Hellishly Ever After (Infernal Covenant Book 1)

by Nadine Mutas

  His fingers caressed my jaw, grazed my lips—and I opened my mouth and sucked his thumb inside. Gave him a taste of the torture I was going through.

  Dark power washed over me, a blanket of energy caught between a kiss and a bite.

  Liked that, didn’t he?

  Well, I was in the mood to tease him some more. I’d been squirming under his influence for the past hour—time to turn the tables a bit, let him see I could give as good as I got.

  Tilting my head, I rubbed my cheek over his groin, over the still very prominent hardness pressing against his pants. My breath caught when I felt it twitch. More heat pooled low in my core, and I shifted on the cushion, half turning toward him.

  His hand now in my hair, his fingers firm in their grasp, creating a delicious pull on my scalp, he stared down at me with eyes of molten lightning.

  Was it just my imagination, or did his breath come a little faster?

  A thrill coursed through me. I did that. I made him look like this, like he might—might—just lose that damned control of his.

  And, God, but I wanted him to.

  Who was this wanton creature testing the limits of a demon’s restraint? I had no idea, but she was definitely in charge right now. Gone was any thought of modesty, forgotten all awareness of anything—and anyone—outside this intimate cocoon of hunger and lust as I fully turned around despite his death grip on my hair.

  Kneeling on the cushion in a quiet mockery of supplication, I ran my hands over his thighs, toward his groin...brushing ever so lightly over his cock straining against the fabric of his pants.

  His chest heaved. Just a little, but noticeable enough for me, and it added fuel to my fire.

  I wanted to singe him with it.

  With deliberate slowness and pressure, I repeated my caress, watching as he watched me with hooded eyes. I shifted a bit, an involuntary move to soothe the ache between my legs.

  Drums, drums all around me, within me, thumping in my blood, in time with the heavy beat of my heart, the pulse of need in my bones.

  I reached for the fastening of his pants, but his hand caught my wrists, held them.

  Steel in his gaze as he grabbed my chin with his other hand, tilted my head back, leaned forward and covered my mouth with his.

  Everything ground to a halt.

  My breath, my heart, my mind, my senses, all stopped and blanked, as if switched off.

  His lips on mine, his tongue licking, demanding entrance, and I complied eagerly, hungrily, seeking his taste as if my life depended on it. I moaned into his mouth, shuddered when he nipped at my lower lip.

  With my hands still in his grasp, all I could do was fall into his touch, lose myself in his kiss. I barely noticed when he pulled me up to stand—until his mouth forged a path of fire down my throat, over the neckline of my dress...and closed over the peaked tip of my breast.

  I gasped, struggled to breathe, fresh moisture pooling between my thighs. His teeth grasping my nipple just so sent arrows of arousal straight down to my clit.

  With a deft move, he brought both my arms around to my back, held them there with one hand. The position forced me to arch my spine, pushed my chest even closer to his torturously skilled mouth.

  He sucked and nibbled, alternating between breasts. I squirmed in his hold. It was too much, not enough. I wanted to break free, press closer. I needed...needed…

  Panting, I rubbed my thighs together, desperate for friction. My fingers flexed, my hands twisting in his grip, unable to help alleviate my suffering.

  Ask me. His voice in my head, dark seduction on rumpled sheets.

  My breath hitched. I burned.

  Ask.

  His teeth on my nipple, his other hand sliding over my hips, down the curve of my ass.

  My inner muscles clenched in despair.

  I closed my eyes. Please.

  He grabbed my right knee, pulled my leg over his thigh, pushed against my back with the hand holding my wrists. With this single swift move, in the span of a frantic heartbeat, I now half-straddled him, and that poor, over-sensitive, aching spot between my legs met the unforgiving hardness of his thigh.

  One shove, in time with his free hand grasping my breast, his mouth now on my neck, teeth nicking skin, and I came apart.

  The pressure unraveled in a wave of ecstasy. I undulated in his hold, gasping in his ear until I collapsed against him. His scent surrounded me, potent like a drug where my nose lay buried in his neck.

  He let go of my wrists, and I curled my arms in the space between us, still breathing fast.

  “Beautiful,” Zaquiel said from somewhere behind me.

  Reality intruded on icy feet, in the sounds coming back from outside the vacuum of lust I’d been in, in the returning of my awareness of other people—demons—in the room...the knowledge that Zaquiel sat just a few feet away, having witnessed everything.

  Heat flared inside me, but this time for wholly different reasons than the desire that had short-circuited my brain before. My fingers curled in Azazel’s shirt. My face was still plastered against the curve of his neck, eyes closed, my hopeless attempt at hiding from the room and my own mortification.

  Damn it, hadn’t I sworn not to be embarrassed?

  Get yourself together, I sternly told myself. It was part of the show, all a front.

  Except it wasn’t. The very genuineness of my experience just now made me so vulnerable, stripped down and laid bare far more effectively than if I’d actually been naked.

  Azazel’s hand settled on my head, his fingers playing lightly with the strands of my hair. His other hand stroked down my spine, the move unexpectedly soothing despite the embarrassment searing my nerves.

  He’d achieved what he wanted, hadn’t he? Well, partially, at least. The hardness nudging my thigh where it lay against his crotch was proof he hadn’t gotten off…but maybe that was part of his plan. Considering how stripped down I felt after coming all over him in front of a room full of people, perhaps his preference for control extended to this as well. An orgasm was a sort of loss of control, wasn’t it? And maybe this was a side of himself he carefully curated, like so much else in his demeanor.

  I wondered what it would take to pierce that kind of armor.

  Get up, I berated myself. Come on, the show’s not over yet.

  Any second now Azazel could pull me back into our charade, demand even more of me, and I had to be ready. If he ordered me to sit at his feet again right now and face the room—face Zaquiel—my raw vulnerability would be there for all to see, my walls still cracked, any hint of my self-assured pretense still gone. And wouldn’t that be even more devastating than my public orgasm?

  I had to get my game face back. I couldn’t fucking lie here with my nose buried in the crook of his neck for much longer, couldn’t hide from the room and my exposure indefinitely.

  And yet, I couldn’t move a muscle. My awareness of my situation paralyzed me, and the knowledge of how much I’d let myself go in front of at least a dozen strangers caused tremors of anxiety all through my body.

  I tried to stifle my trembling, to no avail. There was no way Azazel didn’t feel it.

  I tensed, just waiting for him to make a cutting remark about it, to relish how successfully he’d put me back in my place. He’d proven, yet again, how he wielded more power than me. I might have won a single battle by forcing him to bargain and by negotiating for my Earth visits and freedom of movement, but that single advantage of mine was spent, my arsenal depleted. At this rate, I’d never win the war.

  And I was so tired of fighting.

  I just wanted to crawl under a blanket and hide. Hide from this new life of mine, from having to scratch and claw for the smallest bit of autonomy, from arguing and bickering and still losing, from the prying eyes of everyone in this room who’d just witnessed my own personal Girls Gone Bad spring break type moment of shame…from the demon who held my fate in his hands, held me even now while I unraveled a bit more with every tremor, while tears bu
rned hot behind my eyes, threatening to erode the last bit of dignity I clutched on to.

  Goddammit, if I cried right now, right here, I might as well crawl out of this room.

  Azazel shifted forward without letting me go. The sudden sound of susurration startled me, and I jerked in his hold. When I opened my eyes and moved my head just so to see what happened, the room had darkened…no, not the room.

  Satin black all around me, sliding over my exposed skin in a silken caress, covering me like a blanket.

  I blinked, my mind playing catch-up. Were those really…?

  Gingerly, I reached out, touched my fingers to the wall of black. Feathers—soft yet strong—with sparks of incipient flames dancing over their shiny onyx. I gasped as pinpricks of heat met my fingertips. Not painful per se, not searing, just…electrifying.

  Large enough to wrap around me, Azazel’s wings blocked out the room. Blocked me from the room. I exhaled, my breath more intimate in this sudden, unexpected cocoon of privacy.

  “Azazel,” Zaquiel said, clucking his tongue. His voice sounded a bit muffled through the wings.

  Azazel’s chest rose and fell with his sigh. “What can I say? She likes to play with my feathers, and I do rather enjoy it when she does.”

  I pulled my hand back from his wing as if burned.

  His fingers stroked my hair, and I could have sworn his energy humming over my skin shifted with amusement.

  Zaquiel said something else, but all I heard was Azazel’s voice in my head. Take a few minutes to compose yourself.

  It was the gentle note in his tone that startled me almost as much as his wing maneuver did.

  You’re not going to break apart here. That’s not what you do.

  He shifted his wing just enough so I could see his face. His hand on my head moved to my jaw, lifted my chin, forced my gaze to his. I swallowed hard, my breath stuttering.

  When I withdraw my wings, he continued, his eyes steady on mine, you’ll hold your head up like the tough little human you are.

  His thumb brushed over my lower lip.

  You just made every single demon in this room envy my exclusive right to touch you.

  His power enveloped me, hot, dark, soothing.

  So when you face them, you’ll do so knowing you’re something they desire, but can’t ever have. Show them what it’s like to look at something unattainable, love. Move like you own them.

  I swallowed again, my throat dry and tight. Who are you, I said along the mental line between us, and what have you done with Azazel?

  Laughter in those eyes of lightning, his energy a thunderstorm caress over my senses. There now. That’s better.

  He looked away, presumably toward Zaquiel, and engaged in some non-business small talk, leaving me thrown off-kilter in an entirely different fashion than before. My head swirled with confusion, my chest tight with too many emotions I couldn’t sort through.

  His one hand still stroked over my back in lazy moves, and every breath I took filled me with his aroma, intensified by his wings and the small space they created around me. I laid my forehead against his shoulder, closed my eyes and centered myself as best I could.

  His words replayed in my mind, and damn if they didn’t hit the mark. I felt the truth of them with every beat of my heart, settling into my consciousness, shifting my perspective. Bit by bit, the awkward embarrassment vanished, replaced by a growing sense of self-assurance, the confidence of a woman in touch with her sexuality, and not ashamed of it.

  Ready? Azazel asked in my head.

  Yes.

  With another deep breath, shaking off the last of my earlier discomfort, I slowly pushed off his chest while he opened his wings. The cocoon fell away, cooler air rushed in all around me, the sounds once more louder.

  Azazel’s voice in my mind. Give them a smile that makes them wonder what you’ve been up to underneath my wings.

  Picking my nose without anyone seeing me? I replied.

  His chest shook. Let them think your fingers explored something else.

  When I met his eyes briefly, the grin flirting with my mouth wasn’t even an act. Taking that budding amusement in me and directing it outward, I half-turned toward the room, making sure my smile teased with saucy sensuality. I bit my lip for extra effect.

  “Well, now,” Zaquiel murmured from behind me, “that is a lovely sight. I’ll have to return home, but I sure would like to take her with me. Tell you what, let me borrow her for a while, and I’ll sweeten the deal with an additional shipment.”

  I stiffened, my fingers curling into Azazel’s shirt.

  “Lord Zaquiel,” Azazel said calmly while his hand possessively grasped my hair, “I’m sorry to decline your generous offer, but I’m afraid I haven’t had my fill of her.”

  “So I see.” Zaquiel’s eyes dropped to Azazel’s crotch in blatant appraisal. “Fair enough. It was worth a try.” One side of his mouth tipped up as he rose to his feet. “Should you tire of her, do let me know.”

  Azazel inclined his head, directing me to stand as he got up as well.

  Walk behind me, he said in my mind while falling into step alongside Zaquiel. And remember you’re a snack no one else will get to taste, however much they salivate for it.

  With a deep breath, I loosened my muscles and made sure my steps flowed with languid sensuality, rolling my hips as I sauntered after the two demons.

  Snack, I thought, holding my head high. Snackity, snack.

  Dammit, but that actually helped.

  I didn’t glance around the room, but I sensed the gazes of several other demons like licks of heat on my body. When before, their attention would have caused my steps to falter, my shoulders to hunch forward, now it made me walk even taller. I felt desirable, and it made all the difference.

  I followed Zaquiel and Azazel out of the room, through the hallway and back to the big hall where the inferni had gotten me earlier. Azazel and Zaquiel paused for a moment in front of a set of giant doors and said their goodbyes.

  Zaquiel turned to me. “I sure hope to see you again, Zoe. Perhaps in a more intimate fashion.”

  I dutifully kept my gaze lowered and bowed deeply, careful not to show my revulsion. Beautiful and attractive he might be, but the casual way in which he regarded me as a commodity to be bartered for raised my hackles. If it weren’t for Azazel’s insistence to keep me to himself, I’d be on my way with Zaquiel now, with no say as to what happened to me.

  The giant doors opened, and a blast of heat rushed inside. Daring to raise my gaze just a little, I peered through the doors, blinked at the view of the apocalyptic landscape. So this exit led directly outside, making this hall the entrance to Azazel’s mansion. It made sense, then, that this room was huge and impressive and decorated with statues and weapons and…I frowned, my eyes snagging on one of the 3D artworks on the wall.

  Wait a sec— Those weren’t artworks at all.

  Blood left my head in a dizzying rush as I took in the details of the decorations.

  Wings. Black-feathered, large, just like Azazel’s, they hung mounted to the wall like a grotesque, oversized butterfly collection. My mind spinning, I turned on my heels and glanced around the entire hall.

  There were dozens of them. Every wall boasted several pairs of wings, fastened to the stone evenly spaced apart, from the bottom upward. My neck hurt from craning it to look up, and I almost lost my balance following the gruesome display until I lost sight of the wings in the gloom of the ceiling.

  The clang of the doors closing startled me, and I jerked and wrenched my gaze back down to Azazel, who just now turned to face me. His inscrutable expression morphed into a frown when he took me in.

  “Are those—” I cleared my throat, made my voice a bit steadier. “Are those trophies?”

  I gestured at the wings.

  He glanced at the wall, then back at me. “Spoils of war,” he said carefully.

  He took a step closer, and I involuntarily backed up. His expression darkened.


  “From demons you killed?” I sounded breathy even to my own ears. I couldn’t help it. My heart was in my throat, my head too light.

  “Some I killed, some I let live,” he said, his voice deceptively calm. “We can survive amputation of limbs. They grow back.” He moved toward me as one would approach a skittish animal. “Eventually.”

  My chest heaved with my breaths, too fast, too shallow. I couldn’t keep my eyes from flicking up to the wings. So many of them. So. Many.

  “Zoe.” Azazel’s voice was pitched low, and still it made me jump.

  I glanced back at him, rattled, and the sight of him only fueled whatever hindbrain response was in charge of my faculties now. His cutting beauty notwithstanding, he was a specter of darkness, his power humming in the air, his eyes too luminous to be human.

  With everything else I’d seen and heard recently, somehow this was the aspect that pushed me over. This callous display of intentional cruelty, the barbaric collection of brutal trophies hung on the walls of his entrance hall, a warning in welcome for every visitor, a clear message of his strength and prowess in battle.

  My mind just couldn’t compute. Sure, I’d known he was physically stronger, known he was a demon with a likely very different mindset than humans. But I hadn’t truly understood what he was capable of, not until the evidence of it slapped me in the face.

  To think…he’d touched me with those hands, the very same ones that could rend someone limb from limb. Not just could, but did. Repeatedly. And then he displayed those trophies proudly in his home.

  “Zoe,” Azazel said again, but I shook my head, frantically.

  “I think—I need to—been a lot today—should go back to—my rooms,” I stammered, giving him a smile that was likely closer to a grimace. “If you’d just…point me in the direction?” I flailed toward the archways in the walls leading deeper into the mansion. “Or maybe…someone can escort me back? Hekesha?”

  He followed my retreat as I inched away from him. His form vibrated with restrained power, yet his voice was smooth, with the hint of a playful note in it. “How did you get out of your rooms in the first place?”