How to Love a Blue Demon Read Free Page A

six months away in human time. Would he need that long to woo Cass and convince her to leave Earth and come back to his star? Surely not.
    His father lectured him for a few more minutes, the impo rtance of making a good show, to behave with propriety and – here Eyoen swallowed nervously – of the criticality that he not hurt anyone, and then dismissed him.
    Back in his apartment , Eyoen eyed his valet. Rierdane was talking his new role as advisor very seriously. He insisted on preparing his master for what lay ahead so thoroughly Eyoen felt like he was back in the schoolroom. He hadn’t stopped talking since they left the throne room.
    “You’ll have $5,000 per week spending money.”
    “How much is that in Cyani coin?” Eyoen asked.
    “About 50 credits.”
    Eyoen shuddered; it was a pitiful amount. It appeared his father did indeed want to punish him, sending him to another land a pauper!
    “ Never fear, my boy. You can actually live quite well on $5,000 a week in Chicago,” Rierdane assured him. “We’ll find you a host with several credit cards.”
    “What?”
    “Credit cards. Small rectangles of plastic that act as cash.”
    “What is cash?”
    “Credits.”
    “Ah.” Eyoen summoned another of his three servants to get him something to drink as he turned on the OWE crystal and looked at his favorite program – Cass’ life.
    “Sire? Sire!”
    “Yes?”
    Rierdane sighed. Eyoen wouldn’t listen to a word he said as long as Cass was on the seer.
    “What is that?” He asked. Best to give in a little otherwise the prince would be uncooperative.
    “One of the box people, a CBS reporter, is doing what’s called a live interview,” Eyoen whispered. “Listen. They’re asking her about her work…”
    “Well, I give 100 percent for every performance, no matter where it is, no matter what size it is. I refuse to give less to my fans. They pay good, hard-earned money to see me, and I want them to keep doing it. Plus, I enjoy what I do,” Cass grinned, and the reporter smiled helplessly.
    Her appeal was much more than an honest desire to serve, of course, Eyoen thought.
    Nor was i t solely motivated by gratitude, however humble Cass was. The enjoyment she mentioned, that was the reason her live shows were memorable. She simply loved to perform. She drew every eye in the room even before she became a star. Now she had a limitless audience, and fans fainted or screamed, crying and throwing themselves at barricades trying to touch her as she signed autographs.
    Peop le couldn’t help responding, males and females, and this reporter was no exception. Whenever she appeared in public, her beauty, her energy, her very presence inspired a longing tethered only by the thinnest veneer of civility. She made people want her, and she did so effortlessly.
    Cass understood this too, and Eyoen believed she didn’t mind when reporters asked her about her status as a sex symbol.
    In a Rolling Stone Q&A he watched la st year she said, “It’s funny,” and laughed, that rich, deep trademark tumble of sweet water over the ear that had earned her a spontaneous marriage proposal from a young prince when she performed at his birthday party in Dubai. “But it’s not complicated. I’m a sex symbol because I’m sexy. Fame didn’t do that. I’m the same person I was before I famous. I wear the same clothes, still cook my own food, and use the same soap. I still got the same four or five friends around me all the time.
    “ Being sexy is about being yourself, being happy, deep down happy, and that don’t necessarily mean your mouth is smiling. It means your eyes are lit with spirit. People are either drawn to the spirit, or they’re repelled by it. That’s sexy.”
    The r eporter leaned forward, chin in hand. He blinked languidly, basking in the sparkle of her brown eyes. “And, you know,” she shrugged, a devilish grin on her full red lips. “I’m tall, and I got big tits. In America, that’s half the battle won