A Christmas Demon for Clara

by Chloe Alice Balkin

“Your name is Ellen Ram?” Knowing her birthname was Ellen made her the least scary demon ever.

  “That’s a terrible name. Ram Ellen.”

  "And Locke is from the…Lo clan? Is your name just a k sound?"

  "Nah, he's just embarrassed by his name," Ramellen laughed. "I'm gonna go steal a bit of your river, Locke."

  "She's bottling the river that tried to kill me?" Clara said after Ramellen was outside.

  "It's angel poison. She'll dip the tips of her blades and arrows in it if we have seraphim show up. It won't kill, but it will incapacitate."

  "I feel like I should know already that if I had a bottle of river, I could protect myself."

  "You can't. The danger in the river isn't the wraiths, it's the river itself. The wraiths are just trying to pull you into it. If you touch the river, your soul is gone."

  "And your soul? You…you have a soul, right?" She'd never thought about that before, but she had no idea what happened to angels and demons when they died, not the ones who were born angels and demons. Did they have souls to continue on?

  He smiled warmly at her, pulled her in to kiss her forehead. "We do. It's different for us, though. It's our flesh that gets separated from us. If we're fishing a soul out, it's a long recovery. It takes a while to grow a hand back. But the wraiths don't much care about us otherwise, so as long as Ramellen is careful she'll be fine."

  "That's how minions happen, right? That's how you got Fattooth and Ratmouth, by fishing them out of the river?"

  Locke nodded and let her go as a tendril of black stretched toward them. "Chill out, Killian," he growled. "And if you've got any hellfire, you better hand it over. I'm not getting in trouble with Boss if you do something stupid."

  The demon stood up to his full height. Unlike Locke, who was fleshy, toned and healthy, Killian had a sinewy look to him, at least where Clara could see any definition at all. It was hard when his skin was absorbing so much light, but there were flashes here and there of a sunken stomach and skin pulled so taut over muscles that the veins between them stood out. His horns caused her some concern, as well, as they looked like they'd been honed to a razor's edge along the curve. If he stumbled into the Christmas tree, she feared he'd shear off the limbs.

  If he stumbled into one of her sisters?

  Also, there was the fact that she had yet to catch any shadows of fabric covering him. Nothing covered his chest except a bandoleer, which he now pulled a vial from. He handed it to Locke with a roll of the eye—which she could only see because of the shine on them, for they lacked whites—and a grumble before retreating into the counter.

  Locke uncorked it, recoiled at the scent, and tucked the recorked flask into a chalk-door closet. "Seriously, man, you need to get your shit together for this." At Clara's frown, he said, "He's really a nice guy most of the time, but he's going through a…thing. Don't worry."

  "What was that?"

  "Crystallized hellfire. It's the only thing that can kill a seraph."

  "Wouldn't…umm…wouldn't we want that? I mean, I don't want anyone to be killed, but if it's me or them, I vote them."

  "Same, but the punishment is severe."

  Clara lifted an eyebrow.

  "You get a nephil attached to you. They prey on whatever brings you the most joy and torture you with it. For glut demons, nephilim cause us to hallucinate that we're inside a gingerbread house, basically. Hansel and Gretel's cottage. I'd know I was here, but those walls would be cookie, the windows would be sugar, that tree would be your clever little meringue puffs. I'd go mad with wanting or I'd…eat the damn tree and hunger more. And that's just because I'm a glut demon. As a wrath, Killian would think everything around him is trying to attack him, but none of his foes could be vanquished—or he'd end up killing someone he cared for. The nephil only sticks for a few years, but I've known demons to be driven mad and kill themselves to destroy the beast. And for Killian…" Locke frowned as his words trailed off.

  Clara looked again to Killian, who was crouched back down. His eyes were closed, making him all but invisible. Just a black hole behind the tree Locke had decorated so well. The demon was hurt, so hurt he drowned in the pain of it. She didn't know if he was the right demon to bring to Christmas to protect them, but she was absolutely bringing him to Christmas. He deserved a nice night on Earth. And, Clara admitted, probably the slaughter of some cherubim.

  "Hopefully this isn't too insensitive of a question, but is it possible to get some, like, pants on him? I'd hate for him to show up in my living room in his human skin and, you know…"

  "Dick out?"

  "Yeah, that."

  This was a solid crew. This was a crew that would protect Clara.

  This was also a crew who was going to hit the eggnog way too hard, Locke realized an hour later when they hadn't bothered to introduce themselves to Clara's sisters before they descended on the punch bowl.

  Ghosts tried to intervene. Demons growled, ghosts poofed off.

  "I'm so sorry," Locke told Clara. "I hope your sisters won't freak out when all the eggnog is gone, like, now."

  Clara laughed lightly and leaned against him. She had her arm hooked around his, their fingers laced together, and she stood so proudly next to him, showing off for all her guests that he was hers.

  He'd never been so humbled.

  "Eloise is the only one who likes the stuff," she whispered as though it was some great secret, "and she keeps a stash of it in the fridge for herself. That's for the guests, and your friends are guests."

  "Speaking of." He pulled her over to the horde at the punch bowl and barked out some reminders of where they needed to be and what they needed to watch for. They'd have dinner with the rest of the guests and slip away during the holiday games. There were three entrances into the house as well as an attic that wasn't well sealed, something Locke intended to fix before Clara moved back in. He wasn't the handiest guy out there, but he would have her safe from any threat, angel, human, of demon.

  The team grumbled through the lecture, but then again, they weren't used to receiving them from Locke. They were all Minor Lords. They got their instructions from Lord Druxel, although Locke was horrified about what that meant for Ramellen. She was an absolute monster when she wanted.

  A monster at pin the tail on the reindeer, it turned out, when he found his crew had snuck into the game room during aperitifs. "What are you doing in here?" he yelled. "You're supposed to be tending guard."

  Ramellen, blindfolded, stumbled right to him and jabbed the push pin into his chest. "There, I pinned the tail on the ass. What's my prize?"

  Locke plucked it out of his shirt and stabbed it into her hand. "Reindeer, not ass. It's over on the other side of the room."

  She turned and wobbled in something kind of like the right direction.

  "You said we couldn't do this shit after dinner," Starlax said with a yawn and a stretch. "We figured we'd do it now."

  "You're messing everything up," Locke hissed as Ramellen slammed into a vintage jukebox that flashed up and started hiccupping bits of Holly, Jolly Christmas. "Fix it. Make sure everything is exactly how it was when you came in or Eloise is going to shit minions. And the three of you better—" He spun around, scoping out all the darkest corners of the room. "Where the Hell is Killian?"

  "He's stalking zapper chick," Starlax said as Ramellen called out, "There! Got it. What's the prize?"

  Sure enough, she'd found the reindeer poster and managed to get the tail spot-on.

  Eloise had gotten used to Locke. With all his visits to the shop, he'd practically become a town resident. Starlax was laid back, possibly stoned but quiet, not bothering anyone. Ramellen was quick to make friends, and everybody was already inviting her to New Year's.

  Thankfully, no one commented on how often she stuck her nose in the Christmas tree.

  The one mistake in the demon guest list was her new shadow. No matter where she turned, the brooding demon with the deathly aura
was right behind her, and that aura of his was suffocating. She needed to address this before he ruined the whole night.

  A staff of four worked the party, not nearly enough to be left without direction. Eloise checked out each prep station in the kitchen, nitpicking bits and pieces of it, at each station finding a reason to shoo the staff out, whether it was to take trays around to the guests or to run to the cellar for back stock. It took several minutes, but she finally found a moment where it was only her in the kitchen.

  Her and her shadow.

  She wheeled around on him so quickly he wasn't ready for her to jab him in the chest with the heel of her palm, pushing him back. He caught himself immediately and straightened up, no longer lurking in the dark places but standing proud against her.

  He didn't back down, even under her scrutiny. Despite the human skin he and all other demons appeared in while on Earth, Eloise could see his true form, just as she had the angel's wings and Locke's half-grown horn. She'd laughed at Locke, in fact, and enjoyed his frustration over being laughed at.

  But this demon, this Killian—who had never introduced himself, she'd had to learn his name through Ramellen—was flawless.

  Everything about him was sleek and black, from the tips of his deadly horns, spiraling so high above his head he wouldn't have cleared doorways in Hell, down to the hooves clopping on the floor, a spectral tink-tink-tinking that marked the cadence of her travels. His human skin was dark, his head clean-shaven, but his demon was black as tar with a fall of straight hair every bit as black, a true ghost in the night.

  She wanted to touch his demon form to see if his skin was as smooth as it looked, if his hair felt like a river in her fingers. That was impossible, though. Unlike Clara, Hell would be the most dangerous place on the three planes for Eloise.

  "Why are you following me?" she snapped.

  "I want to feel it." His voice was velvet smoke.

  "You're here to work, not to flirt with your boss—and that's me tonight, in case you weren't sure about that. I run this show."

  His lips curled up in a sneer. "I wouldn't make so bold of statements, little human. You might get hurt."

  "I'm not little. And I'm not so easily hurt."

  "Neither am I. But you are scared." He stepped closer to prove his point.

  "I can protect myself."

  "Do it. I want to feel it."

  Eloise swallowed hard. He wasn't threatening her, he was egging her on because he liked pain.

  She didn't cater to demon kinks. "You'll never hurt me."

  "Locke told me what you did to him. He wasn't going to hurt you."

  "I was protecting my sister. It was a warning."

  "So, warn me."

  "Warn you about what? You're not going to hurt me, so you can't—"

  Her words cut off with a squeal as he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her against him. By the time she even thought to fight back, his lips were on hers, forcing her into a rough kiss while he pushed her back into the counter.

  She did not fight back.

  Chapter 22

  Hazel was the weird one. The dark one. The quiet one.

  The observant one.

  Eloise and her demon buddy were absent from the buffet line when the prime rib was finally served. Hazel wasn't worried about her safety, but Eloise wasn't known for dipping on social events. That was Hazel's gig.

  Clara and Locke hid in plain sight by sitting at the end and ducking their heads together. They laughed when someone made a joke, joined conversations they were pulled into, but they rebounded back to each other as soon as they could. Their hands were all over each other, subtly, and Clara had taken too much food and casually swapped it with Locke's already empty plate while he was distracted.

  A minor argument ensued. Hazel had no doubt it was of the "you should have this/no, you should have this," gaggingly sweet variety of arguments.

  Locke fed Clara bites from his fork. Ultra gag.

  Dinner went smoothly enough that Hazel could pull her usual mood and sneak off for a few. She wanted to be social, but too many people gave her a headache. A quick break, she told herself, and back in fifteen.

  She ducked into the kitchen and turned the corner, brushing past the pantry where she could hear moaning inside—she was not about to get involved with that—and rushed toward her room at the end of the wing. She made it to the door before Clara called out to her.

  "You're not going to bed already, right?"

  Hazel tapped her forehead on her door. "No, only a few minutes, I promise," she called over her shoulder.

  "I missed you," Clara said, her voice no closer. She was still at the front of the hallway, where the pantry had fallen silent. She had her toes turned in and her hands wrung together in front of her, looking so much like the innocent girl she'd always been, even in her fun, flirty cocktail dress.

  There was a purity to Clara that had to be protected. A purity they were trusting to the hands of a demon that Hazel really did think would complete her.

  "Come here," Hazel said, corralling Clara into the small study to get her away from the pantry.

  They hugged. Clara was the only person Hazel ever hugged, and she'd missed these while Clara was in Hell. Especially when Clara's grip tightened and her head went over Hazel's shoulder, demanding comfort. "I promise I'm only escaping for a few minutes," Hazel said. "I'll be back for the White Elephant."

  "I know. I just…I need you guys. Locke has been so good to me bringing me back for the party, but I…I really need you."

  Hazel pulled back enough that she could take Clara by the shoulders and level with her. "Is he treating you right? It seems like everything he does is for you, but if not…we don't have much time, so you gotta level with me now."

  Clara swallowed hard. "He won't…you know." The crimson burning her cheeks said it far better than Clara would, so Hazel didn't push her for big-girl words.

  And the confession made Hazel's stomach churn. Locke was a demon, after all, and he'd been painfully explicit about his desire for Clara. What had changed? Or had the impossible happened, and Eloise had been duped by a demon?

  No, no. Locke was head over heels for Clara. A man who rejected a woman, even if he was a demon, didn't continue to follow that woman around like a lovesick puppy. "Is he…taking it slow?" Hazel suggested, wishing she could put more confidence behind it. Slow was a very different thing for demons.

  Clara turned away to pace, her heels clomping back and forth on the hardwood. "I know what it is already. What he wants…what I both want…we can't have. He thinks it's better if we don't go any further if we're never going to get what we want. I guess he's right…is he right? Am I a fool for still wanting him?"

  Hazel settled back on the edge of the desk, hunkering down for some straight talk. "You'll have to be a little clearer about that, I think, for me to say who the fool is."

  Clara's head tipped back to look at the ceiling and beyond. "We should be able to spend the rest of our lives together, and it's impossible. I'm not allowed to stay in Hell…I don't know if I'd want that even if I could, but I would. For Locke, I think I would. And he can't live on Earth. You know they can only be here a few hours at a time. And that's…not enough. It won't be enough, no matter how hard we try. If we can't get there, I guess he's right. We shouldn't go any further. I shouldn't let myself think any further on this." She brightened up with a big smile and threw her arms around Hazel. "Thanks for talking through this with me."

  Hazel hadn't done anything, actually, and in the quiet that followed, she was pretty sure she'd only allowed Clara to get the worst idea in her head.

  Eloise had never even kissed a demon before, so she was surprised to find herself in the pantry with a truly impressive length of demon cock inside her.

  Merry fucking Christmas, indeed.

  The pantry had a way of making him so much more demon than he'd been out in the kitchen, and although Eloise would never admit it,
that revved her way up. The sounds he made were so guttural, the nails he dragged along her hips so sharp, the speed and force at which he took her, entirely inhuman.

  She screamed a lot. Every time she tried to say something to him, to be sexy or sassy or just, like, tell him he was doing a good job or whatever, all she could do was scream, so she used the forearm she was holding herself off the shelves with as a bridle to bite down on and stifle her desperate sounds.

  The demon grabbed her by the hair, and pushed her arm out of the way in favor of his. "Bite that," he growled.

  She liked his voice. His voice was the source of at least some of the cum pouring freely from her now. He probably didn't even have to be inside her; he could have just talked.

  But she wanted that monster cock inside her. She wanted him to keep going so hard her feet didn't touch the ground.

  She bit his arm to stop the warble from leaking out of her mouth.

  He slammed into her so hard her thighs hit a shelf, rattling its contents.

  Her head lolled back as another gush slid down her thighs.

  "Bite. Harder," he growled much more closely to her ear, punctuating each word with a thrust.

  She chomped down, and his dark flesh absorbed some of her moans, but then his hands slid up under her dress to trace her spine, and he bent his knees enough to lower Eloise's weight, sending them into a much more sensual rock.

  And then Clara, just on the other side of the door, yelled, "You're not going to bed already, right?"

  Eloise reared up so fast she bashed the back of her skull into Killian's nose, but he didn't flinch. He smartly covered her mouth with his hand and wound himself down to a deep gentle rhythm. At the first whimper that escaped Eloise's mouth, a steady shush from Killian whispered in her ear.

  She nodded and let her head hang as she fell into the new rhythm.

  "I'm going to bite you," he said quietly enough his voice wouldn't carry through the door, "and you're going to have another orgasm. Do so silently if you don't want your sisters to know. If you don't want me to bite you, you know what to do."