A segmented tail with a sharp barb on the tip reared back.
It moved so fast, it was barely a blur. The barb struck her in the neck, and pain speared through her bloodstream.
Scorpion, she thought distantly.
It was the last thought she had before everything went black.
BELLS ANDWHISTLES
BELIAL, FORMERKING OFHELL, HUNG THE LAST SHIRTon the bar and then stepped back and surveyed the spacious closet.
After more than a month, he was officially moved into his new house.
The walk-in had hanger racks on three walls with shelves above and below. All of it was empty save for one small corner occupied by his existing wardrobe. It was hard to find clothes on Earth when one was seven feet tall.
There hadn’t been much to move. In Hell, he’d had several castles full of shit, most of it loot Raum had stolen and hoarded away in Bel’s spaces whether he liked it or not.
Now, he had next to nothing. A collection of top-of-the-line kitchen items (including his swanky espresso machine and grinder), a laptop, a couple bags of clothes, and that was it.
He had so little stuff that he’d only bought the house on the condition that all the staging furniture was included so he didn’t have to buy it himself. Decorating wasn’t exactly hisstrong suit. As long as a chair didn’t collapse under his weight, he didn’t give a damn what it looked like.
Backing out of the closet, he turned to survey the bedroom. On one side, a wall of tall windows overlooked the landscaped backyard. Beside it, a patio door went to a private balcony. Opposite the wall of windows was his brand-new bed.
He mentally amended his list of possessions to contain his “Alaskan” king. The biggest mattress on the market without going custom, at nine-by-nine feet, it was finally enough room for him to properly stretch out. He’d gotten sick of hanging off the end of his California king at the old place, and he’d been more than happy to get rid of it.
As for the rest of the house, it was big, expensive, and empty.
So very empty.
That was what he’d wanted. He was sick of listening to his brothers bitch at each other all hours of the day. He was sick of the messes they made in his kitchen and how they never fucking did the dishes. And ever since they’d all started dating, it had only gotten worse. He was sick of overhearing Meph and Iris bickering and then fucking at full volume five seconds later. He was sick of Asmodeus and Eva’s music coming up through the floorboards from the apartment below. He was sick of Raum and Sunshine treating him like one of their rescue cases.
Every time something so much as momentarily irritated him, the rage reared its ugly head.
Putting away a cup someone else left out … his hands would shake while he did it. Telling someone to shut the fuck up … he would speak through gritted teeth. Listening to others argue … his fists would ball up so tightly, his knuckles turned white. Even being spoken to in a normal tone of voice caused his blood to boil slightly.
Being around other people, even his brothers, was a constant battle against the rage, and he was so goddamn tired of it.He’d just wanted some peace and quiet. But now he was here, standing in his humongous empty house, wondering what the fuck he was doing with himself.
What was his goddamn purpose? Why had he even come to Earth anyway? With how he felt now, he’d have been better off staying in Hell. There at least, he had a reputation to live up to.
He’d had legions that feared and adored him. He’d had rivals and shady acquaintances. He was fuckingBelial, King of Hell, one of the baddest motherfuckers in the underworld.
Here, he was just a human wannabe with a big fuck-off mansion.
Maybe he ought to buy a fuck-off car to go with it. The trick would be finding one he fit into.
Exiting the empty bedroom, he walked down the empty hallway and descended the empty staircase to the empty entranceway. From there, he passed under an arch he didn’t have to duck under—another reason he’d chosen this house—into the kitchen.
The kitchen was the main reason he’d picked the house.
Eleven-foot ceilings meant he didn’t feel like the roof was falling on his head, and if he did lose his temper, he had a bit of room to grow before he hit the ceiling.
The countertops were marble, the stainless, state-of-the-art appliances brand-new, including a second oven and a double-wide gas stove. There was lots of cupboard space and two double sinks with semi-professional faucets.
His espresso machine tucked nicely under the cupboards in the corner on one side, and his other appliances barely made a dent in the counter space on the other. Across the room, there was a dining table and French doors that led to the back patio by the pool. He liked to drink his morning coffee out there and watch the sunrise.
He busied himself by opening his laptop to the recipe he’d been reading the night before. Demons didn’t need to eat tosurvive, so he neverfelthungry, but he sure as hell liked food. He fucking loved food, in fact. Flavors and spices, the smell of cooking meat and vegetables … Sometimes he swore it was the only reason he was still sane.
It was late afternoon, and that seemed a reasonable enough time to cook a meal. Not that it mattered. He could eat at two in the morning for all the difference it would make.
