2. I want you to free me.

The wind whistlesan eerie breeze through the window as if it knows what's about to happen.

I use the night's chill as my motivator. To push me forward. To go through with it. I've been dreaming of this day for so long. So fucking long. My heart pounds in anticipation.

I don't know if it will work, but that doesn't matter. Right now, all I can see is hope taking shape and form.

Goddess, please let the rumors be true. Please let this be my way to freedom.

I have no choice. I have to believe. Because if the rumors aren't true, then…

Then there's no way out.

But hey, I've lived with that thought for five years. I can live with it for the rest of my life.

But if it works?

I try not to let my mind run wild with fantasies. I like hope, but if this doesn't work, it will crush me.

I crawl under my bed and pull out the box. It cost me an arm and a leg, but out of all the kits, this is known to be the most legit.

I saved all my money, as much as I could without being caught by Kevin or Michelle. I'd been doing it for months before I could finally give Jace enough to order it.

The black cardboard box singes my fingers as I cut through the tape and open it. I know it's probably my anticipation, but this moment… It feels magical even if I'm not.

The contents only add to the feeling as I brush my fingers over them. Over the silk pouch, the silver knife, the little brown leather notebook. They're laid over a red velvet cloth. I remove the contents one by one, and when I lift the fabric, it reveals the stack of black candles.

Goosebumps crawl up my arms.

Everything feels right. Everything looks like the items sold at Mom's apothecary.

It would frustrate me that I paid so much for things I can find in the store, but it will all be worth it if the words in the little leather notebook work. They're probably worth more than everything else combined. They're the reason these summoning kits are so expensive.

The pages are hard and browned. The binding feels homemade. Handcrafted as all the kits are.

I barely remember to breathe, with the tension rising both in the room and my chest. A feeling that intensifies as I read the instructions on the first page.

First, a circle of protection.

With shaky hands, I open the pouch and remove the white chalk to draw a circle on the floor.

Next, I draw a star inside the circle, each point symbolizing one of the elements of nature.

Finally, the salt.

I take the pouch and pour the salt around the circle's rim, forming a second ring of protection.

Light the candles.

I place a black candle at each of the points of the star and retrieve the matches provided by Demon Emporium.

Last, recite the words on the next page.

As I light each candle, I read the incantation as written.

"Hear me now, loud and clear.

Though you are far, I want you near.

Hear my call, answer my chant,

Come hither, lend me your hand.

You can't break me, you can't hurt me.

Your purpose is one and that's to protect me."

Goosebumps form on my arms and travel to my neck like hardworking ants. I feel their effect from the crown of my head to my curled toes.

This feels right. This feels legit. Please be legit.

I turn the page with a trembling hand and read the next step.

The blood sacrifice.

I'm used to those. I don't even flinch when I pick up the knife and cut my palm. They've been cutting me for so long that this feels like nothing.

The sharpness of the cut guides my hand to the middle of the circle and makes my eyelids heavy as I squeeze it and let my blood paint the chalk red.

The more I pour, the more grounded I feel. The more determined.

"Please work. Please," I mutter, pulling my hand back and watching the middle of the circle. "Come on."

Nothing happens.

"Fuck," I sigh.

This had all the components for a successful incantation. I'm sure of it. But…it didn't work.

The rumors must have been just that then. Demons aren't walking among us. They can't be summoned or controlled.

"Fuck!" I scream this time.

This was my last hope. My last resort.

I throw one last look at the circle before I get off the floor to run my hand under the tap.

What a fucking joke.

Of course it didn't work.

Demons aren't real. Why wouldit work?

Unless…

I run back into the room and reread the instructions in the notebook.

"Oh crap."

I thought maybe I missed a step. Made a mistake. But no. I've done everything by the book.

I throw said book across the room with a huff and bury my face in my bed.

I wait for the thump of the notebook landing anywhere in the room, but it never comes.

When I look up, I see why.

A dark figure stands in the middle of the attic with the book in his hands.

My heart jumps in my chest as if it wants to rip out of it and my breathing seizes.

I look up at the man.

The epitome of tall, dark, and handsome stands in the middle of the chalk circle. He has jet-black hair, tanned skin, and brown eyes behind a pair of glasses. And he's wearing a three-piece suit.

Demons wear glasses and suits?

"Wh-who are you?" I ask.

Somehow, I've managed to find my voice, and it doesn't sound half as pathetic as I feel.

The man raises an eyebrow and smirks.

"You called me. Shouldn't you know?" His voice is low and thick like syrup.

It reverberates inside me like guitar strings whose music wraps my body in a strange, intoxicating hold.

"You…you're a demon?" I ask.

"You did call for one, didn't you?" Despite his words, he doesn't sound irritated. More…entertained.

"I…I did." I look down at the summoning kit, and he follows my gaze.

He scoffs.

"Bloody Demon Emporium. They never warn. They never specify. Idiots."

"Is that…is that an English accent? You're English?"

The demon smiles.

"I'm old, darling boy. I'm not English."

"You don't look old— No, wait a minute. What does being old have to do with the English accent? Are we in a TV show? Because that's the only place where anyone old and infernal has to have an English accent."

Yeah, like Tom Ellis from Lucifer. Oh, Tom!

Come to think of it, this guy looks an awful lot like him. The character-slash-actor who haunted most of my pubescent dreams.

The demon rolls his eyes and huffs.

"Are you quite all right? You sound delirious."

I shake my head and push myself up off the bed.

The more he speaks, the better I feel. As if he's mending everything broken inside me.

"I'm not delirious. I'm just saying…it's cliché."

Maybe this is a prank.

Yes.

That's it.

It has to be a prank.

"Am I being filmed?"

The demon impostor grins.

"Do you like being filmed, darling boy?"

There it is again. The pet name. Darling boy. It's so infuriating, yet…every time he says it, something in the pit of my stomach pulses with need.

"That's not what I meant," I mutter. "Who-who are you?"

The man tips his head with a mouthwatering smirk and a hard knot forms in my throat.

"Lucian, demon of protection. At your service."

"Lucian? Any relation to…to Lucifer?"

"If you mean your Christian Satan, then no. I am not he, nor does he exist. He's a figment. A composite of creatures humans feared."

"What?" I have no idea what he just said.

The man—Lucian—gives a dismissive shake of his head and crosses his arms.

I don't miss how his muscles flex, stretching the fabric of his suit to the max.

"What did you call me for? An ex you'd like to make jealous? Your sex toy broke down? Or are you just bored of your hand?"

I flinch. "What?"

Why is he acting as if he's here for sex?

"That's what you called me for, isn't it? You're in need of a partner for the night?"

I look down at the summoning box. Did I order a sex kit by accident?

"I thou-I thought you're a demon of protection."

He nods.

"That doesn't mean the humans who call me want that. They're usually looking to get off. Are you not?"

The way his voice lifts at the end, as if he's daring me to say no, as if he's in disbelief that I'm not after sex, washes over me like a cold shower.

"No!"

Did I shout that? Shit. What if he wakes up? What if they all wake up?

"Hm…" His voice makes the air tremble and the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.

I can't deny he's hot. He's hotter than hot. He's fire, and I'm the match and tinder that'll be scorched if I get too close.

I definitely can't blame anyone for calling this man for…more carnal affairs.

"I don't want you to fuck me."

That's not what I want him for. That's not what I need from him. That's never something I'll need from anyone ever in my life.

"I want you to free me."

That's what I need. Even if my body heats at the thought of Lucian touching me. Even if I've never felt desire for anyone. Not after what I've been through, not after all the pain that's been inflicted on me.

And yet, seeing this tall hunk of a man standing in the middle of my room…the idea doesn't sound so outlandish or intimidating.

"Free you? Free you how, darling boy?"

I glance at the hole in the floor where the hatch door is. Under which the monsters of my life are fast asleep, unaware of their perversion.

"I want you to free me from a blood bond. I want you to kill for me."

"Kill?" Lucian raises an eyebrow. The amusement vanishes from his face and his features darken. "Who do you want me to kill?"

"My family. I want you to paint this house red with their blood."