Hellishly Ever After (Infernal Covenant Book 1)

by Nadine Mutas

  Azazel regarded me with an inscrutable expression, and I resorted to nervous babbling, damn my anxiety.

  “Will I have to—you know—with him?”

  I shifted on the spot, my breath suddenly much too fast. Because while playing with Azazel was one thing—I’d enjoy that enough all right, and it felt like a natural continuation of our interactions so far, not to mention I’d turn it into my own sly method of revenge against him—being intimate with someone else, a complete stranger, was another thing altogether.

  I wasn’t at all sure I could pull that off, and just the thought of it already let unease coil in my stomach.

  And damn it all to Hell, now I’d given him all the ammunition he’d need to truly put me in my place. Fuck, fuck, fuck. There’d been no hiding the tremor in my voice, the fidgeting of my hands, and I was sure my apprehension was written all over my face. I might as well have given him a roadmap for how to embarrass me, with a big x right next to “Zoe’s weakness, exploit here.”

  With his goal being to make me uncomfortable and teach me a lesson, he could take this huge vulnerability I’d just stupidly revealed in front of him, and slice right into it.

  He still stared at me with quiet intensity, and I could already feel the blood welling from the cut he was about to deliver. He’d pass me off to Zaquiel and silently revel in my discomfort, relish his punishment of the recalcitrant human woman who’d dared trap him in this embarrassing contract.

  He blinked as the lightning outside the barred window flashed over his face, casting his features in harsh relief. “I don’t share what’s mine.”

  A second later, before I could even catch my breath, he’d scooped me up and carried me out into the hallway again, his pace quick as before.

  I exhaled with such force, it almost came out as a gasp. The knot in my chest unraveled swiftly, painfully, making me dizzy, and I clung to him, in more ways than I wanted to admit.

  It took me several minutes to scrounge up the courage to speak again, but the silence as he carried me was becoming unbearable.

  “What kind of party is this?” I finally asked.

  “I have business to discuss with Zaquiel. I invited him here to renegotiate a deal we have.”

  A business meeting. All right. Okay. A bit strange that I’d be there provocatively dressed and playing Azazel’s pet, but—demons, right?

  Azazel set me down in front of a set of huge double doors, intricately carved with scenes depicting winged demons battling some kind of beasts. I smoothed down my dress, checked that the flowing skirt fell naturally from my hips to just above my knees, covering what needed to be covered.

  A pop in my head, and then Azazel’s mental voice, strong and deep and sliding over my senses like a caress. Walk behind me. Lower your gaze in front of Zaquiel and bow deeply when you greet him. Don’t talk unless spoken to. Don’t babble. No snarky comebacks or quipped defiance. He cast me a sidelong glance. In fact, maybe it’s better if you don’t speak at all.

  But then how will I praise my master Azazel’s glory to the high heavens? I fluttered my lashes.

  The tiniest twitch of his mouth, humor sparking in his eyes. Lucifer, he said smoothly. We praise to Lucifer, not Heaven.

  Duly noted. I faced the doors. I’ll make sure to change my standard-issue sexclamation to, Oh, Devil!

  He made a noise that sounded awfully like a choked-back laugh. When he spoke in my head, though, his voice was all breath-taking sensuality and self-assured challenge. I promise you, the only name you’ll moan will be mine.

  Before I could shoot something back, he pushed the doors open and strolled in, fully expecting me to follow in his wake—like the good pet I was.

  Gritting my teeth, I did exactly that. A deal was a deal.

  The bass beat of drums reverberated in my bones as I stepped inside the room, and a primal, seductive melody wrapped around me, pulled me in. Music? What kind of business meeting was this?

  Large enough to rival a small dancing hall, the room held an assortment of seating areas, with settees, chaise lounges, floor pillows, comfy-looking armchairs strewn around the space. In the middle of the room, scantily clad dancers moved sinuously, sensually to the rhythm of the music, played live by a group of demons in one corner, on instruments I didn’t recognize.

  The low lights glowed warmly on the dancers’ skin, played over fabric and metal and jewels adorning the demons present as well as the sumptuous furnishings. My gaze caught on a demon couple in the corner to my left, and I almost missed a step at their state of undress and obvious make-out session.

  When you said business meeting, I pushed along the mental line to Azazel, I kind of figured a conference room, or maybe a business casual lounge, or some kind of dinner.

  Is this too much for your prudish human sensibilities? His voice held a softly mocking edge.

  If I had a knife, that spot right there between his shoulder blades would make for a perfect place to stick it. A warning would have been nice. Something along the lines of, Hey, by the way, there’ll be an orgy, just FYI.

  He threw a glance at me over his shoulder, one corner of his mouth tilted up. Oh, love. You think this is an orgy?

  I calmed myself by contemplating the many ways I could fillet him.

  Stopping in front of a settee, Azazel bowed slightly. “Lord Zaquiel. Thank you for your patience.”

  He stepped aside and settled on a chaise lounge opposite Zaquiel’s seat. Not missing a beat, I took a deep bow toward the Fallen lazily sprawled on the settee’s cushion, mindful to keep my gaze down.

  “Lovely,” the demon murmured. “Her assets really shine when she’s free of inferni splatter. I can see why you agreed to keep her.”

  Take a seat, Azazel said in my mind, subtly pointing to a cushion that had just appeared on the floor at his feet.

  “She is proving to be an amusing diversion,” he said out loud to Zaquiel.

  Determined not to show even an ounce of my irritation, lest he could use it to complain I hadn’t held up my end of the bargain, I smiled coyly and slid into a seated position on the cushion, facing Zaquiel’s settee. Azazel’s legs were on either side of me, effectively caging me in—and making it clear to whom I belonged. It should have rankled and raised my hackles to be so ostentatiously labeled as his...instead it gave me a weird sense of security.

  “I trust you’ve been well taken care of while you were waiting,” Azazel said, his hand coming to rest on my head.

  Zaquiel raised his glass and nodded at a male demon who passed our seating area. The other male winked, his smile languid and teasing.

  “As always,” Zaquiel said, “the hospitality of your halls is beyond reproach.”

  Did you order your people to have sex with your guest? I mentally whispered to Azazel.

  A sharp tug on my hair. Do not insult me. His energy darkened, pinched my senses. If the demons in my employ choose to engage with Zaquiel, they do so of their own free will. Look at him.

  I did, struck anew by his unearthly beauty, the impact of his ancient power.

  There are many demons who would beg to gain his favor. Any time he visits, several of mine line up to spend time with him.

  All right, fine. I relaxed a little. He’s a demon snack, got it.

  More like a delicacy, but you get the point.

  He began stroking my hair in the same languorous rhythm as the music, doubling the effect on my body. Had I held my spine rigid before, I now found myself leaning into his leg...into his touch. His fingers on my scalp drew small circles, and I felt those moves much, much lower, as if he’d established a direct connection between the top of my head and the sensitive spot between my thighs.

  A spot currently uncovered by panties, a first for me. I’d never gone commando before, and the feeling was unsettling, in more ways than one. Instead of having at least a flimsy piece of fabric as the pretense of a buffer there, my most intimate skin now rubbed against my legs folded underneath me on the cushion with every little move
I made.

  It was both arousing and maddening.

  Azazel and Zaquiel engaged in what I imagined was demon small talk, mentioning people and places whose significance flew right past me with what little knowledge I had of Hell and its inhabitants. They might as well have been talking in another language.

  I did try to pay attention at first, to see if I could glean some more useful information about either Azazel or my new home down here. The longer I sat, however, the more the sensual drums of the music sank into my bones, reverberated in my blood, the more the sight of the dancers twisting and twining to the rhythm in an artistic rendering of sex drew my focus, the more Azazel’s caresses—on my head, down to my neck—scattered my thoughts.

  By the time Azazel broached what seemed to be the business part of their conversation, I was half feral inside, vacillating between a weird mix of languid sensual relaxation and throbbing need. Any lingering self-consciousness about the amount of skin revealed through the lace of my dress had long slid off me, and all that was left was a creature fitting right in with the sexually charged atmosphere of the room.

  Azazel’s hand tangled in my hair, pulled my head to the side and back until I could see him out of the corner of my eye. The position forced me to lean back until I was sprawled over his lap from my shoulders up, my breath unsteady and fast.

  Go get me a drink, he said in my mind, his other hand stroking a line of heat down my throat, toward the neckline of my dress. And one for yourself as well, before you catch fire.

  More like dying of boredom, I shot back.

  Oh?

  With a tug on my hair he made me stand up and immediately tumbled me onto his lap, my legs dangling over his thigh on one side while he held me upright and half leaning against his chest with a firm grip on my hair. My hands reached out to grasp his shirt for purchase. The heat of his body poured into me, ignited the already simmering fire burning in my core.

  So if I were to stroke between your legs, he said in a silken murmur, I wouldn’t find you wet?

  My breath hitched. I squirmed in his hold, and even though technically I was still covered, air brushed against the very spot he’d mentioned, proving his assumption true.

  Zaquiel said something about streamlining trade processes, and Azazel’s reply might have contained something along the lines of decreasing soul qualities, but the words were a blur, drowned out by the hammering of my heartbeat, the drums of the music, the rapid rise and fall of my own breath.

  With his focus unnervingly on the conversation with the other demon, Azazel laid his free hand on my knee, slid it higher in oh-so-torturously slow increments. I both dreaded and craved the conclusion to that exploration, unable to do anything but sit still and anticipate.

  Now underneath the skirt of my dress, his fingers inched up, drawing tiny circles ever closer to my core.

  “I recognize your supply lines are compromised,” he said to Zaquiel. “And I appreciate your willingness to reconsider the terms of our deal.”

  Zaquiel’s reply got lost in the undignified sound I made when Azazel’s finger brushed my skin less than an inch from the damningly wet proof of my arousal. I involuntarily jerked on his lap—and my hip rubbed against the very, very hard proof of his arousal.

  Ha!

  I wasn’t the only one affected here. Somehow that realization made me feel a lot better. As cool as he was playing this, he couldn’t deny his own physical reaction to having me squirm on his lap.

  And squirm some more I did, just to aggravate his situation a bit.

  His grip on my hair tightened, and his fingers dug into my thigh. When I chanced a glance at his face, his pupils had dilated, almost swallowing the lightning storm of his irises. When his gaze met mine, an electric current bolted through me, arrested my breath.

  Go fetch those drinks, he said mentally and pushed me off his lap.

  Taken aback by the sudden move, I swayed a little on traitorously unstable legs. He grabbed my hips to steady me, then ran his hands over the curve of my ass, resting them on the exposed skin just under the hem of the dress, right above the back of my knees.

  You seem a bit wobbly. His voice was a purr overlaying my thoughts. Perhaps I should make you crawl.

  Don’t push your luck, I hissed back.

  I’m not. He caressed my legs. I’m pushing you.

  Before I could snap in response, he turned me around, patted my butt, and gently shoved me forward while answering a question Zaquiel had just asked.

  Over there, right-hand corner, he said in my mind.

  And indeed, the spot he’d indicated held what looked like a small bar, demon bartender included. Azazel could have just called him—or any of his other underlings—over to serve him, but of course sending me to do his bidding was a clear statement, part of our charade.

  Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I carefully crossed the room. Much to my dismay, I was a bit wobbly, which is why I walked with deliberate slowness. It didn’t help my nerves that my leisurely stroll through the room drew what felt like extra attention from the demons milling about. Now that I was out of Azazel’s force field of sexual allure, a little self-consciousness crept back into me.

  I’d never been comfortable being the focal point in a group, and crowds had always made me slightly twitchy. I often wished I had an ounce of Taylor’s extroversion, her natural ability to command a room. Give her five minutes, and she had any stranger wrapped around her finger, delighting in their attention.

  Me? I was glad if I managed an interaction with a person I barely knew without embarrassing myself...and not pull a stunt like that one time I ended a phone call to my doctor’s office with “Goodnight!” at 10 in the morning because my brain hadn’t fully run through the appropriate terms of farewell and picked the right one.

  All the way over to the bar, I practiced what I was going to say in my head, just to be sure. Apart from Azazel, Azmodea, Mammon, and Zaquiel, this would be the first other demon I’d actually talk to, and I didn’t want to bungle this up.

  I need a drink for Azazel, I thought.

  No, that wasn’t quite right.

  A drink for Azazel, and one for me.

  Better.

  I’d like a drink for Azazel, and one for me, please.

  Best one yet?

  But what kind of drink? He hadn’t specified. Did they have the same beverages down here as on Earth? My food sure had been familiar.

  I fidgeted, almost at the bar now. I felt the eyes of at least half a dozen demons on my back.

  The practice sentences tumbled over one another in my mind. I laid my hands on the bar, inhaled deeply and said with full bravado, “I drink a need for Azazel.”

  Mortified, I closed my eyes. Where was that fucking hole in the ground to swallow me when I needed it?

  Glass clinked against glass, and then a male voice said, “Don’t we all?”

  I opened one eye to peer at the bartender.

  The demon raised a blond brow, the hint of a smile on his lips. “The usual for him?”

  I gulped. “Sure. And one for me.”

  The bartender poured from a bottle with golden liquid. “And what would you like? Besides Lord Azazel over there?”

  Ha, ha.

  Remembering my role in the charade, I plastered on a sufficiently smitten look. “Water will do.”

  I really didn’t need an alcoholic drink in my current condition.

  The bartender handed me the two glasses, and I managed to extract myself from the situation without further embarrassment. Yay!

  The way back seemed easier. Maybe it was the enchanting rhythm of the music, its beat a primal call to the parts of myself that knew how to walk with a swing in my hips, how to let my movements flow with a touch of sinuous grace. And maybe it was the way Azazel watched me from his spot on the chaise lounge, a hint of feral hunger on his face.

  With all the demons in this room—each and every one of them physically enthralling—I was the one who drew his focus, who
made him look like he was one step away from pushing me against the wall and—

  I took a big gulp from my water. My skin felt too tight, as if stretched thin over nothing but unquenchable desire.

  By the time I reached the chaise lounge, I’d drained my glass, and I was still burning up.

  Crap.

  I was about to take a desperate sip from Azazel’s mysteriously golden drink when he grabbed my wrist and pried the glass from my fingers.

  “No amrit for you, love,” he murmured, and directed me to sit at his feet again.

  Amrit?

  “Why not?” The question came from Zaquiel. “I’d be curious about the effects on her. It’s been some time since I’ve seen it used on a human.”

  “It doesn’t agree with her,” Azazel said, his voice casual, not a hint of subterfuge on his face.

  “Such a shame.”

  What is it—amrit? I mentally pushed toward Azazel.

  You’re familiar with the concept of ambrosia?

  I frowned. The nectar of the gods?

  A bit more complicated than that, but yes. He took a sip from his glass. Human substances have no effect on us, but amrit does.

  So it’s like booze for demons?

  He smiled over his glass. As close as it can get.

  And what does it do to humans?

  Unpredictable things. It’s not meant to be consumed by mortals.

  He laid his hand on my nape, massaging my skin lightly, and a pleasant shiver cascaded down my spine, reigniting the barely banked fire in my core.

  Am I, though? I asked, struggling to keep my thoughts from melting. Still mortal, that is.

  His grasp became a tad more proprietary, and his mental voice brooked no argument. I’m not willing to test it.

  Any other questions I might have had vanished in the feel of his fingers on my skin, the command in his touch when his hand stroked up and down my throat, tilting back my head. The room spun. I held on to his thigh to keep myself from spinning along with it.

  His muscles like steel underneath his pants, he was my anchor when I would have drowned in the magnetic allure of the music, once again a rhythm of such raw sensuality, it felt like a siren’s call to sex. The throbbing pulse between my legs—still too exposed, too sensitive—scattered any and all thoughts except how to ease the pressure building inside me.