“Now Ihaveto ask…” he says in a smooth yet rumbling voice. “Did you summon me to fuck me?”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I my face grows hot. In the bathroom mirror I can see him smiling to himself as he leans against the doorframe. I don’t bother with a response, scoffing and grabbing Alexander’s toothbrush. I brush past Rosier and go back to my front door, opening it wide enough to toss Alexander’s toothbrush at him. Then I shut and lock the door, praying Alexander hears the bolt turning and gets the message.
He must have, because he shouts, “You’re a heinous bitch, Minnie!” Then, silence.
With my back against the door, I slide down to the floor, feeling like I’ve chased a feral animal out of my home.
Again, tall, rude, and handsome appears, following me like a duckling. He looks down at me, and his burning eyes are… curious. “So, Minnie–”
“Minerva,” I correct him before pushing myself up off the floor. “Only my friends call me Minnie.”
“Youwoundme, Minerva,” he replies. I purse my lips into a hard line to keep myself from smiling. “If you didn’t summon me as a companion…” He smiles wider, showing off his teeth once more but with an air of menace like a shark swimming towards me. “Then you must want to make a deal?”
I take a deep, shaky breath, still processing what I had actually achieved–even if somewhat accidentally. My summoning circle worked. Which meant the man standing naked before me isn’t a man at all.
He’s a devil.
CHAPTERTHREE
ROSIER
To be rippedfrom the Hells and dragged to the Mortal Plane was unexpected but not unwelcome. If I were older, one of those leathery winged fucks that sits higher in the ranks than me, getting dragged to the Mortal Plane would be commonplace. Everyone’s heard the stories: a deal with the Devil and all that. But over the centuries, it became harder and harder to get humans to agree to sell their souls. Almost as if people didn’t live in the dark anymore.
I’m glad those practices are antiquated. The idea of being dragged out of Hell on the whim of some scholarly mortal who can’t fight for himself is obnoxious. Yet here I am, on the Mortal Plane, standing in front of a mortal woman who’d summoned me the same way I summon my servants.
She’s a tiny thing, a good foot smaller than I am in this form. Her brown curls are pulled back from her face, showing off cheekbones dotted with dark spots like grains of mica in granite. Her eyes are green, not a color often seen in the Hells, and I admit I’m captivated by them. The longer I look, the more flecks of gold I spot floating around her irises. Her lips are a deep clay color that pairs well with her bronze skin. If she were only a bronze statue in some palace, she would be perfect.
Alas, she’s a mortal. And wasting my time.
Minerva shakes her head and buries her face in her hands. “This wasn’t supposed to happen so soon,” she laments.
I raise a brow “Yousummonedme, witch. Not that I fully believe it yet.”
She pulls her hands from her face. “What?” She sounds like a confused imp, small and floaty. Then her face scrunches like crushed metal, her brows a deep crevice down the center of her forehead. “How can you doubt that I summoned you? You’re here, aren’t you?”
I don’t entertain her with an answer.
“Look, let's get one thing straight.” She lifts her chin, as if that will make her taller. “I brought you here, so you have to listen to me.”
I chuckle, shaking my head slowly. “You’re much too cocky. Until we have a deal, I am free to do as I wish. I listen to no one, certainly not a mortal.”
If we do make a deal, we will be bound–and not solely on this plane or in this life. Once the contract is signed, her soul will be forever tied to me: Rosier, Prince of the Hells. I hold out hope she did summon me for a romp in her bed. Afterwards I could explore this plane of my own accord, leave without any entangling strings.
Dragging a mortal soul around for an eternity is asinine.
“O…kay,” Minerva stutters. “I, uh…” She starts to pick at her nails.
Though I have no interest in deals, she’s piqued my curiosity, entertained me thus far. “Well?” I press.
Mortals usually want one of six things: power, wealth, revenge, transformation, adoration, or apathy. Money and power I understand. Adoration and glamor, sure. But why anyone would sell their soul for revenge, for mutual destruction, I cannot comprehend. Even if I could, it would still be a waste of my time. Nor do I understand the desire to kills one’s emotions, but I’m not meant to understand it. Humans sometimes feel too much, to the point of madness. Empathy, I think they call it.
Minerva looks up, her eyes so wide, the veins of gold trailing through the green shine. “I want revenge.”
I roll my eyes. “Such a boring option.”
“Excuse me?”
“Details.” I snap my fingers, wanting to see her dance further.
