***
The warmth of the apartment finally starts to feel heavy, the rich scent of dinner giving way to the faint smell of melting wax and pine needles. Draven, who has been locked in a low-volume, hostile-flirting discussion with Rhea about the merits of enchanted holiday lighting, finally stands up, stretching his intimidating height.
“Right. My work here is done,” he announces to the room at large.
Rhea scowls. “What work? Being irritating?”
“Achieving peace,” Draven counters, his dark eyes sparkling with something too close to satisfaction. “And delivering this one safely home.” He gestures to Caelan, who is still eating a stolen garlic knot and laughing at Draven.
Caelan claps Draven on the shoulder. “Good luck with your brooding, cousin. Thanks for the wine, Piper.”
Draven nods. “Thank you for the meal, Piper. Though I suspect you poisoned the gravy, it was surprisingly tasty.”
“It’s a Bellamy recipe,” I say sweetly. “Only works on demons.”
He gives me a half-smile that is actually genuine. Rhea stands up, dusting crumbs off her emerald coat. Elle scrambles over to her, grabbing her arm.
“Rhea, I am so sorry about the name!” Elle whispers frantically. “It just came out!”
“It better not come out again, or I’ll curse your entire wardrobe to turn beige,” Rhea snarls.
Elle laughs. “Got it.”
Rhea turns to me. “I suppose I should go before I accidentally stab someone with a dessert fork.”
Elle hugs me tightly. “Happy Christmas, Pipes!”
“You too, you beautiful bitch,” I laugh, hugging her back. “Go enjoy the rest of the day. Get some rest.”
“No setting the apartment on fire, Lord Athalar. I like this pine tree,” Rhea instructs, her amber gaze flicking over Slade, sharp and assessing.
“I’ll try to resist the urge,” Slade drawls, his eyes locked on mine.
One by one, they file out. Draven, Caelan, then Elle, and finally Rhea, shutting the door with a deliberate click.
Silence descends, heavy and satisfying. Newt, relieved the chaos is over, simply sprawls out on the rug, a furry, orange sigh.
I turn to Slade, the peaceful, wicked smile I usually reserve just for him tugging at my lips. “Your family is utterly exhausting.”
“Mine?” He tilts his head, his eyes deep as shadows in the dim light. “One of yours named me a brooding Christmas hazard.”
I cross the room to him, running my hands up his chest, feeling the solid heat beneath his shirt. “She’s not wrong. Now, come here, hazard.”
Slade’s hands immediately settle on my waist, pulling me flush against his hard body. The gentle spell of holiday contentment vanishes, replaced by the familiar, hot surge of desire that always flares between us—a delicious collision of witch and demon.
“I was humming a Ninth Realm love song earlier,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my earlobe. “Did you catch the lyrics, little witch?”
“Something about frozen mountains and eternal damnation?” I tease, my fingers tangling in the dark hair at his nape, pulling him closer.
“Close. It was about stealing the sun and chaining it to my hearth, where it would shine only for me,” he rumbles, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper.
He takes my mouth, and the kiss is demanding, erasing the lingering memory of the family noise. My hands trace the powerful lines of his back, finding the place where his tension always knots. I dig my fingers in, making him groan into my mouth. He sheds his coat and shirt, casting them to the floor without breaking contact.
He lifts me, setting me on the edge of the kitchen counter. The spiced warmth of the kitchen intensifies. Slade presses against me, his chest solid and hot, the hard muscles under myfingertips radiating pure demonic heat. His hands slide under my dress, smoothing over the bare skin of my thighs. My skin immediately prickles. I feel the magic thicken in the air around us, heavy and demanding.
He pulls my dress up and pushes my underwear aside, never breaking the deep connection of our lips. The cold marble of the counter is a sharp, welcome contrast to the burning heat he generates. He presses into me, a heavy, familiar confirmation of need, and I wrap my legs tightly around his waist, guiding him.
“You are the only chaos I want to control,” Slade growls as he enters me with a deep thrust.
