Page 66 of Bedeviled
My eyes sweep over the items on the island. “You’re making all of this for Thanksgiving? For us?”
He gives me a speculative look, like he’s not entirely sure what is causing my disbelief. “That is the tradition, correct?”
“Even if it is,” I say, crossing over to him and grabbing the wooden spoon he’s holding to swat his butt with it, “you need to stop.”
“I don’t know what it is you’re talking about, but if you thrash my ass again, I’m bending you over the counter and giving thanks to something else entirely.”
I swat him softly on the cheek with the spoon, causing his eyes to darken in a delicious way. “You need to stop love bombing me. I can’t handle it.”
His brows come together, then smooth. He steps into my space, gently taking the wooden spoon from one of my hands and my phone from the other and setting them aside on the island. Then he kisses me deeply, tasting like cinnamon and wine. Wrapping an arm around my waist, he lifts me onto the counter.
“You have your memories of your last life. You know this doesn’t end,” he says, wandering away to grab a bottle of wine. He pours the burgundy liquid into a glass and hands it to me.
It’s eight thirty in the morning. Neither of us has any business drinking wine this early. But I’ve now nearly gotten eaten by a demon twice, and I’ve survived multiple attempts on my life by nondemonic entities, and the one school that I’ve worked my entire adult life to get into is one more murdered witch away from closing its doors, and now I’m pseudo-living with my sugar-daddy sorcerer who is also pampering me within an inch of my life, and ugh, curse the gods, but it’s working.
I can apparently be bought.
What an awful thought. I definitely think I need to drown it in a little drinky.
I sip on the wine, my stomach fluttering happily when I taste the cinnamon and cloves.
Such a bought woman.
“We never spoke about last night,” Memnon says.
My hand tightens on my drink as I remember the empty look in the demon’s eyes right before it nearly devoured me.
“Is it…alive?”
Memnon gives me a long look. “Do you really want to know the answer to that?”
The two of us stare at one another for several seconds. In my mind’s eye I can see Memnon on the battlefield, his sword slicing through bodies. I can even remember the cruelties he inflicted on those enemies who took unusual interest in me.
No, I don’t think I want to know what state the demon is in.
Other questions about the incident rise up, such as who Adan Whatever-his-last-name-is and why does he care about my existence. Before I can ask them, my phone buzzes. Distractedly, I glance at the device where it rests on the counter near me. My eyes skim over the message that pops onto the screen, and I nearly fall off the island.
I snatch the phone up and tap on it, my horror growing.
Memnon’s gaze flicks from my face to the device, then back up.
Mom
Surprise, we’re back!
We left Europe a few days early because we got homesick, and just in time for Thanksgiving too!
Can you make it over today? I know it’s last minute and you’re busy with school, but Dad can pick you up—unless you now know how to fly by broom.
At the mention of the broom, my mind flashes back in time.
My palms have slickened with sweat, and my grip is sliding off the wooden handle I hang from, and fuck, fuck, fuck—
My fingers slip off the sweat-slickened handle, and I fall—
I shudder as the visceral memory, even as a second message comes in.
Mom
