Demon Kissed - Katie May Page 0,10

they do.

“Shit, Akor!” Van scolds, coming off the wall and sauntering forward. “Calm down, man!”

My eyes travel back to Akor, who’s breathing heavily, nostrils flaring. “We need…to introduce ourselves. It’s polite.” He looks like a rabid animal, or a bull about to be released from its pen.

“She knows my name,” Van protests.

“USE THE FUCKING ORANGE!” Akor’s yell can probably be heard by the neighbors. Hopefully, Mrs. Johnson. And the police she should have called by now.

I take a step to the side, away from Zolroth. Maybe I can slink out while they fight amongst themselves.

But Zolroth stops me by gently grabbing onto my wrist and then interlacing our fingers. His chocolate lava cake, delicious eyes stare down at me as he says, “Sometimes, it’s best to indulge Akor. I’m Zolroth, I’m four-hundred eighty-seven, and I’m a materialism demon.”

“Darkest secret!” Akor growls.

Zolroth says without a hint of a grin, “I’ve already been through your panty drawer. And I have to say…you need my help.”

My face is a lobster. The screaming-in-the-pot, being boiled alive kind.

“Next!” Akor calls out, before I can even form words.

How do you curse out a psychopathic magician? One with demon delusions? Would he even care?

“Nope, don’t care,” Zolroth whispers in my ear, confirming that I’ve once again spoken my thoughts.

Great.

“And it’s not a delusion,” he adds.

Sure.

“I’ll go next,” Van sighs, running a hand through his reddish-brown hair. “I’m Vangrennoth. Lust demon. I’m three-hundred twenty-eight, and I…” He grimaces and shoots a nasty look in Akor’s direction, but mohawk man only smiles. “I like watching romantic comedies.”

The other guys burst into laughter.

“No fucking way!” Akor holds his sides and laughs like this is the best thing he’s ever heard.

Personally, I think it’s kind of sweet. You know, for a murdering, crime-committing asshole.

“Shut up, dipshit. You go then,” Van growls. His pout juts out his sexy lower lip, and I want to snap a picture on my phone, which is upstairs and currently unable to save me. But damn. Every move he makes is Instagram perfect.

And I’m crazy. Ogling my would-be killer. I tear my eyes from him and force myself to look at someone else so that I can stay focused. Escape. Escape.

“Akor,” the demon with the pale pink-colored mohawk gives me a courtly bow, complete with rolling wrist flicks, “pain demon. Not sure how old. Don’t like to remember those things.” His eyes stab mine, and I realize that they are a beautiful striped blue, Jared Leto-level gorgeous. “My secret is that I wish I was any other kind of demon…because I know I’m the worst of them all.”

You could hear a pin drop after his announcement. The truth of his belief weighs down the room.

Even if he is crazy, the self-loathing is evident. He’s a broken man.

His eyes then flicker to the giant. “Come on, Kastros. Your turn. Go ahead, take your time.”

I glance over at Kastros, who looks like a Hispanic bodybuilder. His golden skin and black hair are backlit by the skylight in our front hall. He has a mustache and a goatee that are cropped close.

He doesn’t open his mouth to speak. He just stares down at me.

Zolroth grabs an orange off the ground and hurls it at Akor, who doesn’t bother to move. The fruit smashes into his chest with a loud thunk, and he just laughs. Manically.

“Apologies, he can be a bit of a blighter.” Zolroth fixes his cufflinks before pointing at the giant. “That’s Kastros. He’s a vengeance demon, so don’t piss him off. He doesn’t have a tongue, got it ripped out in a fight once, so he talks more with his fists than anything.”

Kastros flexes said fists, and I flex my pelvic muscles, trying very hard not to piss myself at the thought of him in a fight. So, he’s the muscle. My eyes flicker between Kastros and Akor, trying to decide who’s most dangerous.

If I have to pick a killer…hopefully Kastros will make it fast. Akor seems like the kind to play with his—

“Will you give it a rest with this killer nonsense?” Zolroth rolls his eyes. “I’ll have you know you have yet to shake my hand, which is rather rude.”

He sticks his hand out again.

I want to laugh at his accusation. Because who broke into whose house? If we’re measuring our rude dicks, his is bigger than mine.

Wait.

Every single one of them snickers.

Fuck my life. I glare at Zolroth, like this is all his fault, and I reach out and squeeze his hand hard. “Katrina.” I