I nod in farewell, then gather the ether around myself, eager to return to Simone and Leander. As I materialize in our home, I find them both exactly where I left them—in the salon.
“How was your day?” Simone asks without looking up from her book.
“Productive,” I reply, settling beside her on the couch and peering into Leander’s bassinet. “Very productive.”
She glances at me, taking in my satisfied expression, then returns to her reading with a small smile.
“Good,” she says simply.
And it is good. Thomas will spend eternity paying for what he did, while Simone is here, with our son, safe and loved, and with millennia of happiness ahead of us.
41
SIMONE
Lana enters our dining room first, her auburn hair bouncing around her freckled shoulders. She's followed by Ashtaroth, who moves with an unnerving grace that still makes me nervous, despite interacting with him a few times now.
“Where's my nephew?” Lana demands, scanning the room like Leander might be hiding under the table.
“Napping,” I reply, gesturing toward the bassinet we've moved into the corner. “He should wake up soon, though. Perfect timing for dinner.”
Az stands to greet his brother and sister-in-law, slapping the older archdemon's shoulder, much to the latter's consternation.
We're just settling around the table, admiring the spread Forneus has prepared for us—roasted duck with cherry sauce, a delicate fish that definitely didn't come from Hell's rivers, and vegetables that look too fresh to come from the Underworld either—when the air in the room shifts.
“Damn it,” Az mutters, his shoulders tensing.
I don't need to ask who it is. There's only one being whose presence feels like standing too close to the sun.
Sataniel strolls into our dining room like he owns it—which, technically, I guess he does. His hands are casually tucked into his front pant pockets, an expression of mild amusement on his perfect, angelically beautiful face.
“Asmodai,” he greets, his voice like silk over steel. “Ashtaroth. And the lovely ladies, of course.”
Lana's fork clatters against her plate. I'm not sure I want to know what kind of encounters my former team leader had with the Devil.
“My Prince,” Az says carefully, rising from his seat. “To what do we owe this... honor?”
Sataniel's diamond eyes sparkle with mischief. “I can't drop by to congratulate new parents? I heard the birth was quite dramatic.” His gaze slides to me, and I resist the urge to shrink in my chair.
“My son is sleeping,” Az says, his tone carefully neutral.
“Oh, I'm not here to disturb the little prince,” Sataniel waves dismissively. “Though I do hope to meet him properly soon.” He turns that unsettling attention back to Az. “But I have to admit I'm feeling quite... neglected. You never invitemeover for dinner.”
You could hear a pin drop in the silence that follows.
“Our apologies, Master,” Ashtaroth says smoothly. “We did not know you desired to be included. We will happily correct the oversight in the future.”
“Wonderful.” Sataniel's smile doesn't reach his eyes. “But that's not the only reason I'm here.”
From the bassinet comes a soft sound—Leander stirring. My maternal instincts kick in immediately, and I start to rise, but Sataniel's gaze pins me in place.
“Stay seated, my dear. I'm sure the little one will settle.”
It's not a request.
“As I was saying.” Sataniel begins pacing around our table like a predator circling prey. “I was surprised to feel my daughter-in-law's presence, Ashtaroth.”
Ashtaroth goes very still. “My Prince?”
