She blinked a couple of times and frowned. “I have a father as well as a bodyguard?”
“We have been watching over you. We had orders to wait until you were ready to return, or your time ran out, but this morning we sensed your distress.” He cast a look toward Carl and amusement flickered in his crimson eyes. “Do you wish us to dispose of the…dog?”
“No. Really, no.”
“Then we must depart for the Abyss.”
Her face went blank, her muscles tightened. “Not. Going. Back.”
“I have my orders.”
Carl took a step forward. “You heard the fucking princess—she doesn’t want to go. So fuck off back to where you’ve been hiding.”
His lips quirked. “We have been close.”
“Well, that explains the stink I’ve been smelling recently.”
The amusement vanished. “She comes with us.”
Carl took a step closer and shoved a finger in the demon’s chest. “Not if she doesn’t want to.”
“She will die.”
“I’ll save her.”
“That is my job.”
…
Carl loves me!
Shera’s head was about to explode. The morning had taken on a surreal quality, but she had a feeling that if she could stop her brain going boom, she might actually make some sense of this. But her mind kept going back to Carl’s words.
He loves me.
She looked from him to the demon and back again. They were growling right into each other’s faces, only inches apart. She let the argument wash over her as she tried to make sense of what was going on.
He’d called her “princess.” Said he was her bodyguard. A demon bodyguard sent by her father. So that would make her…
She pinched the bridge of her nose.
She was pretty sure she knew what that made her, and right now she couldn’t get a reaction from her brain. It was so out of the blue. Or maybe not. She had a flashback to Carl stopping her taking a drink the first night they had met. Then his extremely convoluted story about why she shouldn’t drink because he had an alcoholic mother. How had she believed that load of bollocks? He’d just not wanted her to drink. Why hadn’t he told her the real reason?
She shook her head, opened her mouth, but no one was paying her any attention at all. Instead they were arguing about which one of them was going to save her. She didn’t need or want saving. She’d already made her decision—she was going to die. And they would all feel sorry that they hadn’t been nicer to her.
At that thought, she had a moment of almost blinding clarity. The truth was, she was being stubborn, and a bitch, and maybe a little bit of a demon thrown in. She’d wanted everyone to suffer and be sorry she was dead.
But she didn’t really want to die.
As she accepted that, a sense of lightness bubbled up inside her until she was almost floating.
And Carl loves me!
She took a deep breath. She could do this. She could go back, meet her mysterious father, and sort something out with Asmodai. And she’d have Carl to help her along the way.
Time to bring a stop to this. “Okay, guys,” she said.
No one took the slightest bit of notice.
She glanced around. There was one thing left to do on her bucket list. She shifted into cat form quickly, pulling her paw free of the handcuff, and then shifted back again. Carl was busy arguing, but the demon flashed her an amused glance.
She rose from the bed, clutching the sheet to her breasts, and sidled toward the minibar. She bent down and opened it, grabbed the first of the little bottles, and straightened. She read the label: vodka. Good enough.
She unscrewed the cap and took a sniff. Ugh. Then she looked up and found the whole room focused on her. At last.
Carl looked scared. Really scared. She liked that. Served him right for not telling her the truth.
“What’s the matter?” she asked sweetly. “Do you think I’m going to go all demon on you?” Her eyes narrowed. “Why would you think that? Is there something you haven’t been telling me, Carl?”
Without waiting for an answer, she raised the bottle to her lips and took a sip. Double ugh.
“Spit it out, Shera,” Carl said.
Not a chance. She swallowed, felt the burn in her throat but little else. Frowning, she lifted the bottle to her mouth and gulped the rest.
Everyone was watching her. She raised her shoulders in a shrug. Maybe she wasn’t a demon after all. A giggle spilled out of her mouth. She opened the minibar and pulled out the next bottle. Gin.
Her mind was feeling a little numb—if nothing else, the alcohol might dull the whole experience if she did spontaneously combust. She giggled again then remembered—she didn’t want to die.
She took a gulp of gin—more ugh—then a wobbly step toward Carl. “I’ve decided. You can take me back.”
She liked the shock that flashed across his expression and the big grin that split his face.
“I will take you back, Princess.”