Hellishly Ever After (Infernal Covenant Book 1)

by Nadine Mutas

  He summoned a towel, wiped the blood from his hand and then from his neck as well. Clean, unblemished skin greeted my eyes, not even a scar left over from the cut.

  “You can still kiss it better,” he said, tapping the sinewy column of his throat. “It feels a bit…tender.”

  The sly slant to his mouth belied the earnestness of his tone.

  I leaned fully back against the wall. “Does it now?”

  “Mh-hm.”

  Every second ticking by hummed with energy, the space between us charged with the kind of tension that made your blood pump faster…and prickle with the knowledge of hovering on a threshold of sorts. A decision loomed, bold and brash, frightening in its consequences.

  I could take this step now, open the door for something more, and enjoy what he was offering. Or, I could turn him down, retreat, and keep things the way they were—with me being so damn lonely I started talking to a toilet.

  Yeah, no, it wasn’t even a decision at all.

  He raised a brow, amusement flickering over his face. “Did you really name your toilet after—”

  “Hush now,” I said.

  Determination filling my veins, I raised my hand, curled my fingers into his shirt and slowly pulled. He followed my cue and leaned forward, bracing one palm against the wall again as he bent down a little.

  Our breaths mingled in the space between. His scent—now mixed with the metallic tang of blood—filled my nose with every inhale, a dark seduction on its own. I rose on my toes, held his gaze until the last, until I was too close, my nose brushing against his jaw. Pausing, I exhaled, my heart hammering in my chest.

  Even though he stood perfectly, inhumanly still, he didn’t feel passive. More like a predator lying in wait, luring its prey closer with the pretense of motionless silence.

  Stubble rasped over my lips, the heat of his skin searing my mouth as I pressed it against his throat.

  The faintest tremor went through his frame.

  Parting my lips, I touched the tip of my tongue to the pulsing vein along the column of his neck, licked a short line up toward his jaw. The slight aroma of sweat and the fading echo of iron richness tingled on my tongue. I pressed my lips once more to the spot where the dagger had drawn blood, then withdrew and came down from my tiptoes.

  A lightning storm raged in his eyes, almost concealed by his half-closed lids. Smoke tickled my nose, and I turned my head to the side, raised my brows at the sight of his hand against the wall. The surrounding area was blackened, tentacles of soot spearing out from his palm and fingers.

  I turned back to him, softly sucked in air. “Yes.”

  “Yes?”

  It hurt to look at him for long, the ethereal cut of his features too intense, too raw and refined at the same time. I focused on his lips, on the perfect curve of his mouth, just full enough to be a sensual promise.

  “You may,” I whispered.

  He exhaled roughly, cupped my cheek and tilted my head back just so. A brush of his thumb over my lower lip, his breath a hot brand on my skin, and then his mouth moved over mine.

  I’d expected a possessive claiming, a harsh explosion of passion in the meeting of lips and tongues and teeth. A growl-turned-kiss.

  What I got was a dance of seduction in sinfully light steps, a lure for my senses with touches that teased, dared…coaxed. His lips would graze mine, ever so lightly, barely more than his breath whispering over my mouth, and he’d withdraw as soon as I pushed for more, until I would chase him in his retreat.

  It turned my blood to lava.

  With a snarl, I grabbed the back of his neck, yanked him closer and claimed his mouth with the unbridled force I wished he would use. He laughed—laughed—into the kiss, lifted me with his hands on my waist and shoved me against the wall.

  Yes.

  Without missing a beat, I wrapped my legs around his hips, and—good God—the pressure on my core when he pushed forward, pressed his entire body against mine. Diabolically divine.

  I trembled, gasped into his mouth as he devoured me lick by torturous, delicious lick, his hands on my thighs, fingers digging into my jeans. I burned, burned, burned.

  The astringent aroma of smoke in the air, scratching my lungs.

  With a sigh, he broke the kiss, set me down and stepped back. I frowned and wanted to protest—

  “Were these,” he said, waving at my jeans, “your favorite pants?”

  I glanced down and jerked back. The dark blue fabric sported the smoldering outline of a handprint on the outer side of either thigh. A few blackened threads barely held the material together, with skin peeking through the gaps.

  Skin that didn’t show a single burn mark, contrary to my ruined jeans.

  I made a sound of dismay and glared at him. “Did you do that on purpose?”

  He had the good grace to look sheepish. “I can burn off the rest and turn them into shorts?” he offered.

  I raised a brow, poked a finger through the soot-stained holes. “Why didn’t my skin burn?”

  “I would guess,” he said, crouching down in front of me, his hands encircling my thighs right over the seared marks, “you’re fireproof.”

  Flames ignited from his fingers, closed a ring around my jeans legs until the material below fell down to my ankles, leaving me standing there in short shorts with Azazel’s hands still resting on my now mostly naked thighs.

  I inhaled harshly, grabbed his shoulders to balance myself on wobbly legs. I studied the skin where he’d just singed away my jeans, and wouldn’t you know it—not a single burn, the skin not even reddened.

  “How?” I pressed out, my chest tight, the skin where he touched me aflame in a completely different way.

  “The bond.” His fingers stroked up and down on my thighs, just a few inches below the line where my legs met my hips. Shivers raced up from his touch. He looked up then, and the sight of him crouching before me, molten lightning in his eyes as he caught my gaze, caused my stomach to tighten, my breasts growing heavy. “Some of my powers may have transferred to you.”

  It was hard to remember how to form a sentence, what with my blood eagerly pumping in other places than my brain right now. “Will I sprout wings?”

  “No. Only full-blood demons have them. You may—” he leaned in and kissed the inside of my thigh, and I all but liquefied “—be somewhat close to a half-blood in powers.”

  “Half-blood?” I breathed, my fingers curling into his shoulders.

  “The offspring of a demon and a human. They don’t have wings and are weaker than demons, but they have abilities that humans lack.”

  It was unfair how articulate he was compared to my whut-R-werds trouble, courtesy of the fact he was a few inches away from burying his face in my crotch. I didn’t have to press my thighs together or wiggle to feel the slick wetness drenching my panties.

  He inhaled deeply and his fingers tightened on my legs. Achingly slow, he leaned forward again and placed another kiss on my other thigh, then rose to his feet in a fluid motion. His expression looked almost pained, and I’d lie if I said it wasn’t gratifying to see him affected like that.

  His voice was a bit roughened when he spoke. “I’m going to take a shower and change—” he tapped the collar of his shirt where his blood stained the dark gray fabric “—and then I’ll take you to the kennels.” He paused, leaned in and sniffed at my neck. Straightening again, he added, “In fact, you’ll need to wash up too. They won’t be friendly if they smell blood on you.”

  He brushed a finger over my collarbone and showed me the tiny red smear on his fingertip. Apparently some of his blood had sprayed me when I accidentally slit his throat.

  I grimaced at the reminder, then shook my head to clear it. “Wait—kennels?”

  He was already through the door to the next room. “We’re going to visit the hounds.”

  “Why?”

  I hurried to catch up as he crossed the sitting room and entered his bedroom—where I stopped short at the sight of him sh
rugging out of his shirt. I’d never get used to that visual. Rippling muscles, corded sinews, strength poured into a frame of pure power. It was enough to render a girl temporarily stunned and frozen.

  Or rather, molten on the inside and barely held together by skin that was rapidly catching fire.

  I must have uttered a sound of helpless appreciation because Azazel glanced at me as he threw his shirt in a corner, his eyes sparking.

  “You’re welcome to join me in the shower,” he said with a purr that echoed the pulsing need between my legs.

  I just stared. Words fled me.

  His hands went to the fastening of his pants, popped open the top button.

  My breath got stuck in my lungs.

  The next button gave. The trail of dark hair became more visible. I remembered, all too vividly, that he didn’t wear anything underneath these pants.

  Sweat broke out on my skin. I licked my suddenly dry lips.

  Another button. More bronzed skin, dusted with black hair.

  I grabbed the doorjamb to steady myself. I could have left—my legs would still work well enough to let me wobble out—but I stood rooted to the spot, unable to tear my eyes away from the provocative display in front of me.

  No more buttons left, only the flaps of his pants as he pushed them down…and freed the hard length of his cock.

  I made an undignified sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan. I’d never found dicks to be especially aesthetically pleasing, but this piece of hardware right there might just change my mind.

  More than that, though, the sight of his erection jutting up from the patch of close-cropped black hair caused shivers of primal lust to course through me. Instinctive, reflexive, like the unconscious, uncontrollable response of saliva pooling in your mouth when you saw and smelled your favorite treat, raw craving pulsed low in my core as I stared at his cock, and my inner muscles clenched as if in anticipation.

  Azazel stepped out of his pants, but made no move toward me. “Whenever you want to do something about that look on your face,” he said, grasping his length and squeezing hard, “come find me.”

  And with that he turned and prowled into the bathroom, giving me a breathtaking view of his taut ass in motion.

  I exhaled roughly, my chest heaving, and slid down the doorjamb until my butt hit the floor. The movement made the firm material of my jeans press against my swollen, throbbing, intimate flesh, and I gasped at the tingles of need shooting outward from that oversensitive spot.

  The sound of running water came from behind the closed door to the bathroom.

  Rubbing my face with both hands, I tried to sort my thoughts. Or, you know, have any thoughts at all instead of just primitive urges.

  The desire wreaking havoc on my system and insistently pulsing in my clit demanded relief, and it would be oh-so-easy to get up and walk through that door and let that hunk of demon take care of my need.

  But I also knew that if I did join him, I’d have him inside me in a matter of minutes. I pursed my lips and squinted. Okay, more like seconds.

  And as much as I was thirsting right now, I wasn’t sure I was ready. There was that pertinacious part of my mind reminding me that only a few hours ago, I’d been ready to strangle the fuck out of him…because he’d consistently treated me as negligible.

  But now he’d apparently changed his mind, and I didn’t quite know what to do with his sudden attention. What to think of his overt interest, how to handle that much…Azazel.

  Not to mention that crossing this line with him had quite a few implications. This wasn’t the same as scratching an itch with a guy I’d swiped right on and could walk away from the next morning. Things could get really, really messy here.

  All this, and more, kept me sitting on the floor with unfulfilled need and the desperate wish to be able to summon objects like my confounding demon husband could. I’d have had my trusted electric friend in hand minutes ago and taken the edge off in no time.

  I startled at the sound of the door opening. Azazel strolled out of the bathroom, rubbing his hair with a towel, steam fogging the air behind him. He was still gloriously, temptingly naked, and I averted my eyes as I scrambled to a stand, lest the sinfully seductive visual test my resolve.

  I made to hurry past him when he blocked my path with one arm against the doorway to the bathroom. My breath came out as half wheeze, half choked-off groan. His body heat hummed against my skin even with a few inches separating us.

  “I think you might need this,” he said silkily, and pressed something in my hand.

  I recognized it before glancing down—I’d held this many a time, after all, my palm and fingers intimately familiar with its shape and size.

  “Just how far,” I managed to get out, “does the range of my ‘stray thoughts’ go?”

  “A few feet. Not far enough for me to pick them up from the bathroom.” Leaning down, he brushed his lips over my ear and muttered, “But I’m quite pleased I guessed right.”

  He removed his arm blockade and walked past me. Face aflame, I fled into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. My hand tightened around the vibrator.

  Welp, I wasn’t one to waste an opportunity.

  That thing was waterproof for a reason.

  Chapter 11

  Ten minutes, one shower, and a satisfying orgasm later, I walked back into the bedroom, the huge fluffy towel securely wrapped around my heated body.

  Azazel—now fully dressed in what seemed to be fighting leathers, and damn if that didn’t make him even hotter—looked up from his lounging position on one of the armchairs in the corner of the bedroom. His eyes flashed, raking me from head to toe, and one corner of his mouth curved up.

  Wait, I knew that look. He was up to somethi—

  He raised his right hand, palm up, index finger extended as if about to beckon me to him...and a pair of lace panties materialized, dangling daintily from said beckoning finger.

  He crooked it. The panties swayed with the motion.

  I scoffed. “Really?”

  A quick once-over of the room confirmed my suspicion—he hadn’t yet summoned a new set of clothes.

  “Unless you’d like to go without again?” He appeared far too delighted at the idea.

  Yeah, right.

  I marched up to him and snatched the panties from his finger. And because my spiteful streak was back in full force, instead of retreating to the bathroom, I proceeded to step into the pair right there in front of him and pulled them up underneath the towel without revealing any extra skin. Years of having to change on the beach sans a modesty screen except my towel had taught me well.

  He made a soft sound of disappointment and summoned the matching bra.

  “Did you memorize my entire closet?”

  A sensual smile snuck onto his face. “Only the interesting bits.” He tilted his head and studied me. “I bet you can’t put this one on too without losing the towel.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Challenge accepted.”

  After securing the knot above my breasts, I slung the bra underneath the towel, around my waist, fastened it by touch alone, turned it around so the cups would hold my girls—all done either by reaching through the overlapping ends of the towel without opening it, or feeling through the fabric—and then pulled the straps out from under the towel one by one, wiggling my arms into each. With a snap, I brought the straps in position and put my hands on my hips, flipping my hair over my shoulder.

  “Color me impressed,” Azazel muttered, his voice rich and seductive like dark chocolate.

  “Pants?” I asked, ignoring the flip in my stomach.

  A pair of black jeans appeared in his outstretched hand.

  Easy peasy. I had them on within a few seconds, the towel still secured around my chest.

  He held out a black tank top with wide shoulder straps, one of my favorites. The crew neckline emphasized my chest just right, and the material hugged my curves perfectly.

  “I expect this one will be tric
kier to put on,” he said with a grin.

  He was right, of course. A T-shirt would have been the safer bet, especially one with a wider cut. I could have easily put that on without losing the towel too early, but with a skin-tight tank like this…

  Eh.

  I shrugged, turned and slipped my arms into the tank, pulling it over my head too. Loosening the knot, I let the towel fall to the floor around my feet at the same time I dragged the tank down over my chest. Adjusting the material around my waist, I faced Azazel again.

  He was leaning back in the chair, his heated gaze fixed on me. His sprawling posture and the rugged leather armor made him look like a barbarian king observing his latest conquest.

  “I never knew,” he said in a velvet murmur, “how enticing a reverse strip-tease could be.”

  My lips twitched with the urge to curve into a smirk.

  He rose to his feet, his massive frame dwarfing me, and yet the shiver tingling down my spine knew nothing of fear. I craned my neck to meet his gaze, and he brushed a finger over my lips.

  “Although,” he purred, “I’d much rather watch you do the opposite.”

  My cheeks heated at the mental image his words evoked, warmth flooding decidedly sensitive places in my body. “Like you could sit still long enough to not just burn my clothes off.”

  The corners of his eyes crinkled, his power a pulse in the air. “Challenge accepted.”

  Desire was a siren call in my blood, still I stepped back and cleared my throat. “So, the hounds. Why are we going to see them again?”

  “So you can pick one,” he replied, accepting my change of topic without calling me on it.

  “Pick one?”

  “To keep.”

  My brows drew together. “As a pet?”

  “Pet, guard, guide…” He waved a hand. “You’ll need protection if you’re to explore my house alone. A hound will be enough of a deterrent to the inferni and anything else that might see you as a snack.”

  I didn’t miss the double meaning in that last word.

  “Okay…” I bit my lip. “But...does it, like, have to be a hellhound? I’m really not that much of a dog person.”