Published: April 12, 2012

Length: Novella

Hell's demons, Satan included, have unanimously decided that they too, should begin celebrating holidays. Not Christmas, mind you, because that would just be wrong. Even demons would like to have sparkly and shiny decorations to look at, just as long as they’re flame-resistant, for the festive months of November and December. So, Damon the demon, aptly named like so many other fellow demons, is sent in search of the perfect holiday decorator to jazz up their fiery Hell.

Holly Boughs, so named because of her mother’s love for the holidays, is in line for this year's prestigious Best Store Window Award. They’re looking for the best of the best of the best (sir!), and she believes she’s outdone herself this time. She's decorated her fanny off, put on the finishing touches, and is ready to win it all. There’s just one little problem: Holly is kidnapped, dragged to Hell, where she’s told to do it all over again. Without melting anything in the process. Um, yeah. Talented or not, Holly definitely has her work cut out for her, because trying to please these demons from Hell is no easy task.

Pages: 63 ~ Words: 15217

This bbw paranormal romance features a holiday loving woman and her demon other half as they bring holiday sparkle to hell.

Read an Excerpt

"Damon.” The Lord of Hell's voice boomed through the court, rising above all others. “You've been nominated."

"Which one?” another voice shouted. Had to be Damon Kobal. Damned demon thought he was hilarious.

And impudence always got the Lord riled. “Damon Damas, Ambassador of Hell!” The walls shook with Satan's fury. “Kobal! If your mother wasn't Queen of the Harpies, I'd send you to Ukobach and have him burn you for a few millennia."

It wasn't necessarily Kobal's fault, really. With so many demons named Damon, it was bound to cause  some  confusion … and a few snickers.

"Aw, Satan. That'd just piss Mom off and then I'd have to explain–"

"Shut it.” And Kobal did because the idiot at least knew when to shut his mouth. Occasionally.


Damon Damas sighed and stepped away from the wall. He'd hoped to avoid actually doinganything for the evening. “Yes, my Lord.” He tried to hide the sarcasm. Really.

"Ah, there you are. Come, come, come. Much to discuss.” Satan waved him forward and he went, begrudging every step.

He really,  really  didn't want to know what he'd been nominated for. Not. At. All. Because somehow, it meant he'd be going somewhere and when he came back, there was always a war. People didn't like negotiating with a demon. They liked negotiating with the Ambassador of Hell even less. That he also happened to be related to the Lord of Hell on his mother's side, got doors slammed in his face before a word even left his mouth. They feared him and he just couldn't figure out why. So, no, he really preferred hiding to talking with his great-great-something or other. Regardless of how much power the man wielded.

"Now, Damon. We have all discussed this…"

"Who's  we” Because in Satan's world, “we” could be God for all Damon knew.

Satan growled. “If it wasn't for  your  mother–"

"Yes, yes, I'd be visiting the fires of Hell with Kobal while Ukobach toasted us. Now, who'swe?” Sometimes being related to the big guy had a few benefits.

Satan slumped into his chair. “Doesn't anyone respect me anymore?"

Kobal, the idiot, raised his hand. “I'm sure the souls do, my Lord. The demons? Not so much.” With a quick wink, the demon of hilarity disappeared in a puff of smoke.

"I should kill him,” Satan muttered.

"But then he'd have a chance of getting into Heaven. Would you really want to lose him to…"


Damon smiled. “Aw, Uncle Satan, it's not that bad. Now, whose door is going to be slammed in my face today?"

"Right.” Satan sat up straighter. “The demon babes…” Damon groaned. Satan narrowed his eyes at him, but didn't comment. “As I was saying, the demon babes would like to celebrate the holidays. Not His son's birthday, of course, that would be wrong on so many levels, but just some festivities that end in presents. The little ones feel that just because they aren't part of the living world shouldn't mean they don't get extra presents each year. As if celebrating my birthday isn't enough for them."

"Uh-huh. Uncle Satan,  you  get presents on your birthday, not everyone else. The thing about Him is that everybody else–"

"Zip it."

"I'm just saying…"

"Well don't. We're not celebrating His son's birthday and that's final. Now, where was I? Right. We need presents and decorations and festivities."

"Presents. Okay. Presents I can do.” Damon started tallying the cost of presents for each of the children. It would deplete the coffers a bit, but it'd be worth it. Children should get some enjoyment from life be they demon, angel or Living.

"It's the festivities and decorating we're having issues with."

Damon stared openmouthed at his uncle. “I'm not responsible for presents?"

"No, you're the Ambassador of Hell. You have to go ambassador-ize someone. You're responsible for convincing someone from the Living to come here and,” Satan waved a hand, encompassing the hall, “decorate and plan and whatever else it is that the Living do for the holidays."

Damon flopped down onto the steps leading to Satan's throne. “I won't do it. I can't be around the Living. It's bad enough here in Hell. They'll shoot me instead of just slamming doors in my face. What am I supposed to say? ‘Hi, wanna come to Hell?’ I can't die, but bullets hurt, Uncle Satan.” Yes, he even pouted. Anything was better than venturing to the land of the Living.

"I'll do it!” Another demon raised his hand.

"You will not, Samael! I don't want a plague, I want a decorator,” Satan snapped, and the Demon of Death slumped into his seat looking sad and defeated. Samael was always looking for a reason to visit the Living. The demon had entirely too much fun doing his job, and Damon didn't have nearly enough doing his. In fact, his job just plain sucked. Not literally, but still…

Stabbing the mannequin really helped.

Deck the halls with  stab  of  stab stab.

Fa la la la la, la la la la.

'Tis the season to be stab stab.

Fa la la la la, la la la la.

"Hol-ly!” Lord, it was the harbinger of death and destruction, also known as Monica, Holly's boss.

Holly pushed the pin into the mannequin one last time, holding the frou-frou garment in place. She'd have to redo the whole thing after Monica quit her screeching, so she didn't waste any more time on the hunk of foam and plastic. Because, instead of coming into the store and discussing the window display with Holly, the woman felt the need to  screamthrough the glass from outside the building.

"Yes, Ms. Shax?”  Don't throw the mannequin through the window. Or the tree. Or one of the mechanical carolers. Although they're so ugly, they deserve it.

"Holly,  dear,  don't you think we…” Monica waved toward the left of the display, “…need some more red there. Give it some more holiday joy.”