“You worry too much. You need to be more adventurous.”
This was the old, arrogant Ben, the one she didn’t much like.
She pushed him off.
“I was about to have sex with a demon. I think that’s adventurous enough. And I won’t risk getting some two-thousand-year-old disease by having sex without protection.” The realization of what she’d almost done hit her like a thump from Granddad’s Bible.
He struggled up onto his elbow. “You have nothing to worry about. Demons can’t catch sexually transmitted diseases.”
“Tell that to someone who didn’t just spend three days nursing you through chickenpox.”
He rolled over, shoved his face into the pillow, and yelled. The sound was muffled, but his frustration came through loud and clear. It was a frustration she shared, but that only fueled her return to reality.
“Put your clothes on,” she said. “It’s time for you to go home.”
The ride back to his car was silent. She pulled into the adjacent parking space and he got out of the car. Then she drove off like the hounds of Hell were on her tail, without so much as a goodbye.
He drove the twenty minutes out to the beach trying to figure out what had just happened. Why had he tried to rush things? He had made love to thousands of women over the last hundred centuries, and he knew to a nicety how to bring a woman to the point where she was incapable of worrying about pregnancy or disease or anything but the imperative to mate with him. Why hadn’t he brought that experience to bear with Dara tonight?
Instead, he’d climbed on top of her like some callow teenage boy at the mercy of his hormones. The thought that had been pulsing through his brain, the thought that had drowned out logic and experience and even common sense, was: mine, mine, mine.
At home, he found his cell phone lying on the kitchen counter. It had been so pleasant, having time alone with Dara without spying eyes or listening ears. DemSec must have tracked down the phone and had Lilith rescue it.
As he reached to pick it up, the flesh over his breastbone pulled painfully. He pulled the neck of his shirt out. The faint imprint of the ruby cross was still etched there. In addition to being susceptible to human illnesses and injuries, he appeared to be healing more slowly from supernatural ones.
On the phone, there were a pile of texts from the boss, ranging from WHERE RU? to REPORT IN, ASSHOLE, but there was nothing from today. Bad must have reported Belial’s illness to Satan.
There were no lights on at the beach house. With any luck, Lilith was staying over with Jeremy. He opened the garage door, and her Miata was sitting there.
He needed time to think. He circled around the house to the deck and sat down on the bottom step. Yards away, beyond the shadowed sand, the ocean moved like mercury beneath the moonlight. It was low tide, and the encroachment of the waves on the shore was no more than a quiet whoosh.
Two thoughts vied for his attention. The first was: why had he been in such a hurry with Dara? He didn’t know. He’d never felt such a need to possess a woman before. The chant of mine, mine, mine had been as forceful as the tide that made the waves seek the shore.
The second was that the wager was as good as won. If he’d had a condom, Dara would have had intercourse with him. That told him she was infatuated with him. She wasn’t a woman who took sex lightly. She would never have let him get so far if she weren’t poised on the edge of falling in love, and he knew just what to do to draw her the rest of the way.
Once they had intercourse, he would be able manipulate her however he liked. He had never, in ten thousand years, had sex with a woman and then failed to corrupt her. And though Dara lived her life well within the letter of the Enemy’s rules, her disaffection from her creator ran deep. It still nagged at him why the Enemy had chosen this exact woman, with these exact issues, but that was a puzzle Belial wouldn’t solve. The Enemy had his reasons, and he rarely shared them.
The important thing was that Dara was ripe for a fall. The losses Belial would heap on her, stacked atop all the other losses in her life, would tip her over the edge. He had played this game too often to have any doubt of it. So why didn’t the knowledge of his ultimate victory bring him any pleasure?
She had spent the last several days caring for him—a demon she knew meant her harm. She might not know exactly what his plans were, but she understood they meant nothing good for her. Her treatment of him in the face of that reality showed her unselfishness was genuine. She was a truly compassionate woman who set self-interest—self-preservation, even—aside to put others’ welfare first.
He didn’t want to complete this mission. The thought of damning Dara to an eternity in Hell was unacceptable. Some remnant of his angel nature recognized the good in her and drew a line at her destruction.
More than that, he wanted to stay beside her. He wasn’t in love with her, of course—demons couldn’t love—but he wanted more time with her. She would likely live another fifty years. In cosmic time, it was an instant, but it was an instant he would very much enjoy spending at her side.
There had to be some way to make that happen, some clever con he could pull to convince Satan and the Enemy to let him draw out this wager until they lost interest, distracted by other things.
He just had to figure out how to stack that deck.
Chapter 35
At her condo, Dara tried going back to bed, but the sheets smelled of rainwater and vanilla. She couldn’t even smell the sulfur. Nana’s ruby cross was on the end table where Dara had tossed it. The chain lay in the shape of a mangled heart. She gritted her teeth against the desire to call Ben back and punched a spot for her head into the pillow.
To her surprise, he hadn’t spoken a word on the drive back to his car. He hadn’t even looked up when they passed an all-night pharmacy that almost certainly stocked condoms. It was annoying to think that their aborted sexual encounter frustrated him less than it frustrated her.
He had mumbled, “Thank you,” when he got out of the car, refusing to meet her eyes. From the way he’d acted, you’d think it was she who had tried to seduce him and not the other way around. She was so irritated she’d barely waited for him to close the car door before she sped out of the parking lot.
She was not a woman who took sex lightly. Part of her envied women like Lilith, who treated sex as a pleasure to be enjoyed without too much thought, like good chocolate or a fine glass of wine, but that was not how she was made. She and Matthew had sex before they were married, but not before she was sure he was the man she would marry.
For the first year after Matt died, she was too devastated by his loss, and the loss of their child, to be interested in meeting anyone. By the time that first anguish faded, she had filled her life with work. Her job was soothing, it was worthwhile, and it couldn’t die on her.
But something had happened to her since Ben came into her life. The parts of her that had been slumbering for the past five years had awakened. She’d spent more than one night alone in this bed, her hand creeping between her thighs as she imagined what it would be like to be in his arms. She tried to tell herself she wasn’t the kind of woman who would have sex with a demon, but tonight’s events made it clear that she was lying to herself.
The scary part was that she didn’t feel any different. She didn’t feel like she had relaxed her moral code. She hadn’t become an intrepid sexual explorer, like Lilith. She wasn’t interested in remarrying, or even starting to date again. She just wanted the demon she knew as Ben Lyle. His scent wafted up from her pillow and her body chanted another chorus of mine, mine, mine.
With an exclamation, she got up and yanked the sheets from the bed. She bundled them, along with the pillowcases, into the washer and sprayed the mattress with Febreze. She put on new sheets that smelled of lavender and crawled back into bed. His scent wrapped around her, fainter, but still there. She groaned. It was as impossible to drive his odor from her bed as it was to drive his image from her mind.
Ben’s behav
ior over the past three days was not what she would have expected. In her experience, illness did not bring out the best in people. They were ruder, more short-tempered and more difficult to please when they were sick. And the longer they went on being sick, the truer that was.
But while she’d nursed him, Ben had been the perfect patient. He was grateful for everything she did for him, saying thank you at every turn. It was hard to know what to make of that. Was that a con all demons pulled to gain pity? Or something particular to this demon? She didn’t have enough experience to know which was true.
In the morning, she’d go see the expert.
Belial arrived in Hell as Satan and Bad were taste-testing atomic chicken wings prepared for tonight’s poker game. The air in Ring Nine felt hot, and in comparison to Alexandria, very dry.
“What’s he doing here?” Belial asked.
“Zeus can’t make it. Hera’s on the warpath. Bad is filling in.”
Belial dove straight in. “I think we should challenge the Enemy to increase the stakes.”
Satan’s lips flattened into a straight line. “First things first. Did you bang her?”
“Yes.” In ten thousand years of telling lies, it felt like the worst falsehood Belial had ever uttered, but it was for Dara’s own good.
“Since you ditched the mic,” Bad said, “we only have your word for that.” He bit into another wing.
Belial drew himself up, flaunting his beauty. “Do you doubt it?”
Bad flushed. “All I’m saying is this supposed carnal action had no witnesses. The beach house has cameras in every room. If you want credit for the score, provide some documentation.”
“You’re just looking for a peep show. Get your jollies somewhere else.” Belial turned back to Satan. “She succumbed to me. This wager is as good as won.”
Satan pinched his lower lip. “What changes were you contemplating? Another soul? Because we’re already ten to a bunk down here.”
Belial was prepared for this question. “I was thinking, if we win, Heaven hosts the next poker game.”
Satan’s hands stilled. If there was anything Satan craved, it was recognition of his sovereignty. An invitation from the Enemy to play poker in Heaven would constitute an acknowledgment of the Hellish state.
Belial sweetened the pot. “Picture it. Michael brings you a beer while Gabriel lights your cigar.”
A spark glinted from Satan’s left horn. Belial had found the right lure.
Satan frowned. “Why would the Enemy let us change things up at this point?”
“Because he’s about to lose.”
“What will you offer him?”
“I was thinking—Silicon Valley.” Some of Hell’s best work was being played out in the tech companies of California. “No intervention for some period of time.”
“You can’t do that,” Bad protested. “Silicon Valley is my territory, not yours.”
Satan whipped around like a snake striking. “Nothing is your territory unless I say it is.”
The temptation of recognition was as strong as Belial had hoped.
A few minutes later, the players arrived. The Enemy’s white robe trailed the ground without picking up any of the black grit that coated the lava floors. Loki followed close behind.
The Norseman spied Belial. He tucked his hands into his armpits and flapped his arms like wings. “Bock-bock-bock.”
Belial stared at him. He grew more deranged every month.
“Chickenpox,” Loki crowed. “I heard you had chickenpox.”
Everyone roared except Belial and the Enemy. Belial fought the urge to punch Loki in his helmeted head. What an idiot. It was no wonder the Norse gods had lost their following.
Satan passed out poker chips, then broke the seal on a fresh deck of cards and shuffled. He offered the Enemy the cut.
“Pass.” The Enemy smiled. “After all, we’re all friends here, are we not?”
“Of course.” Satan smiled right back at him.
“Speaking of friendly wagers…” The Enemy turned to Belial. “How goes your pursuit of Dara Strong?”
He swallowed. Satan knew only what he could see and hear, or what was reported to him. It was less clear what the Enemy knew. The path ahead was so narrow that even the tiniest misstep would send Belial crashing over the edge to the burning rocks below. “She’s in love with me. She’ll do anything I ask.”
The Enemy looked amused. “Do you think so?”
Satan shot Belial a narrow look, forcing him to elaborate.
“In ten thousand years, no woman I’ve bedded has ever failed to do whatever I’ve asked.” It was the kind of statement that had won him the title “Hell’s Politician.” He hadn’t claimed they’d fornicated. He’d just said what it would mean if they had. He waited to see if the Enemy would call him on it.
“You’ve never taken on this woman before.”
Belial let out a tiny sigh of relief. It was exactly the response he’d hoped for. “Since you’re so confident, how about making things a little more interesting?”
The Enemy raised one elegant eyebrow. “Interesting how?
Belial sat back. “Instead of the week that’s left, you give me the remainder of her life.” In the celestial scheme of things, it was a nit, only microscopically longer than the current term. “If, after all that time, you win, we’ll cease operations in Silicon Valley for twenty years.” Twenty years without demonic intervention would allow technology to veer to the good, although the moment the dark forces went back to work, that progress would probably be lost.
“What do you want in return?”
“You start hosting some of these poker games in Heaven.”
The Enemy surveyed him. “Let me see if I have this right. We extend this wager for the duration of Dara Strong’s natural life. Then, if you lose, you stop interfering in Silicon Valley for twenty years. If you win, I invite you lot into Heaven. Is that also for twenty years?”
Satan hissed, and Belial shook his head. “Twenty human years is one hundred and seventy-five thousand hours and change. You’ll host us for an equivalent number of hours.” At five hours per game, that was approximately thirty-five thousand poker games.
“You’ve got to be joking. I’ll host once each year you leave Silicon Valley alone.”
That felt more like a holiday arrangement with obnoxious relatives than an acknowledgment of the Hellish state.
“No deal,” Satan said.
Belial had expected this. Time to execute his backup plan. He prodded his chips and took the ultimate gamble. “What I find myself wondering, what fascinates me, is what Dara’s reaction will be when she learns of this wager.”
The Enemy’s heavy brows slammed together and thunder rumbled overhead. There was a collective hiss of indrawn breath from everyone at the table. Bad’s eyes bounced from the Enemy to Belial and back, like he was watching a ping-pong game. Even Satan looked startled.
“There is,” Belial said, keeping his voice even, “nothing in our agreement that forbids me from sharing that information.”
The Enemy glowered at him. “And you think she’ll believe you?”
“Probably. She has a pretty good instinct for the truth. With all that she’s already been through, and with a little encouragement from me, that will be enough to make her curse you.”
Work with me here. It had long been a question in Hell whether the Enemy could, or would, read demon minds. For the first time, Belial hoped he did. I’m trying to save this woman you said you were pleased with.
“Good point,” the Enemy said. “Her rejection of me will need to be permanent, of course.”
Belial sensed an abyss yawning before him. “What do you mean?”
The Enemy nodded. “Because of the new covenant.”
The abyss took shape. The new covenant was the Boy’s work. Under its terms, if Dara repented before she died, the Enemy would forgive her and Hell wouldn’t be able to claim her soul. How had Belial missed that? Because the new c
ovenant wasn’t in place when Job was the pawn, or Eve before him.
“The terms of the wager—” Satan’s color had deepened well past burgundy into puce. His horns puffed like a coal-fired locomotive.
“The terms of the wager are not specific,” the Enemy said. “I only stipulated that you get a human soul, not her human soul. Play back the recording if you doubt it.”
Satan looked like he was about to burst into purple flames. The Enemy was using the loophole to make it look like Satan was no match for him, and he’d made it crystal clear that he’d rather risk losing than invite Satan back into Heaven. But Belial breathed a sigh of relief. Dara was safe.
“So, are you in?” Belial asked, bringing the conversation back to his original gambit. He wanted those fifty years beside her.
The Enemy nudged his tower of white chips with one immaculate fingernail. After what felt like an eternity, he said, “I’ll pass.”
Belial felt as though something precious had been ripped from his hands. He wouldn’t get to spend Dara’s life at her side. Then he took a deep breath. He’d accomplished the most important thing. Dara would be all right. As long as she recanted before she died, she would be all right. Knowing her as he did, he pegged that as a certainty.
On the other side of the table, Satan’s face was barely visible for the smoke streaming from his horns. He was furious that that Loki had witnessed his humiliation. It would do no good to point out that the Enemy had repudiated Loki, too. Everyone knew it was Sataniel he wouldn’t allow inside the Pearly Gates.
Satan was angry at Belial, but what else was new? The important thing was that Dara was safe. The Enemy had made it clear that even if she cursed him, as long as she repented, he would not condemn her to Hell. Some other poor soul that might otherwise have received leniency would be on the hook instead.
Satan dealt the cards. When the play came around to Belial, he was feeling lucky, so he bet big. The play passed to the Enemy, who met his wager and raised him. Grinning, Belial shoved in a matching amount of chips and then tossed in a few more for good measure.
The Demon Always Wins: Touched by a Demon, Book 1 Page 23