Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
But when she’s auctioned off to Rusalka, a powerful and devious succubus, it’s nothing like she expected. She’s…taken care of. And if she’s put to work and expected to fulfill every part of her bargain, Belladonna is only too happy to let someone else shoulder the responsibility and make decisions for her.
Too bad Rusalka isn’t in the market for a servant. She wants a full partner. If Belladonna can’t release her guilt and step into that role… Things may be over even before they begin.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
BELLADONNA
“Please hand me the pen. I’m ready to sign now.”
The man sitting across from me is attractive in the way I’ve been taught devils are: dark hair that’s just long enough to flop attractively across his forehead; skin so smooth I can’t see pores, that probably tans wonderfully in the sun; a fit body that tempts the unwary into sin; deep-brown eyes that are almost black and seem to contain the cosmos. The only thing about him that doesn’t quite mesh with his perfect image is the dismay on his handsome face.
He moves the hand holding the pen away from me. “I’m concerned that you’re not taking this seriously.”
If only he knew. My soul has been tainted from the moment I was born—at least to hear my parents tell it. My birth almost killed my mother, a long and bloody battle that she chooses to recount whenever I’m being particularly difficult—which means it happened regularly during my childhood and practically daily once I became a teenager who started asking questions, and now occurs basically whenever we talk. To hear my parents tell of it, that birth portended a child who would be a trial unlike any other. It’s why they named me Belladonna. Deadly. Sinful. To them, my name is the same thing, and they never let me forget all the ways I’ve failed.
Why not be useful for once in my life?
I don’t make a grab for the pen. It will only alarm this self-proclaimed demon, and I need this deal. Ruth needs this deal. “I understand the terms. I’ll give you seven years, though it won’t seem like that here in this realm.” Multiple realms, more than heaven and hell and earth. I’m not sure I believe that. I barely believe in heaven and hell at all anymore. I clear my throat. “I won’t be forced to do anything I don’t want to do, but if I choose to have a child in your, ah, realm, then the child will stay there when I return. In exchange, you’ll ensure my sister gets her cancer treatments, has acceptance to a college of her choice once she’s healed—all expenses for both treatment and school paid—and has access to a trust fund after she turns twenty-five.”
His sensual mouth thins. “Yes, those are the terms, but—”
“Then I would like to sign now. I’m sound of mind.” More or less. I don’t think being fundamentally flawed counts against me. I understand the decision I’m making; that’s the only thing that matters. “Aren’t you supposed to be pleased I’m making this easy on you?”
The demon—Azazel—leans back and surveys me critically. It’s a look I’m used to seeing, one searching for flaws to exploit. But when he speaks again, it’s not cutting and cruel. It’s . . . soft and kind. “Does your family know you’re doing this for them?”
“No.” Of course not. They would already be on the phone, trying to schedule another exorcism. When I was a child, they had a difficult time finding a priest willing to perform one, so they switched churches. Their current pastor has all the zeal of a prophet. He has no problem performing exorcisms—or getting creative when they apparently don’t work. I shudder at the memories threatening.
I’m not doing this for whatever purpose Azazel is about. I’m not even doing this for my parents. I’m doing it for Ruth.
Committing to this deal means I can never go home again. My mother, in particular, seems nearly supernatural when it comes to telling if I’ve done something God—and the family—wouldn’t approve of. I don’t stand a chance of hiding this. Understanding that is a strange sort of relief. I don’t know where I’ll go when I come back or what I’ll do or how I’ll survive, but maybe the constant guilt plaguing me over how I’m failing them will finally release me.
But I will see Ruth again, though. My sister may not share my doubt, may accidentally cut me on the edges of her faith, but she alone among my family has tried to love me. Sometimes that hurts almost more than my parents’ barely concealed loathing. But she’ll be alive. She’ll have a chance to go to college and be exposed to the big, wide world. Maybe she’ll even be able to look at me without worry in her hazel eyes.
“Belladonna . . .”
Good gracious, he’s going to try to talk me out of this. “You aren’t a very good demon, are you?” I force a laugh, the sound merry and bright and completely at odds with how tumultuous my stomach is. I’ve always been good at lying—except when it comes to my propensity for sin. Lying to make everyone around me more comfortable? That’s child’s play. Cheer puts people at ease, releases the tension in their shoulders, pulls up at the edges of their mouths. It’s how I learned to stop Ruth from worrying about me, day in and day out.