The_Demons_Wife_ARC by Rick Hautala Page A

apologize.”
    “Which implies
that he did do it.”
    “Look. I’m
just doing what he asked…throwing it out there so you’d know. That’s all.”
    “Yes. I…Thank
you.”
    Claire had no
idea what to make of it. Why would she want to speak to or even see the man who
had tried to rape her?
    She wanted to ask
Harris more questions, to find out exactly what her assailant had said and why
he thought speaking with her would do any good. Maybe get her sympathy and try
to get her to drop the charges. She watched as Samael got up from the table
and, without a backward glance at her, sauntered down the hallway, back to the
bedroom.
    Is he
recharged and ready to go at it again? She wondered. In spite of what she
was dealing with here, a deep warmth throbbed in her lower belly, and she
smiled. 
    Am I ready to
go again?
    She suddenly
had grave doubts about what she was doing—not about the rape charges, but with
Samael. As impossible as it seemed…as impossible as it was, she knew in her
soul that she should have absolutely nothing more to do with a demon, no matter
how charming and attractive he might appear…That was the operant word here:
    Appear.
    And it
certainly didn’t matter how good he was with his tail!
    “I—I
appreciate your call, Mr.—”
    “Harris.”
    “Mr. Harris.”
    She ended the
call, noticing the emptiness inside her without Samael in the same room where
she could see him. She considered for a moment—
    Why would Mr.
Harris from the DA’s office be calling in the first place if it wasn’t
advisable for her to talk to LaPierre?
    This was just
weird!
    Why stir
things up like this?
    Why not just
let things take their course?
    She had no
doubt that she would experience psychic echoes from last night’s events for a
long time to come, and she wondered—and worried—that over time, things would
get worse instead of better.
    It certainly
didn’t help to have someone from the DA’s office suggest something as foolish
as going to visit her “alleged” assailant in prison.
    She hadn’t
even known his name until just now—Ron LaPierre.
    She told
herself that she honestly didn’t care to see or hear from him or even think
about him ever again. The trial—if it came to that, and she had to
testify—would be ordeal enough to sit through. Some women may want to face
their attacker and ask him, simply, why? 
    But not her.
    Mr. Ron LaPierre
could rot in jail from now until the end of time, for all she cared.
    She walked
down the hallway to her bedroom. All she wanted to think about was how
incredible it felt to be wrapped up in Samael’s embrace and experience the
thrills that coursed through her body when he penetrated her with his tail.
    After this
call, she was more than ready to start in again.
    “Are you...?”
she started to say, but her question died on her lips when she saw that Samael
wasn’t in the bedroom.
    “Samael?”
    The lighting
in the room was dim. No wonder. Samael liked it that way even on a bright,
sunny March day. She looked carefully at the bed to make sure he wasn’t under
the covers, but the rumpled bed sheets couldn’t have hidden him. After looking
all around to make sure she wasn’t missing him in the dim light, she assumed
that he was in the bathroom.
    But then a
thought hit her—
    He doesn’t
have to urinate…How could he…without a penis?
    And then
another thought struck her.
    Does he also
not have an anus?...Does he ever have to excrete?
    “This is getting
too weird,” she mumbled to herself as she walked out of the bedroom and down
the far end of the hall to the closed bathroom door. She rapped on the door
with her knuckles, a few quick taps.
    “You in
there?” she called out.
    No answer.
    “Samael?”
    Again, she
knocked, and again…
    No answer.
    Bracing
herself, she reached down and clasped the doorknob. The brass knob was slick in
her hand. She turned it slowly until the latch clicked; then she pushed the
door open a crack and peered inside. When she