Hell's Belle - Eve Newton Page 0,3

I wanted to make sure you carved out the time later.”

“Fine,” he huffs.

“Shax,” I bark at him. “It’s important. You know how much I need to find it. Find him.” I look down, the feeling of guilt overwhelming me. I shove it aside as I have no place for guilt. Not even for this, but it keeps popping up like an irritating Hell-pit fly.

“I do, but our mother was very explicit. She said you had to wait a year and it’s only been six months.”

“I don’t care,” I hiss at him. “He did this for me, and it worked. Now, it’s time to bring him back.”

He gives me that mild look that crosses his face whenever my temper zings up a notch or two. I don’t scare him. I can’t hurt him. Even if I could, I wouldn’t. I take a deep breath and count to three, then give him a bright smile.

He rolls his eyes at me. “Therapy in practice?” he asks with a smirk.

“Yes,” I say steadily. “And I’m late for it, so promise me, you’ll meet me in the dungeon later.”

“Much later,” he replies with a yawn and flops back to the bed.

He is asleep within seconds.

“Great,” I mutter and head out to my appointment, over half an hour late.

3

Annabelle

“Hey, Doctor Gregory,” I purr, leaning in the doorway of his open office, hand on my hip.

“Just Gregory is fine, Annabelle,” he clips out in that British accent that kinda makes my panties melt a little. “You’re late.”

“Spank me?” I ask wickedly.

“Sit,” he says, ignoring me and pointing to the chair opposite him.

I huff at him. He is the only male that is somehow resistant to my charms. It makes me want him even more. He is hot, in a nerdy kind of way. Light blond hair, cut a bit longer than would look cool, blue eyes behind glasses that are shrewd, yet somehow disinterested at the same time. He is taller than me, which is not hard as I’m only five feet one, but not Demon tall. Maybe five, ten or eleven.

I sit, doing as I’m told like a good little Hell Queen. I lean back, crossing my legs, showing him a large amount of thigh before my black leather skirt starts and my pussy is just about covered.

He doesn’t look.

“Are you gay?” I ask him bluntly.

“Are you?” he asks back blandly.

“Nope, not gay. I mean I’d do a female if she got me off real good but wouldn’t go looking for it. I like cock.”

“Hmm,” he mutters and writes something down in his notepad.

I tap my fingers. I know I had Shax bring this human down to Hell so that he could be my therapist, help me with my anger issues and teach me how to control my temper so that I come across as a cool-headed leader and not a spoiled brat. I think I’m doing okay. Although, he has never told me that I am, so this is something that I’ve assumed about myself. He’s been here for two months now, living in Hell as a human. He’d adapted quite quickly after an initial meltdown. Must be that rational, scientific brain of his.

Problem is, he wants me to initiate conversation and I have no idea what to say to him. I don’t want to come across all whiny and shit, nor do I want to scare the living daylights out of him by rambling on about torture and how much fun it is. He is a hard nut to crack and that is less fun.

“Soo…” I drawl.

“So?” he repeats.

“Do you think I’m hot?” I ask him.

He searches my eyes for a moment. “Do you want me to think that you’re hot?”

“Fuck’s sake!” I snap at him. “Why do you always answer with a question?”

“This is about you, not me. Do you require an honest answer, or do you want me to prop up your ego?”

“Honest,” I mumble. I have a feeling I’m about to get shade thrown at me in a big way.

“I find your features interesting,” he starts, but it is not a compliment. He is evaluating me like some kind of asset. “Your attire is too revealing, there is no need for such overtness. Your make-up is too heavy, and your hair is too long.”

“Oh,” I say, feeling a blush rise up my overly made up cheeks. Who needs enemies to insult you when you have a therapist to do it? It pisses me off. “Who are you to decide anyway?” I