold, even. It made all the fear I felt at the concept of devotion seem insignificant.
