“Perhaps.” I kiss her forehead. “Whatever they inherit, they'll be extraordinary.”
The air shifts suddenly, a subtle change in pressure that makes my spine stiffen. Power ripples through the ether—ancient, familiar power. My blood runs cold.
“Az?” Simone notices my tension instantly. “What is it?”
Before I can respond, the manor trembles, the walls vibrating like a tuning fork.
“Stay here,” I command, rising to my feet.
Her hand catches my wrist. “Az?—”
“Stay,” I repeat, my voice harder than I intend. “Please, Simone.”
For once, she doesn't argue. Perhaps she senses the danger radiating through our home.
I make my way to the entrance hall, my fists clenching and unclenching at my sides. I haven't felt this presence so close in... centuries. He rarely leaves the Burning Pits these days.
The doors swing open without a touch, and there he stands.
Sataniel.
The Morningstar. The First Fallen. The Devil himself.
He appears as he always does when visiting the upper territories—in his most beautiful mortal form. Starlit silver hair frames a face of such perfect symmetry it defies description. His eyes, like diamonds set in alabaster, find mine immediately.
“Asmodai,” he greets, his voice like strawberries and champagne. “It's been too long.”
I quickly bow my head, returning my gaze to his like I can hold him in place with it. “My Prince. To what do I owe this honor?”
His mouth curves into a smile that doesn't reach those crystalline eyes. “Can't an old friend pay a visit without suspicion?”
“We're not friends, My Prince,” I remind him carefully. I'm the only archdemon who was born in Hell, the only one the Devil hasn't known in Heaven. “And you never leave the Pits without purpose.”
Sataniel laughs, the sound like tinkling windchimes. “Direct as ever. I've always appreciated that about you.” He steps into my home uninvited, his opalescent skin seeming to glow from within. “Won't you offer me refreshment?”
It's not a request. I lead him to the salon, where crystal decanters of various spirits await. I pour him the oldest whiskey, knowing well his preference for human vices.
“Your home is... quaint,” he observes, looking around with thinly veiled disdain. “Rather modest for an archdemon.”
“It’s one of many, and it suits my needs.” I hand him the tumbler, careful not to let our fingers touch.
He takes a sip, those unsettling eyes never leaving mine. “I sensed it, you know. The spark. The potential.” He gestures vaguely upward, toward where Simone waits. “Your half-breed is with child.”
My jaw tightens. “My Cambion,” I correct, “is carrying my heir, yes.”
“How interesting you find that particular distinction important.” He swirls the amber liquid thoughtfully. “You've sired countless children before. What makes this one special enough to warrant... domestic bliss?” The last words drip with sarcasm.
I sigh, exasperated. “Why are you here, Master?”
Sataniel sets the glass down, all pretense of casual visitation evaporating. “This child might serve an important role in certain plans I have.”
“My child has nothing to do with your ambitions,” I state sharply.
“Oh, but it does.” Sataniel's smile widens. “A child with your bloodline…” He trails off, his eyes taking on a distant look. “Is she aware, by the way? Your little pet? Does she know what you truly are, Archdemon of Lust?”
The sound of a sharp intake of breath draws my attention to the doorway. Sataniel's chuckle lets me know he sensed Simone before I did.
She stands there, pale as death, her sketchbook clutched against her chest like a shield. Her eyes are wide with shock, darting between Sataniel and me.
