by Allie Gail
The pleasure of my company? Give me a break – there has to be more to it than that. Whatever he's up to, I have to be one step ahead. I have to remember that everything I say, everything I do, will be used against me in any way possible. To what end, I don't know. If only I had some idea what it is that he wants.
They exist only to derive pleasure from deviance and to seek fulfillment of their own aberrant desires.
Truth be told, I'm more excited than afraid.
And that, in itself, scares the hell out of me.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Chapter Eight
After Russ turns in, I stay up watching TV for a while, biding my time until I'm sure he must be asleep. Even then, I press my ear against his door and listen for the sound of snoring. Once I hear it – and believe me, you can't miss it, he sounds like a bear with a buzz saw – I know I'm in the clear.
The cambion is waiting impassively, his chained hands folded before him in a reproduction of yesterday. For the life of me, I can't fathom how anyone could possess this level of patience. I've never seen anything like it. Is this how he bides his time – just sitting here with his straight, perfect posture, emulating a mannequin? Staring at the walls, counting and recounting the steps leading upstairs?
He gives me a pleasant smile, and my pulse quickens in spite of myself. How is it fair that he gets endowed with a cache of riches in the looks department? Cold and empty as a tomb inside, with the Taj Mahal for an exterior. Such total bull. You ask me, anything born of a demon should come out looking like a troll. Smelly, hairy, bad teeth, the works. It would make him a lot less daunting.
Not to mention dangerous. I doubt there's a woman alive who could resist his charms.
Hardly a reassuring thought, considering I'm the one who has to keep her head on straight.
“Well, here I am,” I announce unceremoniously.
“So I see.”
I grab the folding chair and lug it to the same spot across from him. Then, on a whim, I select a dusty board game from one of the shelves and drop it on the table between us.
“What's this?” he asks mildly.
“You mentioned an affinity for playing games. I thought we could start with this.”
His eyes drop to the Monopoly box, blinking before returning to me with a deadpan expression. “Surely you jest.”
“If you know a better way to kill the time, I'd love to hear it.”
“If it's games you want, love, there are those offering higher dividends than novelty money and virtual hotels.” Whatever lurks behind his sly smile, I think I'm better off not knowing.
“What's the matter? Afraid I'll win?”
“Hardly.” His tone is decidedly bored. “Considering I've amassed a small fortune investing in real estate, I'm afraid I would possess an unfair advantage.”
Now this is a surprise. I guess it shouldn't be – it only makes sense that he would have a career and a life of his own. He is half human, after all. It's just really hard to visualize him doing mundane things like, I don't know, typing emails and heading up board meetings. How would anyone get any work done? I would think he'd be one hell of a distraction.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Certainly,” he assents. “I have nothing to hide.”
“Where do you live? That is, when you're not...um, what I mean is, where are you from exactly?”
“Various places. At the present time, I claim residence in Colorado. Little town called Silverton. Perhaps you've heard of it?”
“Oh.” Again, I'm surprised. I didn't expect a straightforward answer, yet that's exactly what I got.
“Did you assume that I resided farther south?” He seems to find the idea humorous.
“I don't know. I never really gave it much thought.”
“I wouldn't dream of it. Nice place to visit, but trust me, you wouldn't want to live there.”
I smile uncertainly. Is he joking? He's sort of smirking, so I decide he must be.
Taking a breath to steady my nerves, I catch a faint whiff of his scent, and some animal part of me wants to climb over the table just so I can sniff him. Mm...do cambions give off pheromones or something? That cinches it – it's definitely not a good idea for me to stay down here any longer than I have to.
And yet, I don't want to leave. Not just yet. It's far too exciting being in his presence.
Crossing my ankles, I keep my voice neutral as I suggest, “I don't suppose you'd like to discuss the whereabouts of a certain missing couple?”
“Getting straight down to business, are we? How efficient you are.” Glancing pointedly at the stairs, Locryn asks, “And where are the sentries this evening?”
“Russ is asleep in his room. Max is at work.”
His mouth twists in a sardonic sneer. “Ah, the dashing young paramedic. Saving lives and preserving humankind like the good little self-sacrificing martyr. How quaint.”
“How'd you know what Max does?”
“Your friend Owen is quite the talker when he is...shall we say, solicited for facts.”
My breath hitches in my chest. You son of a bitch... “Did you hurt him? So help me God, if you did-”
“Did I hurt him?” He pulls his eyebrows together in a disapproving frown. “Oh, I see! So it's fine and well for your brother to interrogate me but when the shoe is on the other foot, only then do you step up to voice your objections. My dear Judith, I wouldn't have thought you capable of such hypocrisy.”
I can feel my cheeks flush hot. “You don't know anything about me!”
“I beg to differ.” The devil relaxes back in his chair, watching me with an indecipherable expression. “Judith Amelia Sterling. Born in Kansas City but resided in Grainfield most of your life, not counting the two years you were away at college in Tulsa, where you stayed with your maternal grandmother. You are twenty years old and hold a degree in business accounting. You graduated high school at the top of your class. Unlike your brother, you loved academics and studied hard to excel in your classes. You are currently unemployed, which I would hazard to say is a loss to the company who laid you off, considering you are a diligent worker with a well-developed moral compass. As a matter of fact, the only thing you ever stole in your life was a pack of M&M's, plain I believe, and that's because you were three years old at the time. Your senior prom date's name was Teagan, you aren't much of a sports fan, you've always wanted to live near the ocean and your favorite color is aquamarine. Now tell me. Is there anything else you would care to know about yourself?”
It takes everything I have to rein in my amazement and not give him the satisfaction of seeing how stunned I am right now.
“No,” I reply coldly. “I'd say you covered it pretty well.”
“Did I?” The cobalt eyes glitter wickedly. “Just in case you're still harboring doubts, what say I touch on something a bit more personal? Such as what you were dreaming last night. Mm, you naughty girl...did you enjoy getting to know me in the carnal sense? I think you did. As a matter of fact, I know you did.”
Holy mother of fuck! How did he know that?
“So full of yourself...you have no idea what you're talking about,” I sputter indignantly.
Leaning forward, he gazes at me intently before whispering, “Liar.”
I tear my eyes away from his, shifting uncomfortably on the hard metal chair. The other stuff he could have easily learned through research, or by questioning Owen, but guessing my dreams...well, let's just hope that's all it was. A guess. Being the narcissistic type, maybe he just assumed and got it right.
“Just so you know, I'm a very heavy sleeper,” I lie. “I wasn't dreaming anything last night. And I certainly wasn't dreaming about you. If I was, you can bet you would've heard me when I woke up screaming bloody murder.”
The way he is scrutinizing me, it's evident that he doesn't believe a word of it.
“Maybe I was mistaken about your moral compass,” he muses thoughtfully. “You aren't being very honest right now, are you
?”
Lacking a witty comeback, I revert to staring down at the floor.
“Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“No. You're making me mad.”
“The truth bothers you? Interesting. You'll pardon the expression, but that's a sure sign of a guilty conscience.”
My eyes snap up to glare at him. “I'm not the one with the guilty conscience here, pal! Maybe you should check your own psyche if guilt is what you're looking for.”
“No need to get upset,” he says mildly. “I was simply defending my claim. You were quick to maintain that I knew nothing about you. I happen to disagree. I know plenty about your brother as well, in case you were wondering.”
“I wasn't.”
“You know, I find it fascinating that two people can be so much alike and yet so very different.”
“What, you mean me and Russell?”
“Yes. Your personalities are similar, but you...forgive me for saying so, but anyone can see that you are the strong one.”
I wrinkle my brow, puzzled. “I'm not sure what you mean.”
“Don't you? Think about it. We both know the young Mr. Sterling is a slave to his vices. Dancing through life to the tune of wine, women and song. Getting by working odd jobs because he's never been interested in a viable career. As long as he has cash enough to get him through to the next payday, while he drinks and philanders and indulges in his lazy, slothful behavior, then he is perfectly content.
“But you, on the other hand...you've always tried so hard to do what's expected of you, haven't you, little sister? Striving to make your parents proud. Studying hard to do well in school. Planning toward your future. While other girls your age were indulging in keg parties and casual sex, you were volunteering at the animal shelter and accompanying your grandmother to church and bingo. I just find it remarkable, that's all. That two people can share the same character traits and yet seek to follow such opposing paths.”
I open my mouth to defend Russ, then think better of it. Because, as much as I hate to admit it, Locryn wasn't that far off in his summary of my brother. His depiction of me, however... “Jeez, you make me come off as some kind of uptight prude. I've done my share of partying. Trust me, I'm no saint.”
“I never said you were.” One corner of his mouth twitches. “Not with dreams like that.”
Whoa now...don't let him get to you, girl. He's just trying to mess with your mind. You know that. He has no way of knowing what goes on in your head. There's no way.
“Can we talk about something else, please?”
“As you wish. What would you like to talk about?”
Untangling my ankles, I shove the Monopoly box aside and lean across the table, hoping I look more confident than I feel. “Well, you've put me at a disadvantage. You seem to know so much about me, but I don't know a thing about you.”
“What would you like to know?”
“First off – have you, or have you not, done anything to hurt Owen? Or Skylar? Before we go any further I'd like a straight answer, if you don't mind.”
His response is frustratingly obtuse. “As I've mentioned before, they are both physically unharmed.”
“You made a point of stressing the word 'physically'. Can you elaborate, please?”
“Don't worry.” He drums his long fingers on the wooden table, one by one. Tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap. “Once they're released, they won't remember a thing.”
“Does that mean you plan to let them go?”
“My dear Judith, I am not the one restraining them. How many times must I tell you this? I can help you, yes, but only if you play the game by my terms.”
“Refresh my memory. What game are we talking about?”
“What game? Come now, all of life is a game. Some win, some lose. But like it or not, we're all forced to participate. And not everyone gets a trophy.” Tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap. “I'm not interested in discussing your friends. Quite frankly, the two of them bore me to tears. Especially the girl – that bimbo could make a fortune renting out the space in her head. Your brother should raise his standards just a bit, don't you think? He could do better.”
I have no response for that. I don't know Skylar very well, but I'm ashamed to admit that the first time I met her, I had the same thought. That she was pretty packaging with very little substance. Maybe it was the way she posted duck lip selfies to Instagram and managed to precede everything she said with the word like.
Don't get me wrong. That doesn't mean she deserves whatever she's going through at the moment.
“Now. What was it you wanted to know about me?” he prompts.
I pick at a splinter in the table while mulling this over. “How old are you?”
“How old do I look?”
“I don't know. Twenty-five? Twenty-six?”
“That sounds good,” he smiles. “We'll go with that.”
“How old are you really?”
“I couldn't say for certain.”
“Don't you know what year you were born?”
He shrugs. “Not the exact year, no. I don't see where it matters.”
“You don't have a birth certificate?”
“Of course. I have several. Just not one of my own.”
Figures. “Your mother would have it, wouldn't she? Or the hospital would have a record of it.”
“I wasn't born in a hospital. And my mother is deceased.”
“Oh. I'm sorry,” I say automatically. Then I realize how absurd it is to be offering my condolences. For all I know, his mother was a jackal. I'm almost afraid to ask about the other half of his parentage, but curiosity prevails. “What about your father? Tell me about him.”
“My father is Leraje, one of the commanders of Hell's great army.” He lifts his chin, pride evident in his voice. “It's been speculated that he controls thirty legions of demons, but in reality, it is far more than that. I'm honored to say that I descend from a noble bloodline.”
Noble! That's hardly the word I would use. “Why does Hell need an army?”
“Why does the United States? Why does Russia or China or Denmark, for that matter? Think about it – why does any territory require an army? There is always the threat of war. One must be prepared.”
“War against...who?”
“War against whom,” he corrects me, chuckling at my perceived ignorance. “Silly child. You humans live in your fluffy little candy-coated bubbles and you don't even know what's going on around you. Really, it's too adorable.”
“Why don't you fill me in, since you seem to know so much?”
“You're better off not knowing, love.” He gives me the condescending look of a professor asked to explain quantum physics to a toddler. “Retain that innocence for just a little while longer.”
“I hate the way you talk in circles,” I complain.
“I hate the way you dress like you're going on an Arctic expedition.”
Taken aback, I stare at him in bewilderment. “What's wrong with the way I dress?” I look down at my University of Tulsa sweatshirt and faded but comfortable jeans. What did he expect me to show up wearing, an evening gown? It's freaking cold down here.
“Would it kill you to show some skin? And take down that ponytail – you're not in grade school.”
My mouth falls open. “Excuse me? What happened to retaining my innocence?”
“I won't tell if you won't.” His mouth curves into a wicked grin. “What happens in the cellar, stays in the cellar.”
I narrow my eyes. “You're just trying to get a reaction out of me. Sorry to disappoint you, cellar dweller, but I'm not taking the bait.”
“Come on, pussycat. If you want me to script another wet dream, you have to give me something to work with.”
I hope to God he didn't notice the way my chest hitched when I gasped. Just remembering some of the dirty details of that dream is enough to send a tingle straight down to my nether regions. There's no way he had anything to do with that. With what I was dreaming.
Is there? No...no, of course not. He's just getting off on messing with my head. It's what he does. I can't forget that.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
He cocks his head to one side and studies me noncommittally. “Suit yourself, then. I'll wing it.”
“You aren't...you can't really...” Is it possible? I glance up at the pentacle on the ceiling above us. “I thought this thing was supposed to render you powerless or something.”
“Or something.” He smiles evasively.
His ambiguity is starting to piss me off. I know it's ridiculous, but being the control freak that I am, it drives me crazy that I'm getting nowhere fast.
“You know what I think?” I snap. “I think you're full of shit. If you could do anything, you wouldn't be stuck down here getting sliced and diced like a slab of deli meat. If you're so badass, coming from such a noble bloodline and all, then why don't you prove it? Do something! Break those shackles! Call up some thunder and lightning! Set this table on fire with your mind! Anything!”
If I expected to make him angry, I was way off. Not only does he neglect to respond to my outburst, but his expression doesn't fluctuate in the slightest.
“That's what I thought.” Dropping my hands in my lap, I squeeze them into fists until the nails leave indentations in my palms. The last thing I want is for him to establish that I was afraid he actually would do something terrible. My mouth outran my brain and the instant I issued the challenge, I realized I may have made a fatal mistake.
“There are none so blind as those who will not see,” he murmurs quietly.
“Yeah? Well, you're not giving me much to look at.”
“Neither are you.” His smirk is downright salacious. “Wasn't that the point?”
“Okay. I think we're done here.” Standing, I close the folding chair and haul it and the board game out of his reach. He watches without saying a word. Not until I am done putting everything away and am halfway up the stairs does he speak.
