So I’m leaning against the wall in the corner, enjoying a nice glass of Château Petrus, feeding on the lust winding through the air like decadent perfume.
“Uncle,” Sariel, my brother’s adopted son, greets me. His friend and constant shadow, Armaros, is just a step behind him, inclining his head deferentially.
“Hello, youngling,” I reply with genuine warmth. I’ve always appreciated the irreverent Fallen. “Is your father not coming tonight?”
If Ashtaroth were here, I would have sensed it. I might be a modest dozen millennia old, but my brother is older than humanity. Not that he truly is my brother—God created Ashtaroth in the Heavens, and I was born of Lilith and Samael here in Hell. But those two are arguably worse parents than I am, and I haven’t heard from either in countless centuries. It was my brother who helped me find my footing as one of Hell’s leaders.
Sariel scoffs, taking a leisurely sip of wine before he answers me. “Of course not. Father is far too dull these days. You should try to get him to loosen up a bit,” he suggests.
I raise my eyebrows and give him a droll look. “I’m not sure even I could get Ashtaroth to find amusement in anything. He’s seen and done it all.”
I don’t bother mentioning that I’m feeling like I might have as well. The only thing making my useless heart quicken is knowing I can visit my fairy whenever I want and battle wits with her. Or battle wits with her while battling her at cards. Which is what I’d rather be doing. But I also have to feed.
“You’re not participating today, Lord Asmodeus?” Armaros asks, his blonde hair gilded under the candlelight.
I shake my head. “Not tonight, no. I have a matter to attend to in a moment.”
Armaros nods like my explanation is perfectly normal, when in truth, I was always the centerpiece at such events. The pleasure coordinator, so to speak.
“Well, you should come visit soon,” Sariel says, giving me a wink. “Help me keep Ash on his toes.”
I laugh at the nickname only Sariel is brave enough to use for the ancient archdemon.
“Might be a hopeless cause, Nephew,” I tell him. “But I’ll visit.”
After a few more words, the two Fallen move deeper into the manor, where the screams of pleasure are the loudest. I watch dispassionately as two well-endowed demons skewer a wigglingsuccubus between them. Sure, the tableau gives me sustenance. But it’s not what I want. Not anymore.
When I close my eyes, I only see long, chocolate brown hair, a slim waist and delicate curves, an elegantly arched neck and perfectly pink lips.
After all this time, my fascination with the mortal hasn’t lessened. Though she knows nothing about my true nature. She doesn’t know I’m an archdemon who feeds on lust, who fathered more sex demons than he can count, who used to toy with mortals until they expired from pleasure.
At first, I obfuscated my identity because I wanted her to be more at ease—Fallen are something she is familiar with. To her, demons are the enemy, and archdemons are the worst kind of evil. Now… Now I don’t know how to reveal the truth. Our peace is tenuous, and we still argue more frequently than I’d like.
While her anger might lead to fantastic sex in normal circumstances, I sense that Simone is like a bird with broken wings. They’ll need to heal before she can fly. And maybe it’s time I work on that.
Determined, I gather the ether and travel to our cave. I find Simone reading in bed, propped up by a small mountain of pillows. When she turns in my direction, there’s a momentary softening in her gray eyes, before she schools her expression again. I’d like to think there are moments when she considers me a friend. Before she remembers that I’m keeping her trapped.
I press my palm against my chest. The tightening there feels suspiciously like guilt.
“Good evening, little fairy,” I murmur as I make my way closer. She doesn’t flinch from my nearness anymore. Instead, she takes me in, gaze traversing my face, my body, and I know for a fact they’re both immensely pleasing. The vanilla undertones in her scent become stronger—a smell I’ve learned to associate with her arousal, unwilling as it may be.
When I sit down next to her, her lips part, a small gust of air leaving them.
She clears her throat. “Is it evening? I wouldn’t know.”
Whatever it is in my chest seems to expand. What’s wrong with me? It urges me to get closer, like her touch could ease it and help me breathe normally again. Fuck, I don’t even need to breathe.
“It is. Did you enjoy the dinner I sent over tonight?”
Rather than answer me, she wrinkles her little button nose. “You smell like…”
“Oh. Yes. Sex and debauchery. There is a Halloween orgy going on at one of my homes,” I explain.
Simone’s eyes widen, her heart beating faster, her throat bobbing as she swallows.
“You were at an… an orgy?” she asks haltingly.
“I was,” I say simply, moving just an inch closer. “And now I’m here.”
