Speak of the Demon by Stacia Stark

8

Danica

Iwas lying on the softest pillow I’d felt in my life. It held a scent that almost made me purr in pleasure, and I nestled deeper, filling my nose with cedar and citrus.

The pillow cupped my cheek like a lover, supporting my head and neck in all the right ways, while the cool touch of silk urged me to go back to sleep. It was that thought that made my eyes fly open. My pillow was old, lumpy, and I kept forgetting to replace it. And my pillowcase sure as hell wasn’t silk.

I rolled and let out a strangled sound. My side ached from hip to ribs, as if I was bruised deep inside, and I panted as I slowly rolled onto my back.

My eyes met liquid silver and my breath hitched in my throat. This was Samael’s bed.

There was another pillow next to me and I grabbed it, panting some more as I shoved it beneath my head so I could sit up slightly. We stared at each other in silence.

“How long have I been sleeping for?”

“Sleeping is an interesting term for it. It’s Friday morning.”

Dread warred with panic in my stomach. I’d gone to the demon woman’s apartment on Tuesday morning. I’d lost three days. Oh god.

“I have a cat,” I choked out. Samael tilted his head.

“Bael handled it.”

I wrestled with that for a long moment. Samael had known I had a cat, and one of his demons had strolled into my territory, likely sliding past the ward I’d paid far too much money for.

But at least Lia was okay. Me? I’d just lost three days. Three days I desperately needed.

Samael watched me silently panic. Maybe he’d give me an extra three days to add onto my two weeks. I opened my mouth, snapping it closed as the demon tossed something in the air and caught it. I went very still.

The Mistilteinn Dagger. Better known as the Dagger of Truth. Samael’s dagger.

I was going to have to give it a better name, I thought distantly as I watched the demon. Maybe “DOT” for short? Something cute like “Misty”?’

My heart was flipping as fast as the dagger Samael was throwing through the air. I cleared my throat. “Um.”

He caught the dagger and turned his gaze to my face. I shivered. My knives were within reach, but it would take me a second to get to them. And I was injured. I was betting Samael could kill me before I could even arm myself.

He tilted his head as if reading my mind. “You saved my second’s life, which is why I won’t kill you for this.”

Well that was kind of him. Something dark stirred deep within me. Something that didn’t take kindly to his death threats. I frowned as I shoved it back down behind my shields where it belonged.

“In fact,” he continued, “since I like the idea of you being able to tell exactly who is lying during the course of this investigation, you may borrow it. But you owe me.” His stare hardened. “Say it.”

“I owe you.” My voice was hoarse, but triumph burned into his eyes as the vow slid into place. My hand burned and I cursed, turning it over. A black slash appeared on my inner wrist, our new bond made visible. It was now impossible to use this hand without flashing a demon mark— both sides showcasing my stupidity.

The demon was tying me to him in all kinds of ways.

That thought was enough for me to struggle to sit up further. I hissed out a breath and the demon watched me, his face blank.

“You could help me, you know,” I snapped, and his eyes glittered.

“Why would I do that?”

“So I can get back on my feet and get out of here?”

He waved the hand holding my dagger. “You have no need to do that. You’re staying here now. Where I can keep an eye on you.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Yes, it almost was.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. He narrowed his back. His scary look was better than mine. So I backed off. Let him think he’d won.

Mom had always told me that there were some people you couldn’t argue with. Not because they were right, but because they were in positions of authority. That meant that you had to be sneaky.

Samael’s lush lips curled in the hint of a smile. My every atom stood at attention. He glanced at the nightstand next to the bed, and my pile of weapons.

“Butterfly knives?” he asked mildly, and I squinted my eyes at him.

“They look cool, and if I pull them out and twirl them around, most would-be muggers decide they have something they need to do elsewhere.”

He gave me an absent nod at that and leaned closer. The scent of him engulfed me and a tiny part of my brain urged me to close my eyes and simply bask in it. “Did you enjoy fooling me the night you stole this dagger?”

I met his gaze, my fight or flight instinct failing me as I froze. “What do you mean?”

“Oh I remember you, little witch. It took me some time to match your scent, but discovering my dagger helped me connect the dots.”

I couldn’t have him connecting too many of those dots. Other people had helped me get my hands on that dagger. “How’s Agaliarept?” I blurted out, and his expression went blank once more.

“It remains to be seen. You saved his life.”

I shook my head. My magic hadn’t worked. Even the few sparks I had didn’t help me against the beast.

“Tell me,” the demon purred, “who put the suppression spell on your magic and why?”

I gaped at him, and the shock was enough to startle me out of whatever lustful thoughts I’d been having about the arrogant, bossy bastard sprawled in the armchair in front of me.

Well, almost.

“What are you talking about?”

His gaze burned into mine but I was too confused to be afraid. A suppression spell? No one would bother suppressing my magic. It was a trickle at best.

He’d gotten it wrong. I scowled. I felt like shit. I was grateful to whoever had healed me, but there was always a price to healing spells. I’d lost three days in my search to find whoever was killing Samael’s demons, and now I’d be weak and groggy for the next day or so. I scowled at the demon, entirely pissed off.

“I don’t have time for this,” I said, and Samael leaned close. That tiny move radiated threat, and if I wasn’t so panicked about the clock ticking down on my freedom, I might’ve worried about it. Instead, I swung my legs out of his bed.

Those sweatpants weren’t mine. I pushed away the thought of someone dressing me while I was unconscious, and instead focused on not puking over Samael’s gorgeous hardwood floor.

“I suggest you make time, little witch.”

He placed one finger against my chest and nudged me, and that was all it took for me to sprawl back onto the bed.

I grunted, my side burning at the sudden movement. “What the hell, Samael?” I scowled up at the demon as he leaned over me and he pushed my hair back from my face. His hand was warm— almost hot, his fingers rough with calluses. A tiny part of me wondered what those fingers would feel like elsewhere on my body.

“Who suppressed your magic?”

I blinked, my mind still blank at his proximity. Amusement flashed through his silver eyes as he waited for me to pull myself together.

“What are you thinking about?” he purred.

Exactly when did I begin having dirty thoughts about the demon? This was not okay. It must have something to do with being weak and healing from the attack. Witches did not lust after demons.

“I’m thinking that you’re wrong.”

“My witch found a suppression spell when she examined you.”

I breathed through the fury at the thought of another witch leaning over my unconscious body and focused on what he was saying. “No one would suppress my magic.”

“Oh, but they did.”

I attempted to come to terms with that while he leaned on one elbow, his eyes on my face. I’d never heard of anyone having a suppression spell on their magic before. Other than witches who’d, you know, murdered a bunch of other people. “Okay. Say your witch is right. Why would someone suppress my magic? And how do I get it lifted?”

He raised one eyebrow. “My sources say you don’t often use your magic.”

“I don’t. I prefer not to think about it. But if I’d been able to use it against the hellhound, Agaliarept wouldn’t have been hurt.”

Tuesday was also the closest I’d ever come to dying. I was used to being able to go up against almost anything and come out swinging. I wouldn’t admit it to the demon, but my close brush with death had shaken me to my core.

Beneath my smart mouth was a healthy survival instinct. If my magic could protect me, I’d use it.

“I’m unsure how to lift it,” Samael said. “From the way you created that ward, you may have already begun breaking through it. Spells as powerful as a suppression spell should be renewed, especially when containing a magic as strong as yours.”

“I can’t set wards,” I said automatically. Who was the witch he was talking about, and why was she working for the demons? Or maybe it wasn’t voluntarily. “Why is a witch working for you?”

“Of course you can,” Samael said, ignoring my question, and I ground my teeth.

“I can’t set wards. I can only break them,” I ground out. “I have to pay the witches for the wards on my apartment. Much sneering and whispering ensues. Believe me, if I could do it myself, I would.”

“I know the taste of your magic, little witch. The ward was yours. Something about the attack allowed you to access enough power to set it.”

My mind raced as I considered this. On one hand, if I no longer needed to hire a witch to set my own wards, I’d be spared the humiliation and gossip. On the other hand, it was scary how much I didn’t know about my own magic.

“Think,” Samael said. “How did you set the ward?”

“If that ward was mine, it was instinctive— my magic has usually been instinctive. I don’t know how I did it.”

He nodded. “Children have instinctive magic,” he said, not unkindly, but I felt my face heat anyway. “I will give you ward lessons myself.”

I felt my eyes widen. More time spent with the demon who currently held my leash? I don’t think so. “I’m good, thanks.”

His smile said I was being particularly adorable, and my hands clenched into fists.

The demon leaned so close he was inches away. His gaze dropped to my mouth before returning to my eyes. “You will attend these lessons for as long as I believe they are necessary.” He stroked one finger down my forearm in clear admiration of the gold design.

I glowered at him. “Why do you even care?”

“You’re my tool,” he told me. “I don’t like when my tools are broken before I’m finished using them.”

“That’s real nice.”

He raised one eyebrow and I scowled.

“Will you get off now?”

Amusement gleamed within his eyes and my scowl deepened. “Get off me.”

The amusement disappeared and I shivered at the expression on his face. That warning look told me exactly how he felt about taking orders from a witch.

“What did the demons want?” his tone made it clear I was going nowhere until he allowed me to.

“The knife we found at the last scene,” I pushed against his chest. “Where is it?” The thought of losing my only lead made my stomach clench.

“On the table with the rest of your weapons,” he said. “Tell me everything you remember.”

I sighed and relaxed back into the soft bed. The sooner I cooperated, the sooner I could go home, so I filled him in, up until the hellhound collapsed. “I heard a voice,” I frowned. “I don’t think the demons attacked on their own.”

“You’re correct. Lesser demons wouldn’t dare attempt to harm my people unless they were summoned and ordered to do exactly that. Tell me about the voice.”

I glanced away. I’d just pretend the huge demon wasn’t lying on top of me, that’s what I’d do. “I thought it was male at first, but the laugh… it was female.” I huffed. “I couldn’t place it, and I didn’t see its owner. But I’d know if I heard it again. Whoever that voice belongs to… they practically radiated power.”

Samael climbed off me, and I pushed up on my hands. “If they had that much power, why didn’t they attack us themselves?” I mused.

“They likely thought the demons would kill you and deliver the knife. They were wrong. So they decided to get the job done themselves, risking my wrath.”

“You didn’t see them either?”

“My attention was otherwise occupied.”

I shivered at the memory of Agaliarept’s choked breaths. “Agaliarept is your second. Why did he…”

“Succumb to an attack by lesser demons? His current weakness is his own business. Rest. I will have someone bring you food.”

He strode out the door and I positioned myself until I was leaning against the pillows once more. I let my gaze explore. Was this… Samael’s room? That would explain the scent of sin wafting from his sheets and pillow. If anyone had asked me what his bedroom would look like, I would’ve told them it would be unrelenting black. Black walls, black carpet, black sheets, black on black on black.

I would’ve been wrong. Oh it was dark. The furniture— including the bed— was a gleaming mahogany, while crimson drapes were held back by gleaming gold ropes. A lush, black rug covered the hardwood floor in front of the fire, and I itched to spend a rainy day reading on the dark chocolate-colored sofa positioned invitingly near the empty fireplace.

The light-colored walls were interrupted with sweeping windows on one side and sliding doors on another. They were currently closed, but offered access to a private balcony.

And I needed to get out of here. I had a job to do, and if someone was after the knife, it was even more important that I get it analyzed. I wasn’t risking being bound to a demon for the rest of my life just because I felt a little weak.

Okay, I felt very weak. So weak that the thought of getting out of bed was one of the worst thoughts I’d had all month. But if I was going to sneak out of here, now was my chance. Samael wouldn’t be expecting me to try to leave until after I was fed.

My stomach rumbled and I sighed. Food sounded good, but you know what sounded even better? Not living life as an indentured demon servant. It took me a few tries to find my feet, and my head spun around me.

I glanced around until I found my clothes. No luck. I was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt and I peeked down the neck of the t-shirt. My own bra. Excellent.

My head whirled and I reached out to steady myself on the armchair Samael had been sitting in as I hunted for my boots. They were tucked under the bedside table, and I took one look at them and froze.

The last time I’d seen my boots, they’d been covered in hellhound blood, and I’d already begun to mourn the loss of them. They’d served me well, and while I’d planned to attempt to scrub the gore off them, they’d never be the same.

Except, they were.

I could never call them pristine— they were too old for that. But they looked better than they had on Tuesday morning when I’d pulled them on. Not only were they spotless, but someone had replaced the frayed laces and polished the leather until it gleamed.

I sat on the bed as I pulled them on. I didn’t know quite what to make of the gesture, so I shoved it down to think about it later and gathered up the rest of my weapons.

I slid the knife I’d found at the crime scene into the sheath in my right boot. I wasn’t planning to make myself a target by carrying it around Durham, and the sooner I could hand it off to an expert to analyze it, the better. Ignoring the way my muscles trembled, I strode toward the door, cracking it until I could see down the hall. Empty. I had no idea which floor I was on, so I peeked out the window.

My stomach swam dizzily, reminding me of how much blood I’d lost, and how little food I’d eaten. This was the penthouse. The stairs weren’t an option unless I wanted to be found in a humiliating heap on the floor, and if I attempted to slip into the elevator, Samael would likely be immediately notified. He’d ordered me to stay put.

Without warning, panic climbed up my throat, choking me. I leaned over, heaving, and forced myself to count my breaths. The gold mark taunted me as I fought back the nausea.

I couldn’t stay here. Wouldn’t. This couldn’t be my life. I still had eight days left. Eight days to regain my freedom.

In the wild, animals will chew off their own paws to escape a trap. As I stared at my arm, I understood exactly why.

Unfortunately, even if losing an arm could free me, the mark was just a representation of the bond, and not the bond itself. I blinked back tears, and it was the burning in my eyes that shocked me back to myself. I wasn’t this person. I was just tired. I’d figure this out. I used the palms of my hands to wipe away the wetness and forced myself to focus.

Hello sweet thief, the Mistilteinn Dagger purred in my head and I jumped. The demon blood. Oh shit.

“You’re uh… alive?”

I see all. Occasionally, when I have been fed blood, I do more than see.

That explained a lot. When I’d first found the dagger, it had urged me to feed it. Then, it’d helped me hide from the dragon.

If I’d been terrified before, this fear went soul-deep. Stealing the dagger and waking it up had been one of the worst things I’d ever done. It had burrowed deep into the heart of me, rifled through my memories, and finally decided I was worthy enough to take it from Samael’s horde.

I took a deep breath and blew it out. Then another. If the dagger was already awake, and if it had hidden me once before…

“Can you help me get out of here?”

I remember the witch’s look-away spell.

“You can use it again?”

Feed me.

“No way. I already fed you plenty of hellhound blood the other day.” And even my desperation wouldn’t allow me to feed my blood to something this old and dangerous. Again.

You’re no fun.

I shivered at that. The dagger had been given to Samael centuries ago, and he’d held onto it, with no need to use it… as far as I knew. I had a sinking suspicion that the dagger’s new fondness for modern-day colloquialisms was due to the way it had rifled through my memories six months ago.

Awesome.

“If you help me, we’ll go see a witch,” I cajoled. “Otherwise, we’ll be staying in this boring room until the demon allows us to be free.” And how that thought burned.

Very well.

The dull pop told me the spell had taken effect, and I gathered up the rest of my things and opened the door again.

I walked out into Samael’s huge living room. It was as impeccably decorated as his bedroom, but the living room was done in shades of gray, with a mammoth stone fireplace as the focal point. The U-shaped sectional could comfortably seat at least eighteen people, and the TV was massive. Did Samael have friends up here? Did he spend time watching the game on that sofa?

Four doors led off the living room, but I continued walking until I got to the one that seemed the most likely to lead me to freedom. I cracked the door open and peered out.

A woman was walking down the hall, a tray in her hands, and the scent made my stomach rumble.

“Shit.” I closed the door, stumbled dizzily across the room, and back into the bedroom. The next door I opened led to an enormous bathroom. I darted into the bathroom just in time.

“Food,” the woman sang out, and I leaned against the door. Torture. This was torture.

“I’m going to rinse off,” I called back. “Would you mind just leaving the tray?”

“Of course, dear.”

The bathroom was bigger than my entire apartment. Along one wall, a huge tub stretched, with enough room for a group of six. A spacious, multi-headed shower occupied the opposite wall, and I cast it a longing look as the woman delivering the food bustled around the room. As soon as I heard the door click behind her, I abandoned the bathroom and marched over to the tray.

Steak. Potatoes. Green beans. It was the early hours of the morning, but demons didn’t exactly operate on a 9-5 schedule.

I breathed out a curse and cut off a little of each, stuffing it in my mouth. As much as I wanted to wolf down the food, I had no idea how long the spell would keep me invisible.

I stalked over to the bed, tucked Samael’s pillow beneath my arm, and prepared to sneak out of the demon’s lair.