He tosses an unrecognizable look my way before he starts to pick up the pieces of police on the floor, “Does your home have an ice box?”
“You are not putting your leftovers in my freezer.”
“Where am I to put them then? Do not forget that this is your doing,” he uses a mystery limb to point at me for emphasis. “You ran and I hunted. I cannot harm you and I don’t think you’d appreciate my other,more creativeforms of torture, so I made do with what I had.”
Other forms of torture?Based on the smug grin still gracing his haunting and beautiful face, he wants me to ask. But I’m not going to. Nope. I’m not.
“Why can’t you just poof them away like you did the guns?” I ask, trying to steer us away from the dark thoughts plaguing me.
“It’s not cold enough there to keep them from rotting. It would be wasteful,” he says with humor lacing his voice.Cold enough where?“Now ask me what you’re really wondering, Little Dove,” he taunts, walking towards me. He’s seemingly forgotten all about his clean-up job for the moment, focused entirely on me. He lowers his voice and adds, “Ask me from what delicious torment I would have you screaming. I’ll gladly tell you.”
I have to stop this little game right now. He’s playing chicken, and I’ll happily lose if it stopswhateverthis is, “Okay! You can use it, but first, you need to fix my fucking door so no one else comes in.” I can’t have any more blood on my hands.
“Fine,” he mutters. It’s hard to tell with them being pure white, but I think this asshole just rolled his eyes at me. He waves his free hand toward the empty space where my door should be and within seconds, the door lifts off the wall and rights itself, the wood loudly snapping back together as if it never happened. “There. Repaired.”
“Thank you,” I gesture around us, trying to avoid looking too closely at the mess around us. “What about the rest of the room? Can you Bippity-Boppity-Boo all the blood away?” I’m barely restraining the awe and fear rising inside me.
“Bippity-boppity-boo?”Narrowing his eyes, he turns to face me, “Is that the witchcraft you mortals use now?”
“I… No. It’s a— It’s a joke,” I explain.
“Oh. I do like jokes. I’ll tell you one of my own. What’s red,” he looks pointedly at my hair, “the palest pink,” his eyes drip slowly down my frame, “and utterly delicious?” I’m too scared to say anything, so I just stare as he rumbles, “Little doves who tempted the wrong devil.” Then he goes on doing his magic. He returns himself and my plain little living room to its former, goreless glory, gathering his bloody prizes along the way.
* * *
Five minutes later, here I am, showing a fucking demon my fridge.May as well get a drink while I’m at it. I snatch the bottle of whiskey Isla got me for my birthday last month. Popping it open, I watch as the demon rearranges my freezer to make room for—oh, God, that’s gotta be a femur.I quickly avert my gaze to halt my growing nausea.
As I gulp down as much as I can in one go and let it burn down my throat, I take a moment to actually look at my new… well, not friend, but I still don’t know what to call him. What I originally thought were horns on his head look to be more like the antlers of a deer. But the color is the deepest blue-black, matching his dark, shiny skin, and—why do they look so soft?I’m nearly touching one of the velvety smooth tips before I realize and drop my hand to my side. “What is your name?” I ask tentatively.
Without deterring from his task, he responds, “I am Caspian. Do not touch those, they are sensitive.”
Sensitive??Now I’m even more curious. Keeping my hands to myself and my booze, I continue my perusal, appreciating how long and lithe his limbs are. I watch each muscle and vein dancing beneath his skin while he works, wholly enchanted by him. Thin black smoke wafts from his shoulders and forearms as if some power inside him is restlessly trying to escape.
Distantly, I wonder what’s hiding underneath the scraps of pants hanging from his lower half.Bel, what the fuck?
I realize now that I’ve definitely read too many monster romances. This isn’t like those. This is a nightmare come to life, and I have to get rid of him. I should not be letting him use my freezer right now, but I think telling him no might be more dangerous. He’ll need to leave eventually. He’ll have to like… I don’t know, go find more humans to eat? What do demons do when they’re not wreaking havoc? Do they get jobs? Do they have communes where they all live together? Do the—
“This is quite the invention you have. How does it remain so cold?” His abrupt question pulls me from my thoughts.
Fighting the blush rising on my cheeks, I answer, but I suppose just the word electricity might not mean much to someone who called it an ice box.
“Oh yes,” he snaps his fingers at me in understanding, apparently finished with his task. “The Queen mentioned something about that! Then there was a fellow with a key! My, my, you mortals have come a long way in the centuries I slumbered.”
Grabbing his arm and gently removing him from the freezer to close it, I watch as he stands to his full height.Jesus, that’s a big dude.He has to be at least seven and a half feet tall. I’m watching him, completely unaware that I haven’t removed my hand from his arm until he glances down at it. I pull away, asking, “When did you… fall asleep?”
His answering laugh holds no humor, and I have to fight a tremor at his grim tone. “I was sent to sleep in the Prison Realm during the year 1760. Enough questions, show me this book you claim holds all the answers.”
“Okay. I’ll show you. Then you’ll take your… this stuff and leave?” I ask hopefully.
He pauses, looking at the freezer, then me and back again, “Once I have the answers I seek, I will leave your home, yes.” His reluctant tone leads me to believe there’s a hidden meaning in what he’s said, but I ignore it for the moment, deciding to face this one problem at a time.
A Vulgar Virgin
Caspian
Stalking behind my Bel, she leads me up the stairs to something she called astudio. The doorway is so short I’m forced to duck to enter it.Perhaps I should take on my smaller form.I shake off the thought, enjoying the power in my long strides and the pervasive scent of fear it causes to waft from my sweet little dove.
Strange contraptions surround me, one of which is a small circular net floating behind a black cylindrical shape, and in front of it lies a music stand. The lighting in here is quite dim, and I’m not sure how she can use it to do much of anything.
