Page 21 of Demon with Benefits (Hell Bent #3)

CUNNING LINGUISTS

D O YOU THINK SOME PEOPLE ARE PREDESTINED TO suffer, and they’re born tougher because of it?” Iris asked, taking a final puff of the joint in her hand before passing it. It was a bit of a loaded topic, but she’d gotten used to their surprisingly deep conversations over the last two weeks.

Meph stretched out a tattooed hand and took the joint, taking a long drag.

He blew out a cloud of smoke that mingled with the condensed clouds of their breath in the freezing air.

They sat on her balcony, on rickety patio chairs, a rusted metal table between them with an overflowing ashtray in the center.

Evidence of her recent failures to quit.

She’d tried, damn it, but it was impossible when she was with him. Every time they were together—almost every night since they’d begun their liaisons—he would declare he was going out for a smoke and then offer her one. Every time she caved like an idiot.

It was snowing again. It had snowed the last three days in a row, but Iris didn’t mind. The snow was what made winter tolerable. That fresh white powder never stopped being beautiful.

Meph didn’t rush to reply, and she wasn’t in a hurry to hear his response.

The night was calm, and the weed was taking the edge off her usual high-strung state of being.

She was happy just to sit and breathe in the stillness.

Listen to the quiet, muffled sound of winter.

Stare at the back alley below, carved with icy tire tracks.

Watch the drifting white flakes beneath the flickering streetlamp.

When he did reply, however, it wasn’t exactly worth the wait.

“You think about the weirdest shit, Iris.”

She scowled at him. “Sorry your feeble mind can’t keep up with my superior intellect, shit-for-brains.”

He laughed. “Ouch. That hurt, honestly. I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“You put up with me because I’m hot and we have fantastic sex,” she replied haughtily.

“That we do, doll face. That we do.”

She made a sour face at the nickname while a secret, deeply buried, never-to-be-revealed part of her warmed. Pathetic, Iris.

Meph took another long drag of the joint, and Iris cuddled deeper into her parka. She’d shoveled the snow off her balcony only yesterday, but already a fresh layer had accumulated. More decorated the top of the iron railing in a thin white stripe.

She shot a glance at the demon beside her. He was not hot when he smoked. He was not . Because smoking wasn’t hot. Smoking was bad. B-A-D.

The way he balanced the joint between his thumb and forefinger, showing off the tattoos on his hand, was not sexy.

And it wasn’t sexy when he brought the joint to his lips and puckered them slightly as he sucked.

And it definitely wasn’t sexy when he tipped his head back and blew the smoke out in a long stream.

Not sexy at all. Her face just felt flushed because she was wearing her parka. That was it.

Every time she invited him over, she told herself it should be the last time. And yet it never was, despite the multitude of reasons she used to remind herself why their continued philandering was a bad idea. A very bad idea. B-A-D.

He was a demon. (Though she couldn’t deny that this particular offense carried less and less weight these days.) He indulged in all the bad habits she was trying to break—drinking, smoking, partying, and all-around belligerent behavior.

He was shamelessly unapologetic in all things and showed no indications of trying to improve his behavior, while Iris had been struggling for years to better herself.

Really, they had nothing in common except for incredible sexual chemistry.

Unfortunately, it was so incredible, it kept overpowering her well-intentioned self-control, and the longest she’d gone without texting him in the last two weeks was a single, measly, pathetic day.

His worst crime of all? He surprised her.

Not often enough that it ceased to be surprising.

But just enough to keep her on her toes, to keep her from feeling that she’d ever really figured him out.

Just when she thought she’d put her finger on him, he would do something to shake it all up and force her to reassess.

It was maddening. It was fascinating. And addicting. But mostly, it was confusing.

Much like his response.

“I think everyone’s problems are equal from their own perspective,” he said just when she’d forgotten her original question. She had to sift through her marijuana-addled memories for a second before she remembered.

“What does that mean?” she asked, staring at his mouth while he took another drag. He blew out a smoke stream, and her core clenched. It clenched . Really, it was a miracle she was able to follow the conversation at all.

“I mean, some people’s biggest problem in life is that they need to get a job,” he said. “Other people struggle with a murderous alter ego that would like nothing more than to consume everyone in their path.”

“What?”

“Never mind. My point is, I think that to both those people, from their perspective, the insurmountability of their worst problems feels the same. Otherwise they wouldn’t be a challenge—they wouldn’t be real problems.”

She mulled this over for a moment, her gaze wandering across the drifting snow. “So you’re saying... some people can handle tougher shit, so life gives them worse problems to solve. Also, I don’t think ‘insurmountability’ is a word.”

“It totally is.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’m making it a word, then. And I dunno if that’s quite what I meant, but...” He tilted his head. “I guess?”

“So if you suffer in life,” she said, “you should be grateful because that means you’re strong?”

He grimaced. “Well, when you put it like that...”

“Life sucks?”

“Pretty much.”

She snorted at his expression, reaching to take the joint when he held it out to her. Her bare fingers felt like little icicles, but wearing gloves and smoking was a foul combination. She puffed it, the smoke whooshing out when she coughed.

“Well, I think that’s bullshit,” she croaked, coughing some more. “Strong people shouldn’t be punished for being strong.”

“But then they’d stop evolving, because people don’t evolve without challenges. And isn’t that what they’re all here for? The journey of human evolution?”

She frowned, surprised by the hollowness in his voice. It didn’t escape her notice that he said they instead of we , not counting himself among the mortal masses. But wasn’t he pleased to be a superior, immortal being?

She couldn’t bring herself to ask, knowing he would likely brush her off with his customary ill-timed humor.

He laughed and joked and grinned his way through life. It drove her crazy sometimes. She’d never met a more chipper fucking person, and it was goddamn annoying. Cute. Adorable. Frustratingly lovable. But still annoying.

Not because she had a problem with happiness. She wasn’t that bad. But because she knew it was mostly a front. She was the master at faking it to save face, and because of that, she knew when someone else was doing it.

Occasionally, in moments like this, she would catch a glimpse of the darkness behind his eyes, and she knew whatever he was hiding went deep.

Whatever it was had something to do with his demon form, but beyond that, she didn’t have a clue.

It wasn’t like he was ashamed of his demonic existence.

He and his brothers flaunted their supernatural abilities, joking about their superiority to humankind, finding it hilarious when they inevitably failed at blending in.

From what Iris had seen, they weren’t remorseful. They didn’t care what anyone thought.

But Meph... She’d tried asking him a few more personal questions since she’d learned about his binding seal tattoo, but he was masterful at changing the subject and dodging unpleasant inquiries.

He was a puzzle. She couldn’t believe she’d ever thought him shallow, because she was coming to realize he might have been the most complex person she’d ever met. He was a mystery, and against her better judgment, she wanted to solve him.

“I think some people make their problems worse than they need to,” Iris mused.

“They secretly crave pain—because they feel inadequate or undeserving of happiness, I dunno—so they aggrandize their issues in their minds. They trick themselves into believing things are worse than they are until they actually do get worse. Or they refuse to do what’s necessary to fix their problems and claim it’s impossible.

They make their lives harder than they have to be.

They get in their own way. They’re their own worst enemy. ”

The minute the words were out, she cringed. She hadn’t meant to describe herself, yet she suddenly knew that was exactly what she’d done. She’d just summarized her entire fucking personality. How embarrassing to be such a textbook example of an idiot.

“That sounds like an exhausting way to live,” Meph said.

You have no idea. Or maybe he did.

She glanced at him. If he’s smiling, so help me—

He was smiling, the dork. And she was powerless to resist. Her cynical, bitter, self-sabotaging brain ceased all higher functioning.

His cheeks crinkled in perfect creases, slightly distorting the Sheolic script tattooed down the left side of his face.

His red eyes seemed to glow under the dim bulb of her outdoor light.

A lock of black hair fell across his forehead and over his eye, and she desperately wanted to reach over and brush it out of the way.

So she did.

The joint was finished, so she stabbed it out on the ashtray between them. Then she stretched a hand out and pushed the hair out of his face. It was silky between her fingers.