Taz presses his lips into a thin line, but that flash that goes through his eyes isn’t regret. Can’t be. No way. Abdicated assholes like him probably aren’t capable of remorse.
“And like I said earlier, I signed a contract with those Guardians you’re looking down your nose at, so I do belong with them, whether you like it or not. You may not find it a worthy cause, but I grew up in that Mortal Realm they’re helping to keep safe, and I can’t think of a worthier pursuit for anyone, Nihil included.”
I cross my arms in front of my chest, all too aware that the two of us probably look like a petulant teenager facing off with an overbearing dad, but I don’t give a shit. I don’t even give a shit that I can hear Abdicated behind him tittering, eating up this little display of drama. This must be like prime time entertainment to these demons. Maybe they don’t get out much. Or have internet. That would fucking suck. I’ll have to tell them all about Carole Baskin and see if they know where her husband is.
“I don’t like this,” Taz says, shaking his head. “As my first-born progeny, I must marry you off. That’s my right.”
“Why would you want that right?” I challenge. “Then I’d just get to blame you for every dumb thing that the demon you choose does. That’s a lot of pressure, and you don’t seem like the type to really want to deal with that.”
He doesn’t look amused by that statement.
“You’re not marrying me off to anyone. That’s just not happening,” I tell him. I refuse to back down from this. I don’t care that he is some kind of Hellish prince. Lucifer basically gave me a pass. He can’t punish me. He knows it, and I know it.
A growled sigh escapes his chest, and his blond wings tense up with his fisted hands. “You must only cavort with worthy demons. Nihils, preferably.”
I snort. “Oh, really? Where do you get off telling me that when you’ve fucked so many females, you can’t even narrow down who my mother is! You have a shit ton of those black books that proves just how much you cavorted. You even fucked a pixie!”
He scowls. “I told you, she was only a quarter pixie!”
I roll my eyes, but before any more argued words can be flung between us, Elle sways over to us like a sex goddess on a fashion runway, interrupting. “You two look so alike right now, glaring at each other like that,” she laughs, making her breasts bounce. “Come now, Taz, this is a party! Let your progeny mingle.”
He grumbles something to her that I don’t catch, but she just laughs again.
“Where are my Guardians?” I ask her.
She lifts a shoulder. “Oh, I don’t know. I wandered away. These things are so diverting, you know. I’m sure they’re off partaking in at least one of the seven sins.”
They better fucking not be. Not without me, at least.
Elle takes Taz by the arm and starts pulling him away, shooting me a wink as she mouths, “You’re welcome.” She takes his pain in the ass away to do Hell only knows what, and I’m glad for the break from his overbearing attitude.
“This discussion isn’t over,” Taz says over his shoulder at me.
“Yes, it is,” I call back.
He says something in reply, but luckily, I don’t hear it, because Red pulls him into the crowd where they instantly get swallowed up.
I stand there alone, looking around, suddenly nervous. Now that the partygoers have a clear view of me, demons are pressing closer, all of them in various stages of undress. “Look at that color. I’ve never seen purple wings before!” I hear someone exclaim.
In a matter of seconds, the crowd is picking everything apart: my hair, my wings, my face, my posture, my dress, even my height. The stick in my hand is also a big line of discussion, and I grip the scythe tighter, thankful that the blades aren’t out right now. The gossip would be even worse.
Spotlight phobia is settling in, making me squirm on the spot. I push my way through, careful to use my free hand instead of the scythe, just in case it activates and I ash someone on accident. That would probably be a party foul.
After only taking several steps, I get swallowed up in the throng just like Taz did, and I’m immediately feeling claustrophobic. Demons keep trying to stop me or reach out to touch my wings. I’m surprised when the appendages snap out at people aggressively, like they’re pissed someone would have the audacity to put their grubby fingers on them. That seems to keep people from wing touching, which is fine by me. I push ahead, moving in the general direction that I think one of the large fountains was situated. If I can get up there, then I’m hoping I can see over the crowd and spot my guys.
It takes me fucking forever to go a very short distance.
By the time my shins hit the sides of the fountain, I’m panting, sweating, and my nerves are pretty much shot from too much attempted touchy-touchy and talky-talky.
I climb up the smooth gray fountain, but the thing is really a pool in its own right. In the center, there’s a statue of Tazreel, buck naked, water shooting out of the tops of his wings and landing in the receptacle below him as he glares austerely. Clearly, my sperm donor is very fond of himself, because when I stand up to my full height and look around, I can see that every fountain and sculpture is made in his likeness. I have to be very vigilant not to look below
