Page 18 of Summoning Mr. Wrong (Hotter than Hell #1)

“Relax,” Deus said, squeezing my shoulder. “They’re just people. I’ve faced down archangels. Parents are nothing.”

“You’ve never met MY parents,” I muttered, but his confidence was somewhat reassuring.

The knock came, and I opened the door to find my mother’s smiling face and my father standing just behind her, looking as uncomfortable in the hallway of my apartment building as he always did in urban settings.

“Julian!” My mother pulled me into a hug that smelled of the same perfume she’d worn my entire life. “Look at you! Have you lost weight? Are you eating enough?”

“I’m fine, Mom,” I assured her, returning the hug before turning to my father. “Hey, Dad.”

He gave me one of his brief but firm hugs. “Son. Place looks… better than last time.”

Which was his way of saying he approved of the improvements Deus had made to my formerly depressing apartment.

“Thanks. Oh, um—” I stepped back, gesturing to Deus who was standing a respectable distance away, looking perfectly normal and human. “This is my roommate, Deus Davis. Deus, these are my parents, Linda and Michael Moore.”

Deus stepped forward, hand extended, the very picture of politeness. “Mr. and Mrs. Moore, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Julian’s told me so much about you both.”

My mother took his hand, her eyes widening slightly at his appearance. I couldn’t blame her—even toned down, Deus was striking. “Oh! Julian didn’t mention he had a roommate.”

“It’s a relatively recent arrangement,” Deus said smoothly. “About two months now.”

“Two months isn’t that recent,” my father said, shaking Deus’s hand with slightly narrowed eyes. Typical dad, immediately suspicious.

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” Deus replied with just the right amount of charm. “Please, come in. Can I take your coats?”

I watched in amazement as Deus effortlessly transformed into the perfect host, taking their coats, offering drinks, and generally charming my mother within minutes.

My father remained somewhat reserved, but even he seemed impressed when Deus mentioned his “research” into ancient Mesopotamian religious practices.

“Fascinating period,” my dad said, accepting a glass of wine that I definitely hadn’t bought. “The development of early writing systems alone…”

“Changed the course of human history,” Deus finished, nodding enthusiastically. “The ability to record knowledge, to pass it between generations without relying on oral tradition—it was revolutionary.”

My father, a history professor at a small liberal arts college, looked pleasantly surprised to find someone who shared his interests. They were soon deep in conversation about cuneiform tablets, while my mother pulled me into the kitchen under the pretense of helping with dinner.

“He seems nice,” she said in the stage whisper that was her version of being discreet. “Very handsome. Those tattoos are… interesting.”

“Art project,” I said automatically. “He’s a grad student in anthropology.”

“Mmm.” She gave me a look I couldn’t quite interpret. “And you’re just roommates?”

I nearly dropped the serving spoon I was holding. “What? Yes! Why would you ask that?”

She raised an eyebrow in a gesture I’d inherited. “No reason. Just the way he looks at you when you’re not watching.”

“Which is how, exactly?” I asked, trying to sound casual but probably failing miserably.

“Like you hung the moon,” she said simply. “But if you say you’re just roommates, I believe you.”

Her tone made it clear she absolutely did not believe me.

Dinner went surprisingly well. Deus had insisted on cooking, producing a meal that was impressive but not suspiciously beyond what a talented home cook might manage.

He’d carefully moderated his supernatural tendencies, though I caught him once about to move a dish telekinetically before stopping himself.

“So, Deus,” my father said as we were finishing the main course, “what are your plans after graduate school?”

“I’m keeping my options open,” Deus replied smoothly. “Academia has its appeal, but I’m also interested in museum work, possibly cultural preservation efforts.”

“All that education must be expensive,” my mother observed. “Do you have family support?”

I winced at her directness, but Deus took it in stride.

“I’m fortunate to have a trust fund from my grandparents,” he said, the lie flowing effortlessly. “Nothing extravagant, but enough to cover my education and basic living expenses.”

That explained the mysterious source of his money, at least as far as my parents were concerned. I marveled at how thoroughly he’d constructed his human backstory.

“And how did you two meet?” my father asked, his historian’s eye for detail not missing a thing. “Julian mentioned a mutual friend?”

“Yes, through Kelly,” Deus said, naming one of my actual friends. “At a gallery opening last winter. We got talking about the intersection of art and anthropology, and when I mentioned I was looking for a new place, Julian said he had space. The rest, as they say, is history.”

I tried not to look too impressed at how he’d woven real details from my life into his fiction. Kelly would be confused if my parents ever mentioned meeting my roommate through her, but that was a problem for another day.

“Well, we’re glad Julian has someone looking out for him,” my mother said warmly. “This city can be so isolating. We worry.”

“Mom,” I protested, feeling my face heat up. “I’m twenty-five, not fifteen.”

“Parents never stop worrying,” Deus said with a surprisingly genuine smile. “It’s one of the constants across all human cultures I’ve studied.”

The conversation moved on, but I couldn’t shake my mother’s words. Was Deus “looking out for me”? It certainly felt that way sometimes, with his cooking and cleaning and general support. But why would a demon care about my well-being beyond what was required by the contract?

After dinner, we moved to the living room for coffee and the dessert Deus had prepared—some kind of deconstructed tiramisu that looked like it belonged in a high-end restaurant.

My father had warmed up considerably to Deus, and they were now discussing the historical accuracy of various documentaries.

“This one claims the pyramids were built by aliens,” my father was saying, his voice rising with academic indignation. “Complete nonsense! Human ingenuity and organization can accomplish incredible things without invoking extraterrestrial assistance.”

Deus’s mouth twitched with suppressed amusement. “I couldn’t agree more, Professor Moore. Humans are remarkably capable when properly motivated.”

I caught his eye across the room, and he winked, the gesture so quick my parents wouldn’t notice. A private joke between us—the ancient being pretending to debate ancient history with a human expert.

The evening wound down around ten, with my parents saying they needed to get back to their hotel. Deus and I walked them to the door, accepting hugs from my mother and a firm handshake from my father.

“It was lovely meeting you, Deus,” my mother said, her eyes twinkling with something that made me nervous. “I hope we see more of you in the future.”

“I hope so too, Mrs. Moore,” Deus replied with perfect sincerity. “Your son is… special to me.”

The way he said it, with such genuine warmth, made something twist in my chest. Was he just playing a role, or did he mean it?

After my parents left, Deus immediately kicked off his shoes with a groan of relief. “Human footwear is torture. No wonder your species is so cranky all the time.”

“Says the literal demon,” I laughed, the tension of the evening finally releasing. “But seriously, thank you. You were amazing.”

“I told you, I’ve had millennia of practice observing humans.” His eyes shifted back to their natural amber glow, and I realized I’d missed it. “Your father is quite knowledgeable for a human historian. Only got a few things wrong about Mesopotamia.”

“He’d have a stroke if he knew he was discussing ancient history with someone who was actually there,” I said, collapsing onto the couch. “My mother, on the other hand…”

“Suspects something,” Deus finished, sitting beside me. “She’s very perceptive. Kept watching how we interacted.”

“She asked if we were more than roommates,” I admitted. “In the kitchen.”

Deus’s eyebrows rose. “And what did you tell her?”

“The truth. That we’re roommates.” I hesitated. “She didn’t believe me.”

“Smart woman.” Deus stretched, his shirt riding up to reveal a strip of tattooed abdomen that immediately drew my eye. “So, brunch tomorrow and then they leave?”

“That’s the plan.” I turned to face him fully. “One more meal of pretending to be normal. Think you can manage?”

“Please.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ve infiltrated royal courts and religious orders. Brunch with your parents is hardly a challenge.”

But there was something in his expression, a shadow I couldn’t quite interpret. Before I could ask about it, he stood and offered me his hand.

“Bed? It’s been a long day of being human. Very exhausting, all that restraint.”

I took his hand, letting him pull me up. “Does that mean you need to release some energy?” I asked, half-joking, half-hopeful.

His smile turned predatory, eyes glowing brighter. “Now that you mention it…”

He tugged me toward the bedroom, already unbuttoning his shirt. I followed eagerly, the stress of the evening transforming into a different kind of tension.

Once the door closed behind us, Deus’s careful human facade dissolved completely. His horns emerged, small but distinctive against his dark hair, and his tattoos began their hypnotic movement across his skin.

“Much better,” he growled, pulling me against him. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to keep still all evening? To not touch you the way I wanted to?”

“Show me,” I challenged, already breathless from the intensity of his gaze.

He did, with a thoroughness that left me gasping and boneless.

There was a new urgency to his touches, an almost desperate quality to the way he mapped my body with his hands and mouth.

When he finally pushed inside me, the energy transfer was more intense than usual, the tattoos glowing brighter, reaching further across my skin.

“Mine,” he murmured against my neck as we moved together. “My human.”

In the heat of the moment, the possessiveness sent a thrill through me. I came with his name on my lips, clutching at his shoulders as pleasure crashed through me.

Afterward, as we lay tangled together in the darkness, his words echoed in my mind. My human. Had he meant it, or was it just something said in passion?

“Deus?” I whispered, not sure if he was still awake.

“Hmm?” His voice was drowsy, which was unusual for him.

“What you said to my mother, about me being special to you… was that just part of the act?”

He was quiet for so long I thought he might not answer. Finally, he shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at me.

“What do you think?” he asked, his expression unreadable in the darkness.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “That’s why I’m asking.”

He sighed, a surprisingly human sound. “Julian, I’ve existed for millennia. I’ve observed countless humans, interacted with thousands. None of them…” He paused, seeming to search for words. “None of them made me feel the way you do.”

My heart stuttered in my chest. “And how’s that?”

“Like I want to stay,” he said simply. “Like I’m not just passing through.”

The admission hung between us, heavy with implications neither of us seemed ready to address fully.

“But you can’t stay,” I said softly. “Eventually, you’ll complete your favor and go back to… wherever.”

“The Between,” he supplied. “And yes, eventually the contract will be fulfilled.”

“So where does that leave us?”

He was quiet again, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my chest. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally. “This isn’t in any contract I’ve ever encountered.”

We lay in silence after that, both lost in our own thoughts. Eventually, Deus pulled me closer, his supernatural warmth enveloping me like a cocoon.

“Let’s just enjoy the time we have,” he suggested, his voice low in the darkness. “However long that may be.”

It wasn’t a solution, but it was all we had. I nodded against his chest, trying to ignore the ache that had settled somewhere beneath my ribs.