I try to snort right back, but it feels like my brain is tryin’ to come out of my nostrils, and I vow not to do that again. I settle in against Flint. I don’t even mind that he’s holdin’ me in the front seat with him instead of puttin’ me in the back like a normal person. He’s very comfortable, and maybe demons don’t need seatbelts?
“I do have to say, your threat does lose some of its bite when you mention squirrels and water slides.” Flint chuckles, and the vibration of his body against mine is incredibly soothin’ for some reason.
I’m suddenly all too aware that my ass is nestled in his lap, and I can feel his very strong legs beneath me which makes me imagine all sorts of naughty things.
Like what those thighs would look like flexed over me as he pounded into me from above. Or his corded arms with their gray, granite lines propped on either side of my head. Or his smooth jaw runnin’ over my skin as he licked his way down, which of course, I’d reciprocate by kissin’ my way all over those chiseled abs of his that I got a glimpse of before. And of course, my imagination runs wild with not just Flint, but Alder too.
I guess I shouldn’t be at all surprised I’m a demon. With all these sinful, heated thoughts I have runnin’ through my head, it’s a shock I don’t just burst into flames.
“Thanks for gettin’ me out of there,” I whisper, my eyes growin’ so heavy I can’t hold them open anymore.
“We’ll take care of you, Medley. We promise,” Alder rumbles, and I feel myself relax completely.
I probably shouldn’t put much stock in a demon’s promise, but here I am, fallin’ asleep on one and trustin’ that when I wake up, I won’t be surrounded by hellfire. I thought I was in a car but maybe this is the handbasket I’ve been warned about my whole life.
At least the ride to Hell is comfy, and my guides are sexy as sin, I think to myself, and then I pass out.
11
I feel like I’ve been chewin’ on sandpaper when I come to. It also feels like someone took that sandpaper and scrubbed the inside of my skull with it. It’s not a nice way to wake up.
I recall immediately what happened, and I know what I’m feelin’ is completely unrelated to the consumption of alcohol. I don’t feel hungover, I feel like my mind ran a damn marathon and now it’s down for the count with exhaustion.
What the hell did that Morax guy do to me?
“Here, drink this,” Flint tells me quietly, and I slowly open my eyes to see the hunky marble demon holdin’ a glass of water out to me.
I reach for it with a hand that’s alarmingly too shaky to actually grip the glass. Worry floods me, and I close and open my palm, hopin’ it convinces my tremblin’ muscles that I’m in control.
Flint sets the glass down on the nightstand next to the bed that I realize I’m in, and pulls me into his lap as though my mass holds no weight. Oddly, I relax as soon as I’m sittin’ on him, like my body knows it’s safe with him. I don’t have time to examine that thought before Flint has the glass of water pressin’ against my lips, waitin’ for me to ready them for a drink.
I part my lips, my eyes on his angled face in what suddenly feels like an intimate moment between us. He watches me as he slowly tips the glass up, while the fingers on his other hand trace circles on my hip. My skin warms from his touch, but as soon as the liquid hits my tongue, I’m jolted out of our mesmerized moment that we were both caught up in. Surprise hits me as a cold, lightly sweet fluid pours into my mouth, and I choke on the sip I try to take.
Flint sets the glass down and pats my back as I hack away to clear my lungs of whatever I just drank.
“That ain’t water,” I croak when I can finally breathe again, and Flint gives me a warm smile.
“Nope. Alder made it for ya. He said it would help clear your head up, and he’s good with stuff like this, so I’d drink it if I were you.”
I eye him for a moment, but there’s no hidden agenda or lie in his expression, and just like when they showed up at the club, my gut is tellin’ me that I can trust him and Alder.
I nod, and he reaches over and grabs the glass again. This time, I’m ready for the taste and drink it down without incident. Well, if you ignore my suddenly needy gulps like I’m dyin’ of dehydration, that is.
The fluid has a thicker consistency than water and is cold and crisp and more refreshin’ than anythin’ I’ve ever had before, and that’s sayin’ a lot, because my mama makes lemonade and sweet tea that you’d slap yourself silly for. It tastes sweet, but it’s not a sugary sweet, more like honey, but...different.
“What is that?” I ask as Flint sets the empty glass back on the nightstand.
“The tears of my enemies,” Alder announces as he comes walkin’ into the room.
I immediately cringe, really hopin’ he’s jokin’, and Alder chuckles at my expression. If he thinks it’s strange that I’m on Flint’s lap, he doesn’t show it. “It’s a thistle. It’s the milk from it,” Alder explains, but I don’t know if I think that’s really much better. I probably shouldn’t have asked. Better to not know that somethin’ delicious turns out to be slug slime, or in this case, plant jizz.
I look around the room as I try not to think about what I just consumed and where it came from. The walls are a rich dark teal, and the floor is warm honey hardwood.
