again.
“Xan? Where’s your mask gone?” And then she realized something she should have noticed immediately—he hadn’t been wearing one. No mask. She narrowed her eyes. “Answer me.”
He shook his head, as though trying to clear it, but there was no hiding the fact that his golden skin was much paler than normal. His eyes flashed ebony again. Donna tried to pull herself free, but his arms held her with unfamiliar cruelty. She couldn’t get away, even with her own strength, and it was pissing her off.
And then Alexander Grayson’s face began to fade.
His flesh rippled and glowed. In fact, his entire body was momentarily surrounded by an aura of crimson light, making him look as though someone had doused him in blood. It now seemed he had been wearing a “mask” all along—Xan’s features were sliding down his face, leaving behind the Demon King’s harsh beauty.
“Ah,” Demian said, “and we were having such a lovely time.” He smiled, and his lips looked perfect and kissable.
Donna swallowed hard, dragging her gaze away from his mouth. “Let go of me. Now. I’ll scream, and I’m sure you don’t want to make a fuss in front of all your important guests.”
“Important?” The king of the demons laughed. “They are nothing to me.”
He kept his left arm around her waist, and with the other he swept an arc across the entire dance floor.
Everyone disappeared.
Seven
Donna stumbled, only staying upright thanks to Demian’s grip. She was about to try freeing herself again when she realized what he’d done.
“You moved us, didn’t you? Everyone else is still at the ball.”
“Yes.” He released her, taking her by surprise, and placed both palms gently on either side of her face. “You look like a queen tonight, Donna Underwood.”
Donna shook her head and stepped back, ducking away from his surprisingly gentle hands. He smelled of cold stone. “Stop it,” she said. “Take us back.”
The demon folded his hands behind his back, and Donna watched a slow smile spread across his face. Demian appeared to enjoy her gaze on him, lifting his chin and basking in it as though it was his right. She had never denied that he was gorgeous—even otherworldly in his beauty—but that didn’t mean she could be swept off her feet by him.
It’s all illusion, Donna reminded herself, yet again. None of it’s real. He probably had horns and a freaking tail when he was just hanging out in Hell. Thinking about that helped her to hold the pieces of herself together, tightly. Fiercely. She looked around, taking in their surroundings for the first time since Demian had transported them … here.
Wherever “here” was.
They were in what could only be described as a very high-class waiting room—like something that you’d find in the most expensive kind of lawyer’s office. Minimalist décor, lots of white, geometrically designed furniture that definitely hadn’t come from IKEA, potted plants, and glass tables polished to within an inch of their lives. If they had lives, of course.
Donna swallowed her fear. She tried to find the whisper of first matter deep inside her, but there was something about their surroundings that made her feel dizzy. Disoriented. She was also fighting the crushing disappointment that Demian had played her for a fool. Of course, Xan wasn’t here at all. He never had been, and that realization was like a sharp knife to the gut.
That part made her more angry than afraid, so she grabbed hold of the feeling to anchor herself.
“Nice waiting room. Do we have an appointment with someone?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips to hide how much they were shaking.
The demon smiled indulgently. “This is Halfway. You’re seeing whatever your human mind conjures up. It’s different for everybody.”
“Halfway? We’re … between realms?”
He shrugged, and Donna couldn’t help noticing that even his clothes had changed. “Xan’s” tailored gray suit had been replaced by a black velvet jacket and slim-fitting black pants. Demian’s smart black shoes shone brightly enough to reflect the spotlights embedded in the ivory ceiling. But he’d been wearing white when she’d first seen him up on that dais in the ballroom.
His silver hair rested on his jacket collar, and his cheekbones were so defined she imagined she might cut herself if she dared to touch his face.
Which she had no intention of doing. Donna bit the inside of her cheek, trying to focus. The only reason she felt like this at all was because of his power. It was sick and twisted; something that he could use