Demon Kissed - Katie May Page 0,15

He’s sin and sex personified. Ironic, considering that he claims to be a freaking demon. I wouldn’t believe that by looking at him. Everything about him—from his elegant facial features, to his lush lips, to his muscular body—seems to be hewn from heavenly grace…or whatever they use up there to make angels.

One thing is certain—Zolroth is bad for my soul. And my ovaries, but we’re not going to talk about that.

The class begins to whisper amongst themselves, staring up at me with amusement, and I realize I’m standing in the front of the room with my mouth hanging open. Mr. White clears his throat and quirks a brow in my direction.

“Miss Colt, are you alright?” he questions, and the class breaks into laughter, basking in my embarrassment. Zolroth continues to smile at me blindingly from his seat in the back.

I can’t help but notice William sitting near the front of the classroom. Unlike the others, he’s watching me with concern instead of amusement, and somehow, that soothes my ravaged emotions.

“I…um…” I desperately volley my gaze between Mr. White, the lone empty seat, and Zolroth. The only empty chair in the room is right next to him. Is he stalking me? That’s the only logical explanation. Surely, he’s not actually a high school student. No one can possibly believe that shit, can they?

High school guys are awkward and rude and gangly. There’s nothing gangly about Zolroth. He’s got this posh sophistication, like he’s one of those twenty-five-year-old actors that movies hire to play teenagers. But Mr. White doesn’t give him a second glance. The teacher’s hard eyes are only on me.

“Take a seat.” Mr. White’s tone brooks no room for argument. With only slight trepidation, I hurry down the aisle, my head ducked to avoid the leering and amused stares from my classmates.

I make sure to sit as far away from Zolroth as possible. Did the desks get closer together? Or am I imagining things?

And why, pray tell me, is he staring at me with that gorgeous, damning smile?

“Stop it,” I hiss, fire entering my cheeks at his attention. I tell myself it’s because he’s a psycho stalker, and not because he’s sex-on-a-stick. Definitely not the latter. Because he broke into my house!

At this point, I’m practically three-quarters off of the seat in my futile attempt to escape him. I’m afraid I’ll blow away completely like dandelion fluff, scattered and shattered by one puff from his lips.

“It’s nice to see you again, Katrina.” His tone is as smooth as honey, and is that…? Is that an accent? There’s a distinct lilt to his vowels that I haven’t noticed before.

Do demons even have accents?

And why the fuck am I thinking like that? He’s not a demon, just a deranged, psychotic man who apparently now goes to my school.

“Don’t talk to me.” I resist the urge to bare my teeth at him like a feral dog. I’m not gonna lie, I’m freaking the fuck out. Like, fetal-position and crying for a momma who wishes I died at birth type of freaking out. My heart is trying to tap dance its way through my ribs, and my palms are so sweaty that I’m afraid to wipe them on my skirt because I think they’ll leave marks.

“Roth!” Mr. White’s strident voice captures my stalker’s attention. I can’t help but notice that Zolroth’s face twitches at the shortened version of his name. Oh…he hates it. That’s good to know. From now on, I shall only call him Roth. Or just call the cops on him. That works too.

“Yes, Mr. White?” he inquires politely, clasping his hands together on top of his desk like some sort of stupidly sexy teacher’s pet. When he moves, the thick muscles in his arms ripple, and I swear all of the girls—and even some of the boys—swoon in tandem.

Me? I don’t swoon. Ever. Except for that one time when I saw William in a Speedo in gym class. I’ll be the first to admit that I totally swooned at that visual.

“Can you start the reading on page two hundred and eighty-three, please?” Our teacher nods towards the standard AP World History textbook.

Zolroth smiles, a decidedly predatory and psycho smile, and nods.

“Of course.” Flipping to the designated page, he begins to read, his smoky voice curling around me like a tightening leash. Why does his voice have to sound so…so…sexy? Like drinking bourbon on a warm summer day, the liquid sliding down your throat. And yes, I do drink, thank you very