Page 44 of Hell’s Half Acre

Lucky for the humans, he’d been born brain damaged.

Smiling at the thought, he walked into the Pormundus—a thin realm that hovered between all worlds.

Gifted beasts such as he could use it to surf to any place he wanted to visit.

Well, most realms. There were some he dared not venture. Such as Heaven. That wouldn’t end well for him.

But here in the violet light, he saw his destination. It was an inn in the Nethertween where all manner of creatures gathered for all kinds of reasons.

If he was lucky, he might find a demon or two from his closet.

He wasn’t lucky. None of his demons had come here to mingle with others. Damn…

And as long as he was here, he had another distasteful task he needed to do.

Luke sighed in frustration as he walked through the centuries-old, crowded tavern where he’d once spent a lot of time.

It hadn’t changed much. Still dark. Still filled with demons, fallen gods, angels on the brink of switching sides, and other creatures humanity termed “mythological.”

If only they were. It’d make his life a lot easier.

Zarael walked over to him and draped her long, languid body against his. “Luke…been a long time.”

“Not long enough.” He shrugged her touch away, causing her to pout becomingly.

“You’re in a mood.”

The angel had no idea. There had been a time when he’d spent many hours trying to convert her…in bed. But she still clung to her halo with a tenacious grip he admired.

She followed him to the bar where he ordered a shot of Hellfire—a drink so alcoholic it would be lethal to humans. While he waited for it, she leaned back against the bar in a way to make her breasts more prominent. Her long black hair fell to her waist while she tried her best to seduce him with her celestial eyes.

“I heard what Samael did to you. I can’t imagine the pain you must be feeling.”

Luke snorted. “No pain. There are far worse things than being thrown out of Hell.” Although, if he were honest, he’d prefer being thrown back in.

But he wasn’t normal and he acknowledged that fact.

As the bartender brought his drink, Zarael confiscated it and took a sip. She visibly shuddered. “How do you drink this swill?”

“For one thing, I don’t sip it.” He took the glass and knocked it back without letting it hit his taste buds.

That caused the angel to shiver.

“You’re not wearing your coat.” She leaned against his arm, making sure to press her breasts against his biceps as she let her breath fall against his neck. “Aren’t you freezing?”

No. It was a true miracle. He’d been absolutely miserable from the lack of heat in the mortal realm.

Until Sorcha had kissed him.

There had been some kind of potent magic in that kiss. Something about it had warmed him and he’d been “normal” ever since.

Weird as hell.

But he wasn’t about to think of what that might signify. Such things were seldom good, so he’d learned to accept it without question and move on.

If only Zarael would catch a clue and move on, too.

Another drink appeared in front of him. Luke looked up into a pair of celestial blue eyes that matched his father’s whenever the bastard was calm.