by E J Frost
“Mmm,” he murmurs, his breath buzzing against my throat. “What d’you call me when we’re fucking?”
“Jou.” I lift my arms to put them around him, or push him away, I’m not sure. Blow out a breath in frustration when I reach the limit of the bindings. “Could you untie me?”
“Nope, Wall says not to.”
I’m beginning to hate the wall and everything he’s written on it. Or everything I assume he’s written on it, since I can’t see anything, even with my Sight.
“What else does the wall say?”
“Says your name, and to use it carefully. Not to hurt you with it.”
“Could you hurt me with it?” I’d intuited that he could, but hadn’t known for sure.
“Yeah. I could pare you down to tendon an’ bone with it.”
I shudder. “Look, this was just a really bad idea. I don’t think either of us realized how bad an idea this was. I’m sure if you could remember, you’d agree and let me go . . .”
“Wall says no. Just enjoy it, uh, what do I call you when we’re fucking?”
“You don’t. Seriously, you should untie me—”
“Ain’t gonna happen,” he growls, lifting up onto his arms again and looking down at me. “Why don’t you call me baby or lovedaddy or something? Humans always do that.”
I swallow uncertainly. I don’t call him anything because he’s a demon. “Uh, I don’t know . . . how do you know what humans do anyway? I thought you had amnesia.”
“I just know. Like I know your language.” He slides one elbow into the pillows and props his head on his hand, continuing to look down at me. “Your head’s more mixed up than a windy day in Zolez. Why are you so afraid of me? If you’re my seggurach, you know I’d carve out my own spine before I’d hurt you. And why are you trying to hide all these questions you want to ask me, like how to send me back?”
I gape at him, completely at a loss. He can see all of that in my mind? Has he always known exactly what I’m thinking? Has he just been playing with me all this time?
“You already know how to send me back,” he says. His voice has gone quiet and low. “You just don’t have the balls to do it.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I whisper.
“Bullshit. You’re afraid. You’re afraid of trying and failing and what I’d do to you.”
“You don’t remember it but you killed and ate a man in my dining room, so I have good reason—”
“Yeah, I see that in your head. I also see what he was. Entrapping fuck. You’re so desperate not to be like that. Not to become the monster.” His voice warms and he strokes my throat. “It’s eatin’ you up, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I admit. I hear the edge of tears in my own voice and swallow hard, trying to hold on to stronger emotions, like anger. But I already know I’ve lost. He can see what I’m thinking and he’ll use my misery and uncertainty to manipulate me closer and closer to the edge. “You’re just pushing me to the point where I agree to give you my soul, aren’t you? That’s what this is all about. That’s where you’re going, isn’t it? You hurt me and hurt me until I agree to give you my soul just to escape the nightmare—”
He glances up at the damn wall and then at my bound wrists. For a moment, he’s the one who looks uncertain. “I think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick.”
“Wrong end of the stick?! This is my soul! It doesn’t mean anything to you—”
“You’re wrong about that, too. Listen to me for a second.” He puts his hand over my mouth, strokes my cheek with his thumb. “Shh, just listen. I don’t remember everything. And your mind is fucking confusing. But I don’t think I’d have done this—“ He touches the bindings on my wrist. “—if all I wanted was a soul-trade.”
“You want to make me a demon,” I say resentfully against his fingers.
“Seggurach, actually. And no, I’m not tellin’ you what that is. Not until I remember everything. Then ask me again. And ask me why I bound you instead of getting’ you drunk or high.” His teeth flash in the darkness. “I’ve done that already, haven’t I?”
“Yes.”
“Let yourself remember it for a moment. I want to see something.”
I scowl at him. “I don’t remember very much of it. Obviously.”
“Just lemme see what you do remember.” He’s silent for a moment and I can feel him ruffling through my mind, his thoughts as warm and gentle as his fingers through my hair. “Yeah, I gave you my seed—“
“You keep saying that.”
“And you still don’t understand what it means.” He leans over and kisses me. “I don’t just want your soul. I want a lot more. And you want to give it to me. You’re just afraid of what you don’t know—“
“I’m afraid of you!” I hiss against his mouth.
“Well, you don’t need to be.” He settles into the pillows and pulls me close, wrapping his arms around me, pushing my head down onto his shoulder. “Go to sleep.”
“As if I could.” I snort against his skin, but I’m already relaxing into his warmth. Exhaustion makes my eyelids too heavy to hold open. My mind too foggy to focus on fear or anger or anything but how nice it feels to be held against him.
“I like sleeping with you, too,” he whispers into my hair.
When I wake, it’s to darkness and the demon’s deep breathing. He’s curled warmly against my back, his arm around my waist, and it’s the pressure of his arm on my very full bladder that’s woken me.
I shift uncomfortably. I really need to pee. But I’m afraid of waking him. If I wake him and he’s still a stranger, will he let me go, or heed the goddamn wall and leave me for the rest of the night trying desperately not to wet the bed?
I shift again. I seriously need to pee. I should be dehydrated from dancing but my bladder somehow missed that message. God, I need to pee. I reach out and pick up his arm very gingerly and begin to slide out from under it.
That’s when I realize that my hands are free.
I stare at my wrists for a moment. In the faint light from the street, I can see dark marks where the cords cut into my skin. But the cords themselves are gone. I strain my head back to see the headboard. Nothing there. Maybe he ate them after he untied me.
I relish my freedom for a moment, rubbing my wrists, before turning back to more pressing business. I slither out from under the demon’s arm and bolt for the bathroom.
While I’m washing my hands afterward, I notice the strangeness. An odd sensation around my wrists. A spiderweb sense of constriction. I rub my wrists but there’s nothing under my fingers except skin.
I reach for a towel and, glancing up, meet the ghostly blue flames of the demon’s eyes in the mirror. “Hey,” he says.
I start. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“S’okay.” He leans against the door jam and watches me dry my hands.
I rub at my wrists with the towel. There’s nothing there, but I can still feel something.
“You’ll get used to it,” he says.
“What?” I look up at him.
“You’re still feeling the binding ‘cause it’s new. But you’ll get used to it. Probably won’t even notice it after a while.”
“There’s nothing there,” I say, but denial’s not just a river in Egypt. There is something there, encasing my wrists with phantom fingers. “Please, could you take it off?”
The demon tilts his head to one side, dreadlocks sliding over his shoulder. “Don’t think so.”
“Why? You got what you wanted. I was bound while you were vulnerable. Hasn’t your memory returned?” He nods and I say, “Then there’s no need for this anymore.”
The demon snorts softly. “You really got no idea, do you, sweet meat?”
“I’ve got the idea of this!” I thrust my wrists at him. “You made me think you were just tying me up so you could come.”
“Yeah, so I could come, an’ the rest. I like havin’ you bound to me.”
“Get these things off
me,” I grit.
“Not a chance.” He reaches out and passes his hand through the air beneath my wrists. I feel a tug when he catches the invisible hanging traces. “C’mon, back to bed.”
I struggle for a moment, fighting to yank my wrists free. He lets me go. Only to reel me in with an arm around my waist. Through the shadow of his dreadlocks, he looks down at me. “You want to fight again? I’m up for that. The make-up sex was pretty good.”
I glare up at him mutinously. “Take these things off me.”
“I’d rather tie you to the bed again.” His hand slides down my back, pressing me to him, so I can feel that he’s hard and ready. “I want you face-down this time. I like hearin’ you scream into the pillow when you come.”
“Get the fuck off me! I mean it. You can’t do this to me. You can’t force me into giving you my soul. You can’t pretend to just tie me up and then use it to pry my heart open—”
“That’s not what they’re for. You let me tie you up and you knew that it was going to be a magical binding, so why are you complainin’?”
“Because I thought all you were doing was protecting yourself while you had amnesia!”
“Well, you thought wrong.”
“Fuck you, Jou! You let me think that and you know it! You’re a demon and a liar—”
He wraps his hand around my throat, forces me to look up into his glowing eyes. “I am a demon, you got that right. But I haven’t lied to you about anythin’. I don’t need to. You’re so ripe for the pickin’ it’s untrue. So lonely and so needy. You been dying for someone to come an’ take you—”
I shove against his chest. “I want someone to love me! Everyone wants that. And don’t give me that shit about how you love me the way I need to be loved. I need to be loved in a way that doesn’t damn me eternally. That’s how I need to be loved.”
“What do you know about damnation?” He growls into my face, his hot breath licking over my skin like flame. “What do you know about anything but this little shell you’ve built for yourself? This little cage for your power and your spirit. It won’t ever make you happy. You’ll spend your short human life rattling the bars, always wanting more. Never understandin’ why the parade of no-magic assholes you trap in here with you always let you down. I can give you what you need. Magic and pleasure and days without number. That’s what I’m offerin’ you. And maybe that ain’t love the way you want it. All hearts and flowers and pink squalling brats. But it’s the best offer you’ll ever get—” He blows out a breath. The iron rigidity of his neck softens. “Sweetness . . . I can give you what you want. What you cry into your pillow for when you listen to the rain. You’ll never be lonely again, I swear. I take care of what’s mine.”
I choke against his hand, against the awfulness of his words.
He strokes his thumb along my jaw and says, low and very soft, “You haven’t asked.”
“What?”
“What a seggurach is. And why I bound you instead of gettin’ you drunk again.”
I bow my head, exhausted by the effort of meeting those burning eyes. “What’s a seggurach?”
“A helpmate.”
His answer is so far from what I expected that I lift my head again. “A what?”
“Someone who helps,” he clarifies.
“I know what ‘helpmate’ means! What does it have to do with you taking my soul?”
“Stop fixating on that. I haven’t been after just your soul since I saw you call lightning. I want you with me.”
“With you?” I shake my head against the gentle pressure of his hand. “With you how?”
“By my side. With me.” He tilts my head to the side, leans in and nips at my earlobe. “I won’t force you to become a demon, as long as you’re with me.”
“What, like a familiar or something?” I still don’t understand, but whether he can’t read my confusion or doesn’t want to explain further, he doesn’t say any more. He begins working his way down my neck. Hot, soft kisses, and the edge of teeth. I shake one wrist at him. “And this?”
“That’s part of bein’ with me,” he says against my collarbone, but his voice drops, darkens, and I know that it’s not. He’s bound me for other reasons, reasons he’s not sharing with me. “For now.”
“So you can control me,” I say flatly.
“Yeah,” he admits. He draws back and looks down at me. “You’re too unpredictable. When I’m sure you’re not gonna fuck this up, then maybe we won’t need it.” He tilts his head to the side. “You might get to like it, you know. Binding goes both ways.”
“It does?” Somehow that’s not as bad. I’m not sure why, but it’s better if it’s not just me bound to him. Still, I really, really, really do not want to be bound to a demon. That’s just not good on so many levels.
“Can we go back to bed now? I want to hear you screamin’ into the pillow.”
My belly tightens at the thought. I’ve never come in anything but missionary position before, but I think he could hang me upside-down by the toes and still give me those soul-shaking orgasms. “Just sex, right? No more of whatever you did to me last time.”
He kisses me, mouths across my cheek to my ear and sucks on it. Hot, bright splinters of excitement shoot through me. I really do love it when he plays with my ears. He speaks with his mouth against my ear, the vibrations spreading over my skin, making me shiver. “What’d I do last time that was so bad? Way I remember it, you came like a freight train.”
I push against his chest, trying to get a little space, before I get lost in what he’s doing to me. Again. “That whole heart-breaking-open thing. No more of that.”
“I liked that. And the big mutual O. We’re definitely doin’ that again. C’mon.” He cuts short my protest by lifting me against his chest and carrying me back into the bedroom.
Chapter 28
I wake to cool sheets and the smell of coffee.
“Wakey-wakey, sweet meat.”
I blink at the sound of the demon’s voice. Focus on him, the colorful nimbus of his dreadlocks, the smooth expanse of his chest, as he sits down on the edge of the bed and settles a tray across my legs. With a tink of ceramic, he sets a mug of coffee down on my bedside table. Steam rises from the mug to curl around the blue rose that’s still as fresh as it was when he gave it to me.
“Hi,” I say, bleary and a little shy from the emotions of the night.
“Figured I’d better get you up if you’re gonna make it to work today.”
Monday. It’s Monday, and on Monday I go to work, no matter what weirdness has invaded my life. Shifters, the fae, nearly becoming dinner for a pack of barghasts, nothing keeps me from going to work. The demon’s weirdness isn’t going to, either. I lever myself up, carefully, to avoid upsetting the tray. I don’t want to spill one of his unbelievably good breakfasts. This morning it’s a boiled egg, a pile of crispy bacon strips, and a pair of croissants, split open and slathered with cream and dark red jam. Dearie dubbleskey, as my Dala would say, I’ve died and gone to gastronomic heaven.
“What time is it?” I ask, peering around the rose at my clock.
“Eight-thirty,” he responds, stretching across my legs and taking a sip from his own cup of coffee. “Thought I’d give you time for a shower, too. You smell kinda—”
“Yes, I get it,” I grit, before he can elaborate. I can smell myself, sweat and sex and smoke rising in an unlovely potpourri from my skin. He chuckles and drinks his coffee. “I need to brew today. We’ll be running low on magic milk.” And I’m running low on everything that goes into the magic milk, which means a trip to the woods tonight. “Um, without wanting to spark off a fight—” Which will inevitably end in sex and make me late for work. “I need to go gathering tonight.”
“Yeah, so?” He looks unconcerned, sprawled across my legs, propped on one elbow so the muscles in his bare shoulders and chest bulge. I’d swear he was posing but what does he have to pose for? It’s not like he needs to seduce me anymore.
&nbs
p; “I’ll need to call the Squire. And you seemed funny about him—”
He steals a piece of bacon off my tray and crunches it down. “No more fraternizing with Tin Can Boy.”
“I need him. I’ve had some close calls and he protects me—”
“I’ll protect you.”
I glare at him over a bite of croissant. “Do you have a magic horse that can take us to wherever the things I need are growing?”
He grunts. “We’ll talk about it when you get home. I’ll pick you up at six.”
I really don’t want to fight this morning, so I nod. But I’m not giving in on this one. I need to go gathering, before I run out of anything critical.
He steals another piece of bacon and chews it thoughtfully. “I wanna talk to you about somethin’ else tonight.”
I lift an eyebrow. “What?”
“We’ll talk about it tonight. But I’ll tell you now it’s a favor, so you can start thinkin’ about what you’ll want in return.”
The way to send you back to Hell. The thought skitters through my head before I can stop it.
Ain’t gonna happen, he growls into my mind. So thinka something else.
I focus fiercely on my breakfast. Lick jam off my lips.
He grunts, shifts on the bed. “An’ you think I’m distractin’.”
I lift my eyes to his face, although it’s hard to look away from the food. “What do you mean?”
“I should be thinkin’ about negotiatin’ with you. How to get what I want without fuckin’ up what I got. Art of the Deal and all that. But I watch you eat an’ all I can think about is whether I can get you to gimme a blow-job before you go to work.”
I choke on a bite of croissant.
The demon pounds me on the back. “No asphyxia before nine a.m.”
When I can finally breathe again, I collapse into laughter.
He doesn’t make me give him a blow-job before I go to work. He does insist on dressing me, though, rejecting everything I suggest.
He tosses my favorite sweater on the bed with a dismissive sniff and rummages deeper in my closet.
