His smile goes even wider. “Of course. And I know why you’re here, too.” His white eyes flick to my shredded wings before straying back to my face. “Come to my office. We can speak in private.”
I probably shouldn’t go anywhere with a fallen angel, but he’s very alluring. Besides, he’s the ruler of this domain, and with my magic currently out of order, I’ll need him to help get me out of here. As long as I don’t strike any bargains, or piss him off like I did with the other demons, I’m sure I’ll be fine.
I hope.
I stalk after him, up those steps and into the office he barged out of. The inside is cozy, almost rustic compared to his bad-boy leather exterior. He goes and sits behind a desk, gesturing that I take the comfortable couch in front of him.
“So,” he cuts straight to the point, “you want to get back home.”
“News sure travels fast.”
He rests his elbows on the table, and his chin on his fists. The gesture makes him look boyish, somehow. “When the long lost only daughter of hell shows up, we all hear about it.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t want to be the daughter of hell. I don’t want anything to do with this.” I immediately bite my tongue as soon as the words leave my lips.
He doesn’t look angry, though. His expression doesn’t change at all. He just keeps on smiling, the gesture almost odd for a demon, because it’s not even a malicious smile. It’s… genuine.
“Well, you’re family, and I’ll respect your wishes.” He gets up and opens a bottom drawer on his desk. When he straightens, he pulls out folded leather and a pair of leather boots that he sets on the surface in front of me. “Here. Change and come back down. I’ll help you get home.”
My walls instantly go up and I’m suspicious. My eyes narrow on the leather and I don’t reach for them. “What do you want in exchange for the clothes?”
His eyes blink rapidly. “They’re just clothes and a way home…”
I snort. “The last time a demon gave me a change of clothes and a way home, my wings ended up shredded, and I ended up sprawled outside your bar. Demons never give something for nothing.”
“Well, this one does. But if you really want to even out the score, get dressed and come get to know the minions of my domain.” He winks as he stalks towards the door. “You might even like them.” He pushes the door open, but before he steps out, he turns and waves a hand through the air. The tingling spicy scent of magic wafts over me and a slice of pain races down my back muscles. I cry out, gripping the edge of the desk. “Can’t have those wings looking like that, can we?”
And then he leaves.
As soon as he’s gone, I hop to my feet and whirl. There’s a mirror on the far wall, and I turn in front of it, looking over my shoulder at my wings. At myhealedwings.
I stretch them out behind me, and the pain is… it’s completely gone. Azazel healed me. He healed my wings.
Fuck.
I take a breath and feel for my magic. It’s… it’s there. Good as new. Azazel healed every broken bit of me and wants nothing in return except for a moment of my time with him and his minions. I’m suspicious, but I’m even more grateful to him than I am wary.
So I turn and pick up the folded fabric. It’s a full leather bodysuit with the perfect slits in the back for my wings.
After slipping out of my tattered,expensive, dress and into the tight leather, I turn to look at myself in the mirror.
Hot. Fucking. Damn.
I should wear leather more often.
The outfit clings to my frame perfectly. Sleek black molds to every curve and dip of me, down my long legs and arms. I do a vain turn, the firing sparks of my wings flicking in golden streaks just make me look…
Like the Princess of Hell.
I look and feel powerful. Beautiful. Since I’ve been here, I haven't seen myself in a mirror before now, but hell does something to me. It makes my skin glow withlife, funny how I look like this in ahell dimensionof all places, but I do. My Prod has awakened inside me.
Shethrives.
I look fucking amazing. Even more so when I pull on the thigh-high boots. Dominatrix chic.
Saint would love this.
Saint…
