I cry out, my arm contorting as I slam into the invisible barrier, while he waltzes right through, unperturbed. My face smushes against the boundary and smashes into it again when the demon tries dragging me through once more.
“Stop!”
He doesn’t. He keeps pulling, keeping me trapped against the makeshift prison bars. I dig my nails into the hand curled around my bicep, and he hisses.
“Let go,” I growl, wedging both feet against the barrier. It’s as if I’m defying the laws of gravity because I look like I’mfloating.
My back hits the ground when he suddenly lets go, but my second of freedom ends horridly when he grabs my ankle to haul me through.
It’s the first time I get the chance to look at his face; to see the sheer desperation etched through every line in his forehead and the deep divot between his brow. His frustration is on par with how I’ve felt all the times I’ve tried getting out of here.
But there’s something more to it—a sense of panic.
For the first time, I realize something that he likely never wanted me to know: the demon has weaknesses and staying here leaves him vulnerable.
Why? No one looks like that unless they’re running from something.
The struggle only lasts for a couple more seconds before he drops my foot with an aggravated huff then paces briefly,running a hand down his face and through his hair. I scramble to my feet as I watch him, then fist my hands at my sides.
“Are you insane?” Who the fuck does this entitled bastard think he is? B- for his creativity, but fuck him for the execution.
He crosses the barrier to round on me. The fury oozing from him is potent enough that I can taste it at the back of my throat.He’spissed? How does he thinkIfeel?
He doesn’t get a chance to say a word. My fist soars through the air and lands squarely on his jaw, and his head whips to the side. ThenIadvance onhim, pointing a finger right at his face.
“Don’t youdarepull that shit again,” I snarl.
In a split second, rage shifts to shock then the barest flicker of amusement before settling back on anger. The asshole moves forward so we’re even closer, our chests a hair away from brushing.
Each of our ragged exhales mingle like toxic fumes that poison my brain as we stare each other down, neither one of us willing to back away.
He smells like sin and every wrong, depraved thing in this universe, and it’s delectable. It’s the type of cologne that sinks into my bones and burrows deep into my marrow as if entwining with my ghostly DNA.
This feeling—thisburningin my veins—it’s heady. Livening. Exhilarating. It makes my skin prickle and my stomach tighten in a way it shouldn’t.
He leans forward, getting right in my face, lips twisting into a vicious sneer, and once more I watch the way they move as he speaks—a moment of weakness. “I think I preferred you when you were crying. Your wailing made my ears bleed less.”
His words come out like venom, and I throw it right back, lacing my tone with faux pity.
“And being around you gives me indigestion”—not to be outdone, I angle closer too, until there are only a couple inches between us—“yet you don’t see me being a little bitch about it.”
The demon jerks away like being so close disgusts him. “Fuck off.”
“Or what? You’ll kill me? I’m already dead, asshole.”
His eyes flare with psychotic glee. “Now there’s an idea.”
He draws something wooden and pointy from his pocket.
Is that astake?
I step back.
Fuck him.
Fuckhimfuckhimfuckhimfuckhim.
I hate that motherfucker with every fiber of my undead being.
