The Demon's Bargain (A Deal With a Demon #4)(35)
We walk together through the shifting halls of the castle to Azazel’s office. It’s in a different location every time, and I have the distinct suspicion he uses it to hide from his people from time to time. Being the leader of an entire territory seems like a headache.
He looks up when we walk through the door. Azazel shares Ramanu’s crimson skin and black claws and horns—though he’s only got one set—but he’s a bit bigger all around. Honestly, he looks kind of like what the Christian devil is supposed to be like, which I’ve always found privately hilarious. Not even I would say as much to his face.
He scans us. “You’re ready.”
“Yes.” Ramanu shifts a little closer to me until our shoulders touch. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but plan for it to be longer than expected.”
“We can hold down the fort without you for a bit. Go. You’ve worked hard to get where you are, Ramanu. There’s no shame in taking time for yourself and those you love.” Azazel smiles. He looks fearsome as fuck, but I learned a long time ago that he’s a big softie. It’s cute to watch him with his humans, though he wouldn’t thank me for pointing that out, either.
He turns his attention back to me. “Lenora, as previously discussed, you’re always welcome here. Ramanu has blanket permission to bring you over whenever they like.”
That took a wicked little bit of magic to pull off, since most humans need bargains to travel between realms. I’ve learned a lot by being here. I grin. “Thanks. I will continue to be a giant pain in your ass.”
“I expect nothing less.”
Ramanu slips their hand into mine. “Let’s go, little witch.
“After you, demon.” I grin. I never could have anticipated this being my life, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
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“She’s going to kill you, you know that, right? Like I don’t have enough bullshit to deal with this weekend.”
August could not stop the smile that quirked up his lips at his old friend’s words. He probably had a fight to the death waiting for him, one that had been a long time coming. Five years and twenty days to be exact.
“For someone who runs the most popular club in town, you are seriously lacking in your hosting skills, Guillermo,” August teased as the duende pulled him into an embrace.
The duende was dressed in his usual velvet breeches, which so tightly encased his powerful legs that they appeared painted on. Duendes were the Latin American cousins of the European garden gnomes—magical and unpredictable. But where gnomes were tiny, grandfatherly, white-haired creatures, the duendes were bronzed-skinned giants with completely hairless bodies except for a mane of long white hair that they never cut. Guillermo sported his in a coiled braid at the nape of his neck. His chest was bare, decorated only with the tattoos marking him as one of the magical beings from the West Indies. Starting at his collarbone, a row geometric shapes detailed the long line of his ancestry. Circles, lines, and triangles descended between his pecs and to his abdomen telling the story of his people. Like August’s former charge, the duende came from the Caribbean.
“You know how things get around here when the veil is thin,” the duende told August as if he needed a reminder. “I couldn’t believe when they told me you were here.”
August made a noncommittal sound. His reasons for being here were complicated.
“Come on, we can talk in my office,” Guillermo said.
They’d been standing in the holding room where August had been made to wait while Guillermo’s henchmen found their boss in the depths of the speakeasy, which was particularly busy with the Shadow Market in full swing. August couldn’t blame Guillermo for being cautious. He’d only been here a few hours, and he’d already come across dangerous elements. Fae queens, death gods, and powerful witches all running amok looking to settle their scores. His own presence here would almost certainly incite its fair share of chaos.
As they made their way down a dark hallway, August thought of her, an indulgence he rarely allowed. Part of how he punished himself was by locking away all his memories of her. He doubted she’d forgotten her promise to kill him where he stood if she ever saw him again. Instinctively, he ran the pad of this thumb over the scar across his face. It ran horizontally from just under his right eye, across the bridge of his nose, to his left cheek. She’d given him the scar last time they’d been face-to-face. Viciously clawing his skin as she’d warned him that the next time she laid eyes on him, she would take infinite pleasure in watching his “cold green blood” drain out of him until he was dead.
He would need to stop dwelling on his regrets and his guilt if he was going to go through with this.
“Are the rumors true?” Guillermo asked as he stopped before a wide door carved with the laughing face of an ancient duende.