Neon Blue by E Frost (best book reader .TXT) 📗

not want to threaten him. Not if I don’t have to. Because I have no idea what he’s capable of. “It just makes me feel better.”

The leer disappears and he gives me a very narrow and unfriendly look, which makes me shiver. “If I decided to come at you now, that wouldn’t make a fucking bit of difference.”

He says it with utter confidence, and although all demons are liars, I don’t think he’s lying about this. He could probably kill me without even thinking too hard about it. That he hasn’t yet both relieves and terrifies me.

I nod shakily.

“Keep it out, then. It might come in handy. Here.” He reaches down the front of his pants. My eyes widen and my hand on the churi shakes.

When he withdraws his hand, he’s holding a thick roll of papers. Where did they come from? His pants are much too tight to have concealed those. He unrolls the papers across my desk and maneuvers the stack around with two fingers so it’s facing me.

Puzzled, I peer at it. A warm, musky, leather scent rises off the papers. More than I wanted to know about how what’s down his pants smells, really.

I scan the first paragraph, reading aloud, “This Agreement dated blank, between one, Tsara Elizabeth Faa, hereinafter ‘the Seller’ and two, the Princes and Overlords of the Innumerate Legions of Darkness, hereinafter ‘the Buyer’—” I break off and glare at him. “What is this?”

His leer is back. His canines look very sharp, even if he isn’t a vampire. “Paperwork.”

I shove it back across the desk at him. “Go to Hell.”

“Been there.” The demon flicks his fingers and my business card appears between them again. Didn’t he just incinerate it? “And when I go back, I’m planning on takin’ you with me. Or part of you, at least.”

Now I raise the churi. He can take that as any kind of threat he wants. “Fuck you. I’m not selling you my soul. I’m not letting you take me to Hell. You might as well bring it now and we’ll see what piece of you I can take with me.”

The demon tips his head back and roars with laughter.

Asshole. I hate it when scary creatures find me amusing.

When the demon’s laughter dies down to a chuckle, he says, “You’re feisty. I like that. You could be sexy, too, if you took that shit out of your hair and dressed in somethin’ other than a sack.”

My hand rises to my hair of its own volition. Touch the black cherry-streaked strands. “There’s nothing wrong with my hair. And you can talk!” I glare at his brilliant red dreadlocks, which are pulled back today with a leather thong.

The demon laughs again, then surges to his feet. I step back, into the small space between my desk and the window. Another step and I’ll be pressed against the glass. Nowhere to go. I think about bolting for my hearth room, but the idea of losing a foot-race to the door with the demon keeps me immobile.

The demon leans over my desk and breathes on me.

I expect power to hit me in a wash. Fire licking over my skin. Something.

But there’s nothing. Just a warm brush of air, and a faint, spicy scent. Like ginger or cinnamon.

“Better,” says the demon. He sits back down, leather pants creaking. He brushes the papers he’s put on my desk with two long fingers, and they disappear in a puff of flame. “If you won’t enlist, I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.”

I’m trembling all over. Flushed with adrenaline from the attack I expected that didn’t happen. Shakily, I reach for my desk chair, sink into it. “Just leave me alone.”

My relatives’ suggestion of a substitute is beginning to have some appeal.

“Sorry, sweet meat. You got enough power to light up three levels of Hell, even if you don’t know how to use it. When I go, you are comin’ with me. One way or another.”

I curl into myself. Try to control how hard I’m shaking. “I’m not damned.” Nothing I’ve done has been that bad. There may be shadows on my soul, but I’m not lost. “You can’t make me sign.” I don’t know much about demons, but I know that. They can’t force you to do anything against your will. “So we’re at an impasse.” I give in to idea of a substitute, even though it makes me feel filthy. “Why don’t you find someone else to torture?”

He stretches. Tilts his crotch at me obscenely. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll catch some other fish while I’m here. But they’re just appetizers. You’re the entrée. I haven’t felt power like yours since John-fucking-Dee.”

He’s lying. Trying to flatter me. Because he’s a demon. I shiver. “Go fish, then. I’m busy.” And scared and sick and hurting.

“Sure.” He shrugs; the leer broadens. “Gimme your address and I’ll head out.”

“My what?”

“Where you live,” the demon clarifies.

“I know what an address is! Why do you need it?”

The demon shrugs. “You got somewhere else in mind?”

I stand, and control a scream only through titanic effort. “For what?”

“For me to rack. I had a long night, cleaning up your shit. Figured I’d sleep at your place for a couple of hours. Then I need to hit the mall. This is all I could find that fit in the dead bitch’s closet.” He fingers his black tee, and as he does so, I see a thin leather thong strung around his neck. Something small and white hangs from the middle of the cord.

My tooth. He’s wearing my goddamned tooth. No wonder he found me.

“You are deeply nuts if you think I’m inviting you into my house.”

He tilts his head to the side, watches me with those gleaming eyes. “What was that? ‘Cause you know, witchy-poo, you can tell me—”

Or I can take it out of your head.

I shudder. “Stay out.”

His leer stretches so wide he looks like a shark. Too late. My blood’s runnin’ through your veins. Gives me