Claimed by Her Demon (2 page)

She sat. The demon took the chair to her right. She felt a thrill of fear and excitement as it opened the massive wings on its back, then refolded them over the back of the seat. “Can you fly with those?”

“I can.”

“Neat.”

She shuffled her cards from hand to hand, then split the deck and bridge-shuffled them a few times. The demon studied her movements. Melinda took comfort in the riffle and purr of the cards as they mixed and fell into place. Sometimes she shuffled them just for the sound. It calmed her, eased her nerves, made her feel a bit lighter. It didn’t matter if there was magic involved with tarot or not. The motions of shuffling and laying out cards, and the pictures on them, made her happy. Any information she derived from it, whether by fate or subconscious association, was simply a bonus.

“So, what do you want me to read about?”

“I don’t really know. A general reading I guess.”

Melinda snorted a laugh. “Sorry. That’s what everyone says. People are so scared of these cards. Or of me for reading them. No one wants to trust me enough to tell me what they really want to know.”

“Very well. What should I do with you?”

It was hard to keep a tremor out of her voice. “Neither the cards nor I can make your decisions for you. But I can do a spread that will maybe give you an idea of what the options and likely consequences are.”

She finished shuffling the deck. Before laying out the cards, however, she scooted her chair around the table so that she was sitting beside the creature.

“It’s easier for me to read next to the person, so they can see what I’m seeing,” she said. “Do you want to choose the cards, or do you want me to?”

“You’re the reader. You choose. Please.”

She split the deck into three piles, then pulled the top card from each, laying them out in an arrow shape, with the point at the top. She restacked the deck and set it aside. Then, one by one, she turned the cards over.

“Wow,” said, studying the images. The bottom left card showed The Papess. On the right was The Devil. At the top, between them, was the Two of Cups. Melinda pointed at the bottom two cards. “You sure you didn’t make these appear?”

Ramael’s attention was riveted to the spread. He shook his head slowly. “No, I did not. They seem appropriate though.”

“Um, I guess.”

“Tell me, my lovely, what do you see in them?”

She blew out a long breath. “I see mystery and wisdom combining with chaos and fear. They somehow find a balance and manage to work together symbiotically.”

Ramael snorted. “So. What does that mean for the question I posed?”

“I told you. The decision is yours. But based on what I’m seeing here, if you quiet your chaotic side a bit, and accept that some things may remain a mystery, then maybe you’ll find balance within.”

“A very diplomatic reading.”

“I’m sorry if it wasn’t what you wanted to hear. What do you see in them?”

“That, I’m afraid, will have to remain a mystery for now.”

“Touché.” She gathered the cards up and shuffled them back into the deck. “Is there anything else you want me to read about?”

“No. Thank you for indulging me.”

“So what happens now?”

“What would you like to happen?”

Her voice was quiet when she answered. “I’d like to go home.”

“Don’t you first want to take revenge on the men who forced you into their car and brought you to a demon’s lair?”

She shook her head.

“But they deserve it.”

“You crashed their car.”

“I did.”

“And injured them.”

 “I’m sure one of them will wake up eventually and be able to call for help.”

“I guess the right thing to do would be to go to their car and call the police. That way they get treated, and I can still report them for what they did to me, so they won’t hurt anyone else. I won’t tell the cops about you though.”

Ramael shrugged a shoulder. “If the police come here, they will only see what I choose to show them.”

“So you’ll let me go?”

“Reluctantly. But yes. You’re far too interesting to hold prisoner.”

“Thanks. I think.”

The creature stood and held a clawed hand out to her. “Come with me. Their car isn’t far away.”

#

It was almost dawn by the time a State Police cruiser returned Melinda to her dorm room. Fortunately, few students were awake to ask why she was being brought back in a squad car.

She’d given a statement and shown then police her cut ropes as well as the pocketknife. The four young men in the car were all unconscious, with multiple fractures and other trauma. She had no way to identify them other than by the sounds of their voices. But given the marks on her wrists and ankles, the extra pieces of rope found in the car, and the prints that would eventually be found on the pocketknife, there was a lot of evidence even without a visual ID.

She trudged the steps up to her door room, swiped her ID to get in, and collapsed on her bed. Her roommate Adrienne stirred awake.

“Damn girl,” Adrienne mumbled. “Where the hell were you? Booty call?”

Melinda sighed. “It’s a really long story.”

“Was he hot?”

Aren’t all demons?
“Go back to sleep. I’ll tell you all about it later.”

Adrienne mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “slut,” and rolled back over.

Melinda smiled. They name didn’t bother her. Not coming from her best friend. They teased each other all the time about hooking up with boys. Mainly because neither of them had much luck with it. Adrienne was considered too bookish and nerdy. And Melinda only seemed to appeal to gamers and guys who thought she’d be an easy lay.

And apparently demons.

Though, despite his monstrous appearance, she had a hard time picturing Ramael as some creature sent from the depths of hell. After all, she didn’t even believe in it per se. And there was something about the creature that didn’t fit with what she imagined forces of darkness to be like. Yes, he’d been pissed at first. But as soon as he’d verified who she was, that all changed.

And then there were the cards.

Oh that wicked, wicked spread. She’d been very careful about what she’d said to him. But if he knew anything about tarot, Ramael would know that it wasn’t The Lovers card that signaled budding romance.

It was the Two of Cups.

#

As usual, Melinda was spending a Friday night in the library.

Focusing on classes has been rough that week. She’d been interviewed again by the state police, spoken to a university counselor about her ordeal, spoken to the university police, spoken to her parents, professors, and few close friends. She was damn near sick of the whole thing.

The driver of the car had woken up first and immediately confessed to the whole scheme. He even offered to testify against the others. The university moved quickly to suspend the fraternity. It sounded like all of the members involved would be expelled, once the investigation was complete, regardless of whether or not they were also prosecuted. Melinda secretly hoped that they would accept plea bargains. She definitely did not want to go through the trauma of a trial. And in her mind, justice had already been served, at least from a karmic standpoint. Two of the attackers were still being kept sedated. All of them would carry lifelong scars, and a couple might be disabled for the rest of their lives. She couldn’t say one way or another if further punishment would deter future assaults; in her experience, college kids did dumb and dangerous stuff regardless of the consequences.

She sighed as she closed a book on art history. This tome wasn’t for any class. She was looking at ancient paintings because she couldn’t get Ramael out of her mind.

It was ridiculous. If she’d spoken to the counselor about her encounter, she probably would have been told that she’d hallucinated the whole thing as a coping mechanism. And maybe she had. Every night she dreamed about the creature. Not distinctly. She’d be dreaming about whatever, and there was always a winged shadow lurking in the background. It never approached, never threatened. In fact, in her dreams she yearned to go to it and speak with it. But she was always too shy.

Not scared. Shy.

Because what if he wanted something far simpler and more primal than her soul? What if he wanted her?

“Ridiculous,” she said out loud.

“If you mean the pictures in that book, I agree with you. The idea of torturing souls for all time is completely ridiculous.”

The deep, gravelly voice made her jump out of her seat with a gasp. Her head whipped from side to side, and she clutched her throat when she saw Ramael perched on the cubicle desk beside hers. His fangs flashed in a perfectly wicked smile.

“How-what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“How did you get in here without being seen? You weren’t seen, right?”

“I’m a creature of the night. Even if there weren’t other ways to enter this building, if I can’t get past a bored student on desk duty, then I need to find another calling.”

She couldn’t help chuckling. As her heart returned to a semi-normal rhythm, Melinda sat back down. Ramael stayed where he was, perched slightly above her. She watched his gaze slide down her body, and realized that the black tank top she wore under a partly opened white button down revealed plenty of cleavage. Her face heated, and she shifted, trying to mask herself a bit from his interest.

“Will anyone see us talking?”

“We are hidden from sight for the time being.”

“What if someone sits on me? Can they do that?”

“I will convince them otherwise if they try.”

She really didn’t want to know what that would entail. Based on what he’d done to the frat guys, she doubted it would be pleasant to watch.

“So,” she glanced at the book, “you’re telling me these old paintings are full of shit.”

“Not really. They make wonderful allegories. Useful for keeping the masses on a moral path. But as far as depictions of the afterlife, yes, they are full of shit.”

“So what do demons do, if they aren’t torturing immoral souls?”

“First, we aren’t demons. We’ve been called that by your kind, who seem to be quite keen on categorizing everything as good and evil. We’re frightening to mortals, so we’ve been labeled as evil. I’m sure some of my brothers and sisters revel in this. Others don’t.”

“What about you?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I’m certainly not above displaying awesome power, if there is a need for it. After generations of watching your kind destroy each other, I’m quite content to keep to myself.”

Melinda couldn’t argue with that kind of logic. She’d always thought people were more frightening than any ghost story. The fact that she’d been kidnapped by men playing a joke was testament to that. “So what is it about me that’s brought you out of hibernation?”

“Do you really think so little of yourself that you need to ask that question?”

She blushed again. Her face felt so warm, she was sure it was beet red. “Most boys only talk to me because they think I’ll be an easy lay.”