Demons Strike Back

by Jacey Ward

  “You don’t trust me,” Dante announced and Arya’s eyes widened, a laugh escaping her lips.

  “Should I?”

  “Of course not,” he replied, his own smile growing. “But I can tell you this, Arya Ambrose…”

  He trailed off and she waited, her breath catching in her throat, knowing that his next words would be prophetic.

  “Now that I’ve found you, I will never let you go.”

  A wave of relief flooded through her body and she sank back against the lumpy mattress, closing her eyes as Dante’s mouth found her throat. There was no reason for him to say that. He owed her nothing, no more than she owed him. She had already given herself to him, he needed nothing else from her. The only reason that he would bother telling her such a thing was because he felt it, the same way she did.

  Arya knew it defied reason or reality but she would not resist it, not when everything aligned so perfectly. As his mouth travelled along the soft skin of her chest toward her navel, Arya’s fingers curled into his dark curls. She guided his head along the path of her body toward her still-sopping middle and sighed when his tongue lapped at her throbbing nub.

  Her vision was wrong. It had to be.

  He wasn’t going anywhere.

  They made love four times that night, each occasion bringing Arya to new heights, her body experiencing a high she never knew it could achieve. She fell asleep in his arms, exhausted, spent and throbbing, listening to the sound of his hot blood firing through his veins. When the pale light of morning peeked through the cracked blinds of her dilapidated apartment, Arya blinked slowly, a smile still on her face.

  Dante had plagued her dreams, his eyes boring into hers, just as they had in her wakeful hours.

  “I have to go,” he told her. “But I’ll be back soon.”

  “You better,” she murmured.

  And when she opened her eyes fully, she realized that it had not been a dream, and that she lay alone in her bed.

  Dante was gone.

  She tried to remember anything he may have said but it was still hazy, her mind still caught in the fog of eroticism from the night before.

  He’ll be back, Arya told herself, rising to greet the day with coffee. She was surprisingly worse for wear, considering how little she had drunk, but a smile touched her lips as she remembered the vigorous sexual exercises Dante had put her through.

  But as the coffee pot emptied again, and the sun rose on the filthy streets of South Park, a dark, ominous cloud rolled through her mind, blotting the sun’s rays from casting the weakest flicker of hope that Dante was coming back.

  By nightfall, the actual storm had rolled in, dumping rain onto the soggy dumpsters below and Arya was concerned, her natural cynicism returning. The truth was a bitter pill to swallow, but she was a big girl, even if, apparently, she had been caught up in the charms of an immortal player.

  He was a demon, after all, devious and untrustworthy. Whatever connection she had felt had only been one sided, she guessed.

  She felt like a fool, but Arya Ambrose was not one to lay down and cry about her losses. She would move on her with life, pretending that the chance encounter never existed, even though she secretly wondered about Dante and what he had done after he left her place.

  Maybe something terrible happened to him. Maybe he tried to call her, but he didn’t know her number. Her mind spun through possibilities, all the while, never facing the most likely possibility of all.

  He could find you. He knows where you live for Hades sake. And he’s richer than Hades too, so even if he couldn’t come to you, he could have sent someone.

  Her mind finally accepted the sad fact, but her body still mourned the loss of him, the twinges of soreness she felt throughout that day and the next constantly reminding her of how she had been played for a fool – by a master.

  Finally, after a week, the anger came. She was rip-roaring mad that he had the nerve to treat her that way! And to plaster on all those promises and endearments too! He hadn’t needed to do that, so the fact that he had just made her realize that he was probably laughing his demon hot ass off at her expense. What a colossal asshat, she thought. I’ve got a good mind to tell him that too. And I’ll be the one to laugh in his face, to show him that I don’t care, I never really did.

  And with that thought in mind, she got dressed in her classiest white silk sundress that made her mane of soft red waves positively pop, put four inch stilettos on her dainty feet, and ubered her way over to his office tower.

  Good thing I did this while I’m still angrier than hell, she thought to herself as she peered way up at the imposing expanse of the mirrored high rise.

  She regally entered the building, gliding right over to the receptionist who peered at her with a bit of hesitation, Arya’s determined stance obviously giving the girls a heads up about what she wanted.

  “I’d like to see Dantalion, please,” she demanded.

  The secretary looked at her closely, trying to weigh the possible options in her head.

  “Do you have an appointment?” she asked, obviously trying out the easiest option to get rid of her first.

  “No, but he will want to see me,” she lied.

  Slowly, the receptionist picked up the phone and dialed a single number. She brought the phone to her ear, and hesitantly asked if Dante would want to see Arya. Then she thanked the person on the other end of the line and replaced the receiver into it’s cradle.

  She did all this without making eye contact with Arya. Possibly because she just knew she was about to have an argument on her hands. Finally, she looked at Arya and sat up a little straighter, seeming to decide that she best get this over with.

  Arya didn’t exactly like intimidating people, but if she could use that to her advantage, then in this case, she would. She’d just say an extra prayer to her gods later to make up for it, she decided.

  “He, um, isn’t seeing anyone today,” she mumbled, struggling to maintain eye contact. “Maybe you can come back next week?”

  Arya gritted her teeth, trying to remember that it was not this poor girl’s fault that Dante was a complete ass.

  “Try him again, please,” she ordered. “Now.”

  The girl’s eyes widened at the command. “But… I can’t! They said no, and I can’t – “

  “He’s too busy to see anyone, or just me?” Arya demanded, suddenly needing to know the answer to that specific question.

  The poor receptionist’s face fell even further, but then suddenly, her eyes perked up as if she had just thought of a way out of this. If Arya hadn’t been so angry, maybe her senses would have alerted her to that little tell.

  “Um, sorry to say this, Miss… but, he um, doesn’t want to see you.”

  The humiliation hit her first, and then a wave a anger so strong, her body almost vibrated with it.

  “Fine. Tell him he can go pound sand for all I care.”

  And she whirled around, stalking from the building with her head held high.

  Never again. Never again will I speak to him, or of him, she vowed.

  Work consumed her days, her friends distracted her at night.

  No one besides Cerce ever knew about the demon who had inspired an unbridled passion inside her, and then an unparalleled fury, and slowly Arya felt less…just, less. Life went on as it was supposed to, Dante mostly forgotten; or at least Arya had convinced herself of such.

  Until the day he kind of reappeared – in another form.

  As her body changed, Arya knew then that she would never be free of him, no matter how much the thought enraged her.

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  Bestselling author Chloe Fischer with help from Jacey Ward…

 

 

 
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