“Deltagates, a frown is not the right accessory to go with this dress,” Lousen teases, but the half smile I try for seems to make her cringe even more.
“Delta,” I remind her. “Just Delta.”
“Well, Justdelta, play the devoted role, and by tomorrow, maybe Tazreel will have forgotten all about you. He doesn’t exactly have the longest attention span,” she tells me, offering me a soft smile and a reassuring arm squeeze.
I take a deep breath and hope, for my sake, that’s true. If I can play my part right, maybe this time tomorrow, I’ll be home. Dismay pools in my stomach, because the thing is, I have no idea what my part is supposed to look like. How the hell am I going to pull whatever this is off?
The guards standing outside my room are apparently my new bodyguards. I feel like a Kardashian as I get escorted downstairs, except instead of them keeping paparazzi and rabid fans away, they’re just making sure I don’t try to run. Which would be nearly impossible right about now even if I did know a way out, because Lousen forced my feet into three-inch heeled horrors, making me wobble with every step.
The last time I was in heels was when I went to senior prom with Tyson Prince. He was on the baseball team, and I was a sucker for those tight pants. But Mr. Prince turned out to be more of a frog, because I found him making out in the limo that I paid forwith Katie Harris.
I punched her in the parking lot and made her cry, and even though I barely hit her, I had to leave prom early. I Facebook stalked her years later and found out that she ended up divorced three times and had too much plastic injected in her face, freezing her into a close replica of the Jack in the Box dude. That made me feel infinitely better. I’m going to go ahead and blame my demon side for that.
At the bottom of the steps, my bodyguarding duo silently takes me down the large corridor, my shoes clicking against the stone floors. As soon as we get to the end and round the corner, I hear voices, laughter, and music filtering in the air.
The closer we get, the more my nerves coil inside of me like knotted ropes. My hands come up in front of me, wringing together, but as soon as I catch myself doing it, I force them to my sides. If the guys were here, they wouldn’t be nervous.
Rafferty would be cool, calm, and collected, modeling for me how easy it is. Crux would be hitting on me and helping me feel relaxed by making me laugh. Echo would make me feel beautiful and promise all kinds of naughty things later. And Jerif would be put-out and say shit that’d get my hackles up, but that would help me, too. I’d be too irritated with him to feel small or intimidated by the demons in that room. I’d be able to shove aside any fear or insecurity and walk in there as my best self. It’s funny that I realize now that’s what each of them do for me. They each bolster me in a different way.
That was their magic. They showed me who I could be. Instead of realizing that and embracing it, I was fighting to hold onto the stuck, scared person I’ve been for too long. Hindsight being twenty-twenty is real, and I’m going to use my newfound clarity to my advantage. I’m going to be who they were trying to help me become.
When we reach a huge set of doors, the noise is at an all-time high. I take a deep, fortifying breath. I can do this.
They’re not here to guide me the way that I wish they were, but I can still carry the things Iceman, Jerif, Crux, and Echo taught me in the short time I knew them. I can still implement those lessons and become the woman that was always there just under the surface.
I walk over the threshold, noting that my guards continue to follow behind me. Inside, the room is huge. It looks like an entire length of a football field, with blood-red columns running parallel to the black walls. The floor is a muted gray, polished until it looks like it could double as a mirror. I’m suddenly very glad that my dress trails long enough past my feet that no one will be able to see up the skirt.
Imps seem to be everywhere, all of them dressed in matching red leather clothes marking them as the servants. They’re carrying trays of food and glasses filled with drinks, and I make a note not to drink anything in case it’s the nasty ass demon spirits that the guys were always downing.
That simple memory sends a knife to my heart. The way that the four of them sat with me in the demon bar, drinking from their cups, and the feel of Iceman’s hand on my back as he escorted me away. I remember their glares on me when they thought I was checking out Flint as he played music. That was the first time all four of them reacted in a way that resembled jealousy.
I know Echo and Crux were interested in me—that much was clear based on the flirting and with what happened on my couch that night, but Iceman and Jerif took me off guard in the best way. That’s probably why I had that sex dream later. My mind had perked right up, thinking of all kinds of naughty possibilities. Possibilities that I’ll never get to test out.
I force myself to swallow back the forlorn emotions, my eyes falling onto Tazreel where he’s standing in the middle of the room. He’s with a group of seven other
