The Kiss of Death (Demons' Muse Book 1)

by Auryn Hadley

  "Sienna?" A guy's voice pulled me out of the daydream I was having involving Nick with his shirt off and his hands on my body. A streak of magenta hair peered around a large pad of paper propped up on one of the easels, a metal-ringed eyebrow raised almost out of sight.

  "Sam, right?"

  "Yeah! Hey, come sit over here." He grabbed another easel and dragged it closer to his.

  I picked up the stool and followed. Nick's roommate was as friendly as I'd expected, and I wasn't that shocked to see him in an art class. He looked the type with his mass of piercings and punkish hair.

  "Think we're going to do anything today?" I asked.

  "Nah." He gestured to the old-style chalkboard at the front of the room where the basic info for the class had been written. "We got a TA, and they don't want to be here any longer than we do. I'm betting it's grab syllabus, get the basics, and bail. Why, have a hot date or something?"

  I chuckled. "Yeah, kinda. Nick invited me out for lunch."

  "What happened to the boyfriend?"

  I groaned. "He didn't tell you? We kinda had a knock-down, drag-out last night."

  Sam sighed and shook his head. "Lemme guess, after the bar closed, right? Nick said he was waiting around a bit last night. Figured something was up, but didn't expect that." He looked over slyly. "He did point out the dick, though."

  "You mean at Mac's?" Sam nodded, so I shrugged. "Yep. That's what I get for dating some guy that picked me up at work. Lesson learned."

  "Yeah. Bitch wasn't even as cute as you. Don't know what the fuck he was thinking."

  His comment caught me off guard. My head snapped back to gape at him with my mouth hanging open. "What?"

  Sam grinned. "C'mon, Sienna. Pretty redhead or horse-faced bimbo with a body like a stick? Not even a competition." He blatantly looked me over, making it clear he enjoyed the view. "If Nick hadn't already made it clear he was interested, I'd be trying a bit harder to impress you."

  I blushed brilliantly. I didn't need a mirror to know. I could feel it. "Thanks, I think."

  "You're welcome, I think." Sam laughed. "You're really going to have to learn to take a compliment."

  "Not exactly something I'm used to." To cover my embarrassment, I flipped open my sketchbook so my hands had something to do. Drawing was my go-to.

  "Should be," Sam muttered under his breath. "Look, I'm not trying to move in on Nick's claim or anything, so don't take it wrong. I'm just… well, I say what I think."

  I turned back to him. "Nick's claim? What, am I like a piece of meat now?"

  He sighed and propped his elbows on the lip of the easel then pressed his head into his palms. "Don't blame him because I have a dumb-ass mouth, ok? I didn't mean it like that."

  "Then how did you mean it?"

  "Look, Nick's a good guy. He really is. He's also had this thing for some girl for a few years. He spent a lot of time trying to make it work out, but it just never did. If he's decided to ask you out, I'm not gonna get in his way. Owe him a few too many, you know?"

  I shrugged and nodded, thinking that over. "Anything I should know about him? I mean, if he was obsessed with some girl for years, he probably has a few hang-ups, right?"

  A devious glint sparked in Sam's eyes. "He has a pretty intense temper and doesn't know why chivalry ever died out? Um..." He scratched at his brilliantly-colored forelock. "He's a freak with the maths and sciences?" Getting no response, he shoved his hair back, exposing his eyes. "He isn't the kind of guy to be interested in a quick fling?"

  "And what's the downside again?"

  "He can get a little dark. Tends to freak people out." Sam quickly turned back to his sketchpad.

  "Dark?"

  He nodded, refusing to look back. "You know, deep conversations about what happens when we die, the meaning of life, and shit like that. Nick's a thinker, and it sometimes makes people uncomfortable."

  "Well, not me. Besides, he's also hot as hell."

  Sam chuckled. "I know, right?"

  I paused and glanced at him again. "Um?"

  He put on an expression that was much too innocent to be believed. "Hey, I'm not picky. That bother you?"

  "You mean you're bisexual?"

  Leaning closer, he whispered a bit too loudly, "More like try-sexual. I'll give anything a try once."

  "You're a pig!" I huffed, but couldn't manage to sound honestly offended.

  "Yep." He laughed. "Someone's gotta do it, right?"

  I groaned and focused on my sketch. I'd learned my lesson last time. No more cute animals that would end up looking like they could fly off the page. I didn't need to take that risk in public. Instead, I lined out a simple number two pencil. It was the symbol of standard education, right? An icon that was well past its prime in the digital age, but a necessity for most tests, even in college. It should be safe to draw.

  While Sam looked on, I drew, trying to make it exactly life-sized, hoping I wouldn't embarrass myself again. So Sam was into both men and women? Well, there wasn't really anything wrong with that – except I found it to be kinda hot. I mean, he was cute. Not really my usual type, but he had the bad boy thing perfected.

  His body was fit and toned, and he was probably no more than three inches shorter than Nick. Maybe five-eleven, if I had to guess. Plus, his face had this amazing bone structure that I was just dying to draw. Granted, he had more piercings than I'd seen on a single person before I started college. I hadn't found any tattoos on him yet, but it wouldn't shock me if he had quite a few tucked under his clothing.

  He had the coolest-looking eyes, too. I glanced over at him, trying to be subtle. They were brown, but in a shade that reminded me more of eggplant than chocolate. Most likely, it was the pigment complimenting the color of his hair, but his eyes were almost plum – a raw, earthy, rich shade of brown that hinted at purple.

  "Afternoon, class," a young woman said as she walked in.

  She carried a stack of papers, marking her as the Teaching Assistant, or TA, for our Drawing class. I looked around the room while she started passing out the syllabus. There were only about twelve of us, so a bit more intimate than my other three classes.

  Instead of passing out the paperwork the way I expected, she walked to each person, handing them four different pages. It took a while. While I waited, I worked on shading my drawing and started using an eraser to add reflections of light to the metal end, using the pencil in my hand as a reference. I'd just finished when she got to me.

  I set my pencil on the narrow lip and took page after page, barely glancing over each. When I got the fourth one, I tapped them together on my leg and turned back. My wrist brushed the easel just hard enough to bump it and the pencil clattered to the floor, rolling toward Sam. After tossing an appreciative smile at the TA, I put the papers next to my sketch pad and paused.

  The page was blank. My graphite pencil sat on the lip beneath it. I quickly shoved the syllabus over to hide the lack of drawing and turned to Sam, wondering what he'd picked up. He tilted his head to the side and offered me a pencil. A white, nearly new number two pencil just like the one I'd been drawing.

  "Gotta be more careful," he said, flicking the end of it at me. "Can't start flinging art shit at everyone."

  "Yeah." I forced my lips to curl into something resembling a smile. "Thanks."

  Before he could notice I was faking it, I turned back to my things. The goal was to close my sketch pad before he saw the drawing wasn't on the page. Thankfully, Sam reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, giving me the chance to hide the evidence. I mean, seriously. My art had just fallen off the paper! My heart was thudding in my chest so loud, I wondered why the whole room couldn't hear it, and my skin felt cold and clammy, but I tried to pretend that everything was fine. Nothing strange here, people; just move along.

  It wasn't the first time it had happened. The bird on my Art History notes wasn't a fluke. Ever since the robbery, my beloved art had tried to claim a life of its own. Once, I'd made a kitten. It wa
s just a silly doodle to distract me while I waited for a ride, but when I looked away, the page had turned blank. A few seconds later, I heard the tiny mews at my feet. A real kitten, just like the one I'd drawn, had appeared to rub against my legs.

  Living things didn't last long, maybe an hour, but inanimate objects like the pencil seemed to turn real. Five times, it had happened. In four years, I'd made art come alive five times. I'd convinced myself it was happenstance. The kitten had jumped in through an open window. The coffee cup was one my roommate left out. The empty box could've been left from any delivery. The grasshopper wasn't anything unusual in an Oklahoma summer. Now, I had a pencil to add to the list. I wasn't insane, because Sam had seen it too. He just hadn't realized it literally fell off the page, and I hoped to keep it that way. I sure didn't need to spend the rest of my life in a mental hospital!

  Sam finished his text message while the TA gave us a very quick and concise description of what we should expect in the class. It didn't take more than ten minutes, but the white pencil lying next to my things made the time crawl. I wanted to hide it out of sight but knew that would only make more questions. At least I'd managed to put my sketch pad away before anything was noticed. After what felt like an eternity, the teacher dismissed us for the day.

  "That went fast," I told Sam, aware my voice was a little tight.

  "Yep." He flicked his eyes at me, hearing the tone. "Nervous about meeting up with Nick?"

  "Yeah." That was as good of an excuse as any. "Just hoping things work out, you know?"

  He nodded, watching me put my pencils in the front pouch of my backpack. "Yep. I have a feeling it's going to be ok. Relax." He looked up, those warm eyes sympathetic. "You're going to be ok, Sienna."

  Chapter 5

  My lunch date with Nick went really well. The restaurant was a converted home just around the corner from the bar, and it was as good as he'd promised. In two days, he'd already introduced me to two of the best-kept secrets in town: good food and good coffee.

  Afterwards, he walked me home and ended up staying for several hours. He didn't seem to care about my crappy college furniture, or that I only had the couch to sit on. To me, it was just an excuse to be beside him. That night, we talked about everything from ancient art to quantum physics, and all of our classes. The conversation never ran dry.

  Unfortunately for me, he was a perfect gentleman. I tried, but was pretty sure I failed at pretending to be a lady. Every time he moved, my eyes darted to watch the muscles flex. When he talked, I couldn't help but imagine what else his mouth could do to me. Then there were those sinfully dark eyes that would look so perfect in a bedroom. Sadly, my imagination was as lucky as I got.

  When he left that evening, just after sundown, he again kissed me on the cheek. I'd been hoping for something more – like a tongue down my throat – but Nick was in no rush. He mentioned a few times that it had been a while since he'd met anyone he liked talking to as much, and only Sam's comments in class assured me that he wasn't trying to blow me off. I was used to men wanting to jump in bed after fifteen minutes, not a guy who savored every new experience as if it were a fine wine.

  Truth be told, it made me a little nervous. Not that my last relationship had been great, but it just proved how bad I was at dating. Boyfriend after boyfriend, I either found a way to ruin it or picked the worst men. Sometimes both at once.

  Needless to say, this time, I wanted to make sure it worked. Nick was great. He somehow managed to make me feel like I was important, but things weren't exactly progressing like I was used to. We talked, we flirted, and that was pretty much it. The guy hadn't even kissed me yet!

  I mean, I liked getting to know him, but I wasn't looking for a guy to be "just a friend." I spent most of the weekend either at work, or hoping he wasn't the kind of man who had no interest in sex before marriage. Sometimes both. Hell, I was pretty sure I couldn't stay platonic for a whole month, let alone as long as it would take me to feel confident agreeing to spend the rest of my life with someone. I wanted a little intimacy to go with the amazing conversations I was quickly becoming addicted to.

  When Monday rolled around, I was actually excited to get back into class, both to see Nick again and to enjoy the college experience. I'd spent six years saving up for this, so I trotted into my Creative Writing class awake and ready, claiming a computer near the back of the room. I wasn't usually a morning person, and it took quite a few cups of coffee to get me motivated, but I'd already finished off an entire pot before heading out. Granted, it would be a miracle if my bladder lasted through the entire class.

  That's what I was thinking when the creepy blonde from the bar walked in. Maybe it was because I was early, or possibly because this time I'd gotten a chair in the back row instead of being stuck at the front like I'd been the first day, but I hadn't noticed him in here before. Something about this guy set off all my internal alarms, and I didn't want to be near him, not at all. Of course, that meant he claimed the chair right next to mine.

  I couldn't take my eyes off him even though I was trying to be subtle about it. He grabbed a few things from his bag, set them at his side, then paused, looking slowly over his shoulder. Our eyes met and I glanced away quickly. He was Nick's friend, I reminded myself, trying to ignore how his eerie green eyes made me feel uncomfortable.

  Besides, he wasn't bad looking. More traditionally attractive than Sam, if I looked at him objectively, but not as beautiful as Nick. This guy was long, lean, and golden. His skin looked like it had been kissed by the sun, and his hair should've had a rating in karats. Where Nick was strong and athletic, this guy was muscled more like a dancer, fit and trim, but much more refined. Hell, he looked like he belonged in a suit.

  I was just starting to convince myself there was nothing wrong with him when his near-twin walked in. Seriously, these guys looked like brothers – same size, same model-perfect faces, and even the same overly shiny hair. A few girls at the front turned, their eyes tracking the second one's every move, but I tried to shrink behind my monitor, hoping he wouldn't notice me. Where the guy beside me was gold, this new one was brass. His hair looked burnished and his skin was just a slightly different shade. But their eyes? I swallowed, trying to calm my frantic mind. Their eyes were the same: a green so vivid it was surreal.

  I felt a shiver run across my skin. There was something very unnatural about these two. Pulling my arms as close as possible so I wouldn't touch the one beside me, I wished the professor would start talking already. Nick's friend leaned toward me, but finally, something worked out in my favor.

  The professor stood and began discussing the day's project. It was a simple short story. We could choose either a memory, a dream, or something that happened over the summer if we'd used too many drugs to remember anything beyond that. Like the rest of the class, I chuckled, amused that she knew college life so well.

  She turned us loose, reminding us it would be due at the end of the hour, and we'd begin discussing technique on Wednesday. It was also the perfect excuse to keep the guy beside me from trying to talk to me again. Opening the writing program, I dived right in. It wasn't hard to think of something. I was an artist who had a crush on Death. There was so much material in that. All I had to do was pick something and make it sound like a bad dream.

  Halfway through my essay, a flash of lightning reflected off my monitor. As if my day could get worse! I should've checked the weather before I left that morning, but I hadn't. So there I was, trying to make it through Creative Writing, watching the clock, and listening to the windows rattle at each boom of thunder. Naturally, I also hadn't done laundry and was wearing a thin white T-shirt with a comfortable but very purple bra under it – and my next class was on the other side of campus.

  The goal was one thousand words. I hit almost two before finding a good place to stop. There were ten minutes left in class, but she'd said we could turn it in early if we finished, and I wanted to stay dry. Running through spell-check quickly, I hit print and liste
ned to the machine spool up behind me. As it ejected the pages, I made my way over.

  The brassy guy stared as I crossed the room, like a lion watching a gazelle with a limp.

  I gathered the papers off the printer, stapled them together, and headed to the front. The professor looked up. "At least a thousand words?"

  "Just over seventeen hundred," I assured her. "Dream sequence."

  "Nice. Then I'll see you Wednesday." She nodded, giving me permission to gather my things and go.

  Yep, that was good enough for me. I headed back to my desk, made sure I had everything, and tried to ignore Nick's creepy friend and his creepy almost-twin across the room. When I threw my backpack over my shoulder, Nick's buddy started to gather his things, and the printer whirred again. Damn it. That was my cue to go. I wanted to be as far from him as possible.

  I was off like a shot. I didn't even bother putting my notebook away; I just scrambled for the door, down the steps, around the corner, and toward the exit. Outside, the clouds were dark and heavy, but the sidewalk was still dry. If I was lucky – and I was rarely lucky – I'd make it to the Edison building before the rain started, dry and hopefully with my pretty purple bra still a secret that only I knew about.

  I shoved through the door, my eyes on the clouds, and hit something solid. The air rushed out of my lungs with a very unattractive grunt as my notebook slipped from my fingers, and all I saw was a pair of Greek letters in my face. My syllabus fluttered out and tried to take flight in the stormy breeze. The wall I'd collided with was solid, thick, about six feet tall, wearing a Delta Phi shirt, and had the most brilliantly platinum blonde hair. I hadn't even seen him.

  "What the hell?" he snapped, taking a step back. "Seriously!"

  "Sorry!" I gasped, bending over to grab my notes.

  The next thing I knew, Mr. Abs-of-Steel was crouched beside me, snatching the loose papers easily. "Sorry," he said with a very plastic smile. "You just caught me off guard. Not every day I get tackled by an angel."