Chapter 2 #2
The silence yawned open. I’d been told to keep things light, that mortals needed buffering from the full unfiltered demon experience in case they melted down or remembered, all at once, they were prey.
But Annie wasn’t prey. Annie was a compact, spiked iron maiden wearing a smirk.
I let the moment hang, studied her—the way her jaw flexed when she thought I wasn’t looking, the microtremble in her thigh as she braced against the folding chair, the way her eyes, even as they tried to glare holes through me, kept drifting down to my hands.
Maybe she was imagining what I could do with them, or maybe she was imagining them around her throat.
Either way, the thought made my mouth water.
“I want something real,” she repeated, softer now, almost to herself. She didn’t blink.
“Good,” I said, “because I can’t fake it.
I’ve tried. It never ends well for anyone.
” There was a sick, bright pleasure in saying this aloud, in seeing her nod just once, as if that was the right answer and she’d have left if I’d said anything else.
I leaned in, just enough to make her look up without having to move her whole head.
“You’re not what I was looking for,” I told her, “but you’re exactly what I want. ”
I saw the hesitation flicker in her and wondered if she’d ever been allowed out for air until now.
Her mouth opened, then closed, the way a person about to step off a ledge sometimes inched forward and then remembered gravity.
I could practically see the gears turning in her—how much to reveal, how soon, whether she’d regret it later.
Maybe I should have felt superior, but instead I felt a rush of something almost like dread, because I knew exactly where she was coming from.
It’s a wide world of disappointment, and it takes a lot to put your chips down on hope.
We were both holding our breath through that moment of vulnerability. I opened my mouth, unsure of what was going to come out, when Mara walked in, more papers in hand.
She slapped the contract down with a flourish, startling us out of our staring contest.
“You two look like you’re ready for the express lane,” she said. “Unless you want to try the compatibility questionnaire first. It’s got questions about pets, politics, and eventual children. Not legally binding, but it’s good for conversation.”
Annie didn’t even look at the glossy booklet.
“Let’s skip ahead,” she said, like she was ordering at a drive-thru.
“We can circle back to the deep stuff later.” She grabbed a pen and flipped the marriage contract open to the flagged page.
I watched her sign her name, the letters sharp and looping, no hesitation at the H, no flourish at the end.
She passed the pen to me, and I took it, the plastic straining against my grip.
The pen left a divot in the line, a little meteor crater of plastic against the cheap government paper.
I tried to sign delicately—I’d learned over time that mortals preferred the idea of restraint in their monsters—but the tip still punched through the first sheet and dented the second.
Annie grinned, confirming that the performance wasn’t lost on her.
Mara took the contract, flicked it once to flatten the signatures, and gave us the thumbs up.
“Congrats, you two. You’re officially three-day engaged.
Have a cupcake to celebrate.” She looked at her phone and stage-whispered, “Your chaperone will be along in about five minutes. I’d say use the time wisely, but I think you two are ahead of the curve. ”
“Chaperone?” Annie asked.
I plucked another cupcake, this one with black sprinkles, and watched her lick a smudge of frosting from her thumbnail.
“The chaperone is mostly for show,” I said.
“Technically, he’s supposed to keep us from murdering each other before night one, but mostly he just drives the shuttle and pretends not to notice.
” I smeared some frosting onto my tongue, leering just enough to get a reaction. Annie did not disappoint.
“Do the rules specify what happens during the shuttle ride?” she asked, eyes challenge-bright.
“The rules specify only that we arrive at the house conscious and in sufficiently intact condition to complete the orientation. Everything else is at our discretion.” I let my tail curl around the leg of her chair, drawing her closer by increments.
She leaned in, conspiratorial. “So what’s the house like? Spikes? Dungeon? Or is it one of those McMansion builds with bad insulation and ghosts in the crawlspace?”
I considered spinning her a line about oubliettes and howling basements. Instead, I told the truth just to see what she’d do with it.
“It’s out by Lake Purgatory,” I said. “They assign each couple a house for the three-day trial, but ours is… let’s call it mid-century modern, with lake access.
” I let my tongue flick, quick as a match, just to see her eyes dart after it.
“The mayor says it’s haunted, but I think he’s just trying to keep the brides from skinny-dipping.
The water’s cold, but the view is worth it. ”
She snorted. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
“Why not both?” I let my gaze rest on her, heavy as a hand.
“And what has to happen within those three days, Samiel?” she asked, and I knew the answer she was after.
I wanted to see if she’d flinch, so I didn’t sugarcoat it. “We have to consummate. Within three days. It’s the only part of the contract that isn’t optional.”
It was a litmus test, and I watched her for the tell: the blanch, the tick, the intake of breath that said the honeymoon was over before it started. Her eyes went wide for a quarter second—less shock than calculation. Then the corner of her mouth lifted, as if this confirmed a private suspicion.
“Is that a demon thing, or just a you thing?” she asked, voice low and sharp.
“Both, probably,” I said. “But if you want, we can call it off now. No shame.”
She pondered that, turning the thought in her mouth like a cherry pit. “I’m not a virgin sacrifice. I know what I’m doing.”