Her eyes narrowed in his direction, her face screaming disdain. “I’d laugh and laugh, and then I’d tell you to shove it right up your demonic ass. I know why you’re here and the fuck I’ll take this lying down!” She shook the prism under his nose once more with a frantic flick of her wrist, like she was shaking a saltshaker over a piece of meat.
Clyde thwapped the air blindly at her hand without success. “I doubt there’s much you take lying down, but I have no clue what you mean when you say you won’t take whatever it is you’re supposedly taking lying down.” He paused, dragging his other hand across his temple. “What is that and why’s it making my eyes burn?” His face, now a summer radish’s shade of red, remained perplexed.
Ahhhh. If he’d been good at playing charming, he was even better at pretending to be a dimwit.
Delaney smiled coquettishly, the upward turn of her lips gleaming with menace. “Oh, stop, already. You know damned well what this is and why it’s burning your eyes, you ass-licking devil worshipper. Now here’s where the bullshit stops and we get down to the business at hand. I want you gone—ASAP. And if you think your eyes burn now, just wait until I get the Morton salt. I’ve got a box of it, you know—like, a Costco-sized box. Big—very big. The shit will fly, and I’ll fry you like I’m a short-order cook.” She moved in just a bit closer, swishing the prism while she went.
Clyde clenched his perfect white teeth together, his breathing becoming ragged, emphasized by the sharp lift and drop of her pink bathrobe on his shoulders. “I think it’s worth mentioning, I’ve been nothing but nice about this. The least you can do is hear me out.”
Delaney drew the prism but a hairsbreadth from his cheek. If she merely grazed him with it, she’d burn him, and, while she was all about ditching this dude, she hated what it took to rid yourself of a demonic presence. It was always so violent, and sometimes very, very messy. She didn’t have much experience in it, but if what she’d figured out about him was true, that he was a noob, he shouldn’t be too difficult to expel. “I think it’s worth mentioning that I’ve been nothing but nice, too. I did sacrifice Ghost Whisperer , not to mention the eight hundred bucks you cost me to hear you out. And I let you nab my favorite Friday night ensemble while I did it. And now I find you don’t need to cross over to anything. Your crossing days are ovah, pal, aren’t they?”
Clyde’s body grew rigid, patches of ugly crimson scurrying up his long torso while he fought to maintain his human form. “I don’t know what crossing over is. I just know I need you to lisss—li—sssssten!” he hissed while the ugly transformation of his real form began to emerge.
But no amount of scales and forked tongues was all that big of a thang for her.
Not a lot, anyway. She’d seen some heinous shit—she’d probably see more before all was said and done.
Delaney moved in just a smidge closer, refusing to acknowledge the pain she knew he was in. “Pay attention, Lucifer lover. The listening part of this conversation is over. It’s time for you to go,” she whispered with a harsh spit in his face.
“But I can’t go.”
“But you can, and you will.”
“If you’d just—”
“Zip. It.”
“But—”
Again she whirled the prism at him. “Pffft! I said shut up and get the fuck out—nooooow!” she howled all loud and screechy for effect, fighting a grin.
Clyde backed up, using his arms to push him up over the bed and against the pile of pillows. The veins in his neck popped out, his fingers clenched the sheets with a tight, white-knuckled grip, perspiration began to drench his disappearing, sleekly dark hair. Each word he spoke was from between a locked jaw and clenched teeth. “If you’ll just listen to me, I—can—explain,” he gritted out, harsh and panting.
“Oh, the hell, you fucking Hades-loving groupie. Now get out!”
The dogs began to whine collectively, yet they didn’t move to her aid at the end of the bed, where she was swinging the prism in wild arcs. Instead, they all, every last mutinous one of them, plastered themselves against Clyde’s hard body. Her blind dog had managed to stumble nearer to Clyde, burrowing his head against the width of his now scaly chest and whimpering.
Well, that was just fucking that. The Dog Whisperer’s book was totally going back to the bookstore. She’d spent twenty bucks on a book that was supposed to inspire obedience, yet her pack had turned on her because of just one brawny man? A demon man at that. Cesar was totally getting hate mail from her—right after she got rid of the demon.
“Delaney—pleassssse, just lisssssten!” he growled with a rasp, a poke of his forked tongue slipping from his lips. Then he doubled over, bending at his lean waist to clutch his abdomen.
His grip on the sheets began to loosen; his hold on this plane began to wan. Which meant he was a lesser demon. Any demon worth his weight in fire and brimstone wouldn’t be as troubled by a little old prism as Clyde was.