Read Online devil 02 - tween a devil and his hard place by sam cheever - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: sam cheever
Tags: Romance
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just wasting time here.
His scowl deepened and his gold-ringed gaze was locked on my partner with obvious evil intent. After a moment Emo jumped a bit and his eyes narrowed but the smug smile returned to his face. I figured they must be communicating in the centuries-old fashion of the royals. One part mental conversation and two parts metaphysical dick twisting.
Shaking my head I pushed past Dialle and grabbed Emo’s arm. “Let’s go child. You can wring each other’s nether regions on your own time.”
Dialle’s mouth opened as if to argue when Emo and I brushed past the demon mountain and proceeded toward the lower level but I threw up a hand to cut him off. I need backup down there, Dialle.
I was sure Dialle would understand, as I did from horror-filled personal experience, that the place where the king of the demons held court was extremely dangerous and eminently unpredictable. I’d ventured down there once all by my little self and had been lucky to get out of there with my soul intact. As it was it had taken me some little time to regain my composure and get the stench of evil out of my nose. Suffice it to say I was not looking forward to descending those stone stairs.
A stark sense of déjà vu met me as I started down the rough-hewn steps through impenetrable inky blackness. As before when I’d been forced to descend these stairs, I closed my eyes and threw out my sensing power to find my way to the bottom. Unfortunately my senses slid over several things I wasn’t looking forward to encountering in that subterranean conclave.
I reached out a hand to touch Emo at the same time I nudged his mental drawers. Gargoyles. Several.
He was standing so close behind me I could feel him nodding. I hate gargoyles.
Immense understatement.
A gargoyle had almost taken Emo from me not all that long ago. The event had forced me to reach more deeply into my growing power core to heal him. An unintended consequence of which had been to strengthen the bond between Dialle and me. It had also changed the relationship between Emo and me for all time. And it had scared the shit out of both of us.
We moved off the bottom step cautiously, our senses on high alert and finally opened our eyes. The room was dimly lit and smelled of age and evil things. My heart was doing a rumba under my ribs, apparently voicing its opinion on the situation my mouth and brain had gotten it into. Emo was wearing his discomfort like an additional layer to his aura.
However, the would-be demon king lounged in the center of the cavernous space at complete ease. Sprawled really, in a large, gaudy-looking throne-chair that only a pretender to royalty would think was royal-like. He seemed completely unconcerned by our presence.
Either he wasn’t nearly as cautious of us as we were of him or he was pretty sure his disgusting, slathering minions—in the form of both demons and gargoyles—which were spread around the room, could take care of us before we put any holes or burn marks in his not-so-fair skin.
“Mx. Phelps. At last we meet. I’ve heard many things about you.”
Which of course begged the question, what things had he heard? I moved forward on reluctant legs with a carefully crafted badass look on my face. My attempt at bravado may or may not have had any effect on Alcott. Like his deceased brother his monochromatic features were naturally and unavoidably expressionless. His skin color of choice, however, was the shadow version of Abrine’s. He was solid black to his dead brother’s unchanging white.
The yin and yang of nightmares.
“My partner and I are here as representatives of King Dialle the First.”
The demon king sat up a bit straighter at that pronouncement and his featureless, black face tilted as if in question. I remembered the same gesture from his brother. When one didn’t have visible facial expressions apparently one had to use body language to show surprise.
I waited, knowing what would come next.
“You dare
His scowl deepened and his gold-ringed gaze was locked on my partner with obvious evil intent. After a moment Emo jumped a bit and his eyes narrowed but the smug smile returned to his face. I figured they must be communicating in the centuries-old fashion of the royals. One part mental conversation and two parts metaphysical dick twisting.
Shaking my head I pushed past Dialle and grabbed Emo’s arm. “Let’s go child. You can wring each other’s nether regions on your own time.”
Dialle’s mouth opened as if to argue when Emo and I brushed past the demon mountain and proceeded toward the lower level but I threw up a hand to cut him off. I need backup down there, Dialle.
I was sure Dialle would understand, as I did from horror-filled personal experience, that the place where the king of the demons held court was extremely dangerous and eminently unpredictable. I’d ventured down there once all by my little self and had been lucky to get out of there with my soul intact. As it was it had taken me some little time to regain my composure and get the stench of evil out of my nose. Suffice it to say I was not looking forward to descending those stone stairs.
A stark sense of déjà vu met me as I started down the rough-hewn steps through impenetrable inky blackness. As before when I’d been forced to descend these stairs, I closed my eyes and threw out my sensing power to find my way to the bottom. Unfortunately my senses slid over several things I wasn’t looking forward to encountering in that subterranean conclave.
I reached out a hand to touch Emo at the same time I nudged his mental drawers. Gargoyles. Several.
He was standing so close behind me I could feel him nodding. I hate gargoyles.
Immense understatement.
A gargoyle had almost taken Emo from me not all that long ago. The event had forced me to reach more deeply into my growing power core to heal him. An unintended consequence of which had been to strengthen the bond between Dialle and me. It had also changed the relationship between Emo and me for all time. And it had scared the shit out of both of us.
We moved off the bottom step cautiously, our senses on high alert and finally opened our eyes. The room was dimly lit and smelled of age and evil things. My heart was doing a rumba under my ribs, apparently voicing its opinion on the situation my mouth and brain had gotten it into. Emo was wearing his discomfort like an additional layer to his aura.
However, the would-be demon king lounged in the center of the cavernous space at complete ease. Sprawled really, in a large, gaudy-looking throne-chair that only a pretender to royalty would think was royal-like. He seemed completely unconcerned by our presence.
Either he wasn’t nearly as cautious of us as we were of him or he was pretty sure his disgusting, slathering minions—in the form of both demons and gargoyles—which were spread around the room, could take care of us before we put any holes or burn marks in his not-so-fair skin.
“Mx. Phelps. At last we meet. I’ve heard many things about you.”
Which of course begged the question, what things had he heard? I moved forward on reluctant legs with a carefully crafted badass look on my face. My attempt at bravado may or may not have had any effect on Alcott. Like his deceased brother his monochromatic features were naturally and unavoidably expressionless. His skin color of choice, however, was the shadow version of Abrine’s. He was solid black to his dead brother’s unchanging white.
The yin and yang of nightmares.
“My partner and I are here as representatives of King Dialle the First.”
The demon king sat up a bit straighter at that pronouncement and his featureless, black face tilted as if in question. I remembered the same gesture from his brother. When one didn’t have visible facial expressions apparently one had to use body language to show surprise.
I waited, knowing what would come next.
“You dare
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