Damned if I do | Damned trilogy #1

Chapter Twelve: Wren

All right, so I was over whatever excuse I was telling myself was why I wasn't sleeping with Drake. That was irrelevant. It was stupid. It was all lies anyway.

There were only good repercussions for sleeping with him.

I lost nothing.

Nothing except him.

In one swift move, the very best outcome from sleeping with him had suddenly become far less enticing.

Of course, I wanted to go home. I missed my family. I missed Harmony. Did it help that I knew for a fact they'd probably only experienced a few hours of my absence and Drake had made them all totally okay with me being gone? Of course, it did. But I'd still experienced almost two weeks without people I loved and saw every day, and I was missing them.

But going home also meant the very real possibility that I'd never see Drake again. And even if I did, so much time might have passed for him that he wouldn't look at me the same way anymore, he might not touch me the same way. And there was something very unattractive about that prospect.

Suddenly, my not sleeping with him had nothing to do with some imaginary principles and everything to do with me being afraid he'd send me home after I did. Even if Drake didn't send me home right away, his father might.

Not that it was the most pressing matter just then.

When I heard the bedroom door open, I spun around quickly only to find it was one of those rolly-polly guard demons with the pike, the helmet, cropped leather vest and black diaper – for all intents and purposes.

"His devilness, Lucifer, Lord of all Hell and your beguiling father-in-law would like to invite you to dine with him and the family tonight, ma'am," it intoned and I fully believed it was a direct message from said father-in-law.

"Uh..." I started, thinking it was Neville, but not sure. "Thank you...Neville...?"

A smile of cracked teeth erupted on his face. "You're welcome, ma'am. Master Drake is already there, if you're ready?"

"Oh." I looked around the room. Kyle grinned at me, Truman waited for instruction, and even Ignacio seemed waiting for my word. "Oh. Um. Yes. Sure."

I took a step forward.

"His devilness was quite clear on the dress code, ma'am," Neville said apologetically.

"What does he want?" Truman asked, sounding exasperated.

"He wants it to be quite formal."

"Of course, he does," Truman sighed. "All right, ma'am. Let's get you dressed."

If Hell had its own version of a Cinderella-moment, this was it. Only instead of a fairy godmother, I had a Truman. Instead of mice, I had an ignacio. Instead of a pumpkin, I had a Kyle. And instead of the wonderous magical transformation, mine involved more fire and less coverage.

I was left standing in a tight black dress. Half the bodice was nothing but beading, exposing an unnecessary amount of skin. On the same side, there was a slit up the skirt that went almost to my hip and met the sheer half of the bodice, but at least it meant I could walk while I was flashing my entire leg to the whole of Hell. It was paired with some tall, black mary-jane heels. I could feel my hair was up, with annoying wispy bits tickling my neck and cheeks.

"Truman...this is... I can't wear this."

"On the contrary, ma'am. You are wearing it."

"No, I meant–"

"If you're ready, ma'am," Neville said from the door.

I sighed. "Fine. Fine. Who needs modesty anyway?"