How to Lose a Demon in 10 Days by Saranna DeWylde Read Free Book Online Page A

him. They were focused on something else.
    That was when he felt the first sting—no, maybe “sting” wasn’t the correct word. It was a pain like no other he’d known, followed by an itching that felt like a sheath of poison ivy had wrapped his dick, which was where the prostitute was staring. He didn’t want to look. Yes, for maybe the first time in years, Michael Ivan Grigorovich was afraid.
    He felt the sensation again and looked down involuntarily, closing his eyes at the very last second. He didn’t want to open them; he fought to keep them closed, afraid of what he might see. The whore was still screaming, a high-pitched wail that made a place in his spine tic with homicidal rage. He clenched his hand.
    Forcing himself to breathe, Michael opened his eyes. There, doing an Irish jig on the end of his cock, was the most horrible thing he’d ever seen. It was small and red, fat and round like a bloated tick. It was the size of a clementine “cutie” orange, its skin smooth but for the hair that hung off the end of a phallic tail, and it smiled at Michael and revealed a mouth full of tiny razors.
    The thing then flipped its tail up, revealing a second smiling mouth. Using its crustacean-like appendages, it dug into his skin and flipped, biting down alternately with the rump mouth and the front mouth. And it was excreting some sort of fluid that made Michael itch so badly that he debated completely cutting off the affected area. But it was his cock.
    He grabbed the obscenity and smashed it in his fist, various parts of the creature dripping out of his still-fisted hand. It had popped like a tick. He shook the material from his grip but, as he did, two more monstrosities appeared on the length of his still-hard dick. They scuttled down into the nest of his pubic hair, which did little to hide their bloated bodies. In fact, even though he was gifted in the size department, there was little space for any more of the creatures.
    Michael heard more screaming, but this time it couldn’t be the whore—he’d cut her air off and killed her already. No, it was his.
    The dead whore forgotten, he scrambled off the bed and into the bathroom, where he grabbed a razor and immediately shaved his pubic hair, hoping that would root out the disgusting little bastards. But it didn’t. It just forced them to dig their claws into his flesh as opposed to swinging like Tarzan through the foliage. And what messed with him most was that they seemed intelligent. The bugs smiled at him with those predator’s teeth before flipping themselves over like maniac gymnasts to bite with both mouths. It was disgusting .
    Michael found a pair of pliers and a lighter. If they popped like ticks, maybe he could get rid of them like ticks. He was no longer concerned about what they were, but rather whom they were from. He was doubly glad now that Grace was going to die. These little horrors could only have come from her, from that demon she had summoned. This was definitely a trick inspired in the seventh ring of Hell.
    A sulfuric odor burned his nostrils, and a low menacing laugh sounded from the shadows. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
    “Well, you’re not me, so fuck off. And you weren’t invited here.”
    A figure stepped forward, shedding the shadows like a cloak. It was clearly a demon. “Grace invited me.”
    Michael met his visitor’s eyes as he grabbed one of the creatures with the pliers, its little appendages flailing in protest. “I’m not impressed.”
    The demon shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
    Michael squeezed, taking a special delight in killing the creature he’d wrenched off his privates—only to find that two more had appeared in its place. Now there were three.
    “I told you so. Demon crabs are a bitch, huh? No fun, my man. No fun at all.” His demon guest whacked him on the shoulder in a good-natured gesture of male bonding, unmindful of Michael’s nakedness.
    “How do I ...?” Michael began, but the demon