Free Defying Instinct (Demon Instinct Series) by Jaye A. Jones Page B

dress you up like Randy from A Christmas Story and let you run
around like a lunatic all you want.”
    We
watched that movie probably six times total a few weeks ago, and on every
Christmas day, never entirely at once since it played all day long.  We’d catch
snippets, and recite each line as if it hadn’t been a full year since we saw it
last.  The image of the little boy covered from head to toe in snow gear,
unable to lower his arms made me laugh though it was sodden and odd. 
    And
just like that, I believed Benn.  I was going to be okay.
    Only
then did the most important word of what Benn said about dressing me up in snow
gear register in my mind. 
    My
eyes grew so wide I could feel them bulge.  Eyelashes scraped under my
eyebrows.  My skin grew even hotter in places I imagined were turning bright
red.  I was remembering things I’d done while deep in the smoke-and-fire,
things that seemed important to a mind that didn’t understand modesty or what
was considered proper for a female in a room with four males.
    “I’m
naked, aren’t I,” I said, not moving, not daring to look down at myself. 
    Benn
tucked something around my shoulders, and I was shocked to feel anything
there.  I was covered, though naked underneath, which was bad enough.  But the
softness of the item draped over me hadn’t even registered in my mind, which
was incredible considering my hyper-sensitive state.
    I
let my eyes drop enough to see I was indeed covered.  It was a sage green,
cashmere sweater covering parts I’d be beyond embarrassed to think Benn had
gotten an eyeful of.
    Sage
green. 
    I
looked over at Rowan.  He was wearing a form-hugging, black undershirt.  And I
was draped in his sweater.
    Thank
you, I thought, and he nodded, then
jerked his eyes uneasily to the exit.
    “It’s
time,” Rowan snarled, still not looking at me.
    Benn
understood what the demon was talking about, but I didn’t.
    “Not
yet,” Benn told them without looking away from me.
    “Her
father will return soon,” Cyrus said.
    I
squinted at Rowan, then Benn.  “What are you talking about?’
    “You
need to see yourself, Savannah,” Grayson’s velvet tone sweetening a little.  He
was worried I would lose it when I saw how I looked.  They all were.
    And
God, I didn’t want to know how much worse it could get.  Did I have boils? 
Man, I probably had boils.
    “It
isn’t what you fear,” the Tempter crooned, and I squirmed at the idea that he
could get into my thoughts so easily.  I couldn’t keep him out.  I was too
weak, and he was bred and raised to get into female minds.  I hated him for it.
    I
felt pure panic, frustration, fury, and the stream of words came out as a
shriek that reminded me of Howard’s bitter wife.  “Why work me up like this
with anticipation if I’m not any worse than—”
    Grayson
ripped down the mirror from the wall, leaving a gaping, black hole in the
middle of all my deep purple paint.
    “Was
that necessary?” I muttered, but there was no longer any anger in it.  I was
too anxious to care.
    Resigned,
I looked into the mirror he forced into my face, and inexplicably recognized
myself.  I didn’t know for sure, but if I could replay my dreams, this was what
I looked like in them. 
    My
hair was the color of copper, long, wavy and shining.  Reaching up a violently
trembling hand, I ran my fingers through it.  Silk tickled my skin, and I ran
my fingers through it again and felt the softness brush against my bare neck. 
The sensation wasn’t uncomfortable at all, unlike the area rug beneath my naked
body which was intensely excruciating. 
    Pulling
back my hand, I stared at the new color of my skin.  Warm, Italian light brown,
but with a hue of radiant gold.  My fingernails had specks of gold and copper
imbedded in them, as if I were wearing a thin layer of sparkly nail polish. 
    My
eyes in the mirror Grayson still forced on me had a sunburst of copper that now
matched my hair, framed by the