Page 7 of My Demon Charming

Demons wear glasses and suits?

“Wh-who are you?” I ask.

Somehow, I’ve managed to find my voice, and it doesn’t sound half as pathetic as I feel.

The man raises an eyebrow and smirks.

“You called me. Shouldn’t you know?” His voice is low and thick like syrup.

It reverberates inside me like guitar strings whose music wraps my body in a strange, intoxicating hold.

“You…you’re a demon?” I ask.

“You did call for one, didn’t you?” Despite his words, he doesn’t sound irritated. More…entertained.

“I…I did.” I look down at the summoning kit, and he follows my gaze.

He scoffs.

“Bloody Demon Emporium. They never warn. They never specify. Idiots.”

“Is that…is that an English accent? You’re English?”

The demon smiles.

“I’m old, darling boy. I’m not English.”

“You don’t look old— No, wait a minute. What does being old have to do with the English accent? Are we in a TV show? Because that’s the only place where anyone old and infernal has to have an English accent.”

Yeah, like Tom Ellis from Lucifer. Oh, Tom!

Come to think of it, this guy looks an awful lot like him. The character-slash-actor who haunted most of my pubescent dreams.

The demon rolls his eyes and huffs.

“Are you quite all right? You sound delirious.”

I shake my head and push myself up off the bed.

The more he speaks, the better I feel. As if he’s mending everything broken inside me.

“I’m not delirious. I’m just saying…it’s cliché.”

Maybe this is a prank.

Yes.

That’s it.

It has to be a prank.

“Am I being filmed?”

The demon impostor grins.

“Do you like being filmed, darling boy?”

There it is again. The pet name. Darling boy. It’s so infuriating, yet…every time he says it, something in the pit of my stomach pulses with need.