Hellishly Ever After (Infernal Covenant Book 1)

by Nadine Mutas

  I squinted at him. “As in...a date?”

  He seemed to consider that. “I am,” he finally said, stepping so close that his power pressed against my skin, a thousand tiny stamps of his energy marking me, claiming me cell by cell, “making an effort to engage with you.” He leaned down, his mouth only an inch from my ear, his breath tingling on my neck. “Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

  I didn’t dare move for fear of my body turning liquid. “I did.”

  He shifted so our gazes met, his eyes flaring with lightning, boring into me. I felt those damned, unruly layers of myself unfolding under his intense regard.

  “I still do,” I added in a whisper.

  A smile that promised bliss. “Good.”

  He turned and strode back through the door to his sitting room, presumably to take off from that balcony of his. To Hell knew where.

  Given the size of his mansion and his rank—clearly not too low on the hierarchy, as evidenced by the fact he had so many subordinates—he probably held a lot of responsibilities. Not that I knew much about duties of lords in feudal systems, which Hell seemed to be, but I imagined the workload to be similar to that of CEOs of large corporations. Which meant it was likely he had a full schedule of shit to deal with every day.

  I stared after him for a minute, then turned to relieve poor Hekesha from waiting on me out in the hallway.

  Before, when I’d first seen her in that entrance hall with Zaquiel, I hadn’t gotten a good look at her. The Fallen took up most of my attention, and then...Azazel appeared, commanding my focus in more ways than one.

  I studied her now as she bowed her head and signaled for me to follow her. Her long black hair fell down her back in a tight braid, swinging right next to a huge sword she carried in a harness whose straps criss-crossed over her chest. More knives and daggers were fastened to her arms and thighs, and even something that looked like a mini crossbow.

  Her clothing fit the warrior vibe—leather pants and reinforced tunic, arm guards and extra protection on her shins as well. Even Azazel in what I had come to think of as his fighting gear hadn’t been this obviously decked out in weapons. To be honest, I hadn’t seen him carry a sword or anything so far.

  Neither had Zaquiel been armed. Or Azmodea or Mammon.

  Maybe it had something to do with rank? That...or level of power. I pursed my lips. Of course. The stronger a demon’s magic or whatever it was they wielded—they obviously had some form of supernatural force at their disposal—the less they must have need of actual weapons.

  Over the course of our trek down into the lower levels of Azazel’s house—I noticed how many stairs we descended—I tried in vain to strike up a conversation with Hekesha. Every one of my questions got a short reply that didn’t reveal much about her, and I gave up after what felt like twenty minutes. It took us more than double that time to reach my rooms.

  A spark of irritation lit inside me. Now that I’d gotten a better impression of the layout of Azazel’s mansion, one thing was abundantly clear. My suite was at what amounted to the very bottom of this structure, likely just one floor above the dungeon, if he indeed had one. Which I didn’t doubt anymore after seeing those wings pinned to the wall.

  My rooms, I guessed, were about as far away from Azazel’s as was possible while still under the same roof.

  His recent change in behavior notwithstanding, he really had meant to park me out of sight and out of mind here, in the bowels of his mansion. Like a secret hidden away in the basement.

  Yeah, I was still sore about that.

  So sore, in fact, that it soured any incipient joy about his announcement to come see me later.

  Crumbs, a voice whispered in my head, suspiciously sounding like my mom. You’re cheering for crumbs he’s throwing you, as if you don’t deserve more.

  Hekesha bowed her head as she waved me into my rooms. “Please call if you require anything.”

  She turned on her heel, walking off with her braid swinging behind her, leaving me with my own grumbling thoughts.

  Chapter 12

  I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until the gremlins brought me lunch—or was that dinner? I’d lost track of time—and after freshening up a little to get the hellhound slobber off my face, I spent the next hours doing yoga and generally just chilling on whatever available soft surface in my rooms.

  This day had been a lot. I’d gone crazy with boredom before, but after the events of the past twenty-something hours, I was grateful for the quiet and relaxation of my suite.

  I’d just cracked open a book, vegging out on one of the couches, when a knock sounded from the door. Frowning, I snapped the book shut and eyed the door.

  That was new. No one had ever really bothered to knock before, they just threw the door open and strode in, be it Azazel, the gremlins, or Azmodea.

  The knock came again, and I realized I’d probably have to separate my bum from the couch to let in whoever had manners enough to wait for my acknowledgment of their presence.

  With a sigh, I heaved myself up and trotted over to the door, pulled it open and blinked at the foreign demon on the other side.

  “I’m here to take you to your rooms,” the unknown male said, his brown hair shifting as he bowed his head.

  It took me a moment to fully grasp his words. “But...these are my rooms.”

  “Not anymore,” the demon replied.

  The sound of tiny feet padding on the stone floor, and then a veritable horde of gremlins flowed past him, past me—I had to jump to the side to not be overrun—and into the room. They swarmed around and proceeded to grab whatever they could get their hands on, throwing it into the bags and boxes they carried.

  “Hey!” I cried. “That’s my stuff.”

  “Lord Azazel has given the order to relocate you,” the demon said, drawing my attention to him again. “Your belongings will be packed up and moved as well. If you’ll follow me.” He stepped back and gestured into the hallway.

  I hesitated, my mind jumping to the one item I sure wouldn’t want anyone else to touch and move. I was halfway to the bedroom when I remembered…I’d left it lying on the counter in Azazel’s bathroom.

  Good Lord, I had to get it back. Somehow. Without asking him for it.

  If only I could summon, dammit!

  Face burning, I turned back to the demon, cleared my throat and said, “All right. Lead the way.”

  My simmering suspicion of maybe being relocated to the fabled dungeons after all—Azazel’s recent behavior suggested otherwise, but who knew with that capricious demon—evaporated with every staircase we ascended on our way to my new lodging. With this much climbing, I sure didn’t need exercise anymore today. Although I might have to keep up some form of it, judging by the way I gasped for breath soon.

  My demon guide threw me a glance. “Do you need a break?”

  He was utterly ungasping, the fiend. His breath hadn’t even sped up a little.

  “I’m fine,” I wheezed. The rattle in my lungs painted me a liar.

  He raised a brow and stopped, leaning against the hallway wall at the top of the stairs we’d just cleared.

  “No, no,” I panted, clinging to the handrail. “We can...keep going.”

  “If you collapse,” he said and crossed his arms, “Lord Azazel will skewer me.”

  “Like, literally?”

  Expression sinister, the demon nodded. “I have strict orders not to touch you, so if you fall and I need to carry you, I’ll end up on a stick.”

  I blinked, and an image of those damn, pinned wings flashed across my inner eye. “Okay,” I said weakly and slid down until my butt hit the top step of the stairs. Gesturing at myself, I said, “This is not collapsing, just for the record. I’m admiring the masonry.” I stroked the stone and nodded appreciatively. “Such great craftsmanship. Very fine work.”

  Something like the hint of a smile flitted across the demon’s face. Like Hekesha, he was armed to the teeth, his clothes fit for battle.

>   “So, while we’re waiting for me to finish my assessment of the workmanship of these stairs,” I said, still catching my breath, “maybe you can help me answer some questions.”

  His expression became guarded. “Within reason.”

  “Okay, so, first off, what’s your name?”

  “Caleb.”

  “Nice to meet you, Caleb. I’m Zoe.” I waved. “Now, what’s with all these weapons? I noticed Hekesha was packing as well, but Azazel and Azmodea weren’t. Neither was Zaquiel. Is it because you’re a guard?”

  He stiffened. “Lord Azazel and his peers are full-blood demons.”

  Oh, crap. I’d blundered the titles, hadn’t I? It was probably an unimaginable affront to use Azazel’s name without his honorific, even when he wasn’t present…or at least it would be inappropriate for someone lower in status than him, which I would be as his pet.

  Rubbing my nose, I amended, “My lord and master, of course. Wait—so you’re…”

  “Half-blood.” A glimmer of defiance in his brown eyes.

  And Hekesha likely was one as well. Interesting.

  “Were you born on Earth?”

  A slow nod.

  “Did you grow up there?”

  “Until my powers came in.”

  “And then you came to live down here?”

  His mouth twisted with a sardonic smile. “Came. Dragged.” He shrugged. “Semantics.”

  “Oh.” I fidgeted with the seam of my tank top. “How...how does it work, with half-bloods? Don’t you have a choice?”

  “Generally, no. Especially not when you accidentally set your home on fire, with your human mother in it.”

  I covered my mouth with one hand. “I’m so sorry.”

  “We should go.” He pushed off the wall and sauntered down the hallway.

  Hurrying after him, I bit my lip. I probably shouldn’t pry further, given the delicacy of the topic, but I had to know. “Is Az—Lord Azazel your father?”

  He threw a glance at me over his shoulder. “No.”

  Silence hung between us for a few steps.

  Caleb’s quiet words startled me. “I’d have fared better if he were.”

  I swallowed. “I take it you and your father didn’t get along.” Something twisted in my chest. “I can relate to that.”

  “Half-bloods,” he said after a moment, “aren’t valued as highly as full-blood offspring. We’re weaker than demons, so we’re used for menial labor instead of more important tasks. Some see a certain worth in us, since we’re not bound to Hell the same way demons are, and can stay on Earth indefinitely to work there on our sire’s behalf.” A pause heavy with old pain. “And some see us as little more than slaves to be whipped around.”

  I cringed. Okay, as far as daddy issues went, mine were a blip on the radar compared to his. “How did you end up in Lord Azazel’s service?”

  “My father is of lower rank and indebted to Lord Azazel himself. So Lord Azazel conscripted me, as is his right as lord of this demesne.” His eyes met mine for a second. “And I thank Lucifer every day for that conscription.”

  Even with the threat of being skewered if he disobeyed a direct order. Oof, his father really had to be a monster.

  “A—Lord Azazel mentioned half-bloods have some powers,” I ventured. “Do you?”

  In answer, he lifted his hand, and a flame erupted from his palm. He let it dance over his arm then back to his hand, where he extinguished it with a snap of his fingers.

  “That is so cool,” I whispered.

  The ghost of a smile on his lips.

  “Can you summon?”

  He grimaced. “It goes wrong more often than it works.”

  “Oh?”

  “I end up getting a different object, or it appears not in my hand but…other places.”

  I pressed my mouth into a tight line to keep from laughing. “That sounds…aggravating.”

  “Very much so.” Amusement whispered behind his stony expression.

  He stopped in front of a door, threw it open and waved me inside.

  Alrighty, so these were to be my new quarters? Unsure what to expect, I entered—and stopped short at the understated luxury that greeted me. As spacious as any one of Azazel’s in his personal suite, the room spreading out in front of me featured plush purple carpet on the stone floor, finished walls painted a soothing shade of lilac, and an assortment of white couches and comfy chairs.

  More than that, though, there was a window in the far wall. An honest-to-God—or would that be honest-to-Lucifer?—window. Gaping, I headed right for it, halting in front of the floor-to-ceiling pane of glass showing the spectacle of dusky sky churning with flashes of violet lightning outside. Of course, the obligatory bars covered the window, same as in Azazel’s bedroom and the huge panoramic window wall I’d seen in the hall before the inferni got on my tail.

  “If you need anything,” Caleb said, pulling me out of my contemplation, “use this plaque here, or the mirror over there.”

  I turned, my brows drawing together. “Mirror?”

  He pointed at the wall to my left, and indeed, an ornate, black-framed mirror hung there.

  “How does it work?” At his surprised expression, I added in a drawl, “My magic mirror skills are a bit rusty, sorry.”

  “You draw a sigil on it, and it calls the recipient you intend to reach. If they’re close to a sibling of this mirror, they may accept the call and you’re connected.”

  A sigil. I uttered a dry laugh. So anytime I wanted to make a call, I’d have to bleed. Splendid.

  “Thanks,” I said to Caleb. “Just to refresh my memory, could you draw me the correct sigil?”

  “Sure.” His gaze roamed the room, likely in search of something to write on. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and held out his hand.

  “What are you—”

  A banana appeared in his palm.

  He swore and put the fruit on the nearest table.

  “It’s…longish,” I said with a nod, trying hard to choke back my laughter.

  Narrowing his eyes, he held up a finger. “One more try.”

  “Okay.”

  He closed his eyes again, his forehead wrinkling…and winced when something small hit him in the face. With another curse, he caught the pen before it fell to the ground.

  “I am not even going to attempt to summon a piece of paper,” he said, his voice a warning growl.

  “A wise decision,” I agreed sagely. “Just scrawl it on the wall next to the mirror.”

  That done, he handed me the pen and inclined his head. “I’ll be off, then. It was nice meeting you, Zoe.”

  “See you around.” I waved as he headed out the door, then turned to inspect the rest of the suite.

  A hallway to the right of the main door to the suite led to more rooms, each one as large as my entire apartment in San Francisco. There was a library—a veritable library, with floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with books, and comfy reading furniture—and next to it another exercise room with more equipment, like a private mini gym.

  I entered the room one door down and gaped at a bathroom that could rival Azazel’s in size and luxury, only the color scheme here seemed the opposite of his. Silver marble with black veins. And—this one featured a tub in addition to a shower. Sunk into the floor, it had steps leading down into its basin, already filled with steaming water.

  Well, hello there.

  I’d be sure to check this one out later, in thorough detail.

  My gaze fell on the toilet—another Japanese model, minus the name I’d scrawled on the other one in my previous rooms. I smirked.

  One more door led from the hallway, and it opened into a spacious bedroom with another panoramic—albeit barred—window in one wall. The lightning flashing through the pane illuminated the generous bed, decked out in pillows and silken sheets in shades of blue, scattered with silver embroidery.

  The rest of the room held your typical sleeping quarters furniture—armoire, dresser, nightstands, as
well as a full-length mirror.

  There was another door beside the bed, unobtrusively set into the wall. Probably a closet. I opened it to make sure—and my jaw fell to the floor.

  Azazel’s bedroom stretched out before me. I stalked into the room—which lay empty in semi-darkness, its owner still out on business, apparently—and checked the wall where the door connected this to my own room. I was certain that wall had been bare before, no sign of a door or anything leading to another room.

  Now it looked like the connection had always been there.

  Well, damn.

  I’d been miffed that he’d parked me in those faraway quarters at the literal bottom of his house, his initial intention to ignore me clear in the location, and now this. He’d practically moved me into his suite.

  Sure, there was a door separating us, and I was certain he’d never use that door unless I invited him to. Given everything I’d learned about him so far, he wouldn’t steamroll over my consent and take liberties without my permission. This was still my private space, and I could shut him out if I wanted to.

  But that door was there. Right there. A tempting reminder of his now openly declared interest.

  I narrowed my eyes and sucked my teeth. Yeah, this was likely more for me than for him. He was good at that, wasn’t he? Not manipulation, per se, but arranging pieces in a way that would lead to certain conclusions. A cleverly set-up playing field.

  Every time I’d see that door, I’d think of him, knowing what lay just beyond it. And my bed stood against the very wall separating our rooms, with his bed in the same spot on the other side. I’d go to sleep with the knowledge that he’d lie stretched out on those silken black sheets only a few feet from me, and that stone wall between us would melt in my unruly mind.

  Did he sleep naked?

  Goddammit, it already started!

  My fingers itched to glide over his mattress, my nose all too eager to be pressed once more into his pillow, soak up his scent. I’d seen him without clothes, and now my brain helpfully conjured up that exact image and planted it on the huge bed, between those rumpled sheets, all that glorious bronze skin over taut muscles, a sensual, inviting smile on his lips as he grasped his cock—