Aside from Tazreel, there are four males and three females, and they seem to be deep in discussion. Whatever they’re saying is making Tazreel scowl, while some of the others laugh.
Aside from the eight of them, there are other demons here, too. Only some of them have wings, but all of them are gorgeous. They must belong to the menageries. It would explain why all of them are dressed so skimpily.
They’re all dancing at the back of the room beside the musicians, lilting, wordless songs setting the tone as their bodies gyrate to the melody. Some dance together sensually, while others stay apart, like they’re trying to gain the attention of the Abdicated, who are paying them no mind.
Yeah, fuck that. I’m not going to be in anyone’s menagerie and begging for scraps of attention.
I turn back to the group of demonic angels in the center of the massive room. I’m surprised that there aren’t more of them. I’m not religious—and I’m assuming religion in the Mortal Realm got it right—but I thought a lot more angels fell with Lucifer than this.
I’m escorted to the group slowly, and I do my best to put my I got this face on. One night cavorting with the hosts of Hell. I can handle this, right? After all, I was born for this shit...and that’s not just a saying in this case.
“Ah, there she is,” Tazreel shouts out, his eyes skimming over me and filling with approval.
I hope he tips Lousen for doing such a great job, because that whole pinned like a moth thing is scary enough as a visual.
All at once, eight pairs of breathtaking eyes turn to me. I have to actively remind myself to breathe as the beauty in front of me drinks me in and relishes me like I’m a twelve course meal.
“Her coloring is stunning, Taz,” a female comments, whose hair, skin, wings, and eyes are all different shades of red. Even her cheeks and chest have a natural rosy blush to them. It makes her look sensual, like her skin is flushed from hours of sex. She pulls off the lustful look though, because her black lace dress is nearly see-through and completely daring. Slits go up either side all the way to her hips, and the front of her dress plunges down to her belly button. I was feeling good about my rack before, but hers is ten times better. I notice that I’m staring at her perky, huge boobs, because her lips curl up and she draws a finger down between her cleavage. “You want to touch them?”
I nearly swallow my tongue.
Taz shoots Red with a look. “Elle, knock it off. That’s my daughter. I won’t tolerate you being inappropriate toward her.”
Red—Elle—pouts slightly but drops her hand. “You’re too proud for your own good, Taz.”
“Still no luck on remembering who the mother might be?” a gorgeous man asks, drawing my attention his way. His skin is a smooth mahogany, his wings and eyes a soft tan, and his head bald and shiny. He swipes a silver tray from one of the serving imps and starts shoveling the little finger foods in his mouth three at a time.
“No, unfortunately,” Taz tells him. “The Savor’s lack of recognition is making it very difficult. I do pride myself on good taste, of course, but I can’t recall ever fucking a unicorn or something so rare that it wouldn’t have left an impression on me and given her that purple shade,” he harrumphs.
“Hmm,” the bald man says between large bites of food. “I once thought the same thing. Turned out, I had been imbibing inferno currant instead of sin gin. The procurer sent me the wrong order. I ended up tripping balls for about a month. Sired two offspring with a Rashookin and didn’t even know it until fifteen months later.”
All the other Abdicated cringe and make various noises of shock and disgust.
“I know. No idea how I even found a female, but it turns out, I like their sting, and the twins born from her are some of my favorite progeny to date.”
“Hmm, maybe I’ll try to find a Rashookin…” a woman with driftwood-toned hair, skin, and wings remarks thoughtfully.
Everyone groans. “Every fucking time,” Baldy rolls his eyes and then pops another bite of food into his mouth.
The driftwood female narrows her eyes. “Excuse me? What does that mean?”
“It means you always have to do what we’re doing, and have what we have,” Red cuts in as she fixes her breasts in her dress.
Driftwood crosses her arms in front of her, making her own boobs push together in her emerald green dress. “I do not,” she argues. “Anyway, I have a progeny that I birthed from a Krampus. None of you have that,” she says smugly.
“I forgot about that one,” Tazreel exclaims, clearly entertained by the she-demon’s weird offspring.
“Yes, but you only slept with the Krampus because he was paying more attention to me that night,” Red—Elle points out.
Driftwood flashes her teeth at Elle, but Taz gives the females a warning look. “No. Under no circumstances can you fight during my dinner party. The last thing I want is gossip about how the inner circle can’t get along. My home is a respectable place, and you will act accordingly.”
Both females roll their eyes.
“Well, I blame Luce,” Elle says, tossing back her red hair. “He always has the most diverse and outrageous parties. It can hardly be helped. Desire has a way of running away with you.”
Driftwood nods. “That half Krampus progeny of mine is in charge of my whole army now. I’ve never seen a more proficient General,” she brags, and that makes Tazreel look at me like he’s now seeing possibility where before there was only disappointment.
The group’s familiarity with one another and
