Chapter 10
The next few hours were surreal. I watched as Malphas—MALPHAS, PRINCE OF HELL—charmed his way through suburban social interactions with surprising ease.
He grilled burgers to perfection, discussed lawn fertilizer techniques with middle-aged men, and complimented women on their recipes without a single mention of souls or eternal damnation.
Most bizarre was how normal everyone treated him. To them, he was just the tall, somewhat intense neighbor with impeccable landscaping and a new boyfriend. (Several guests had made assumptions about our relationship that neither of us corrected.)
“So, how’d you two meet?” asked Dave Henderson, a jovial man with a receding hairline who had indeed brought excellent potato salad.
“Support group,” I answered honestly, taking a sip of my beer.
“Oh?” Dave’s eyebrows rose with interest. “What kind, if you don’t mind me asking?”
The kind where people talk about being possessed by supernatural entities. “Trauma survivors,” I said vaguely.
Dave nodded sympathetically. “That’s great. Good to have support, you know? My brother-in-law did group therapy after his divorce. Really turned him around.”
“Right,” I agreed, watching as Malphas expertly flipped burgers while discussing the merits of different propane tanks with another neighbor. “It’s been… life-changing.”
“You two seem good together,” Dave observed, following my gaze. “He seems happier. More relaxed.”
I turned to him in surprise. “Really?”
Dave nodded. “Oh yeah. Malphas has always been a good neighbor—helped me install a new water heater last winter, which was a lifesaver. But he’s always seemed…
I don’t know… lonely? Like he’s holding something back.
” He gestured toward where Malphas was now laughing at something someone had said.
“He’s different with you around. More himself, somehow. ”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. The idea that I had any positive impact on a being as ancient and powerful as Malphas was bewildering.
“Well, I should mingle,” I said finally. “Nice talking to you, Dave.”
I made my way through the gathering, chatting with neighbors who all seemed genuinely nice, if oblivious to the fact that they were eating barbecue prepared by a demon. Occasionally, I’d catch Malphas watching me from across the yard, his expression soft in a way that made my heart race.
Everything was going surprisingly well until Roger Miller arrived with his college-aged daughter, Ashley.
I noticed her immediately—tall, blonde, and wearing a sundress that showed off her tan. More importantly, I noticed how she made a beeline for Malphas, touching his arm as she greeted him with obvious familiarity.
“Who’s that?” I asked Alice, who had materialized beside me with uncanny timing.
“Ashley Miller,” she supplied, sipping her iced tea. “She’s had a crush on our host for ages. Comes home from college and makes excuses to ask for his help with her car, gardening advice, you name it.”
I watched as Ashley laughed at something Malphas said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “She’s pretty,” I observed, aiming for neutral but landing somewhere near sulky.
Alice’s knowing smile made me regret the comment immediately. “She is. And quite determined. But I wouldn’t worry.”
“I’m not worried,” I lied, taking a large gulp of beer.
“Of course not,” Alice patted my arm. “Now, I believe your presence is required.” She nodded toward where Malphas was looking slightly uncomfortable as Ashley pressed closer to him.
I hesitated, not wanting to appear jealous or possessive. Malphas and I hadn’t defined our relationship—we were roommates who happened to have mind-blowing sex on a regular basis. I had no claim on him.
But then Ashley placed her hand on Malphas’s chest, and something primitive and decidedly unwise flared inside me.
Fuck it. I set down my beer and made my way over.
“There you are,” I said brightly, sliding my arm around Malphas’s waist. “The Wilsons were asking about that marinade you used.”
Malphas looked down at me with visible relief. “Sam, this is Ashley Miller. Ashley, this is Sam, my—”
“Boyfriend,” I supplied, extending my free hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Ashley’s smile dimmed slightly as she shook my hand. “Oh! I didn’t realize Malphas was seeing someone.”
“Recent development,” I said, squeezing Malphas’s waist affectionately. “But it feels like we’ve known each other forever, doesn’t it, babe?”
I felt a tremor run through Malphas at the endearment, but he played along smoothly. “Indeed. Sam’s been living with me for the past month.”
Ashley’s eyes widened. “That’s… fast.”
“When you know, you know,” I said with a shrug. “Anyway, Malphas should probably check on the grill. Those chicken skewers looked about done.”
“Right,” Malphas agreed, extricating himself from Ashley’s proximity. “Excuse me.”
As he stepped away, I made to follow, but Ashley’s hand on my arm stopped me. “So, Sam,” she said, her tone friendly but her eyes assessing, “what do you do?”
What followed was five minutes of the most passive-aggressive conversation I’d ever experienced, during which Ashley managed to convey that: 1) She was pre-law at an Ivy League school, 2) Her father owned half the commercial real estate in town, and 3) She’d known Malphas for years and found it “adorable” that he was finally dating.
“He’s quite… intense, isn’t he?” she said with a knowing smile. “I’ve always found that fascinating about him.”
“He certainly keeps things interesting,” I replied, taking another sip of beer to avoid saying something less polite.
“I bet,” she leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Is he as… passionate in private as he seems in public?”
My eyebrows shot up at the blatant question. “I really don’t think that’s—”
“Ashley!” Roger Miller appeared beside his daughter. “Stop monopolizing Sam here. I’m sure he wants to mingle.” He gave me an apologetic look. “Sorry about that. She’s always had a soft spot for your boyfriend.”
“No problem,” I said, seizing the opportunity to escape. “If you’ll excuse me, I should help with those skewers.”
I found Malphas by the grill, expertly turning chicken skewers while chatting with Dave about lawn sprinkler systems.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I said, “but I need to borrow the chef for a second.”
Dave winked knowingly. “Say no more. I’ll keep an eye on the grill.”
I pulled Malphas to a relatively quiet corner of the yard, behind the large oak tree that dominated the landscape.
“Everything okay?” he asked, his brow furrowed with concern. “You look flushed.”
“I’m fine,” I said, then immediately contradicted myself by blurting out, “Does Ashley Miller always flirt with you like that?”
Malphas blinked, then understanding dawned on his face. “Ah. Yes, she’s been… persistent. I’ve never encouraged it.”
“Well, she’s gorgeous and her dad owns half the town, so—”
My rambling was cut short as Malphas pulled me against him, one large hand cupping my face. “Sam,” he said, his voice a low rumble that I felt in my bones, “are you jealous?”
“No,” I lied, then sighed at his knowing look. “Maybe a little. I just didn’t like watching her touch you.”
His eyes flashed red briefly, his grip on my waist tightening. “I didn’t like it either. And for the record—” he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent shivers down my spine, “—I have no interest in Ashley or anyone else. Only you.”
The simple declaration hit me with unexpected force. Before I could overthink it, I pulled his head down and kissed him, not caring that we were at a neighborhood barbecue or that anyone could see us.
Malphas responded immediately, his mouth hot and demanding against mine. The kiss quickly escalated, his tongue sweeping into my mouth as he backed me against the tree trunk, caging me with his body.
“Sam,” he groaned against my lips, “we should stop. We have guests.”
“Let them watch,” I murmured, nipping at his lower lip.
A growl rumbled through his chest, and for a moment I thought he might take me right there against the tree. Then, with visible effort, he pulled back slightly.
“Later,” he promised, his eyes glowing red. “I’m going to show you exactly who I belong to.”
The possessive statement should have bothered me. Instead, it sent heat pooling in my stomach. “Is that right? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like I need to remind you who you belong to.”
Something flashed in his eyes—surprise, followed by a heat that had nothing to do with his demonic nature. Before he could respond, however, Dave’s voice called from the grill:
“Malphas! These skewers need your expert attention!”
Malphas closed his eyes briefly, visibly collecting himself. When he opened them again, the red glow had dimmed, though the promise in them remained.
“To be continued,” he said, pressing one more quick kiss to my lips before stepping back.
I watched him return to the grill, his movements controlled but tension evident in the set of his shoulders. The rest of the barbecue passed in a haze of anticipation, every shared glance between us charged with the promise of what would come later.