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For once, Shax had no words. Walking away from Kheone was hard. Not looking back was harder.
Hell, for a split second, he had thought she wanted to kiss him. What kind of fool was he? The molten line of her touch cooled. For the first time in ten thousand years, he had felt like someone actually gave a damn about him. Even now, the thought of her fierce form against his body sent a rush of desire coursing through his veins. When she withdrew from the embrace, he had resisted the urge to hold her tighter for just a little longer. Had he kissed her, he never would have been able to walk away.
He ignored the tears as best he could, telling himself the breeze caused them. Perhaps the end of their arrangement was for the best. Kheone distracted him, invaded his thoughts and his dreams. Kissing her would have made it all the worse. Neither side would tolerate their relationship. This was how it had to be for both of them.
Now all he needed to do was escape Aeshma’s influence. Once free, Shax could easily disappear into the teeming masses of humanity and drink, fuck, and party his way across the globe.
Shax ducked into a liquor store and picked up a bottle of cheap tequila with his remaining cash. He carried the bottle wrapped in a paper bag into the hotel lobby. A familiar figure caught his attention. Irena was on an intercept course. Shax picked up his pace, but so did the sorceress. He arrived at the elevator a second before she did, poking at the button in the slim hope it could magically transport him to the top floor and spare him the tedious conversation he foresaw.
Alas, his magical rescue was not meant to be. No magic portal opened to save him. Instead, they stood, awkward and silent, waiting for the infernal elevator to arrive. Shax did his best to ignore her. It lasted until the doors finally closed on the two of them.
Irena glanced down at his paper bag.
“Planning on drinking that all by yourself?”
“Yep.”
Shax stared at the metal doors in front of them. He hoped the sorceress got the hint. She did not. After a moment’s painful, blessed silence, she spoke again.
“I wanted to thank you for the advice about Peth. It worked. I grabbed him and watched him scream the next time he insulted me in front of Duke Aeshma.”
Guess he had done his good deed for the millennium. After helping one troublesome angel, he did not have the emotional capacity to worry about somebody else.
“Peth is a bastard and a careless one to boot.”
“You’re not.”
Irena did not need to get any ideas about his soft, squishy interior. He had not even known about it until recently.
“Oh, I am, but not in the way you think.”
“You don’t seem to take any joy or pleasure in the pain the others inflict. Why?”
The sorceress was observant. It was true. He never had taken pleasure in pain, his own or others’. All demons seemed to do was cause pain and chaos. But then, he had not become a demon for the joy of it. No, he’d become a demon for the most naive reason possible: love.
Shax gave her the only answer he could under the circumstances.
“It’s a long, sad tale, and I’m too sober to share it with you. Talk to me once I’ve finished this bottle, and maybe, maybe, I’ll tell you.”
Irena regarded him, sharp intelligence on her face. Coming to some sort of conclusion, she took a deep breath.
“I want out, Shax.”
I bet you do.
They had two floors left to go. He wasn’t touching her statement with a ten-foot pole.
“I’d keep that to yourself, Irena. If you want to hear my sob story, you’re welcome to knock on my door in a few hours. Otherwise...”
The elevator opened, thank Lucifer. He cut off what he was going to say and strode down the hall. She followed more slowly. Shax swiped his key card and disappeared into his room before the witch could ask any more awkward questions. He poured himself a healthy shot of the cheap-ass tequila and downed it in two gulps. Irena might show up to his room soon, and he would have to deal with it.
The tequila wasn’t doing its job. There was still an aching hollow inside him, an emptiness that had been there for a very long time. Eons, maybe, and he had never noticed. He had walled off his heart after it broke, figuring he would never have use for that particular piece of emotional real estate again. And it had only taken nine thousand years for him to realize how wrong he had been.
Kheone had ditched him as soon as she could, tearing down his walls. He did not blame Kheone, not really. An angel and a demon barely worked as a crime-solving duo, let alone as friends or, God forbid, lovers. It still hurt like Hell. He should know. He would take a session with Lucifer’s most infamous torturers rather than go through this dark agony again.
Maybe another tequila would fill it. The drink burned as it traveled down his throat and spread fire through his body.
Shax had avoided death by angel. By fulfilling his bargain, he had gained a measure of freedom, at least from her. It was everything he had wanted a few days ago. He could go anywhere once he figured out how to ditch the duke and her retinue. He was miserable.
Shax was sure he was missing something from the whole, sad situation. It had been too easy, Michael finding the demon who murdered Serel while he and Kheone closed in on the spell.
Another thing bothered him. Aeshma was playing her cards close. She was obviously waiting for something, but Shax didn’t have a single clue what it might be. That was out of character. Although she was more subtle than her peers, she was not artful enough to keep a secret for long.
If he did not spot whatever she waited for, life would get even more complicated. He would rather die than be her plaything until the Gates were rebuilt, or she killed him out of boredom. Shax would bet on the latter happening first. He had traded off his reputation as Lucifer’s favorite for millennia, but there was no one to protect him now. When had his life become so complicated?
The answer was obvious, of course. It had been the instant he saw Kheone again. The angel had brought him nothing but trouble since the moment Lucifer had given him her coin. She escaped his blade, and the Gates crashed down. He tracked her down, and a falling body had almost crushed him. He made a blood oath to her, followed by a bargain pitting him against his own kind. Kheone was bad news for him.
And yet, he constantly dropped into her orbit. She made him laugh, made him feel seen. Kheone was kind to his alter-ego.
Shax poured himself a last shot, finishing the bottle. He was now free to do as he saw fit. And he wanted to leave behind this city, start over once again. If he was smart, he could keep out of the archangel’s way. If he was lucky, which was a shakier proposition, he could stay off Aeshma’s radar, too.
Sweet Lucifer, he still needed to report to the duke tonight. She wouldn’t be happy he returned so soon. What information could he give her?
His thoughts were thick and slow, molasses in winter, after consuming so much tequila. He made a cup of coffee, needing as many of his wits about him before facing Aeshma. Still intoxicated but feeling like he could handle a simple conversation with his boss, he walked down the hall and knocked on the duke’s door.
A young man in a black leather collar and matching briefs greeted him.
“Who is it, darling?” Aeshma’s voice called from the bedroom.
“A gentleman with white hair, Your Grace,” said the young man.
“Oh, Shaxie. Let him in.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
He bowed nicely to Shax and led him to the bedroom. Poor guy thought he was role-playing. He would run screaming if he knew how close to death she might push him unless he was into that sort of thing. Now Shax thought about it, that was probably why he was here. Shax shook away the thought and walked into Aeshma’s bedroom.
Her back was to him as she put on a silky wrap that barely covered her. She turned around, having tied it loosely, leaving the swell of her breasts on display, painted red lips parted in a provocative smile.
“Will he be joining us, Your Grace?” the young man asked.
“We’ll see, pet. It depends on if he’s been a good boy or not.” She sighed. “Wait in the other room and shut the door behind you.”
He bowed and did as he was told.
“Where are Asag and Orax?” Shax asked, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on her nose as he tossed his jacket on a chair.
Aeshma rose out of bed and strode over to him. He looked past her, pointedly ignoring the glimpses of her luscious curves and heavy breasts, the triangle of hair between her legs flashing with every step.
“Orax is in the other room. I prefer privacy with my whore. Asag is running a little errand for me. Now, why don’t you tell me something I don’t know, Shax.”
She ran a finger up and down his arm. He shivered at her touch, half in disgust, half in desire. Whether the disgust was at her or himself, he was still too drunk to determine.
“The gathering figured out who killed that angel a few days ago,” he said.
The finger ceased its movement.
“Oh?” Aeshma said, her voice a lesson in practiced noncommittal interest. She did not want him to know she was very curious about the answer.
“Apparently, it was some random demon. She’s dead, now.”
Aeshma’s already pale face grew positively ashen. Not the reaction he’d expected. She grabbed his arm, her fingernails digging into the skin. He couldn’t pull away without suffering further injury.
“Are you all right, Aeshma?”
She swallowed and looked up at him. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. That is...rather unfortunate. I could have used someone with enough skill to kill an angel.”
Aeshma shrugged, her color slowly returning to normal. She released her death grip on his arm, leaving behind small, half-moon marks. Tiny drops of black blood oozed from out of the wounds.
“Oh, dear, I am sorry,” she said.
The duke stepped into his personal space, pressing her body against his. She used the corner of her wrap to dab at the blood, loosening the tie. It gaped open, revealing soft, full breasts and the curve of her hip, causing a normal but inconvenient reaction. Aeshma sighed prettily, her breasts heaving, and gave him a practiced, saccharine smile as she ran her hand over his crotch.
“I want to see them again, your beautiful wings.”
As angels, their wings had been sacrosanct, and touching someone’s wings without their permission was a serious violation. As demons, wings became a tool of control, and pleasure or pain were doled out as needed to buy loyalty or punish betrayal.
Shax had lost count of how often his wings had been used against him, even though the only demon who could command him was Lucifer. The Prince of Darkness preferred tempting with pleasure or punishing with pain to outright orders, reveling in his subordinates becoming complicit in their own corruption.
Aeshma licked her red lips.
“Take off your shirt and show me.”
He could refuse this simple request. Unlike ordinary demons, the magic which bound him to Lucifer protected him from the dukes. He should refuse this request. And yet, both his tequila-addled brain and his cock were telling him fucking Aeshma could be an excellent deal, indeed. No one else wanted him, after all.
He dragged up the hem of his shirt and removed it with a flourish at the end, keeping his eyes locked on hers. She smiled wickedly and rotated her finger in the air. Shax turned around.
Her fingers were cool against his skin, but she avoided touching his wings, stopping an inch below the tips of the inked feathers. He imagined them wrapping around him, protecting him, comforting him long ago, before the first Fall had turned them to leather.
The breath of her sigh drifted over his back. His shoulder muscles twitched in reaction.
“You always had some of the most glorious wings among the angels, and even as a demon, they were impressive.”
“Do you still have yours?”
“Impertinent.”
She removed her hand, and he looked over his shoulder. Aeshma had retreated a few steps and stared at him, a dangerous spark in her storm-blue eyes.
“Apologies, Duke Aeshma.”
She waved his apology away. “Oh, I have a very good idea of how you can make it up to me.”
Her smile turned vicious as she stalked toward him. Shax backed up until he hit the door, the soft thunk the only sound in the room. His obvious discomfort only made her laugh.
“Your body knows it wants me, Shax. Your brain needs to catch up.”
Aeshma unknotted the tie to her wrap and slipped out of the silky material, which drifted to the floor. Leathery black wings, tipped in sharp claws, reached around her rib cage, perfectly tattooed. The stark contrast with her pale skin drew attention to her full, rosy-tipped breasts.
Heartbroken and unwilling to admit it, Shax braved Aeshma in all her unholy glory, and his resolve crumbled. His best chance at survival now was earning the duke’s trust, so he would have an opportunity later to break it and run.
The duke hooked a finger into his waistband as the fight left him and pulled Shax to her. He did not resist.
“That’s better,” she purred as her breasts pressed into his chest.
Shax claimed her mouth, shutting her up. His cock did not care at all, hardening at Aeshma’s touch through his jeans. He wrapped his arms around her, brushing the wings inked on her back so gently only the swift intake of her breath let him know she had felt it.
“Don’t stop,” she said as she grazed her own hands down his back.
The electric touch of her fingers against his wings almost dropped him to his knees. Shax had only slept with humans since the Second Fall, whose touch upon his wings felt good but normal. He had almost forgotten how it felt when a fellow demon touched them.
As he kissed her and ran his palms down her back, trying desperately to lose himself in the moment, a faint notion kept rattling around in his brain. He had felt something similar to this recently. Crawling through the red, lust-haze of thoughts, it finally hit him. When Kheone had taken his hand, it had felt like this. No, it had been better.
Kheone. Lithe, graceful, and strong. Fierce and brave.
The soft flesh Aeshma offered paled compared to Kheone’s taut, powerful body. Lust was all the Duke had to give. It would never be enough. He would yearn for Kheone for the rest of his days, no matter who else shared his bed.
He imagined Kheone’s warm, golden-brown skin in place of Aeshma’s ivory. Her sleek, blue-black hair in place of the Duke’s soft, blonde locks. Long, supple legs wrapped around his waist and silver eyes, liquid with desire, not Aeshma’s steely gaze. He tried to imagine the duke was something she was not.
He failed.
Shax broke the kiss and moved his hands down to Aeshma’s rounded hips.
“No,” he croaked.
Aeshma growled at him. “If you want pain, Shax, you’re on the right track.”
“I told you, I don’t mix business with pleasure.” He would die on this hill.
She traced a perfectly manicured fingernail over his wings, then dug it into the sensitive flesh. He hissed as fiery agony radiated from the point.
“This is the last time you refuse me, Shaxie,” she said, the warm honey of her voice now frozen over.
Aeshma shoved him. His back hit the wall with a thud. She glared at him as she jerked her robe on.
“I understand, Your Grace,” Shax said.
He grabbed his shirt and jacket.
“Send in my whore. I don’t pay him to wait in the sitting room.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Shax bowed and fled the room. The young man watched porn on the large TV, his own cock straining against his leather underwear. He looked up, eyes widening in surprise.
“She’s ready for you,” Shax said cooly.
The young man turned off the TV and walked through the door. Shax beat a hasty retreat to his own room, breathing hard.
He had just chucked his golden opportunity to fuck his cares away into the trash. He stumbled over to the desk. No tequila fairies had refilled the empty bottle, so he settled for a hot shower. The water hit his body, and the punishing heat turned his skin pink. Shax scrubbed himself with the floral hotel soap to rid himself of Aeshma’s scent. It lingered and, no matter how hard he scrubbed, he couldn’t rid himself of the memory or the shame. The bastard had almost manipulated him into sex, teased and taunted him, and he had enjoyed it too much.
What in Christ’s name was wrong with him?
Shax dried off and pulled out the coin, hoping for another glimpse into her life. It was warm in his fingers, like a cup of coffee. Its warmth flowed through him, setting his skin tingling. The voice which had egged him on for the past year was silent, leaving a contradictory sensation. This hypnotic calm coupled with a prickling need. Holy Hell, he was falling again. For a damned angel.
A demon believing he was in love with the Prince of Hell was, if not ordinary, at least understandable. But this? This was insane.
His cell phone vibrated, the sound amplified by the wooden nightstand. He ceased his pointless speculation. The only thing that mattered now was getting out of Kansas City alive.
He pressed the green circle. “Yes?”
“Your car’s extended warranty will expire—”
Shax pressed the red circle and hurled the phone into the wall. It hit with a satisfying bang. He suspected Lucifer had a hand in inventing the infernal devices.
He needed a plan. Too drunk to think of one, he crawled into bed. He dreamed of luminous silver eyes under warm sunny skies and soft skin. If only he could stay there for an eternity.