Beelzebub.
I staggered back a step, desperately seeking the distance between us that he hadn’t afforded me. This close, he seemed even larger than he had the night before. I was far from short at five seven and he had to be a foot taller than me anyway. His shoulders were broad, the rippling muscles tense where his arms were crossed over his chest. His wings settled down at his sides as he raised his chin, settling into his place in front of me.
I had to assume he’d flown to the platform that led to the library. The space was narrow and left me with the staircase atmy back looming too close. One quick shove and I’d fall, ridding him of the curse I’d placed upon him by allowing him to hear my song.
For a moment, I wondered if he’d do it. For a moment, I hoped he would.
Jaw clenched and red eyes blazing, his gentleness from the night before was gone. His hair was still pulled back into that bun at the back of his head, and I wondered if he ever let it fall free around his face. His golden Enochian tattoos glowed, pulsing with light as he took a step toward me, and my heart raced in anticipation of my coming death.
“What do you want?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder at the staircase behind me.
He didn’t respond, studying me intently. He looked at me as if I were a puzzle, reading the lines of tension in my body and whatever he could see in the expression on my face.
I didn’t know if it was fear or exhilaration that made my heart race, waiting for him to make the decision we both knew danced behind the evil in that gaze. It would take one quick movement and he’d be able to free himself, and I let my body relax as I waited for it.
He tilted his head to the side, studying me as if I’d surprised him.
“Why do you not sing?” he asked, reaching forward so suddenly I thought he might push me. Instead, he grasped me by the strap on my book bag, tugging me forward sharply, and I toppled into him. My hands planted on his chest, the heat of his skin sinking into me as his mouth parted.
Every song. Everytouch.
I jolted back as his mouth dropped open in shock, stepping around him to lean my back into the wall beside the library door. It left him with no choice but to swap with me, putting the stairs at his back. He was still too close, leaning his arm against the wall above my head, but he kept his distance enough not to touch me.
That in itself felt like a kindness, given what I knew of the effects of my touch. It felt restrained, where so many lost their self-control entirely under such close proximity to my magic.
“Why did you not sing?” he asked again, his eyes narrowing impatiently.
“Not really feeling the music right now,” I said, giving him a bitter half smile. It felt more like Willow than me, a sarcastic response that I hadn’t known I had in me. If the archdemon were going to kill me he would have already, and something in that emboldened me.
“I could have killed you, and you just stood there and waited for me to,” he said, dropping his arm from the wall. I flinched, waiting for the touch I felt so certain would come, but he only glared down at me.
Waiting for my answer, I realized. Seeing too much, I knew.
“You didn’t,” I said, shrugging and feigning a casual ease that I did not feel.
He growled, the sound low and vibrating within his chest. It was barely audible, but I heard it. I felt it as if he were touching me, the sound sinking into me. “I should have,” he warned, earning a nervous swallow from me. “Would you have stopped me, little siren? Would you have defended yourself if I had tried to snap your pretty neck?”
The bitter smile faded off my face, leaving me slowly as I held that red-eyed stare and tried to find the well of make-believe where all my pretty lies came from. I tried to find the energy to pretend I cared what happened to me beyond never allowing someone to take from my body again.
I spoke the single word quietly, giving him a vulnerability that I hadn’t afforded anyone else. I didn’t know what possessed me to choose him as the one to receive it; perhaps it was the distinct knowledge that I didn’t need to care what he thought of me.
He was an archdemon. He was the enemy.
Let him think me weak.
“No,” I said, raising my chin to hold his stare as his glare faded into shock. I let my answer sink in, let him see the truth of it in the emptiness of my eyes for the briefest of moments.
And then I donned my mask once again, forcing a pretty smile to my face before I turned and tugged the door open, retreating into the relative safety of the library.
I made a beeline for the table I always claimed at the back of the library, hanging my book bag on the back of my chair and dropping into it with a sigh. His steps were loud as he approached me, uncaring of the people studying around him as he closed the distance. I hated that he’d followed me, hoped that I’d shocked him into leaving me alone for a little while at least.
He stood on the other side of my table, glaring down at me as I turned my eyes up to meet his. “How long will this fucking spell last?” he asked, yanking the chair out and dropping into it. His wings fluttered behind him, trying to find a comfortable way to rest, and he grunted his frustration when it seemed an impossible task.
“They look inconvenient,” I said, watching him struggle.
He glared, seeming uninterested in making small talk with me. “How long?” he asked again, forcing a sigh from me.
“That depends on whether you stay away from me or not. Touch will worsen the pull, so you should avoid touching me at all costs,” I said, taking my book out of my book bag. “If you stay away, maybe a couple of weeks at most and then you’ll be free.”
