The demon bowed, holding my gaze as his arms swept out on either side of his well-muscled torso. “You may call me . . . Pan.” I didn’t even fight the giggle that escaped. “Pan? As in pots and?” The curl of his lip turned decidedly sulky. “No.” “Are you going to elaborate?” “Do you think it wise to annoy the demon holding your very life in the palm of his hand?” “Let’s not get dramatic, Potts.” “Pan.” “Peter.” “Pan.” I laughed. “Gotcha.”
