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Synopsis
A hot-headed witch and a lovable bad-boy demon add up to a scorching enemies-to-lovers tale, in the latest spicy paranormal romance from instant New York Times bestselling author Aurora Ascher.
They can run from their demons . . .
The jokester of the demon brothers, Meph wears his grin like armor and uses humor as a mask. But lately, his composure has been slipping, especially around her. Iris. The blue-haired witch with a vicious temperament. Something about her soothes the darkness within him . . . but he’s not looking for a savior. There’s no such thing for someone like him.
But they can’t hide forever . . .
Bitter and haunted by her traumatic past, Iris Donovan isn’t keen on welcoming demons into her life—even if they’re her sister’s friends. Especially not teasing, tattooed, Meph, with his red eyes and devilish smile. After a toxic relationship, she’s sworn off commitment, and she’s not looking for another Mr. Damaged. Yet she can’t stop craving what she shouldn’t want.
To conquer this monster . . . they must tame it together.
With the return of a deadly enemy, the pain they’ve been suppressing is exposed, and Meph and Iris can no longer deny their feelings. Before Meph is swallowed by his darkness, Iris must overcome her fears and embrace that terrible part of him . . .
Or lose him forever.
Release date: July 29, 2025
Publisher: Kensington Books
Print pages: 368
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Demon with Benefits
Aurora Ascher
STANDING IN THE CORNER WITH A DRINK IN HER HAND, Iris Donovan debated the logistics of ghosting her own birthday party.
Maybe if she skirted around the edge of the room, she could make it to the door without anyone noticing. Or maybe she could stride purposefully there, and if anyone asked, she’d say she was going to grab more booze from the depanneur. The minute she got through the door, she wouldn’t stop running until she made it home. Alone and sober.
“Wipe that scowl off your face,” a female voice hissed in her ear.
She swung around to find that her best friend had snuck up behind her.
“I’m not scowling,” Iris replied.
“You look like you’re either plotting murder or you caught a whiff of something foul.” Suyin considered this a second. “Or both.”
“I don’t—”
“Ooh. No. Better yet, you already plotted the murder and carried it out. And now you’re smelling the rotting bodies, and it’s grossing you out.”
Iris grimaced. “Okay, I get it. I’m scowling.”
She couldn’t help it. This whole night was putting her on edge. She was standing in a room crowded with predators and prey. And the prey were oblivious to the danger they were in.
But her twin sister had begged for her new “friends” to come, and Iris hadn’t been able to deny her. How could she? For years, what was supposed to be their shared birthday celebration had always just been about Iris.
Every year, shy, quiet Lily would find a way to sneak away from the festivities, and no one would notice. Even Iris wouldn’t notice, too caught up in her raucous friends and whatever loudmouthed douchebag she was dating at the time, and it made her hate herself a little.
How the turn tables . . . or tables turn. Whatever.
Because this year, Iris was the one scoping out the smoothest path to the exit, while her sister was surrounded by company like a regular social butterfly.
Sure, Iris’s usual rowdy crowd was here, but Lily had her own crowd now too. And if Iris had thought she hung out with unsavory people, well . . . Lily’s new besties made them look like honor-roll students.
After all, they were demons.
Actual demons. Hell’s dropouts, notorious fiends whose tales of destruction had been passed down through the ages. And somehow Lily fit right in with them. Because they were supposedly “good” now.
Iris had been literally dragged to Hell and back before she’d been willing to accept that there was such a thing as reformed demons, but she still struggled with the idea. How could she not after what had happened to her parents?
She and Lily were witches, and witches who enjoyed living did not mess with anything from the underworld. Yet tonight, as Iris looked around the room, half of her coven were rubbing elbows with demons, and they were completely unaware of it. The whole thing stressed her out.
“So?” Suyin asked. “What’s your deal? You’ve barely said two words all night.”
“I’m fine.”
Obviously unconvinced, Suyin scanned the room as if searching for the cause of Iris’s troubles. Her eyes traveled over to Lily, who was laughing about something, blond hair tumbling in silky waves past her shoulders. She was wearing the lowest-cut top Iris had ever seen on her, and damn, her boobs looked amazing.
Her demon obviously thought so too. One arm around her, Mist was staring down at her like she was the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.
“Is it Lily’s boyfriend? You don’t trust him?” Suyin’s lips pinched together. “Yeah, I wouldn’t either. He’s way too good looking.”
Iris felt a surge of defensiveness on Lily’s behalf. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked. “You don’t think Lily could land a good-looking bloke?”
Lily had always been self-conscious about her weight, and Iris had spent most of their lives convincing her she was perfect as she was. She meant it too. Iris’s body type ran more along the lines of “praying mantis,” and she’d always been a little jealous of Lily’s voluptuous curves. The grass was always greener, as they said.
Suyin scoffed. “No. Have you seen her? That girl’s got assets. I just mean, men that gorgeous aren’t to be trusted. It’s a fact of life. Tell me you’ve learned this by now.”
Iris took a swig of the drink she’d just realized was still in her hand and grimaced. She’d been holding it so long, the beer was flat and room temperature. “Oh, I’ve learned it. I’ve learned it so many times, I ought to get it tattooed across my frickin’ forehead.”
Suyin chuckled. “Because you always seem to forget again as soon as you meet the next hot asshole, am I right?”
Iris grinned and elbowed her friend. “What’s with the roast tonight, bitch? It’s my birthday. Give me a break.”
Suyin just laughed at her. She wasn’t known for her empathy.
Iris tried one more sip of the stale beer, nearly gagged, and then gave up and set the drink on the table beside her.
Lily’s friends, Eva and Asmodeus—or “Ash,” as she’d been careful to call him tonight—had volunteered to host the party in their apartment since the wards on Iris’s and Lily’s respective places would light up the second the demons walked in the door, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out how that would go down in a room full of witches. Ash wasn’t concerned about having witches in his home because, apparently, they weren’t a “real threat.” Iris had taken offense to that, but for Lily’s sake, she kept her mouth shut.
Ash and Eva’s open-concept flat was the perfect space for a party. Their grand piano had been covered by a protective cloth and rolled to the side to make a dance floor, and colorful LED bulbs replaced the regular ones in the lamps. Eva had set up her DJ booth on a table in the far corner, and heavy house beats were currently pumping at high volume. Apparently, the old brick building was well insulated, and Eva had assured them it wouldn’t bother the neighbors.
It was possibly the coolest house party Iris had ever been to, and she’d been to a lot. But it still couldn’t fix her sour mood.
“So what’s the deal with them?” Suyin asked, eyes still on Lily and Mist. “How did they meet? And where did he find his friends, is what I want to know, because damn. I’ve never seen a better-looking group of men in my life.”
Iris grimaced. This was exactly why she hadn’t wanted to have this stupid party. If Suyin knew who those “friends” really were, well . . . flirting would be the last thing on her mind.
Suyin was the leader of the Montreal coven and a badass blood-born witch. She had no idea Lily’s friends were demons, and Iris couldn’t tell her either. There was no way Suyin would believe the whole “there are good demons” thing. Iris hated keeping secrets from her best friend, but in this case, it was necessary.
“And who’s the fuckboy with the tats?” Suyin asked.
Iris cleared her throat. “Who?”
“Who?” Suyin scoffed. “Yeah, right. You’ve been eyeballing him all night.”
Iris sputtered. “I have not—And how do you know he’s a fuckboy?”
“Look at him. He’s a fuckboy.”
Iris did look. She’d been looking all night, in fact, just as Suyin had said. If she was honest with herself, he was the real reason for the scowl on her face.
But god, he was fine. Just the way his baggy T-shirt clung to his bulky shoulders turned her on. The pristine Jordans on his feet, sweatpants bunched behind the tongues, turned her on. And when he dragged his tattooed fingers through his short black hair and his forearm flexed, all the dark designs on his skin flexing with it . . . well, that sure as hell turned her on too.
The tats went up his neck, under his hairline, and bled over onto the left side of his face under his eye and over his eyebrow. He had rings in his lower lip, the center of his nose, and up the sides of his ears.
He was insanely, unspeakably hot. He made all Iris’s previous boyfriends look like trolls compared to his godlike hotness.
He was also a demon. A motherfucking, goddamn demon. D-E-M-O-N.
He wasn’t just any old demon either. Mephistopheles was one of the most infamous, feared creatures of Hell, if the legends were anything to go by. So what if he and his brothers had escaped the underworld because they didn’t want to be evil anymore? It didn’t change what he was, and it certainly didn’t make him a good person.
If Iris’s previous boyfriends had been jerks, well, they had nothing on him. Meph was the king of jerks. Duke of the douchebags. Father of all fuckboys. There were so many red flags flying around him, he might as well have been marching in a Canada Day parade.
Iris had learned her lesson about assholes, and she knew better than to fall for the false charms of a creature from Hell. He may have been hot, but she wasn’t touching him with a ten-foot pole.
“So, who is he?”
“Toxic,” she replied darkly. “He’s toxic, and I’m staying the hell away from him.”
“Tell that to your ovaries,” Suyin retorted, and Iris snorted derisively.
This damn party was going to be the death of her. Since she and Lily had rescued Mist from Hell six months ago, Iris had done everything in her power to avoid Meph and his demon brothers. Accepting their presence in her life felt too much like a betrayal to the memory of her parents, who had given their lives to protect her and Lily from their kind.
Iris also wasn’t ready to face her recent feelings of inadequacy, brought about by Lily’s newfound connection with her magic. Her sister, who’d rejected everything about who she was for years, had suddenly become twice the witch that Iris was, when Iris had been the one studying relentlessly since childhood.
And what did she have to show for it? Nothing except crippling self-doubt and a gaping hole in her chest where her sense of purpose had once lived.
So, no, she wasn’t in the mood to party.
With one last glare at the fuckboy, whose red eyes were crinkled up in the corners as a huge grin stretched across his face, she turned her back on him and said to Suyin, “I’m going outside for a smoke.”
“I thought you quit.”
“Not tonight.”
Suyin cocked a sculpted dark eyebrow.
“Whatever. Don’t look at me like that.”
The humor bled from her expression. “You sure you’re okay, Ris?”
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
“At your own birthday party?”
“Yeah.”
“Right.”
“Stop giving me that look. Seriously, I’m fine. I’m just going out to smoke.”
“You want company?”
“Nah. I’ll be right back.”
“Well, I’m going to talk to the fuckboy if you won’t.”
“He’s all yours.”
Iris’s lip curled as the words nearly stuck in her throat. Slipping away from Suyin, she kept her eyes fixed ahead to avoid catching anyone’s gaze and being drawn into conversation.
With her own friends. At her own birthday party.
“Hey, Ris!” someone called, but she pretended she didn’t hear them and sped up toward the balcony door like her salvation lay on the other side. She didn’t let out the breath she’d been holding until she was safely outdoors, the hum of the party muted through the glass.
She stuffed her hands into her hoodie pocket and cursed. She didn’t even have any damn cigarettes. She hadn’t bought any because she told herself she was quitting—again. She’d told herself she wasn’t going to keep feeding her shitty habits and watching herself spiral further down the drain.
“Fuck my life,” she said aloud.
Damn it, it was bloody freezing out here. It was mid-February, and they were right in the middle of a cold snap. One did not go outside without a coat in Montreal winter.
Yet Iris was doing just that for no other reason than the fact that she didn’t want to socialize. All her life, friends had been her outlet, her safe space, her distraction. And now, here she was.
Deliberately alone, and somehow, still feeling lonely.
Meph elbowed his brother in the side because he knew it would annoy him. “How many phones have you jacked so far?”
Sure enough, Raum shot him one of his classic murderous glares, his bright-gold eyes narrowed dangerously. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”
Raum was a bit of a klepto, and Meph knew a house party full of drunk humans would be too much of a temptation to resist.
“Your pockets are looking pretty heavy there. Mind if I just reach in and see what’s—”
Raum punched him in the arm hard enough that his hand went numb.
“Fuck, dude!” Meph cradled his wounded limb. “Take it easy.”
“Be nice, Raum,” Lily said offhandedly. Mist loomed beside her, and the two of them were watching Eva and Ash, who were behind the DJ table playing with the gear.
Eva was teaching Ash how to DJ, and he’d nearly train-wrecked the last transition. Meph had booed loudly and earned himself a punch in the ribs. He was going to have a whole collection of bruises before this night was done.
Raum and Ash were sharing Meph-punching duty tonight, since Belial had opted to stay home at their apartment on the level above. Their brother Mount Everest might not pass for a human at a witch party—considering he was seven feet tall and prone to bursting into flames—and tonight was all about blending in. Poor bastard could probably hear the music through the floor, but it was for the best.
“Yeah, Raum. Be nice.” Meph’s grin broadened. “Or should I say Roman.” He cackled, remembering Iris’s earlier lecture about how they had to use fake names so they didn’t out themselves as demons—or else.
Raum’s lip curled. “Call me that again.”
Meph opened his mouth.
“You be nice too, Meph,” Lily said.
While Eva had learned to just watch the brothers’ constant bickering from the sidelines, maybe with a bowl of popcorn in hand, Lily had taken on the role of peacekeeper. She was constantly trying to make them apologize or stop threatening one another. Positive results were still forthcoming.
Meph felt more than a little proud of himself about the whole Mist and Lily thing, considering he’d been the one to convince Mist to go after her in the first place. He’d even waited in a park as backup while they had their first date.
A first date that had gone horribly wrong, but still. Look at them now. They were the cutest. All happy smiles and adoring looks. Almost as gross as Ash and Eva.
The whole relationship thing gave Meph the willies. Holding himself accountable to his brothers was bad enough. He was constantly pissing them off, and the last thing he needed was to have a woman giving him those same disapproving looks, even if it meant he got laid on the regular.
He got laid on the regular anyway. And he did it all without having to commit to anything except giving a couple orgasms before he grabbed his clothes and ran like the building was on fire.
Well . . . he had gotten laid on the regular.
Classic Meph, that was. Escape from Hell, finally finding the freedom he’d always longed for, and then, less than a year later, develop some kind of post-traumatic psychological hang-up that meant he couldn’t enjoy himself.
Any kind of intimate physical contact made him panicky. His palms would sweat and shake, and he’d have trouble breathing. Embarrassing.
The smile on his face, residual from laughing at Raum, suddenly felt forced. His cheeks hurt from it, it was so fake, so he just let it drop. For once in his damn life, he stopped fucking grinning.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
Eager for the excuse to look away—he could feel Raum’s perceptive gaze on him—he pulled it out. It was a text from Jacqui, Eva’s mom and his kinda-mom. Okay, so she hadn’t actually told him to call her Mom, but he liked to pretend she had. He’d never had a mom. He wanted to try out the word in his head.
He read Jacqui’s text. The final piece is ready! I’m dying to take the mold off, but there’s no way I’m doing it without you. You’d better get your butt over here fast.
A picture of the mold he’d made for his latest sculpture popped up on the screen below the text. He’d been waiting for the resin cast inside to dry. Shit, he wanted to go right now. He could sneak upstairs, use the hellgate in his room, and be there in seconds.
He glanced around. Would anyone even notice if he left? Raum was looking right at him with a frown. Damn it, yeah, his illustrious presence would totally be missed at this bust of a party.
Still, he was pretty sure he’d be able to sneak off for a couple minutes without the vibe totally dying. Lily was talking to Mist, and Raum was still staring blankly at him.
“I’m going outside to make a call,” Meph told him.
“To Jacqui?”
Meph just looked at him, not affirming or denying the statement, which he knew was as good as an affirmation, but whatever. Nobody knew about his secret obsession with sculpture. Raum probably had his suspicions, but Meph hadn’t acknowledged them. It was his dirty little secret.
A demon making art. What a fucking joke.
But he couldn’t seem to stop himself, and Jacqui wasn’t helping either, always texting him shit and showing him what she was working on. Always encouraging him to just “pop by” and try some new medium until he’d gotten hooked.
Again: a fucking joke.
“You talk to her a lot,” Raum said.
“So?”
“Are you fucking her?”
Meph recoiled. “No! She’s Eva’s mom. She’s my—” Okay, nope, he wasn’t saying that out loud. That was for his own, sad little brain only.
“She’s your what?”
“Nothing.”
“So why are you always hanging out with her?”
“None of your business. I’ll be back in a minute.” He fled as quickly as he could without actually running.
“Hey,” some faceless female said, stepping into his path.
He dodged her like a running back on his way to score a touchdown. He didn’t even look at her, and he certainly didn’t let her touch him.
He whipped open the balcony door and slammed it behind him like he’d just escaped a murderer, taking gulps of the freezing-cold air like he hadn’t breathed in hours, and—
Came face to face with Lily’s twin.
Iris’s lip curled at the sight of him. “What are you doing here?”
She said it like he had a disease. Like he was the nastiest motherfucker on planet Earth. Hell, he probably was.
He made a face. “What are you doing, birthday girl? Where’s your coat? Why are you standing out here freezing your tits off?”
“Could say the same to you,” she snapped.
Iris really hated his guts. It was weird. He might have said it was because he was a demon—which would be fair enough considering one had killed her parents—except she didn’t hate his brothers, and she was even nice to Mist most of the time.
But Meph always got the stink eye. The glare of murderous intent.
“I don’t have tits,” he replied blandly.
She rolled her eyes.
Damn, though, she was hot. He was just pathetic enough to be attracted to her even though she despised him.
Her hair was blue. Vivid, brilliant blue. The blackwork flower tattoo on the left of her chest peeked out above the neck of her hoodie, and her green eyes were lined with dark makeup, giving her this tough-bitch look that was fine as hell. She had a septum piercing like he did and more stuff in her ears. He appreciated a female with good taste, he really did.
“Of course you had to stalk me out here,” she sneered. “You seem to thrive on pissing me off.”
“You’re not that special, sweetness. I came out here to make a phone call, and it was sheer bad luck that I ran into you.”
“You can’t call people inside?”
What is this? An interrogation? He started to lose his cool a bit. The little witch really knew how to get under his skin. “I can make calls wherever the hell I want. Why are you always such a bitch to me anyway? What’d I ever do to you?”
“Okay, first off, never call a woman a bitch.” She jabbed a finger at him.
“But what if she is one?” He was deliberately provoking her, wanting to push her into losing her temper for a reason he didn’t fully understand.
“I don’t give a shit. Don’t do it. And second, stop with the pet names. The next time you call me one, I will kick you in the balls.”
Okay, that crossed a line. No one threatened his balls.
He leaned into her, crowding her space and staring her down nice and hard. He allowed the tiniest bit of his deranged demon form to bleed into his eyes, letting it out of its cage the most he could. Just enough that he knew the red color would start to glow.
He wanted to remind her what he was.
She shrank back, her eyes widening and her nostrils flaring. Smug triumph filled him.
But then, as quickly as her fear responses appeared, they disappeared. Her eyes narrowed to slits, filled to the brim with loathing, and she got right up in his face.
“You want to act like a tough boy, then go for it,” she snapped, “but it doesn’t change what you really are. You’re a shallow piece of shit with no substance or personality. Your stupid jokes are just a distraction to keep people from catching a glimpse of your sad, miserable life. You can keep lying to yourself about that, but don’t expect me to play along. Find someone else to feed your steaming pile of bullshit to because I’m not buying it. Kindly leave me the fuck alone.”
With that, she spun and stalked back inside, slamming the door behind her.
Meph stared through the glass, watching her blue head disappear into the crowd. She sure knew how to make an exit.
He pulled his phone back out of his pocket and stared at it. Suddenly, he didn’t feel like talking anymore, not even to Jacqui.
He forced himself to write a text. Stoked. I’ll come by first thing tomorrow, so make some extra coffee for me.
Her reply came instantly.
You got it. I can’t wait to see the sculpture! I already know it’s going to be incredible. :)
Yeah, he was a fucking joke.
THERE WAS ANOTHER VOICEMAIL FROM ANTOINE ON HER phone the following morning.
Iris sat in the kitchen of her second-floor apartment and listened to the message—“Can we talk? Please, Iris, just call me back”—sipping coffee and soaking up the sliver of sun passing through the window. It was snowing outside, and the flakes caught the sunlight like diamonds on their lazy drift downward.
After breaking up with Antoine, Iris had decided she was going to stay single until she managed to sort her life out and break her pattern of chasing toxic men. All that shitstorm of a relationship had taught her was the meaning of the word “dysfunctional.”
She’d tried parting the nice way, and he hadn’t gotten the message. She’d tried telling him to eat shit and die, but that hadn’t worked either. Now, six months later, she was ignoring him completely, and he still wasn’t taking the hint.
It was nice to know she was such hot shit, but seriously. The bloke needed to piss off already.
On that note . . . She deleted the voicemail, pulled up Antoine’s number in her contacts, and blocked it. The sense of relief was instantaneous, and she set the phone down with a soothing exhalation. Shoulda done that ages ago. If only all of her problems could be solved so easily.
You’re a shallow piece of shit with no substance or personality.
Her fingers tightened around her mug as the tension returned to her shoulders.
Last night, she’d come back inside after tearing Meph a new one, and no matter how hard she tried, she hadn’t been able to get in the socializing mood. It felt like she was viewing everything through a glass bowl over her head, maybe from one of those old-school diving getups that could probably double as a space suit. The sounds were muffled, the people distorted around the edges, her smile forced, her laughter fake.
And then she’d pulled a Lily.
She’d snuck out of her own party and gone home. She’d been in her bed, trying to sleep, by one o’clock, which was practically the start of most good parties in this city. She’d lain awake staring at the ceiling, replaying that stupid conversation in her head and wishing she’d never opened her mouth.
The phone rang, offering a welcome intrusion since it couldn’t be Antoine calling now. Sure enough, her twin’s name popped up on the screen.
“Lils. What’s up?”
“You’re awake.”
“It’s almost ten. Why are you surprised?”
“You never get up early, and last night was a late one.”
For you, maybe. Iris was relieved Lily hadn’t noticed her absence. The last thing she felt like doing was explaining herself.
“Why’d you call then?” She stroked the black fur of her cat, who chose that moment to leap onto her lap. A rare occurrence. Grimalkin was notoriously antisocial and rarely granted such privileges.
“Bel’s cooking breakfast. Eva and Ash are here too. You should come.”
Iris narrowed her eyes. “Eva and Ash live downstairs.”
“So?”
“So, you’re practically roomies with them, and I’m a ten-minute walk away. Why invite me?”
“Because you’re my sister, and it’s our birthday? What other reason do I need?”
Fair point. But Iris was no more in the mood for socializing now than she’d been last night. Especially not with demons. And especially not with Meph.
But, damn it, maybe she ought to go because of him. Not because she wanted to see him, but to determine how he would act after their little altercation. It was purely for Lily’s sake, of course—Iris had promised her twin she’d make an effort to get along.
Her lip curled. She’d rather eat rocks than deal with this crap first thing in the morning.
Grimalkin chose that moment to start making a cat nest on her thighs with his claws. “Ow, Grim!” she hissed as he punctured her in ten different places. He leapt off and stalked haughtily away.
“So are you coming?” Lily asked.
“Fine, whatever. I’ll come.”
“Yay!”
“Yay,” Iris repeated blandly.
“Damn, that looks pretty cool.” Meph stared at the resin cast he was carefully extracting from the mold.
He had created the mold by covering the original clay model with silicone and then surrounding it with solid plaster. When the materials hardened, he’d removed the plaster, carefully peeled the silicone open, and set the clay aside. To make the cast, he had painted resin onto the inside of the silicone and added fiberglass for strength. When the resin hardened, the process was complete.
The full sculpture was done in pieces and then attached at the end, and today Meph was extracting the head and neck—the final and most important part of the piece. He was kind of stoked.
Okay, he was super stoked. This shit got his blood pumping like nothing else. He’d never felt anything like it, and honestly, it scared him a little.
“It really does,” Jacqui agreed from beside him, wiping her hands on a paint-stained apron. Her thin dreadlocks were twisted into a bun on top of her head, and an almost-reverent smile adorned her face—kind of funny considering what they were looking at. But then, Jacqui was an artist. She got off on weird stuff.
The sculpture was fucked up. Meph had discovered he was twisted (not a big surprise, considering his background) because every time he tried to make art, freaky shit came out of him.
He’d been a little disturbed by his first sculpture—a guy beating himself with his own severed arm—but Jacqui had been thrilled, telling him over and over it was a masterpiece, he was gifted, blah, blah, blah. He’d brushed her off, but inwardly, he’d eaten up her praise like an elixir for his hungry, black soul.
This particular piece was no exception to his depravity. He was calling it Flayed Alive because it was a life-size sculpture of a man on his knees with his arms bound behind him, spine arching and contorted, head thrown back as he screamed in agony.
Oh, and he had no skin.
That had been Meph’s big achievement with the original clay figure. He had painstakingly shaped every tendon and muscle as if it were one of those models doctors used to study the human body.
Only this guy wasn’t skinless because he was some deceased fucker who’d donated his body to science. This guy was skinless because somebody had peeled it off him, piece by piece. Hence the agonized screaming—’cause that shit hurt.
Together, Meph and Jacqui carefully maneuvered the final piece of the sculpture and peeled the remaining silicone off, revealing the man’s face, his suffering carved into every hollow of his sunken features. Meph got the creeps just looking at it.
“It’s gorgeous,” Jacqui breathed as if she was looking at the gates of Heaven themselves. “Absolutely incredible.”
“Yeah, it’s all right,” he said lamely, but the truth was, he was feeling kind of emotional.
Weird, he knew, to get choked up at the sight of this freaky, demented thing. But it was his freaky, demented thing. It was his own “unique, personal expression,” as Jacqui would say.
Whenever he made some critical comment about how his art was too dark, she would scold him, telling him to never be ashamed and to. . .
Maybe if she skirted around the edge of the room, she could make it to the door without anyone noticing. Or maybe she could stride purposefully there, and if anyone asked, she’d say she was going to grab more booze from the depanneur. The minute she got through the door, she wouldn’t stop running until she made it home. Alone and sober.
“Wipe that scowl off your face,” a female voice hissed in her ear.
She swung around to find that her best friend had snuck up behind her.
“I’m not scowling,” Iris replied.
“You look like you’re either plotting murder or you caught a whiff of something foul.” Suyin considered this a second. “Or both.”
“I don’t—”
“Ooh. No. Better yet, you already plotted the murder and carried it out. And now you’re smelling the rotting bodies, and it’s grossing you out.”
Iris grimaced. “Okay, I get it. I’m scowling.”
She couldn’t help it. This whole night was putting her on edge. She was standing in a room crowded with predators and prey. And the prey were oblivious to the danger they were in.
But her twin sister had begged for her new “friends” to come, and Iris hadn’t been able to deny her. How could she? For years, what was supposed to be their shared birthday celebration had always just been about Iris.
Every year, shy, quiet Lily would find a way to sneak away from the festivities, and no one would notice. Even Iris wouldn’t notice, too caught up in her raucous friends and whatever loudmouthed douchebag she was dating at the time, and it made her hate herself a little.
How the turn tables . . . or tables turn. Whatever.
Because this year, Iris was the one scoping out the smoothest path to the exit, while her sister was surrounded by company like a regular social butterfly.
Sure, Iris’s usual rowdy crowd was here, but Lily had her own crowd now too. And if Iris had thought she hung out with unsavory people, well . . . Lily’s new besties made them look like honor-roll students.
After all, they were demons.
Actual demons. Hell’s dropouts, notorious fiends whose tales of destruction had been passed down through the ages. And somehow Lily fit right in with them. Because they were supposedly “good” now.
Iris had been literally dragged to Hell and back before she’d been willing to accept that there was such a thing as reformed demons, but she still struggled with the idea. How could she not after what had happened to her parents?
She and Lily were witches, and witches who enjoyed living did not mess with anything from the underworld. Yet tonight, as Iris looked around the room, half of her coven were rubbing elbows with demons, and they were completely unaware of it. The whole thing stressed her out.
“So?” Suyin asked. “What’s your deal? You’ve barely said two words all night.”
“I’m fine.”
Obviously unconvinced, Suyin scanned the room as if searching for the cause of Iris’s troubles. Her eyes traveled over to Lily, who was laughing about something, blond hair tumbling in silky waves past her shoulders. She was wearing the lowest-cut top Iris had ever seen on her, and damn, her boobs looked amazing.
Her demon obviously thought so too. One arm around her, Mist was staring down at her like she was the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.
“Is it Lily’s boyfriend? You don’t trust him?” Suyin’s lips pinched together. “Yeah, I wouldn’t either. He’s way too good looking.”
Iris felt a surge of defensiveness on Lily’s behalf. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked. “You don’t think Lily could land a good-looking bloke?”
Lily had always been self-conscious about her weight, and Iris had spent most of their lives convincing her she was perfect as she was. She meant it too. Iris’s body type ran more along the lines of “praying mantis,” and she’d always been a little jealous of Lily’s voluptuous curves. The grass was always greener, as they said.
Suyin scoffed. “No. Have you seen her? That girl’s got assets. I just mean, men that gorgeous aren’t to be trusted. It’s a fact of life. Tell me you’ve learned this by now.”
Iris took a swig of the drink she’d just realized was still in her hand and grimaced. She’d been holding it so long, the beer was flat and room temperature. “Oh, I’ve learned it. I’ve learned it so many times, I ought to get it tattooed across my frickin’ forehead.”
Suyin chuckled. “Because you always seem to forget again as soon as you meet the next hot asshole, am I right?”
Iris grinned and elbowed her friend. “What’s with the roast tonight, bitch? It’s my birthday. Give me a break.”
Suyin just laughed at her. She wasn’t known for her empathy.
Iris tried one more sip of the stale beer, nearly gagged, and then gave up and set the drink on the table beside her.
Lily’s friends, Eva and Asmodeus—or “Ash,” as she’d been careful to call him tonight—had volunteered to host the party in their apartment since the wards on Iris’s and Lily’s respective places would light up the second the demons walked in the door, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out how that would go down in a room full of witches. Ash wasn’t concerned about having witches in his home because, apparently, they weren’t a “real threat.” Iris had taken offense to that, but for Lily’s sake, she kept her mouth shut.
Ash and Eva’s open-concept flat was the perfect space for a party. Their grand piano had been covered by a protective cloth and rolled to the side to make a dance floor, and colorful LED bulbs replaced the regular ones in the lamps. Eva had set up her DJ booth on a table in the far corner, and heavy house beats were currently pumping at high volume. Apparently, the old brick building was well insulated, and Eva had assured them it wouldn’t bother the neighbors.
It was possibly the coolest house party Iris had ever been to, and she’d been to a lot. But it still couldn’t fix her sour mood.
“So what’s the deal with them?” Suyin asked, eyes still on Lily and Mist. “How did they meet? And where did he find his friends, is what I want to know, because damn. I’ve never seen a better-looking group of men in my life.”
Iris grimaced. This was exactly why she hadn’t wanted to have this stupid party. If Suyin knew who those “friends” really were, well . . . flirting would be the last thing on her mind.
Suyin was the leader of the Montreal coven and a badass blood-born witch. She had no idea Lily’s friends were demons, and Iris couldn’t tell her either. There was no way Suyin would believe the whole “there are good demons” thing. Iris hated keeping secrets from her best friend, but in this case, it was necessary.
“And who’s the fuckboy with the tats?” Suyin asked.
Iris cleared her throat. “Who?”
“Who?” Suyin scoffed. “Yeah, right. You’ve been eyeballing him all night.”
Iris sputtered. “I have not—And how do you know he’s a fuckboy?”
“Look at him. He’s a fuckboy.”
Iris did look. She’d been looking all night, in fact, just as Suyin had said. If she was honest with herself, he was the real reason for the scowl on her face.
But god, he was fine. Just the way his baggy T-shirt clung to his bulky shoulders turned her on. The pristine Jordans on his feet, sweatpants bunched behind the tongues, turned her on. And when he dragged his tattooed fingers through his short black hair and his forearm flexed, all the dark designs on his skin flexing with it . . . well, that sure as hell turned her on too.
The tats went up his neck, under his hairline, and bled over onto the left side of his face under his eye and over his eyebrow. He had rings in his lower lip, the center of his nose, and up the sides of his ears.
He was insanely, unspeakably hot. He made all Iris’s previous boyfriends look like trolls compared to his godlike hotness.
He was also a demon. A motherfucking, goddamn demon. D-E-M-O-N.
He wasn’t just any old demon either. Mephistopheles was one of the most infamous, feared creatures of Hell, if the legends were anything to go by. So what if he and his brothers had escaped the underworld because they didn’t want to be evil anymore? It didn’t change what he was, and it certainly didn’t make him a good person.
If Iris’s previous boyfriends had been jerks, well, they had nothing on him. Meph was the king of jerks. Duke of the douchebags. Father of all fuckboys. There were so many red flags flying around him, he might as well have been marching in a Canada Day parade.
Iris had learned her lesson about assholes, and she knew better than to fall for the false charms of a creature from Hell. He may have been hot, but she wasn’t touching him with a ten-foot pole.
“So, who is he?”
“Toxic,” she replied darkly. “He’s toxic, and I’m staying the hell away from him.”
“Tell that to your ovaries,” Suyin retorted, and Iris snorted derisively.
This damn party was going to be the death of her. Since she and Lily had rescued Mist from Hell six months ago, Iris had done everything in her power to avoid Meph and his demon brothers. Accepting their presence in her life felt too much like a betrayal to the memory of her parents, who had given their lives to protect her and Lily from their kind.
Iris also wasn’t ready to face her recent feelings of inadequacy, brought about by Lily’s newfound connection with her magic. Her sister, who’d rejected everything about who she was for years, had suddenly become twice the witch that Iris was, when Iris had been the one studying relentlessly since childhood.
And what did she have to show for it? Nothing except crippling self-doubt and a gaping hole in her chest where her sense of purpose had once lived.
So, no, she wasn’t in the mood to party.
With one last glare at the fuckboy, whose red eyes were crinkled up in the corners as a huge grin stretched across his face, she turned her back on him and said to Suyin, “I’m going outside for a smoke.”
“I thought you quit.”
“Not tonight.”
Suyin cocked a sculpted dark eyebrow.
“Whatever. Don’t look at me like that.”
The humor bled from her expression. “You sure you’re okay, Ris?”
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
“At your own birthday party?”
“Yeah.”
“Right.”
“Stop giving me that look. Seriously, I’m fine. I’m just going out to smoke.”
“You want company?”
“Nah. I’ll be right back.”
“Well, I’m going to talk to the fuckboy if you won’t.”
“He’s all yours.”
Iris’s lip curled as the words nearly stuck in her throat. Slipping away from Suyin, she kept her eyes fixed ahead to avoid catching anyone’s gaze and being drawn into conversation.
With her own friends. At her own birthday party.
“Hey, Ris!” someone called, but she pretended she didn’t hear them and sped up toward the balcony door like her salvation lay on the other side. She didn’t let out the breath she’d been holding until she was safely outdoors, the hum of the party muted through the glass.
She stuffed her hands into her hoodie pocket and cursed. She didn’t even have any damn cigarettes. She hadn’t bought any because she told herself she was quitting—again. She’d told herself she wasn’t going to keep feeding her shitty habits and watching herself spiral further down the drain.
“Fuck my life,” she said aloud.
Damn it, it was bloody freezing out here. It was mid-February, and they were right in the middle of a cold snap. One did not go outside without a coat in Montreal winter.
Yet Iris was doing just that for no other reason than the fact that she didn’t want to socialize. All her life, friends had been her outlet, her safe space, her distraction. And now, here she was.
Deliberately alone, and somehow, still feeling lonely.
Meph elbowed his brother in the side because he knew it would annoy him. “How many phones have you jacked so far?”
Sure enough, Raum shot him one of his classic murderous glares, his bright-gold eyes narrowed dangerously. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”
Raum was a bit of a klepto, and Meph knew a house party full of drunk humans would be too much of a temptation to resist.
“Your pockets are looking pretty heavy there. Mind if I just reach in and see what’s—”
Raum punched him in the arm hard enough that his hand went numb.
“Fuck, dude!” Meph cradled his wounded limb. “Take it easy.”
“Be nice, Raum,” Lily said offhandedly. Mist loomed beside her, and the two of them were watching Eva and Ash, who were behind the DJ table playing with the gear.
Eva was teaching Ash how to DJ, and he’d nearly train-wrecked the last transition. Meph had booed loudly and earned himself a punch in the ribs. He was going to have a whole collection of bruises before this night was done.
Raum and Ash were sharing Meph-punching duty tonight, since Belial had opted to stay home at their apartment on the level above. Their brother Mount Everest might not pass for a human at a witch party—considering he was seven feet tall and prone to bursting into flames—and tonight was all about blending in. Poor bastard could probably hear the music through the floor, but it was for the best.
“Yeah, Raum. Be nice.” Meph’s grin broadened. “Or should I say Roman.” He cackled, remembering Iris’s earlier lecture about how they had to use fake names so they didn’t out themselves as demons—or else.
Raum’s lip curled. “Call me that again.”
Meph opened his mouth.
“You be nice too, Meph,” Lily said.
While Eva had learned to just watch the brothers’ constant bickering from the sidelines, maybe with a bowl of popcorn in hand, Lily had taken on the role of peacekeeper. She was constantly trying to make them apologize or stop threatening one another. Positive results were still forthcoming.
Meph felt more than a little proud of himself about the whole Mist and Lily thing, considering he’d been the one to convince Mist to go after her in the first place. He’d even waited in a park as backup while they had their first date.
A first date that had gone horribly wrong, but still. Look at them now. They were the cutest. All happy smiles and adoring looks. Almost as gross as Ash and Eva.
The whole relationship thing gave Meph the willies. Holding himself accountable to his brothers was bad enough. He was constantly pissing them off, and the last thing he needed was to have a woman giving him those same disapproving looks, even if it meant he got laid on the regular.
He got laid on the regular anyway. And he did it all without having to commit to anything except giving a couple orgasms before he grabbed his clothes and ran like the building was on fire.
Well . . . he had gotten laid on the regular.
Classic Meph, that was. Escape from Hell, finally finding the freedom he’d always longed for, and then, less than a year later, develop some kind of post-traumatic psychological hang-up that meant he couldn’t enjoy himself.
Any kind of intimate physical contact made him panicky. His palms would sweat and shake, and he’d have trouble breathing. Embarrassing.
The smile on his face, residual from laughing at Raum, suddenly felt forced. His cheeks hurt from it, it was so fake, so he just let it drop. For once in his damn life, he stopped fucking grinning.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
Eager for the excuse to look away—he could feel Raum’s perceptive gaze on him—he pulled it out. It was a text from Jacqui, Eva’s mom and his kinda-mom. Okay, so she hadn’t actually told him to call her Mom, but he liked to pretend she had. He’d never had a mom. He wanted to try out the word in his head.
He read Jacqui’s text. The final piece is ready! I’m dying to take the mold off, but there’s no way I’m doing it without you. You’d better get your butt over here fast.
A picture of the mold he’d made for his latest sculpture popped up on the screen below the text. He’d been waiting for the resin cast inside to dry. Shit, he wanted to go right now. He could sneak upstairs, use the hellgate in his room, and be there in seconds.
He glanced around. Would anyone even notice if he left? Raum was looking right at him with a frown. Damn it, yeah, his illustrious presence would totally be missed at this bust of a party.
Still, he was pretty sure he’d be able to sneak off for a couple minutes without the vibe totally dying. Lily was talking to Mist, and Raum was still staring blankly at him.
“I’m going outside to make a call,” Meph told him.
“To Jacqui?”
Meph just looked at him, not affirming or denying the statement, which he knew was as good as an affirmation, but whatever. Nobody knew about his secret obsession with sculpture. Raum probably had his suspicions, but Meph hadn’t acknowledged them. It was his dirty little secret.
A demon making art. What a fucking joke.
But he couldn’t seem to stop himself, and Jacqui wasn’t helping either, always texting him shit and showing him what she was working on. Always encouraging him to just “pop by” and try some new medium until he’d gotten hooked.
Again: a fucking joke.
“You talk to her a lot,” Raum said.
“So?”
“Are you fucking her?”
Meph recoiled. “No! She’s Eva’s mom. She’s my—” Okay, nope, he wasn’t saying that out loud. That was for his own, sad little brain only.
“She’s your what?”
“Nothing.”
“So why are you always hanging out with her?”
“None of your business. I’ll be back in a minute.” He fled as quickly as he could without actually running.
“Hey,” some faceless female said, stepping into his path.
He dodged her like a running back on his way to score a touchdown. He didn’t even look at her, and he certainly didn’t let her touch him.
He whipped open the balcony door and slammed it behind him like he’d just escaped a murderer, taking gulps of the freezing-cold air like he hadn’t breathed in hours, and—
Came face to face with Lily’s twin.
Iris’s lip curled at the sight of him. “What are you doing here?”
She said it like he had a disease. Like he was the nastiest motherfucker on planet Earth. Hell, he probably was.
He made a face. “What are you doing, birthday girl? Where’s your coat? Why are you standing out here freezing your tits off?”
“Could say the same to you,” she snapped.
Iris really hated his guts. It was weird. He might have said it was because he was a demon—which would be fair enough considering one had killed her parents—except she didn’t hate his brothers, and she was even nice to Mist most of the time.
But Meph always got the stink eye. The glare of murderous intent.
“I don’t have tits,” he replied blandly.
She rolled her eyes.
Damn, though, she was hot. He was just pathetic enough to be attracted to her even though she despised him.
Her hair was blue. Vivid, brilliant blue. The blackwork flower tattoo on the left of her chest peeked out above the neck of her hoodie, and her green eyes were lined with dark makeup, giving her this tough-bitch look that was fine as hell. She had a septum piercing like he did and more stuff in her ears. He appreciated a female with good taste, he really did.
“Of course you had to stalk me out here,” she sneered. “You seem to thrive on pissing me off.”
“You’re not that special, sweetness. I came out here to make a phone call, and it was sheer bad luck that I ran into you.”
“You can’t call people inside?”
What is this? An interrogation? He started to lose his cool a bit. The little witch really knew how to get under his skin. “I can make calls wherever the hell I want. Why are you always such a bitch to me anyway? What’d I ever do to you?”
“Okay, first off, never call a woman a bitch.” She jabbed a finger at him.
“But what if she is one?” He was deliberately provoking her, wanting to push her into losing her temper for a reason he didn’t fully understand.
“I don’t give a shit. Don’t do it. And second, stop with the pet names. The next time you call me one, I will kick you in the balls.”
Okay, that crossed a line. No one threatened his balls.
He leaned into her, crowding her space and staring her down nice and hard. He allowed the tiniest bit of his deranged demon form to bleed into his eyes, letting it out of its cage the most he could. Just enough that he knew the red color would start to glow.
He wanted to remind her what he was.
She shrank back, her eyes widening and her nostrils flaring. Smug triumph filled him.
But then, as quickly as her fear responses appeared, they disappeared. Her eyes narrowed to slits, filled to the brim with loathing, and she got right up in his face.
“You want to act like a tough boy, then go for it,” she snapped, “but it doesn’t change what you really are. You’re a shallow piece of shit with no substance or personality. Your stupid jokes are just a distraction to keep people from catching a glimpse of your sad, miserable life. You can keep lying to yourself about that, but don’t expect me to play along. Find someone else to feed your steaming pile of bullshit to because I’m not buying it. Kindly leave me the fuck alone.”
With that, she spun and stalked back inside, slamming the door behind her.
Meph stared through the glass, watching her blue head disappear into the crowd. She sure knew how to make an exit.
He pulled his phone back out of his pocket and stared at it. Suddenly, he didn’t feel like talking anymore, not even to Jacqui.
He forced himself to write a text. Stoked. I’ll come by first thing tomorrow, so make some extra coffee for me.
Her reply came instantly.
You got it. I can’t wait to see the sculpture! I already know it’s going to be incredible. :)
Yeah, he was a fucking joke.
THERE WAS ANOTHER VOICEMAIL FROM ANTOINE ON HER phone the following morning.
Iris sat in the kitchen of her second-floor apartment and listened to the message—“Can we talk? Please, Iris, just call me back”—sipping coffee and soaking up the sliver of sun passing through the window. It was snowing outside, and the flakes caught the sunlight like diamonds on their lazy drift downward.
After breaking up with Antoine, Iris had decided she was going to stay single until she managed to sort her life out and break her pattern of chasing toxic men. All that shitstorm of a relationship had taught her was the meaning of the word “dysfunctional.”
She’d tried parting the nice way, and he hadn’t gotten the message. She’d tried telling him to eat shit and die, but that hadn’t worked either. Now, six months later, she was ignoring him completely, and he still wasn’t taking the hint.
It was nice to know she was such hot shit, but seriously. The bloke needed to piss off already.
On that note . . . She deleted the voicemail, pulled up Antoine’s number in her contacts, and blocked it. The sense of relief was instantaneous, and she set the phone down with a soothing exhalation. Shoulda done that ages ago. If only all of her problems could be solved so easily.
You’re a shallow piece of shit with no substance or personality.
Her fingers tightened around her mug as the tension returned to her shoulders.
Last night, she’d come back inside after tearing Meph a new one, and no matter how hard she tried, she hadn’t been able to get in the socializing mood. It felt like she was viewing everything through a glass bowl over her head, maybe from one of those old-school diving getups that could probably double as a space suit. The sounds were muffled, the people distorted around the edges, her smile forced, her laughter fake.
And then she’d pulled a Lily.
She’d snuck out of her own party and gone home. She’d been in her bed, trying to sleep, by one o’clock, which was practically the start of most good parties in this city. She’d lain awake staring at the ceiling, replaying that stupid conversation in her head and wishing she’d never opened her mouth.
The phone rang, offering a welcome intrusion since it couldn’t be Antoine calling now. Sure enough, her twin’s name popped up on the screen.
“Lils. What’s up?”
“You’re awake.”
“It’s almost ten. Why are you surprised?”
“You never get up early, and last night was a late one.”
For you, maybe. Iris was relieved Lily hadn’t noticed her absence. The last thing she felt like doing was explaining herself.
“Why’d you call then?” She stroked the black fur of her cat, who chose that moment to leap onto her lap. A rare occurrence. Grimalkin was notoriously antisocial and rarely granted such privileges.
“Bel’s cooking breakfast. Eva and Ash are here too. You should come.”
Iris narrowed her eyes. “Eva and Ash live downstairs.”
“So?”
“So, you’re practically roomies with them, and I’m a ten-minute walk away. Why invite me?”
“Because you’re my sister, and it’s our birthday? What other reason do I need?”
Fair point. But Iris was no more in the mood for socializing now than she’d been last night. Especially not with demons. And especially not with Meph.
But, damn it, maybe she ought to go because of him. Not because she wanted to see him, but to determine how he would act after their little altercation. It was purely for Lily’s sake, of course—Iris had promised her twin she’d make an effort to get along.
Her lip curled. She’d rather eat rocks than deal with this crap first thing in the morning.
Grimalkin chose that moment to start making a cat nest on her thighs with his claws. “Ow, Grim!” she hissed as he punctured her in ten different places. He leapt off and stalked haughtily away.
“So are you coming?” Lily asked.
“Fine, whatever. I’ll come.”
“Yay!”
“Yay,” Iris repeated blandly.
“Damn, that looks pretty cool.” Meph stared at the resin cast he was carefully extracting from the mold.
He had created the mold by covering the original clay model with silicone and then surrounding it with solid plaster. When the materials hardened, he’d removed the plaster, carefully peeled the silicone open, and set the clay aside. To make the cast, he had painted resin onto the inside of the silicone and added fiberglass for strength. When the resin hardened, the process was complete.
The full sculpture was done in pieces and then attached at the end, and today Meph was extracting the head and neck—the final and most important part of the piece. He was kind of stoked.
Okay, he was super stoked. This shit got his blood pumping like nothing else. He’d never felt anything like it, and honestly, it scared him a little.
“It really does,” Jacqui agreed from beside him, wiping her hands on a paint-stained apron. Her thin dreadlocks were twisted into a bun on top of her head, and an almost-reverent smile adorned her face—kind of funny considering what they were looking at. But then, Jacqui was an artist. She got off on weird stuff.
The sculpture was fucked up. Meph had discovered he was twisted (not a big surprise, considering his background) because every time he tried to make art, freaky shit came out of him.
He’d been a little disturbed by his first sculpture—a guy beating himself with his own severed arm—but Jacqui had been thrilled, telling him over and over it was a masterpiece, he was gifted, blah, blah, blah. He’d brushed her off, but inwardly, he’d eaten up her praise like an elixir for his hungry, black soul.
This particular piece was no exception to his depravity. He was calling it Flayed Alive because it was a life-size sculpture of a man on his knees with his arms bound behind him, spine arching and contorted, head thrown back as he screamed in agony.
Oh, and he had no skin.
That had been Meph’s big achievement with the original clay figure. He had painstakingly shaped every tendon and muscle as if it were one of those models doctors used to study the human body.
Only this guy wasn’t skinless because he was some deceased fucker who’d donated his body to science. This guy was skinless because somebody had peeled it off him, piece by piece. Hence the agonized screaming—’cause that shit hurt.
Together, Meph and Jacqui carefully maneuvered the final piece of the sculpture and peeled the remaining silicone off, revealing the man’s face, his suffering carved into every hollow of his sunken features. Meph got the creeps just looking at it.
“It’s gorgeous,” Jacqui breathed as if she was looking at the gates of Heaven themselves. “Absolutely incredible.”
“Yeah, it’s all right,” he said lamely, but the truth was, he was feeling kind of emotional.
Weird, he knew, to get choked up at the sight of this freaky, demented thing. But it was his freaky, demented thing. It was his own “unique, personal expression,” as Jacqui would say.
Whenever he made some critical comment about how his art was too dark, she would scold him, telling him to never be ashamed and to. . .
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Demon with Benefits
Aurora Ascher
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