Page 5 of Unleashing Mayhem (Demon Bound #4)

Nightmare

N ightmare’s smoke and shadow filled the room, obscuring the vision of the human before him but not his own.

Nightmare took advantage of the momentary imbalance between them to feel out the space as best he could from within the confines of the summoning circle.

He’d been summoned into an unfamiliar dwelling, although there were threads of recognition Nightmare could follow. Dream-altered corridors and shadowy corners that had been recreated inside a fearful mind.

Nightmare had walked these halls before, hadn’t he, inside his summoner’s psyche.

They were in a living room, a large space dominated by a long couch and two overstuffed armchairs, pillows and blankets abounding on all of them, with a gigantic, modern television fixed to the wall.

A familiar demonic signature filled the space, though it had gone stale in its owner’s absence.

Nightmare bared his teeth, sending his shadows out into the rest of the house. They returned within mere moments. There were no other humans lurking in the vicinity, according to his companions. Nor demons, for that matter. No threats of any kind.

Satisfied for the moment, Nightmare focused on the human standing before him, the young man craning his neck in an attempt to see Nightmare’s face through the smoke.

He was short and slight, with a few inches of unkempt dark-brown hair and enormous brown eyes.

Olive-skinned and dressed in a garment many sizes too big for him.

Overall, a pleasing flesh covering for the soul emanating within. A soul that might have been almost cloyingly sweet if not for the sour and bitter fissures running along it. Nightmare inhaled slowly, breathing in its essence.

Tart, sugared lemon filled his lungs.

And what a coincidence, that Nightmare had recently developed such a sweet tooth.

Nightmare let the smoke and shadows fall away, revealing the summoning circle fully to the human’s gaze. The human blinked, those doe eyes of his widening even further as he stared up at Nightmare.

By all rights the little creature should have been shrieking or trembling at the monstrous sight before him. But the human remained silent, and though his hands were clasped tightly in front of him, they were held surprisingly steady.

Nightmare noted the reddened swelling on the human’s lush lower lip, the bit of dried blood there. Nightmare glanced down at the page with his mark, the careful copy next to it, the wilted rose perched above them both.

The human had summoned Nightmare deliberately. That simplified things immensely.

Nightmare allowed his lips to curl at the corners, gracing the human with a rare smile, one that kept his sharp teeth hidden. The human’s face drained of color anyway. He still did not speak.

That was fine. Nightmare would wait.

He lowered himself to sit cross-legged within his summoning circle. The removal of the height disadvantage seemed to give his sweet summoner a bit of bravery. The human stepped closer to the circle’s edge. “H-Hello,” he greeted in a soft, shy voice. “Are you a demon?”

A silly question. Nightmare remained silent.

The color rushed back to his summoner’s cheeks, turning them a dusky pink. “Of course you are. I can see…” He gestured to the top of Nightmare’s head, to the antlered black horns that branched above him. And then he seemed again at a loss for words.

He was struggling. Nightmare would help him.

“I know you,” he told his summoner, watching as the little human flinched minutely at Nightmare’s low, husky rasp.

“Y-You do?” The human unclasped his hands, tucking them into his oversize sleeves and folding the fabric over his fingers. “How?”

Nightmare cocked his head and answered a question with a question. “Do you know what kind of demon I am?”

“No.” His summoner shook his head and then said, as if fearing offense, “I’m sorry.”

“They call us nightmare demons,” Nightmare explained. “We feed off the human psyche, namely fear. We feed most often on bad dreams.”

“You eat nightmares,” his summoner said with wonder. He gave Nightmare a tender, hopeful smile. “I have a lot of those.”

Nightmare wanted to trace the soft curl of those lips with his fingertips, feel the shape of them for himself, but the circle wouldn’t allow it.

The same restrictions did not apply to his shadows.

Nightmare gathered them from the corners of the room and—after a moment of considering the benefits of restraint—harnessed them to sweep lightly over his summoner’s clothed shoulders, down to his covered hands.

Nightmare kept the touch light, so as not to startle the shy human.

His summoner looked down at his arms, watching the darkness play over him.

His brow furrowed as he tried to understand where his sense of recognition came from.

So Nightmare helped him.

The next time his summoner glanced up, Nightmare summoned his skull visage from the ether, switching it on and off again, quick as a blink.

He was rewarded by his sweet summoner stepping forward with a gasp. “I’ve seen you. I-I know you.”

As he should. Nightmare had saved Matteo Caruso from the monsters in his dreams often enough. He’d sipped the young man’s fear like the finest ambrosia, one made of burned lemon twists and candied citrus peels left to rot.

The recognition seemed to embolden Matteo. He squared his slim shoulders, although he made no attempt to shake off Nightmare’s shadows. “I want to make a deal with you.” His fists clenched around their folded sleeves. “Will you— Do you want to make a deal with me too?”

There it was. A juicy summer lemon, ripe for the plucking. Nightmare kept his smile contained, nodding once. “Tell me your terms, summoner.”

“I need someone to keep me company,” Matteo said in a rush, the words almost blending together in his eagerness to get them out.

“Contracts need an end point,” Nightmare told him gently.

“Until I feel safe.”

It wasn’t a lie exactly, but it was an untruth. A false covering over the real heart of the matter. But the falsehood didn’t raise Nightmare’s ire; his summoner wasn’t required to bare his soul at their very first meeting. Not when Nightmare would soon have a piece of that soul for himself.

But the terms were still unsatisfactory.

If Nightmare had his way, young Matteo Caruso would be feeling as safe as could be sooner than he might think possible.

“Why do you feel unsafe?” Nightmare asked. “What do you fear?”

“Everything,” Matteo answered immediately. “Noise. Shadows. The dark. My own mind.”

“My power would be wasted on imaginary things that go bump in the night.” Nightmare paused, then added, “I’m overqualified.”

A little joke, but Matteo didn’t laugh. He seemed instead suddenly terrified that Nightmare would refuse his offer outright.

“I need a protector,” he said desperately, and never before had Nightmare seen a human look both so fearful and so brave as this young man standing in front of a monster, begging it to stay by his side.

“From what?” Nightmare prompted.

“From the people who would hurt me.”

They were getting somewhere now. Nightmare leaned forward until his antlers were brushing against the edges of his circle. “Names, sweet. Give me names.”

Matteo only stared, reluctance painting his features.

Nightmare tutted. “I’m losing patience.”

“Dominico Caruso,” Matteo blurted, quick as could be.

Nightmare’s shadows savored the taste of the soon-to-be dead man on Matteo’s tongue. Now he did smile fully, a flash of sharp teeth. “And what would make you feel safe from this Dominico Caruso?”

Matteo raised his clenched fists, clutching them against his stomach.

“I want him dead,” he said fiercely. When Nightmare only waited for more, Matteo continued, “I want him—I want him ripped apart. Him and anyone who follows him. Anyone who hurts people on his orders. And I want you to do it for me.” He was panting by the end of his short speech, the color high in his cheeks, as if it had taken immense effort to get the words out.

Nightmare stood slowly. He gave weight to his shadows, using them to push Matteo closer to his circle.

“I accept your terms. I, Sarkaron of the demon realm, will rip apart Matteo Caruso’s enemies, until there is no one left for him to fear.” Nightmare tapped a talon against his confinement. “Put your hand in the circle.”

“I didn’t tell you my name?” Matteo blurted, half statement and half question.

Nightmare inclined his head in acknowledgment. “You didn’t need to. We were already acquainted. Your hand, sweet.”

Matteo hesitated for only one more moment, then pushed his arm into the circle, fabric still clenched between his fingers.

Nightmare took hold of that small, slight hand, dislodging the fabric from its tense grip. He folded the sleeve over once, then over again, revealing bare, unblemished skin to his gaze. He ran his talons over his summoner’s fingers, delicate things with knobby knuckles.

Matteo shivered, little goose pimples rising on his wrist.

Nightmare chose the fleshy pad at the base of Matteo’s thumb for his purpose. He raised Matteo’s hand to his mouth and bit, letting warm drops of blood fill his mouth.

For all his fear of shadows and noises, Matteo didn’t flinch at the bite, nor did a whimper pass his lips.

He met Nightmare’s gaze squarely, those big dark eyes deep and fathomless.

And when Nightmare released him, the summoning circle dissolving around him, Matteo drew his arm back slowly and let the softest, sweetest, “Thank you,” fall from his lips.

And then he dropped to the floor.