Chapter 14 #2
We fooled around for a bit on the deck—Annie, barefoot and backlit by sunset, daring me to chase her through the kitchen while the cat attacked her ankles in solidarity.
I let her tackle me onto the velvet couch, let her smother my face with kisses, let her grind against my thigh until both of us were a little lightheaded from laughing.
It wasn’t sex, not really, but it was something I’d never had: the play-fighting, the soft wrestling, the kind of intimacy that didn’t require fangs or claws or any sort of violence.
I didn’t know how much I wanted it until I had it.
But I’d promised her a real date, and the thought of it—Annie, out in the world, on my arm, the whole Valley watching—lit up every stupid, competitive, territorial circuit in my brain.
I told her to get ready, that I’d take care of everything, and she wandered off to shower again, humming some pop song I’d never heard but would now remember forever.
I called in another favor with Mara, who was not just in charge of the actual Bingo games, but the whole program.
Annie would need a dress she could stun in, and I was going to have to rely on Mara to get it for me.
There were more than a few shops in town that carried Annie’s aesthetic.
I shot off another text to Mara, then went to figure out what I was wearing while Annie showered.
I went to the wardrobe, digging out the clothes I hadn’t worn in years.
The shirt was black, collared, tailored but not tight, and I left the top buttons open because she liked my chest, and I wanted her to have easy access.
The pants were black too, pressed, nice enough for a funeral or a wedding or the kind of night that could turn into either.
I pulled them on, checked myself in the mirror, and realized—surprise—there were nerves.
Not hunger, not bloodlust, just the taut, hopeful anxiety that I might fuck this up by caring too much.
And beneath that, something territorial and raw—the thought of every demon in the Valley seeing her, wanting her, knowing she'd chosen me.
Mara's knock came just after five—three sharp raps that somehow managed to sound both impatient and smug. When I opened the door, she stood there with a garment bag draped over one arm, her silver-tipped nails tapping against the plastic.
"You're welcome," she said, thrusting it at me before I could speak. "She'll look devastating in this. The color will make her skin glow like she's lit from within." She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "And it'll show off those lovely marks Veeps told me you left on her neck."
I rolled my eyes. Of course there was already gossip about me and Annie. Not a lot happened in the Valley of the Damned, and a new match was always the talk of the town.
I waved Mara off with my thanks, then took the garment bag to the bedroom and opened it.
Inside was burgundy crushed velvet, soft and dark as old blood, with a plunging neckline that would frame her collarbones perfectly.
The dress had a slit that would ride dangerously high on her thigh and tiny straps that would showcase the marks I'd left on her shoulders.
A note from the shop in town read simply, “Wear with attitude.
" I carried it upstairs, the weight of the fabric absurdly satisfying in my hand, already imagining how it would cling to her curves.
Annie was in the bathroom, steam curling out from under the door. I waited, pacing the hall, until she emerged in a towel and caught me staring. She wrinkled her nose. "Is it time already?"
I held out the box. "Put this on."
She eyed it, suspicious, then lifted the lid. The dress slithered out, pooling in her hands like liquid sin. Her eyes widened, but not with shock—with something hungrier.
"Jesus Christ, Samiel," she breathed, running her fingers along the fabric. "You trying to get me arrested or laid?"
I grinned, slow and deliberate. "Hotel on the lake. Dress code is 'look like a sin or don't bother coming.'"
She bit her lower lip, already holding the dress against her body. "Give me ten minutes."
I waited in the living room, feeding the cat and pretending not to listen for sounds from upstairs.
The slide of fabric against skin. A low, appreciative "damn" that wasn't meant for my ears.
Then heels on hardwood, deliberate and confident.
She appeared at the top of the stairs, one hand on her hip, the other trailing down the banister.
The way she moved in that dress—like she owned the air around her—made my mouth go dry.
The dress clung to her like a second skin, the velvet catching the light as she moved, revealing the curves of her hips, the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist. The color deepened when she breathed—more red than purple, more sin than wine.
Her hair was still damp, slicked back to expose the elegant column of her throat where my teeth had been.
Her eyes, dark and hungry, met mine through lashes thick with mascara.
"Do I look ridiculous?" she asked, but her voice had dropped to that register that made my skin tighten.
I shook my head, heat crawling up my spine. "You look like everything I've ever wanted to taste," I said, voice rough. "And everything that's going to get me in trouble tonight."
She smirked. “That’s the plan, isn’t it?”
I offered my arm, she took it, and together we stepped into the dusk, the wind off the lake already brushing goosebumps up her arms. I wanted to wrap her in my jacket, but I liked the way the cold made her press in closer.
We walked the path to my car—the real one, not the loaner from the mayor’s pool.
It was a vintage GTO, electric yellow and rebuilt with more than a little help from the other side.
Annie slid into the passenger seat, the dress riding up her thighs, and ran her finger along the dash as if reading Braille.
“You love this thing more than most people, don’t you?” she said, but her voice was warm. “I’ll try not to spill on the seats.”
I started the engine and let it rumble, then peeled out onto the crushed gravel, the headlights cutting a pale V through the deepening dusk.
Neither of us spoke on the way to the hotel, but the silence wasn’t hollow—it was electric, a fuse burning down to something neither of us wanted to name.
I kept a hand on the shifter, but every other muscle in my body was tuned to her, to the shape of her mouth in the window reflection, to the way her bare shoulder pressed against the seatbelt.
The hotel on the lake was a piece of old Las Vegas exiled to the desert.
Neon script spelled out “The Infernal,” and the sign was a three-story demoness in a sequined dress, one leg cocked, tail wrapped around a martini glass.
Inside, it was all red velvet and gold leaf, mirrors that made you look twice, and carpets so plush you could lose a shoe if you weren’t careful.
The lighting was dim but intimate, designed to make everyone look just a little more expensive.
I held the door for Annie, then draped my arm over her shoulder, letting the world see us together.
Every demon in the lobby turned to look—and not just the demons, but a handful of humans who’d come for the spectacle of it, the thrill of spending a weekend somewhere that still felt lawless.
I watched them take her in, the way their eyes slid over her body, the dress, the marks I’d left.
I felt a flicker of violence; I met every stare until it turned away, and Annie caught the edge of my smile.
“You don’t have to glower at everyone in the zip code,” she whispered, but she sounded pleased.
“I want them to know you’re with me,” I said, voice low enough for only her.
She rolled her eyes, but she laced her fingers through mine and led me to the bar.
The place was packed, a spill of bodies in every color and configuration: lesser demons, humans in everything from business casual to leather harnesses, a pair of succubi in matching couture.
The bartender was a demon I knew—Neph, tall and marble-skinned, with hair the color of copper wire and a knack for making a martini that actually burned on the way down.
He clocked me from across the bottles, then Annie, and his mouth curled into a grin.
“Samiel,” he called, voice big enough to rattle the glassware. “And this must be the prize.”
Annie raised her brows, smirking. “I’m afraid he’s oversold me,” she said, but Neph’s grin only grew.
“Not possible.” He wiped his hands on a towel, shook our hands, and poured two drinks without asking.
“On the house. This one’s for the archives.
” I watched Neph size up Annie, not with the predatory edge I expected, but with a kind of respectful curiosity.
Like he was trying to figure out why a human would ever put up with someone like me.
We took our drinks to a table by the window overlooking the lake. The water was glass-dark, reflecting the neon and the fat, lazy moon. Annie slipped into the booth, sliding right up against me even though there was plenty of room. I liked it. I wanted her next to me, always.
We ordered food—a charcuterie board with so much raw meat I thought it might try to bite back, plus fries, plus a dessert that was just called “Crème Infernal.” The menus were printed on black leather, the font so Gothic it was barely legible.
Annie squinted and pursed her lips trying to make out each word, which made me want to drag her under the table and fuck her until she screamed.
But I wanted to do this right. A real date. A normal night, if either of us knew what normal meant.
She sipped her drink and made a face. “You know, in the world I come from, this is the part where we talk about our exes—and probably our families.”
I choked on my whiskey, the burn of it almost as sharp as the twist in my stomach. “Is that a requirement?”
She shrugged, eyes bright. “It’s tradition. You tell me about yours, I tell you about mine, and then we either get jealous or decide everyone in our past is trash.”
I tried to think of a single demon I’d ever fucked who qualified as an “ex.” I tried to picture Annie, sitting across from some other man, laughing at his jokes while acting like her smile wasn’t the best thing in the room.
“You first,” I said, and braced myself.