Page 69 of Infernal Bindings

“Yeah, he’s too high and mighty to glamour humans,” a third voice joins in.

The world goes dark—completely, totally dark. And suddenly, I’m not Julia anymore; I’m Annie, trapped on the fourth floor, my arms and legs pinned not by ropes or strong muscles, but by the heavy weight of whatever drug they gave me. Unable to open my eyes, I feel someone tug at my leather wrist cuffs, exposing my tattoo.

“Fuck,” they say. “It’s his witch.”

“It’s Salios’s witch,” another corrects. “Look at the Infernal.”

“I’m not touching her, Dorul. It’s not worth it.”

“Me neither.”

A door opens and slams shut. My cloak slides against my naked body as someone rifles through it, digging into my pockets.

“Drink,” a strange voice whispers before pressing a vial to my lips.

I force my stiff mouth to comply. The second the sweet ambrosia hits my tongue, my heavy eyelids flutter open, the weight of the sleeping drug vanishing to expose a demon sitting on the bed beside me.

Spike-Face from the second-floor lounge.

The demon I’d been face-to-ass with when I orgasmed on stage.

God, he’s probably one of the last people I’d expect—or want—to see. The demon helps me into a sitting position and shakes his head.

“You really shouldn’t be here,” he whispers.

“Who are you?” I ask, still a bit delirious. My vision blurs as I rub the sleep away, only to find the two of us completely alone.

“I’m Daemon’s father, Sylrin. But for now, you can call me master.”

33

DADDY DEAREST

Mr. Spike-Face—Sylrin—shuts the bedroom’s pink and frilly curtains, shielding us from onlookers. For a moment, I can’t help but wonder what his last name actually is, or if demons even have last names. Sylrin Spike-face is absurd, even at face value.

I don’t get the chance to ask him before he’s in my face again, hunched over me as he stares at my wrist where the leather cuff has ridden up, exposing Salios’s pink, infernal tattoo.

“Where’s Daemon?” he asks. “I can disguise you as my pet and take you to him. The faster both of you are out of here, the better. Do you know what they do to witches in Hell?”

Take me to Daemon?

He doesn’t know.

I swallow, uncertain what to say. I’m aware they’re not on speaking terms, though Daemon’s never discussed why. But Daemon not sharing something like this with his father seems extreme. Then again, face-fucking me in front of him, without telling me who Sylrin was, also seems extreme. It puts me on edge.

If Daemon didn’t trust him enough to ask for his help with the list, let alone introduce us when we bumped into each other last time, how can I trust Sylrin now?

“You’re Daemon’s witch, right?” Sylrin asks, a black spike glinting as he arches his brow. “You have to be. My son doesn’t glamour humans, and I can’t think of anyone else he’d be stupid enough to bring here.”

“I am Daemon’s witch,” I say, and my hand instinctively reaches for the choker Minerva gave me that isn’t there. Instead, my fingers brush against smooth leather and Christopher’s grounding stone. “But Daemon isn’t with me.”

“You came here alone?” His tone is incredulous. “How did you even get here?”

“Minerva opened a portal.”

“That witch,” he hisses under his breath. “I don’t have the power to teleport you home. Demons can’t leave Hell freely. We need permits, or else we have to wait for a witch to summon us.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to teleport home. I’m not finished with my list yet.”