Chapter 6 #2
As we near his apartment building, Finn glances up at me with a speculative expression. “Can I ask you something? About… Hell stuff?”
I raise an eyebrow. “You can ask. I may or may not answer.”
“Fair enough.” He hesitates, organizing his thoughts. “When we first met—when you transformed—you said you were going back to Hell. To your position and your legions and everything. But it’s been weeks now, and you haven’t mentioned it again.”
I keep my expression carefully neutral. This is a conversation I’ve been avoiding.
“Are you…” he continues carefully, “in trouble for staying away so long? Is there like, demonic PTO you’re using up, or are you AWOL, or…?”
Despite the seriousness of the question, I can’t help but snort at his characterization. “Hell doesn’t have ‘paid time off,’ Finn.”
“So you’re playing hooky. From Hell.”
We reach his building, climbing the stairs to his apartment in thoughtful silence. Only when we’re inside, door closed behind us, do I finally address his question.
“My absence has likely been noted,” I admit, removing my jacket and hanging it carefully on the hook by the door—a human habit I’ve adopted. “Valefar will have spread rumors about my defeat or demise. Others will be maneuvering to claim my territories and legions.”
Finn’s eyes widen as he absorbs this. “So you’re basically letting your enemies win? Because of… me?”
There’s a note of distress in his voice that catches me off guard. I move closer, taking his face in my hands.
“Nothing is ‘won’ permanently in Hell,” I explain. “Power shifts constantly. Territories change hands. Legions transfer allegiance. It’s the nature of the infernal realm.”
“But your position—”
“Can be reclaimed when I choose to return,” I interrupt gently. “The question is whether I want to.”
He stares at me, confusion evident. “But… it’s your home. Your… everything. For thousands of years.”
I consider my next words carefully, wanting him to understand. “Hell is where I existed. It’s where I held power and commanded fear. But it was never… home. Not in the way you understand the concept.”
His expression softens, hands coming up to rest on my wrists where I’m still cradling his face. “And now?”
“Now I find myself experiencing something unprecedented,” I admit quietly. “A preference for being here, in this inadequately sized apartment, with its substandard water pressure and confusing television remote, because you are here.”
His lips curve into a smile, eyes suspiciously bright. “That might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“You have extremely low standards for romance,” I inform him, but there’s no bite in my words.
“I don’t know,” he muses, sliding his arms around my waist. “A powerful demon lord choosing me over literal Hell seems pretty high-standard to me.”
I allow my wings to manifest, curving them forward to envelop him in what has become our private gesture of intimacy. “You are more interesting than Hell, Finn Hughes. More challenging. More surprising.”
“More interesting than Hell,” he repeats with a grin. “I’m putting that on my dating profile if we ever break up.”
“We won’t,” I say with such sudden fierce certainty that it surprises us both.
His eyes widen slightly, then soften with an emotion I’m still learning to name. “No?”
“No,” I confirm, bending to brush my lips against his. “You’re mine now. I don’t relinquish what’s mine.”
“Possessive much?” he murmurs against my lips, but I can feel him smiling.
“Demon,” I remind him, deepening the kiss.
He responds eagerly, arms tightening around me, body pressing closer. When we finally separate, his breathing is uneven, pupils dilated with desire.
“You know,” he says conversationally, though his voice is rougher than usual, “I couldn’t help but notice how you were watching Sylvie today.”
I stiffen slightly. “I was merely observing a potential threat.”
“Mmm-hmm.” His fingers trace patterns on my chest, slipping between the buttons of my shirt to touch the skin beneath. “It was kind of hot, actually. You getting all possessive and intimidating.”
This is an unexpected development. “You… enjoyed my territorial display?”
“Maybe,” he admits with a playful smile. “Maybe I like knowing that a Duke of Hell gets jealous over little old me.”
“I was NOT jealous,” I growl, but my protest lacks conviction as his hands continue their distracting exploration.
“Sure you weren’t.” He steps back slightly, eyes glinting with mischief. “Maybe I should invite Sylvie over sometime. For dinner. To catch up. Reminisce about old times…”
I know he’s provoking me deliberately, but the thought of him and the ex-mate “reminiscing” makes something dark and primal surge within me. With a growl, I lift him effortlessly, hands gripping his thighs as his legs wrap around my waist.
“You are playing a dangerous game, Finn Hughes,” I warn, voice dropping to a rumbling bass that makes him shiver.
“Maybe I like dangerous games,” he counters, eyes alight with challenge and desire. “Maybe I like seeing what happens when you get all… demonic.”
I carry him to the bedroom, depositing him on the bed with more force than usual. He bounces slightly, laughing, but the laughter fades as I stand over him, allowing more of my true nature to surface—eyes glowing brighter, presence expanding to fill the room with subtle pressure.
“Is this what you want?” I ask, voice resonating with power. “To provoke the demon?”
His breath catches, but there’s no fear in his eyes—only heat. “Maybe I do.”
With deliberate slowness, I remove my shirt, then the rest of my clothing, standing before him in my full demonic glory. His eyes roam over me appreciatively, lingering on certain areas with obvious intent.
“Your turn,” I command, the words vibrating with power.
He complies eagerly, stripping with less grace but equal enthusiasm until he’s gloriously naked on the bed, skin flushed with arousal.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, prowling toward him. “And mine.”
“Yours,” he agrees breathlessly.
I take my time with him that night, deliberately driving him to the edge of pleasure before pulling back, again and again until he’s begging incoherently. I leave marks on his skin—claiming him in the most primal way possible, making sure he’ll feel me tomorrow.
When I finally allow him release, his cry of pleasure is so intense it briefly triggers the building’s fire alarm, much to our later embarrassment (though I secretly consider it a point of pride).
Afterward, as he lies boneless and thoroughly satisfied in my arms, I find myself contemplating the strange turn my existence has taken. From commanding legions in Hell to setting off fire alarms during particularly enthusiastic sex with a veterinarian.
And I wouldn’t trade it for all the power in the infernal realms.
“Morax?” Finn mumbles against my chest, already half-asleep.
“Yes?”
“‘M glad you’re jealous. Means you care.”
I stroke his hair gently, wings creating a protective cocoon around us. “I more than care, Finn Hughes.”
But he’s already asleep, breath evening out, face peaceful in slumber.
Perhaps someday I’ll find the courage to name the emotion that grows stronger within me each day. For now, I’m content to hold him close and stand guard over his dreams, this strange human who has somehow become more important to me than all the power and glory of Hell.
Mine to protect. Mine to cherish. Mine.