Tick. Tick. Tick.
It’s not something I ever felt or heard the times I was dragged into this shed by Ella, who was trying to force me to develop a green thumb so we had something in common. It never happened, but I’d still follow her in here to play henchmen or carry all the supplies she needed out into the garden, then sit on my phone as she… gardened, I guess. We’d stay until someone yelled at us to come inside.
They’re still some of my fondest memories. Being able to sit in silence, perfectly content, or listening to Ella chat away about her life, which always seemed so much larger than mine.
I wanted to be like her. But before then, I hated her. Hated that she was better, smarter, perfect in every way. Hated that my parents loved her more. But then I grew up and realized my sister wasn’t my enemy, and that teenage hormones are a bitch.
Another weird breeze flies through my stomach.
One after the other, I peel my eyes open. It takes far longer than it should for consciousness to creep through me. Finally, I’m able to make out the morning light streaming through themoldy windows and the man leaning against the front door of the shed.
Not a man, a demon—a fucking cunt.
I groan, throwing my arm over my eyes to block out his face. What the hell does he want? And does hereallyhave to lean against the door likethat? It’s criminal for a demon to be attractive, but if I’m going to be cursed to see one face for the rest of eternity, at least it’s not an ugly one.
I glower at the ceiling to avoid looking at him. This isn’t the first time the bastard has woken me up. I thought I’d found a good hiding spot. Guess not.
We’ve been doing the same song and dance since I died, and frankly, I’m over it.
He’ll yell—fix thisandbreak our link. Then I’ll say,I don’t fucking know how to,then scream something about my sister that he conveniently ignores. He’ll throw out some threats. I’ll parry with barely restrained aggression because you catch more flies with honey or whatever bullshit Ella used to say—but the only thing I’ve attracted is a roach. A life-sized one from Hell, at that.
And then we’ll repeat the whole thing again.
The dickhead throws another pebble at me, except this time it hits me square in the tit instead of flying through me.
“Fuck off,” I snarl, glaring at him. It’s too early in the morning to deal with his bullshit.
The demon’s hair is a little tousled, just like his slightly wrinkled top, and there’s the barest hint of puffiness to his face. What do you know? Satan needs his beauty sleep too.
Cold-blooded murderer aside, it’s painful how attractive the demon looks when he’s probably just rolled out of bed. It adds a ruggedness to him that suits his perpetually dour mood.
Worst yet, Grandma’s grimoire isn’t on him. I’ve been looking for it so I can finish what I started—or figure out a way toget out of here. Maybe trotting away into the afterlife would be a great alternative too.
I’ve seen enough, experienced too much, and I’m simply done.
Fingers crossed I don’t end up in Hell, forced to endure more of these fuckers.
Actually, who knows? The grimoire might tell me how to send his ass back to Hell and far away from me. None of it is in English, but there might be a word or two that’ll look familiar.
“Morning, dead girl.”
The Devil has a deep, raspy, sex-worthy morning voice too, because of course Lucifer is so cruel that those three irritating words could rain goosebumps over my flesh.
This is all… unfamiliar. Not just the whole ghost thing but feeling something other than emptiness or sadness about myself. The irritation is nice. As is being able to recognize beauty in something dark and feel that foreign sensation of desire unfurl low in my stomach when all I want to do is stab him with something sharp.
He has the face of someone you know is no good. Someone you’d bring home because you know your parents wouldn’t approve, but you do it anyway because you’ve become addicted to the dark side.
Bright baby-blue eyes, a tall, lean frame, and a voice that could be used to lead a boardroom or to command an army of misfits to war. It’s alluring, maddening, and confusing all in one.
Huffing, I pull myself onto my feet. “My name’s Sable.”
If we’re stuck together for the foreseeable future, we might as well get to know each other on a first name basis. That way I can more accurately cuss him out because my nerves can only be worn so thin, and he can stop calling me deadsomething.
The only silver lining I’ve been able to find in this entire situation is that at least the asshole hasn’t tried killing me again.
“Sable.” The demon tests it out, and I watch his lips as they form each letter.
The sound of my name on his tongue makes something flip in my chest. For a second, I think my corporeal heart has started beating again. Warmth spreads through my veins, heating me from the inside out, and I almost stagger back from the sound.
