The Stone Demon by Karen Mahoney Page A

otherworldly in his beauty—but that didn’t mean she could be swept off her feet by him.
    It’s all illusion , Donna reminded herself, yet again. None of it’s real . He probably had horns and a freaking tail when he was just hanging out in Hell. Thinking about that helped her to hold the pieces of herself together, tightly. Fiercely. She looked around, taking in their surroundings for the first time since Demian had transported them … here.
    Wherever “here” was.
    They were in what could only be described as a very high-class waiting room—like something that you’d find in the most expensive kind of lawyer’s office. Minimalist décor, lots of white, geometrically designed furniture that definitely hadn’t come from IKEA, potted plants, and glass tables polished to within an inch of their lives. If they had lives, of course.
    Donna swallowed her fear. She tried to find the whisper of first matter deep inside her, but there was something about their surroundings that made her feel dizzy. Disoriented. She was also fighting the crushing disappointment that Demian had played her for a fool. Of course, Xan wasn’t here at all. He never had been, and that realization was like a sharp knife to the gut.
    That part made her more angry than afraid, so she grabbed hold of the feeling to anchor herself.
    “Nice waiting room. Do we have an appointment with someone?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips to hide how much they were shaking.
    The demon smiled indulgently. “This is Halfway. You’re seeing whatever your human mind conjures up. It’s different for everybody.”
    “ Halfway ? We’re … between realms?”
    He shrugged, and Donna couldn’t help noticing that even his clothes had changed. “Xan’s” tailored gray suit had been replaced by a black velvet jacket and slim-fitting black pants. Demian’s smart black shoes shone brightly enough to reflect the spotlights embedded in the ivory ceiling. But he’d been wearing white when she’d first seen him up on that dais in the ballroom.
    His silver hair rested on his jacket collar, and his cheekbones were so defined she imagined she might cut herself if she dared to touch his face.
    Which she had no intention of doing. Donna bit the inside of her cheek, trying to focus. The only reason she felt like this at all was because of his power. It was sick and twisted; something that he could use to manipulate humans to do things against their will. Remember that , she told herself fiercely.
    “So this is like Limbo?”
    “If that is what you prefer to call it. It is just a name, a label. As I said, we call it Halfway.”
    “Nice trick with the fake-Demian on stage, by the way. While I was dancing with fake-Xan, I mean.”
    “Thank you.” He bowed, echoing the sarcasm he could surely hear in her voice. He unbuttoned his jacket and Donna held her breath, her eyes fixed on how his black shirt clung to his slender frame.
    “Stop it,” she said.
    “I am not doing anything.”
    “I mean it. I’m not going to talk to you if you keep messing with my head.”
    Demian’s eyes flashed coal-bright. “And I tell you again, this is simply who I am. I cannot change it.”
    He gestured to the crimson chair behind her. The chair that hadn’t been there moments before. “Sit, Donna Underwood. Hear me out.”
    Donna set her shoulders, knowing that her stubbornness could be the death of her, but, in that moment, not caring. “And you really couldn’t have done this at the ball? Or somewhere else? I thought we were supposed to be having a meeting. With all the alchemists. But, oh no, you had to prove how manly you are and whisk me away to an in-between world that I probably can’t escape from.”
    Demian raised both eyebrows in a disturbingly human gesture. “Why would you want to leave? This is where the negotiations will take place.”
    “Well then, where’s everyone else?” Donna’s heart lifted at the thought of seeing her mother.
    “Through there.”