I don't like him. I never have. I make sure he can read that on my face. When he starts spewing at me in ancient Ifrit, I turn away.
I dealt with those bullshit conjugations in class. I am the Princess of Hell, and I don't have to deal with it here, too.
Soon, the screams and cries of the dying are replaced with booming music. A song bleeds out from imaginary speakers and bursts nostalgically around me.
The Macarenais the dance of the ages, and Azazel's lackeys teach many-limbed creatures the steps beneath the swaying, limp forms of ass demons.
I am reminded of weeks ago in hell. I went through this exact same scene with fizzy, green demon alcohol flowing through my system. It had been a fun affair before. Now, I watch with a strange sort of detachment as the cruel revelry unfolds.
Using my hands, I push myself up from the throne, my wings fanning at my back. My father's bicolored gaze snaps to me, loving and strict, with a million questions there. He's protective, and the single look he gives me lets me know that he will never, ever let me go again.
I take a few steps before him and bend down to press a kiss to his forehead.
“I am your faithful servant, now and always, Father,” I whisper against his skin and pull away.
His hand comes up to cup my cheek. “Not my servant. Never my servant. You are my daughter.” I can tell he means every caring word. It’s in the tender tone of his voice and the emotion swelling in his eyes. It’s in this moment I know he loves me, completely and wholly. Like he’d never even left my life at all. Like we’ve known each other all my life instead of for two years.
“Thank you, Father. I am going to go wander for a bit.”
He nods and fixes his attention on the surrounding chaos just as I stalk away. My strides are steady and confident as I walk away from everything and venture behind our thrones, where a cluster of sticky black trees are sequestered. The darkness of the bark swallows me up while the cries and screams dissipate into vague background noise.
Finally, in the quiet, I am able to breathe. Everything is sharper, more intense in the darkness. Embracing every part of my hellish heritage made power, it consumes me, and now I can feel the full force of it honing my senses. I see everything, hear everything,feeleverything.
It’s the heartbeat I hear first. It thumps steadily and not at all afraid. It belongs to a Prod who knows what I am; and I am his prey. The footfalls are near silent things against the ground, and somehow I recognize who they belong to. It’s in the scent, it’s in the prowling straightforwardness.
Energy surges through me as he steps out from between the trees. I don’t turn to face him, but a sly smile spreads across my face. I feel every bit the predator I never was, and I embrace it fully.
Because it feels fuckinggood.
My wings spread wide against my back. I can feel the rush of my blood flowing through those veins, and I know they probably look like rivers of golden fire. A moment later, they slide between my shoulder blades, disappearing in whiffs of light smoke that match what emanates from my crown.
My smile only seems to brighten when I take him in.
“Malek.”
His glasses are gone, and without them, he looks older, more intense than he ever has. His hair clings to his forehead like kisses I want to claim for myself. His gold-kissed skin is flushed like he’s been running laps, though his chest doesn’t heave and his breathing is all too steady. His usually warm brown eyes are glowing gold in the darkness, and he looks every bit the predator he is.
He looks wild and sexy.
Like he’s finally let go of that carefully constructed control he’s held around himself like a blanket.
That makes two of us.
I prowl toward him, my every movement sensual and deliberate. I am aware of what I am, of what I look like; a siren made to entice. Something about this newfound power fills me with a confidence I never had before.
I like it.
He’s staring at me warily, and he doesn’t speak. He’s regarding me carefully, gauging my every movement, and I can’t help but smirk at the expression on his face.
Like he came expecting to hunt a lamb but found a wolf in its place instead.
His whole body is tense as I come near him, circling him in sinuous movements and languid steps. When I’m before him again, close enough to touch, I let my wings burst from my back again.
“I didn’t think you were one for showing off, mi corazón,” he whispers. His voice has all the dark sexual prowess I adore. His gaze doesn’t linger on my wings, though. He is staring deep into my eyes.
I know what he’s looking at, contemplating. I’d felt the change as soon as it came over me; the tingling in my eyes that changed their colors. I don’t need to look at my reflection to see that they mirror my father’s now.
“Do you like me like this?” I ask without shame, pressing closer to him. My nipples graze against the strength of his chest, and I fight back the shiver that threatens to roll down my spine. My nails reach up to trail along his chest.
