"Jesus fucking Christ," Damon mutters, making a beeline for the fridge like it's his safe house. "I did not sign up for this supernatural circus." He snags a blood bag and plops down at the opposite end of the island, putting as much distance between himself and our resident hellspawn as physically possible. "Just keep that walking nightmare fuel away from me, and we'll be golden."
I have to hand it to the kid—he's adapting to this whole "vampires, witches, and demons, oh my!" situation pretty damn well, all things considered. I mean, sure, he lookslike he's about two seconds away from having a full-blown existential crisis, but hey, who isn't these days?
Sable saunters in with an armful of candles and some funky-smelling herbs. She arranges the candles like she's setting up for a romantic dinner date with Satan, then tells Emily to repeat after her. They start chanting in unison, their voices rising and falling in a creepy-ass harmony that makes my skin crawl.
Once the witchy duet finally wraps up, Emily looks expectantly at Braxos. "Alright, big guy, let's hear those dulcet tones in English."
"As you wish, Mistress," Braxos rumbles, his voice so deep it could give Barry White a run for his money. "How may I serve you?"
"Holy shit, it worked!" Sable squeals, bouncing up and down like a kid who just found out Santa's real. "I can't believe it!"
"Great, now, if only you could magic away his face," Damon mutters beside me, shuddering. "Because I'm pretty sure this dude's mug is gonna haunt my nightmares for the rest of my unnatural life."
"Is this more to your liking?" Braxos asks, and suddenly, his entire appearance shimmers like a heat mirage. When the distortion clears, my jaw practically hits the floor.
"Oh, HELL no!" I snap, jabbing a finger at the demon. "You are NOT allowed to cosplay as Bruce fucking Wayne!" Because, of course, this asshole would choose to impersonate the Dark Knight himself straight out of the pages of my precious comic collection.
"Damn," Emily breathes, her eyes wide with fascination. "So you can just... change your appearance at will? Like, to anything?"
"Indeed, Mistress," Braxos confirms, his face still wearing Bruce Wayne's chiseled features. "I can alter my physical form to suit your preferences."
I sit here, gaping like a fish out of water, trying to process that we now have a shape-shifting demon in our midst. A shape-shifting demon who has a hard-on for DC Comics.
I swear, if he starts quoting Batman lines, I'm gonna lose my shit.
Emily bolts into the living room like her ass is on fire, then comes rushing back with a magazine clutched in her hands. She slaps it down on the counter and starts flipping through the pages like a woman possessed until she finally jabs her finger at some poor, unsuspecting GQ model. "Him!" she declares, her eyes gleaming with unholy glee. "Can you make yourself look like this fine specimen of manhood?"
Lo and behold, our resident demon Houdini does his little shimmer-shimmer act, and suddenly, we're staring at a carbon copy of the magazine Hottie. I'm talking luscious, flowing locks that probably have their own line of hair care products, smoldering bedroom eyes that could melt a nun's chastity belt, and a body that looks chiseled out of pure, grade-A beefcake.
Emily's eyes go all liquid sex, and I know that look. I've seen it on every poor bastard who's ever fallen victim to a succubus. She's about two seconds away from climbing this demon like a tree, and I am NOT here for it.
"Ohhh, no. Fuck no!" I protest, holding up my hands like I'm trying to ward off evil. Which, let's be real, I kind of am. "There will be no demon-witch boot-knocking under this roof, you hear me? I did not sign up for a front-row seat to the supernatural porno Olympics!"
Emily shoots me a glare that could castrate a lesser man. "Jesus, Lucian, get your mind out of the gutter for once," she snaps, but I can see how her cheeks are flushed. "What's wrong? Jealous that you can't pull off the 'Abercrombie & Fitch meets Hellraiser' look."
I roll my eyes. "Oh, please. I'm secure enough in my own devilish good looks, thank you very much. I just don't want to have to bleach my eyeballs after walking in on you two doing the nasty on every available surface."
My angel cake tries to play peacemaker. "Guys, come on. Let's all take a deep breath," she soothes, but even she can't entirely hide the appreciative once-over she gives Braxos's new look. "I'm sure Emily knows better than to engage in any... inappropriate activities with…um, this demon—our guest."
Emily huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. But I swear to God, if I catch her playing 'hide the hellsalami' with him, I'm gonna need a whole lot more than holy water to cleanse my soul.
This whole situation is turning into a fucking CW TV show. All we need now is for Damon to profess his undying love for Sable, and we'll have the full bingo card of 'shit I never wanted to deal with in my immortal life.'
"So, we're all in agreement that this is a major improvement, right?" Emily gestures to Braxos's new look as if she's unveiling a work of art. She doesn't even wait for us to answer before barreling on. "Great. Now, let's get down to business. Who or what came through that rift before you decided to join our little party?"
Braxos, apparently feeling right at home in his shiny new meat suit, casually leans against the kitchen island like he's posing for a fucking GQ spread. It's equally impressive and disturbing, if I'm being honest. "From what I gathered, Mistress, it was a vampire," he purrs, staring at Emily with barely enough restrained lust to power a small country.
"Wait, a vampire?" Sable chimes in, her brow furrowing in that adorable way that makes her look like a confused kitten. "Did you catch a name or any identifying details?"
I catch Damon sneaking glances at Sable from the corner of my eye, and I have to physically restrain myself from rolling my eyes so hard they pop out of my skull. Jesus H. Christ on a cracker, I knew it. The kid's crushing harder than a twelve-year-old at a Justin Bieber concert.
"Unfortunately, I don't have a name for you," Braxos replies, somehow managing to make even that sound suggestive as fuck. "All I know is that a vampire was pulled through the rift from the stone."
Well, isn't that just fan-fucking-tastic? Not only do we have to worry about Lilith and her vampire army, but now we've got a mystery vamp on the loose, doing God knows what with a chunk of the most dangerous magical rock in existence.
I swear, it's like the universe looked at our shit show of a situation and went, "You know what this needs? More variables! Let's throw in a wild card vampire to keep things spicy!"
"Okay, let's take a step back and think about this," Sable muses. "Why would Lilith go through the trouble of yanking a vampire's soul out of Unbra? What's her angle here? Could it be Azrael, back for round two?"
