Jodi Redford - Getting Familiar with Your Demon

This book is dedicated to all of my awesome readers out there. You guys are the whole reason Im able to do this job I love. Also to my Zombie Smuthound posseKyla, Kelly and Bea. You guys might be even crazier than me. Okay, probably not. But you make my lifeand Twitter streamso much fun.

Last, but never least, to my amazing editor, Sasha. You truly are the Abbott to my Costello. The Tony to my tiger. The puffer to my fish

Samael Gorasola grimaced as the blaring strains of Its Raining Men pounded through the speakers recessed in the walls of his prison cell. There werent many things that made him yearn for a quick, merciful death. Not even the three-centuries-old demon currently torturing him. Disco music on the other handwhere was a damn bullet to the brain when he needed one?

Right on cue, Toran joined in on the chorus with a piercing falsetto that was akin to sharp toothpicks jabbing into Sams corneas. Sam gritted his teeth. Fucking. Kill. Me. Now.

A series of crackles fizzled and spit through the air, and a second later the charged wires of Torans whip snapped across the exposed skin on Sams back, sizzling his flesh with white-hot agony. Despite his best efforts to cage it, Sams pained roar broke loose. At least the sound momentarily drowned out the horrendous music.

Whats the matter, Gorasola? Cant take the heat? A grating laugh rumbled from the punishment master. Sam didnt know what he despised moreTorans shitty taste in music or incredibly lame sense of humor. The whip whistled across Sam again, almost masking the patronizing drone of Torans voice. Im going to miss you when youre dead, Gorasola. Who the hell will give me the same delight in torturing than you?

Imagine youll find someone. Damn dickhead.

A heavy clang reverberated, and Sam tensed, thinking it was Toran increasing the whips voltageor worse, cranking up the sound system. Instead, a distinctly feminine cough echoed in the chamber.

Forgive the interruption, Master Toran. Pricilla Roundtrees cold, haughty tone provoked Sam into grinding his molars. Eighteen hours of Torans harshest punishment while a continuous loop of Its Raining Men played in the background held more appeal than a single second spent in Pricillas presence. The demon kings personal secretary was a poisoned thorn in his side. One that refused to be extracted.

Mistress Roundtree. Torans voice dripped with enough ass-kissing grovel to give Sam a serious case of indigestion.

Im here to speak with Samael. Could you give us a moment?

Certainly. Do you want me to chain the prisoner to the wall?

No, Ill handle him myself.

Sam didnt care for the acid sweetness in Pricillas statementand the notion of her handling any part of him made his flesh crawlbut balking would only earn him another electrified bite from Torans whip.

Very well, Toran offered reluctantly. If Gorasola gives you any problem, Ill be down the hall.

Im sure Samael will be on his best behavior.

A grunt fell from Toran, more than relaying his thoughts on the idea of Sam being anything less than a troublesome pain in the ass. Heavy footsteps tromped across the stone floor, and a second later the music fell mute. The cell door clanked again, announcing the punishment masters departure. Pricilla stepped closer, and her heavy, cloying scent of gardenia ambushed him.

Hello, Samael. Sharp-tipped fingernails scored the scythe-shaped gun tattooed on Sams back, making him flinch. Its been a while. Missed me?

About as much as I miss that damn disco music.

A bucket of ice contained more warmth than Pricillas laugh. Her fingers dug into him, making him wince. Is that any way to speak to the individual who holds the deed to your life?

Every muscle in his body seized. What?

It took some doing, but I persuaded the king to sign your contract over to me rather than execute you. Pricilla traced the line of his spine before ruffling his hair in a way that was entirely too territorial. I own you now, Samael.

To say the thought left him far from warm and fuzzy was a severe understatement. Id rather be dead.

You wound me with this unprovoked hatred.

Unprovoked? Being flat on his belly atop the metal torture table made him less threatening than a toothless dog. Still, it didnt muzzle him enough to stop the growl from slipping past his throat. You went behind my back and revoked my petition to have my contract with Antoinette Delacroix severed, you viperous bitch.

Pricillas clawlike nails dug into his skull, creating a painful sting he couldnt readily ignore. Mind your tongue. As for your complaint and petition, I saw no reason for the king to allow it, just because your mistress was a ghost. Youre a demon familiar and a soul collector, Samael. Your duty was clear. If youd simply done as told instead of taking matters into your own hands, you wouldnt be where you are now.

In other words, neck-deep in a pile of shit. Sams jaw clenched hard enough to trigger a cramp. Fuck me. Aiding in the permanent demise of Antoinette Delacroix hadnt been one of his more brilliant moments. But damn if he wouldnt do it all over again. Eternal punishment was a small price to pay for packing Netties spirit off to hell. Served the damn bitch right after making it her mission in lifeand deathto ensure his existence was mired in misery. The past six months were a vacation compared to being under her thumb all those years.

Only now it looked like hed be under an even worse one. For devils sake, would someone damn well kill me already?

The bindings around his right wrist suddenly slackened before releasing him entirely. Rolling onto his side, he glared at Pricilla. She was dressed in a tailored black pantsuit, her only concession to color provided by her scarlet lipstick. Even the coal-dark hair pulled into a rigid bun was in keeping with her all-black ensemble. No doubt shed chosen the color to match her heart. Assuming she possessed one.

He stretched his fingers, attempting to work out the kinks. If you expect me to bow at your feet for the honor of being your slave, youll have to undo the rest of my manacles.

Judging from the tightening of her lips, his sarcasm hadnt missed its target. Id start acting more grateful, if I were you. Im not averse to inviting Toran back in here to give you a proper farewell.

He was leaving? Now? For the first time in what felt like forever, a spark of hope flickered within Sam. Five minutes ago, before Pricilla came waltzing in with her pronouncement, the prospect of seeing a world beyond his dank prison cell was an absurd dream. Hed resigned himself to this existence. Itd been easier that way. But now that he was being offered another chanceit seemed too good to be true.

The reminder of the role Pricilla played in his newfound freedom smothered his rising spirits. Of course it was too good to be true. Because he wasnt really free. Not as long as he was beholden to the damn bitch.

I see from your scowl youre not pleased with our arrangement. Pricillas mouth curled upward. If an asp could smile, itd look exactly like the calculating devil spawn. No matter. Youre still mine to command. Better get used to it, Samael.

Command. The damnable word hazed his vision with red. He was tired of doing the bidding of others. Of being nothing more than a fucking errand boy to one asshole after another. It used to mean something, being a soul collector. A title to be proud of. Now his status felt like a noose, vising tighter and tighter.

As if shed read his torturous thoughts, Pricilla stepped to the other side of the table and ran her fingertips over his tattoothe official seal of his now-despised title. The coldness of her touch leached into him like a condemnation. I have great plans in store for you, Samael Gorasola. Just you wait.