I dug into my pocket for my phone. I flipped it open, hoping to find Gus’ number. The demon quickly swatted my hand, but he did it with an air of laziness, like knocking the phone from my grasp was an action less exerting than breathing. The phone landed noisily on the other side of the small cave.
The demon laughed, his threatening baritone echoing oddly off the stone walls. “Relax,” he said. “I haven’t figured out how to kill you. I will, though,” he added fervently. “But before I get to any of that, there’s still the matter of stealing your throne. In the mood for drinking a little blood?” He leaned in and flashed me a gruesome, sharp-toothed grin.
I swallowed. I didn’t want to be the Devil, but I was getting the impression that I was in way over my head, and that if I was going to get out of this I had to be careful about how I did it. Giving the title over to someone who promised to kill me even though I was already dead seemed akin to handing the fate of the world over to a psychopath.
“Not really,” I answered. It was obvious that I didn’t really feel up to the task of holding my ground.
He laughed again. “No matter. I wasn’t asking permission anyway.” He raised a finger menacingly. As I watched, his fingernail extended into a long, curved claw.
He approached. I backed away. I didn’t have much space. He grabbed me by the shoulder and pushed me firmly against the stone wall.
“Azraal,” a stern female voice barked. “Back the fuck off.”
The demon’s pressure on my shoulder decreased, but he did not release me. He turned to face the source of the voice.
Standing behind him, looking really really hot and really really bitchy, was Kivra.