Neon Blue E Frost (speld decodable readers .TXT) 📖

“Do it,” the demon goads. “Fry me.”

A rush of adrenaline makes my whole body shake. Laval heat builds inside me. My cheeks burn. Sweat pops out on my brow, slicks my upper lip.

The demon leans forward. He flicks an impossibly long, forked tongue over my skin, tasting my sweat.

I recoil with a scream and reach. My fingers touch the cool handle of my churi. I curl my hand around the grip, pull it from its shadow sheath and stab the demon in the heart with as much force as I can muster.

The blade skitters down his chest. The edge carves a long crescent in his black t-shirt, but doesn’t even scratch the golden skin underneath.

He catches the blade between his hands. Holds it so tight my hand vibrates on the handle.

“Focus,” he growls. “Take all that anger and direct it right here. Into the blade.”

I stare at him. Completely at a loss.

“Look at it, not me!”

Guiltily, I drop my gaze to the knife.

“Direct it. Everything you’re feeling. Channel it into the knife.”

I shake my head. I’m angry at him, not the churi.

“Do it, you stupid bi—”

“Fuck you!” I scream at him and everything I’ve felt over the last several days, all the disappointment and the hurt and the fear, pours into my knife.

It glows, faintly at first and then so bright I have to squint against the glare. The demon cups his hands around the blade, no longer holding it still, just containing the energy flooding into it.

“Now shape it,” the demon whispers. “Turn it into what you want most.”

I close my eyes against the glare and, unbidden, an image of the blade I’ve always wanted pops into my mind. I inherited a family knife. Old and well-used, the peg handle worn smooth by many hands. Good for both magic and mundane uses. But I’ve always wanted a hand scythe, a kama. Better for gathering and chopping. And impressive as hell to look at.

The handle shifts in my hand. Startled, I open my eyes. The churi’s grip emerges out of my clenched fist, lengthening and curving over my thumb. As it grows, it changes from wood to wrapped leather. At the other end, the blade curves between the demon’s hands, stretching into a long, double-edged arc.

The demon watches it with satisfaction, his eyes glowing with reflected light. “Now that’s a decent blade.” He opens his hands and runs one palm along the curved edge.

A thin, dark line appears on his palm. He holds it up to me. “If it’ll cut me, it’ll cut anything.”

Trembling, I draw my arm back. It takes more effort than it should. Like dragging my arm through deep water. Finally, I clutch the blade against my chest. I cross both hands over it protectively.

“Here.” He holds out his palm. “Have a lick.”

I turn my face away.

He catches my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “That wasn’t a request.”

I slant my eyes at him in what I hope is a disdainful glare. “I have enough of your blood inside me already. Thanks awfully.”

“That ain’t all you’re gonna have inside you. Get used to it.” His grip on my chin tightens. “Now heal this.”

I consider twisting away, but I’m afraid of him breaking my jaw. It wouldn’t take much, particularly not for a creature who ‘accidentally’ killed two people while burning down Rowena’s store. Slowly, reluctantly, I stick out my tongue.

With a leer, the demon drags his palm across the tip of my tongue. He takes his time, so the taste of his not-blood builds in my mouth. Salty and sweet at the same time. It lacks that distinctive copper edge. Tastes more like some kind of cocktail. My tongue is dry by the time I reach the far edge of his palm, and I pull it back into my mouth to wet it automatically, instead of spitting out the trickle of not-blood that’s gathered on my tongue.

“Swallow,” the demon growls.

I obey grudgingly, glaring at him.

He grins, dark and wicked. “Good girl.” He releases my chin and flexes his hand in the air between us.

His palm is whole, smooth. Not even a line to mark the wound.

“You got power to spare, witchy-poo,” he says. “Guess I’m gonna have to teach you how to use it.” He puts the car in gear and pulls back into the street.

I hunch away from him, tasting demon blood, holding my new knife against my chest, blinking against the spots dotting my vision and the burning behind my eyes. If there’s anything worse than a demon who wants my soul, it’s a demon who wants to teach me how to use power I didn’t know I had.

We ride in silence the rest of the way home. The demon parks on my unused driveway. I sit in silence for a moment, considering my options. I don’t want to go into the house with him. I have a weapon now. A weapon I know can hurt him. But would he really have let me keep it if he wasn’t supremely confident that he could take it away from me any time he wanted?

I sigh.

I want to know something, I say into his head. Maybe he’ll be more honest with me this way.

Yeah, what? He glances back over his shoulder, already half-way out of the car.

I want to know what you’re planning . . . once we get inside.

I’m planning on eatin’ dinner. I’ve been waiting for you for three fucking hours.

Oh. How can he make me feel so stupid when I know what he is and what he plans to do to me? What about after that?

The shark’s leer. After that I was thinkin’ about gettin’ laid.

Not with me he’s not. I get a better grip on my knife.

His wicked chuckle echoes in the confined space of the car. Don’t worry, sweet meat. You’re not on the menu tonight. I’m lookin’ for something purely recreational. Gettin’ you in bed’s too much like hard work.

He slides out of the car. The door closes with a solid