A hand clamped over her mouth. A pink hand. “We don't say that word here."
"Damon! She was going to use His name. Here of all places.” A tap of the cane. “I'll take her soul, Damon, don't think I won't. No respect in my own domain! None!” Satan grumbled. “Get her out of here before I decide to do just that. Now."
Another mist of smoke and they were back in the great hall, his hand still over her mouth. “I'm going to take my hand away and you're not going to say anything about the big guy upstairs, okay?"
She rolled her eyes, but nodded. Yeah, no big “G” talk. She understood. She'd be praying like hell if she ever got out of this, though. He slid his hand away, and she frowned at him, just to make sure he knew how pissed she was. “I swear that if this is some elaborate ploy to do … something … I'm going to have you put in jail for forever. And ever. Until you're a rotting whatever you are. Did you know that you're pink? Pink!"
"Pink? Pink. Pink!” Damon fumed and was tempted to call Satan back into the room to steal her soul after all. “I. Am. Not.” He ground his teeth, doing his best not to yell. It didn't work. “Pink!” Calming words… Count souls… don't strangle the Living… He cleared his throat and called in a set of chairs and a small table with two cups of cafe muerte. Let her drink some of that. “Why don't you have a seat?” Breathe. “And we can discuss a few things."
She skirted around him and perched on the edge of the chair. He followed and snatched a cup off the table, downing the soothing brew in one gulp. “Ah, the taste of Hell.” He settled into the chair and stared at the Living before him.
Damon placed his now empty cup on the table and put his elbows on his knees, focusing on the woman in front of him. “First. I am not pink. I am a blush-level demon and the Ambassador of Hell. The highest insult you could ever give someone of my esteem is to call me…” Deep breath. “Pink."
She held her hands up. “Woo, big bad blush demon gonna get me? Look. I'm in Hell for cryin’ out loud. At this point, I don't care if you want to call yourself fuchsia for Go—cripe's sake. Dude, you're pink."
"Enough!” Damon grabbed her cup of cafe muerte and downed it in a gulp. One cup wasn't enough today.
The woman seemed to shrink into herself, shoulders slumping, eyes focusing on her lap. Damn, he felt like he'd just kicked a puppy. “Look.” He opened his mouth to explain and nothing came out. She stared at him with tears shimmering in her eyes, and now he felt like he'd helped a little old lady across the street. “I'm … sorry.” He spat the word. “A demon's hue is important in our world. In pure power, I am one step below Satan himself. It assures that I won't come to an unfortunate end here in Hell. If someone were to challenge me and win … I could end up upstairs, of all places."
That earned him a giggle and he smiled in response. Then frowned. He shouldn't be smiling and laughing with the Living. She was here for a job and it was his job to keep her alive.
"You mean you could end up with a visit to the big ‘G'?"
He nodded, and she laughed even harder, clutching her stomach. “You! Of all places!"
"Hey, I'll have you know that I make a very good demon. I'm sure I'd do well wherever I land should something unfortunate occur. Which I hope it doesn't."
She wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes. “Sure. If you say so."
Damon sighed. Nothing with this Living was going right. “How about we move on and discuss a few rules and why you're here?"
"Fire away, Pinky."
"Blush."
"Whatever.” She snorted, and he resisted the urge to beat her with a pillow. A pillow wouldn't kill her outright. Would it?
"As I was saying.” He shot her a pointed look. “The most important rule for your stay—"
"In Hell."
"Could you please just shut up until I finish?” He felt the vein in his forehead throbbing. She giggled. The Living giggled at the Ambassador of Hell, blush demon. She was either dumb or just didn't give a damn. He couldn't figure out which just yet. “As I was saying. Again. The most important rule during your stay in Hell is that you should never stray more than twenty feet from me.” He paused a moment, letting the severity of the first rule sink in.
"If this is some cheap ploy to get into my pants, it won't work. Just sayin'.” She crossed her legs, and Damon took a moment to admire her legs before he blew up at her. Again.
"As lovely as you are, this isn't a ploy."
"What happens if I decide to do a little running and shoot across the room?” She smirked, and he couldn't hold his temper any longer.
"At twenty feet, you'll feel a little warm. At thirty, you'll feel like you've been baking in the sun for a few hours. At forty, like you've been in the desert for weeks and at fifty, you'll combust, burnt to ashes. It'll be painless, but permanent."
"You're joking."
Damon rose from the chair and placed his hands on the armrest of her seat, leaning over her, his face inches from hers. “This, I won't joke about. If you run from me, you will perish and I can't guarantee the fate of a soul born in Hell."
She swallowed audibly and he watched the wave of her throat. Her sweet peaches and cream throat was so different from the maroon damons, female demons, that threw themselves at him.
"Okay,” she squeaked out.
He nodded, a sharp dip of his head. “Good.” Damon retreated to his seat. “As for the rest of it… You're here to create a holiday celebration for the babes."
Suddenly the fear was replaced with interest. “Create how?"
"Like what you did in the window display. The babes have never had a winter holiday—"
The Living furrowed her brow. “You mean like Chri—"
Damon rushed forward and slapped his hand over her mouth. “No.” He shook his head. “No, we don't celebrate that. That would be wrong on so many levels. We're celebrating a gift giving occasion popularized by card makers. Nod if you understand.” She nodded and he kept his hand firmly in place until the movement was complete. “Good.” He slid his hand away from her mouth and took his seat. Again. Though, he didn't know why he bothered, she was bound to try and say something else that would enrage Satan before the conversation was through.
"As I was saying, you'll decorate the hall with the appropriate winter holiday decorations and festivities. Uncle Satan said gifts were being handled, so you just have to handle the shiny stuff. Any questions?"
She nodded. Of course the infernal woman had questions. “Won't it all melt?"
"Melt?"
"Duh, Hell, hot. Shiny stuff is typically plastic. Plastic melts when it gets hot. With me so far, blush boy?"
Damn Satan, he wouldn't have to worry about cursing the woman to the fires, he'd do it for him. “We will work on that. You just tell me what you need.” He wasn't going to have any teeth left by the time this project was through. “And will you please call me by name? I have one."
"Really?” She leaned forward and her blouse opened just enough for Damon to see the tops of her breasts. She taunted him with the brief glimpses of flesh, and he had to force himself to focus on her words. “'Cause I have a name too, and it sure as shit isn't Living."
Damon's face grew cool in an embarrassing drain of heat from his cheeks. He supposed he could understand a little of her frustration since he had been calling her a Living this whole time. He cleared his throat. “I am Damon Damas, Ambassador of Hell, servant of the Lord of Hell, Satan."
She sniffed. “I am Holly Boughs, best window decorator you'll ever meet and servant of the woman who could be Satan's wife, Monica Shax.” Holly leaned forward. “She really is a bitch."
Damon held out his hand and she slipped hers within. “Nice to meet you, Holly Boughs."
The hall doors flew open and at least thirty demons, damons and devils tumbled in. “Boughs of Holly? We know that one!"
Holly twisted in her chair and froze. They were being invaded by pink babies. Hundreds of them. And they were all staring at her. Some had horns, some didn't, and they we
re all bright and rosy and were bad devil singing.
Deck the halls wif bows of holly!
Fa la la la la, la la la la…
And then they repeated. And repeated. And repeated. Loudly.
And screaming. Screeching even.
Holly rose to her feet and took two steps back, easing away from both Damon and the babies. She didn't even know what they were, just that they were staring at her as if she were their next meal. For all she knew, she was.
Two steps turned into four and still they sang. Only now, they were toddling closer as well. The taller ones were gaining ground, pushing the smaller kids out of the way or down to the ground. Part of her heart ached for the tiny babes. The rest of her told her to get the fuck away. She was listening to that part.
Closer and closer they moved and farther and farther away she eased until they were both gaining and losing ground in tandem.
"Damon…” She needed him. Wasn't he supposed to keep her alive?
"Oh! She knows our names!” one of the smaller ones cried and they increased their pace toward her.
The air around her grew hotter with every step and she wiped sweat from her brow. She really needed to get to the gym more if half-jogging had her heating up so much. Farther and farther she shuffled, and the heat grew worse. Hotter, higher, more and more with every step. Still the kids ran and reached for her, some with fangs, others with horns, and her panic rose, heart pounding in her chest.
Without thought for the consequences, Holly spun and broke out into a mad run. Far and away and farther still she moved, pain and heat wrapping around her like a spiked blanket … and then she remembered Damon's words.
Oh shit. She was in Hell and it was hot.
Chapter 3
Lord of Hell, the King of Darkness, Satan was pissed. Which meant Hell, was well, hotter than Hell. Insanely hot. The souls were crying, the babes were whiny, harpies weren't visiting and the damons were bitching about their hair.
Yeah, pissed might not be strong enough of a word for Satan's attitude at the moment.
The Lord was pacing his study, cane clicking and clacking on the granite floor, the whole building vibrating with Satan's fury. “Tell me, Damon…” His voice was whisper soft. Scary as hell. “Why is that thing here? Hmm?"
"The thing about it is—"
"Do! Not! Do not underestimate me or try to joke your way out of this, Damas!” Flames roared to life within the room, the heat rising and rising, higher and higher.
"She was hurt. Her heart stopped."
The entire room burst into flames. “Hurt!” The door burst from its hinges. “And whose fault is that!"
Damon remained seated, thankful that he'd chosen Hell's rock chair. “Mine."
His, only his. His smiling peaches and cream woman crumbled before him under the weight of Hell. She'd been frightened, but she was afraid of the babes as well and he couldn't blame her. But to become so distracted that… Unfamiliar feelings pulsed through his veins. Guilt. Remorse. Caring. It was the caring that disturbed him most of all. He hadn't ever … respect, almost. That he knew. But the cool feeling in his coal-hot chest was new and he wasn't sure if he liked it at all. No amount of rubbing or time spent suffering Satan's wrath was warming that freezing spot in the center of his chest. Nothing.
"Exactly! Now tell me why that thing is here?” Satan growled, the flames dying down.
"We don't exactly have demon healers, Uncle Satan."
"Respect!"
Respect. Right. He was supposed to have that for the big man in charge. “My Lord, demon healers are unknown to our establishment. It was essential for Holly's well-being that someone with healing capabilities be brought to the hall.” There, polite and everything.
"Holly? So it's Holly now, not the Living?"
Damon closed his eyes, regretting the slip, but not her name on his lips. “The Living, my Lord."
"Right. And the reason that thing is now in my lair?” Satan was calm, too calm.
"Demons aren't known for their healing ability, my Lord. I appealed to On High to heal one of their own and they acquiesced."
"I see."
Uh-oh.
"So, you requested assistance from On High instead of returning this Living to her home plane.” Damon nodded, unsure what to do. “And then, they sent…” Satan tilted his head to the side, cracking his neck. “An angel!"
Yeah, Damon kinda figured that an angel showing up wasn't going to sit well with his uncle. He'd been right. “He is an excellent healer, my Lord. And we do need the Living, well, alive."
Satan glared at him, eyes burning bright. “Do not remind me what we need. What you should have done was let her perish and fight her way out of Hell like the other souls. That's what you should have done. But, nooo, you had to involve what's-his-name upstairs and heal her. Didn't you?” Satan sighed and slumped into a Hell's rock chair. “Just come get me when he's done with her."
Damon hopped from his chair, happy that the worst of Satan's temper had dwindled.
"But her display better be damned good or there'll be no help from On High next time,” Satan called after him, and Damon faltered.
He wouldn't let that happen. Those sweet lips and fiery eyes called to him, her body beckoned him to stroke and pet those luscious curves. She was his and this accident solidified everything he'd been feeling from the moment he'd laid eyes on her.
The room cool, well, relatively cool, Damon went in search of his Holly and the being assisting him. He found them easily enough.
His brother Leonard stood outside Damon's rooms, arms crossed and eyes burning bright. “I couldn't just leave her when Uncle summoned you. She's…"
"Mine.” He was possessive, damn it.
His brother chuckled, a smile coming to his face. “Well, well. Brother dear, you've met your match in this hellcat."
"I—"
"Oh, you have,” his brother needled.
"She stood up to Uncle. Toe to toe with him and didn't back down for a moment."
"Fire."
Damon nodded. “And ice. At least until the babes came running at her, full tilt and looking for attention."
"Ah, so she has the same aversion as you do. Good. It'll make the issue of offspring easier."
Damon nodded again, agreeing with his brother. True. How many Living had been lost due to demon babes tearing their mothers open during birth? Carrying a demon was difficult for the damons at best and fatal at worst. It was a guaranteed death sentence for Living women. A bright white light shone from beneath the doorway. “How does she fare?"
Leonard sighed, eyes sad. “She hasn't risen. The … being still hasn't come out to report. She still fights. I can feel her, but I … feel an emptiness. I don't have the urge to conquer and steal her soul. It's as if her very being is gone."
Gone? Couldn't be. Not after he'd just realized that he wanted her as more than a Living to complete his job.
The door clicked and slid open, revealing the purity of the man within. Thoughts and murmurs tinkled and blew through his mind. The man's voice, but not. Too pure, the being's very presence threatened their lives, their very existence. With one word, the walls would come crashing down. The Metatron, God's very voice, was in residence, delivering a message.
She lives, yet she dies. Her heart is strong, but broken. Her soul is here, yet gone. You must wait, she must be judged.
Dying, Holly realized, wasn't all that bad. Oh, the trip to death sucked hairy balls, but being dead was kind of … floaty.
Holly danced through the air, shifting this way and that, pausing to listen to conversations here and there. Most she passed without thought, demons and devils discussing the next soul to torment. She didn't want them catching her, she was destined to go to Heaven. Period, end of story, thanks for the visit. No way she'd stick around here in Hell. No. Way. She'd hunt up that white light if it took an eternity and Hell would freeze over if they thought they'd toss her into the burning pits with all of those other icky bad souls.
She floated down a hallway, enjoying her time exploring the ins and outs of Hell's great hall. It was down one specific hallway that she ventured and learned more than she desired. Or did she?
Damon, sexy, growly, asthmatic Damon was speaking to another demon. They looked the same, but different. The other was a hint darker than Damon's blush. Yet they both bore the same look of concern. Curious.
And then she heard their words, and if she still had a heart, it would have stopped.
Mr. Hot-Pants wanted her? Little ole Holly Boughs? Now she wished she had stuck around in her body, stayed corporeal just to see if he'd make a move, seduce and woo her. She'd never been truly wooed before, and she had to admit the prospect excited her. She wasn't even sure what a demon's version of wooing was, but dang it, she wanted that.
But she was dead. And he was … something other than Living. Demon-Living? She ached for him though, with or without a body. She'd been attracted to him even before he'd kidnapped her, and now his worry over her touched her heart in a way it hadn't been touched before. She wanted to reach out and smooth the lines of concern between his eyebrows, ease the tension and throw herself into his arms. Or skip most of that and go to the jumping into his arms part. She really wanted to do that. She just needed to get her body back.
Only … she couldn't. It didn't matter. She'd stick around. Maybe figure out how to communicate with him, learn about him. Holly hadn't ever had anyone that cared … in any way. Sure, she had family, but this felt … different. A good different, but different just the same—even if he was a demon from Hell and his uncle was Satan.
Suddenly the hallway was filled with a blinding white light, and yet the men didn't react, just continued their conversation as if nothing had changed. Holly could see the light clearly, a man standing in the center, beckoning her, calling her, urging her to come forward.
But she didn't want to, didn't want to leave Damon. Damon's pull was still so great, but the light was even greater, stronger. She felt her soul floating forward even as she fought the stranger's hold. No. No!
It didn't matter. Within moments she was following the man, into the light and away from Damon. No!
Alphas for the Holidays Page 11