Page 2 of Exorcise Me (Hotter than Hell)

I spent the entire drive home talking myself down from panic. Surely the demon—Lucien—was just toying with me. He couldn’t actually know where I lived. That would be impossible, right?

The moment I unlocked my apartment door, I knew I was wrong.

“Your spice cabinet is abysmal,” called a voice from my kitchen. “How do you cook anything with just salt, pepper, and something labeled ‘Italian seasoning’ that expired two years ago?”

I dropped my keys, my prayer book, and nearly my jaw as I stumbled into my small apartment.

Lucien was standing in my kitchen, wearing a black apron over his silk shirt and slacks.

My apron. The one my sister had given me as a joke when I moved out, with “Hot Stuff Coming Through” emblazoned across the chest.

It looked ridiculous on him. And by ridiculous, I mean ridiculously good.

Focus, Noah!

“Get out of my apartment,” I demanded, clutching my crucifix. “How did you even get in here?”

Lucien waved a hand dismissively. “Demon, remember? Locks are a human concept.” He turned back to my open refrigerator. “Your food situation is dire. Do you subsist entirely on microwave burritos and energy drinks? Your body is a temple, Noah. Admittedly a very attractive temple, but still.”

I felt heat crawl up my neck at the compliment but pushed it aside. “I command you to leave this dwelling immediately!”

Lucien glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “You know that only works during the actual exorcism ritual, right? Once that’s over, you’re just a man in wrinkled clothes shouting at me while I try to salvage your dinner options.”

I dropped my bag on the couch and rubbed my temples. This was not covered in any of the training manuals.

“Why are you here?” I finally asked. “What do you want?”

Lucien closed the refrigerator and leaned against my counter, crossing his arms. The position made his silk shirt pull tight across his chest, revealing the definition of muscles that had no business being that perfect.

“Would you believe I’m lonely?” he asked.

The question caught me off guard. “Demons don’t get lonely.”

“And humans don’t judge entire species based on propaganda, yet here we are.” He gestured around my apartment. “Nice place, by the way. Minimalist. Though I think that’s less aesthetic choice and more ‘I don’t know how to decorate,’ yes?”

He wasn’t wrong. My apartment was sparse—a couch, coffee table, small TV, and a bookshelf filled with religious texts and a few fantasy novels I felt guilty about enjoying. The walls were bare except for a single cross and a framed photo of my family.

“I’m not interested in interior design tips from a demon,” I said, sitting heavily on my couch. “I want you gone.”

“And I want decent Thai food, but we can’t always get what we want.” Lucien untied the apron and hung it neatly on its hook. “I’ve decided to stay for a while.”

I shot back to my feet. “You can’t just decide that!”

“I just did.” He smiled, and for a brief moment, I caught something almost vulnerable in his expression before the cocky mask returned.

“Consider it a cultural exchange. You get to study a real demon up close—think of the research paper you could write—and I get to enjoy human company that isn’t screaming or throwing holy water at me. ”

“I might still throw holy water at you,” I muttered.

“Kinky.” His grin widened. “I like you already, Noah Callahan.”

I ran a hand through my already disheveled hair. “Where would you even sleep? I have one bedroom.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Lucien’s eyes lit up with unholy delight.

“Is that an invitation to share your bed? Moving rather quickly, aren’t we? I mean, I’m flattered, but I usually prefer dinner first.”

“That is NOT what I meant!” I sputtered, feeling my face flame. “You’re not staying here at all, much less in my… my…”

“Bed?” he supplied helpfully. “The word isn’t cursed, Noah. Neither is what happens in beds, despite what your seminary professors might have told you.”

I took a steadying breath. “Look, Lucien… if that’s really your name—”

“It is.”

“Fine. Lucien. I’m an exorcist. My literal job is to banish beings like you. We can’t cohabitate. It’s… it’s unethical.”

He considered this, head tilted. “Is it unethical because I’m a demon, or because you find me attractive?”

I choked on air. “I do NOT find you attractive!”

“Your pulse says otherwise.” He tapped his ear. “Enhanced hearing. Your heartbeat picked up the moment you saw me in your kitchen, and it’s racing now.”

Because you terrify me, I told myself firmly. Not because of the way that shirt clings to your shoulders or how your voice seems to caress every word.

“That’s fear,” I insisted.

“Is it?” He moved closer, and I found myself backing up until my legs hit the couch. “Fear and attraction feel remarkably similar to the body. Elevated heart rate, shortness of breath, heightened awareness…” His voice dropped lower. “Dilated pupils.”

He was standing too close now, close enough that I could smell that cinnamon-and-smoke scent again, mixed with something else—something earthy and rich. His amber eyes seemed to glow faintly in my dimly lit living room.

“Step back,” I managed, my voice embarrassingly weak.

To my surprise, he did, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “I won’t touch you without permission, Noah. Contrary to your human myths, consent matters to my kind too.”

I blinked, surprised by this statement. It contradicted everything I’d been taught about demons.

He’s manipulating you, warned the voice of Father Finnegan in my head. Demons lie. It’s their nature.

But as I studied Lucien’s face, I didn’t see deception. I saw… curiosity. Interest. And yes, mischief, but not malice.

“One night,” I heard myself say. “You can stay one night. On the couch. And then we figure out… whatever this is.”

Lucien’s smile was like sunrise—warming and somehow painful to look at directly.

“Excellent!” he said, clapping his hands together. “Now, about dinner. Put on something less depressing than that shirt, and I’ll take you out. There’s a place three blocks from here that makes a carbonara that might actually make you believe in divine intervention.”

“I’m not going to dinner with you,” I protested.

His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Would you prefer I cook? Because with your ingredients, dinner would be an energy drink reduction over microwaved freezer burritos.”

My stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

“Fine,” I sighed, already questioning every life choice that had led me to this moment. “Dinner. But this is not a date.”

“Of course not,” Lucien agreed, his tone making it clear he thought it absolutely was. “It’s merely two beings sharing nutrition while engaging in conversation. Nothing date-like about that at all.”

As I headed to my bedroom to change, I heard him call after me: “Wear the blue button-up! It brings out your eyes!”

I paused, hand on my bedroom doorknob. “How do you know I have a blue button-up?”

There was a telling silence, then: “Lucky guess?”

This is how I die, I thought as I pushed open my door. Not fighting evil, but taking fashion advice from it.

To my horror, I found myself reaching for the blue shirt anyway.