Page 44 of Infernal Bindings

“We’ll have to start at the bottom floor like last time,” I say. “It’ll take forever.”

Daemon shakes his head. “Not necessarily. We won’t do shots like last time. And we won’t waste our time on anyone we’ve already vetted.”

“But I don’t remember who we saw. Do you?”

Daemon snaps his fingers, and an old-fashioned scroll appears in his lap. It looks like a Hollywood movie prop—stiff and crinkly—and when he unfurls it, the rust-colored letters are written in Infernal. “These are the names of every incubus in Hell. I spelled it earlier to scratch out anyone we saw at the club. Now, it will pull us in the direction of whoever is still on the list. It’ll make reviewing the bottom levels much more efficient.”

“When did you cast this?” I run my fingers along the scroll. It’s not made of paper after all, but parchment. Old magic has a certain musty smell to it. But this isn’t just old magic, it’s blood magic too. Dangerous. Deadly. I haven’t done anything like it since summoning Daemon.

“The morning after,” he says. “It’s tied to my life force, so be gentle with it. Anything done to the scroll gets done to me as well until I can dispel it.”

Shit. I pass it back to him, not wanting to be responsible for accidental rips or squishing. A moment later, it’s snapped away to wherever Daemon stores his random mystical items.

I clear my throat. “Alright, so we cross out the entire list, or as many as we can, and see who’s left behind.”

“That’s the idea,” Daemon says. “We have a lot more than sixteen people to check, but since the demons aggregate, it’s possible to finish it all in one night… if we leave now.”

“I’m guessing you have another embarrassing outfit for me to put on?” I ask, already dreading the answer.

“It wouldn’t be Hell if I didn’t.”

This outfit is red—cherry red—and so is my lipstick. I look like a glorified sex doll in sheer harem pants that expose everything, and a matching bra with shimmering gray and red beads on it. The black collar and cuffs have been replaced by burgundy ones, and the gray crystals still graze my neck with each turn of the head.

I spin once, taking in the thin, silky ribbon that holds up my waistband. It reminds me of a string bikini, with bows on either side that can be unknotted for easy access. Crossing his bedroom, Daemon takes one of the bows between his thumb and forefinger and rubs it almost absentmindedly. Already, I imagine him tugging on it and undressing me. In my defense, it’s been almost a year since I’ve had sex and right now I’m as horny as I am embarrassed.

“If you get tied up tonight and can’t touch your earlobe—” Daemon starts.

“Then I cross my fingers instead.”

He nods. “We'll leave there as soon as you’re uncomfortable.”

God, I can’t stop watching him stroke that ribbon, and I can’t help picturing him stroking me. I lean into the touch, fighting back a whimper when he lets the bow drop.

“There’s something else I want to talk to you about,” he says, and I frown up at him. “I don’t kiss people.”

I arch a brow. “Ever?”

“Ever,” he says, and his face is completely serious. “I’m an incubus. I have to fuck people to survive. But the first time I kiss someone, I want it to mean something.”

I feel like everything I’ve known and assumed about Daemon is wrong. And then I feel incredibly guilty because he’s my best friend, and this is something I should have known about him. But I’ve never asked. I’ve deflected any time his incubus nature came up.

I’m half-tempted to make a joke about it—compare him to the movie Pretty Woman, or that Drew Barrymore film Never Been Kissed. But that wouldn’t be fair, not when he’s being so vulnerable with me. For once, I don’t want to deflect or make light of something that clearly means a lot to him.

“Back at the club, you said when you finally kiss me… You implied you wanted to…” I let the sentence hang in the air. And even though I don’t voice it as a question, Daemon still answers it.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for years, Annie.” He cups my cheek, staring down at me with red eyes that suddenly look soft. “But I never wanted to make you choose between me and your coven, or me and your future mate. It wouldn’t have been fair to you. And I didn’t…” He swallows. “I know how mating bonds work. I didn’t think you’d choose me.”

For a long moment, there’s silence between us, and that silence is everything he needs to hear. Because Christopher, he’s who I’m supposed to want, he’s who I’m supposed to be with. Like my father said, because of our bond, a part of me will always be drawn to him.

“That’s what I thought,” Daemon says. He pulls his hand away, and that softness disappears into a stoic mask.

“Daemon—” But what can I say? Choosing him means losing everything: my home, my family, my coven. Choosing Christopher will let me belong for the first time in my life, and he’s a good man. But he isn’t Daemon.

“Do me a favor?” Daemon asks.

“Anything.” And I mean it. I would do anything for this man. I have done anything for this man, including risking my immortal soul for a chance to save him.

“Don’t kiss me until you mean it.”