Chapter 9
ASMODEUS
I’m sitting at the very top of my ziggurat fortress, staring out over the desolate lands around it and the cliffs beyond. Somewhere there, Simone is sulking in her cave. Sighing, I rub a hand down my face.
For weeks, I tried to seduce her, but it’s been extremely difficult when she won’t even talk to me.
Every time I visit, extravagant gifts in tow, she turns her back on me.
I might as well have been talking to one of the cave walls.
I’ve been playing with the thought of just returning her to her people, taking her back to Purgatory, and pretending she never crossed my path.
But each time my thoughts go in that direction, my body has a visceral reaction.
Simone is mine. She can’t keep denying me forever.
“Father,” a sweet voice says from behind me. I turn around to see my daughter, Naamah, teetering on the edge of the black stone block, confident and unafraid in sky-high heeled boots.
“Daughter,” I greet her, trying to muster up a smile.
Naamah scoffs. “Did you forget my name again?” She waves her hand before resting it on her hip. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”
I roll my eyes, my smile coming easier. “I know your name, Naamah. You act as if I can’t tell my daughters apart.”
I can’t tell my daughters apart. There are hundreds of them, and most of them look the same.
Knowing I’m—as my nephew Sariel would say—full of shit, she snorts, then sits down next to me.
Her purple eyes turn toward the Lethe, where most of us have villas or manors, as it’s undoubtedly the least offensive part of Hell.
Might have something to do with the river flowing through Heaven as well and bringing some of that influence down to the Underworld.
“Sharezen and I are throwing a party at my home,” she says after a moment of companionable silence. “You should come.”
I raise an eyebrow, considering. “Is there a special occasion?” I hope she doesn’t expect me to remember birthdays too.
She shrugs, her delicate shoulders rising and falling. “Just another orgy in Hell. It’s Easter in the human world, so we’re dressing up as rabbits.”
I curl my lip. “What does Jesus have to do with rabbits?”
“I’ll ask him next time I talk to him,” Naamah replies deadpan.
Throwing my head back, I laugh earnestly. This is why she’s a favorite. She reminds me of me in so many ways.
So is that why I prefer her to my other children? That human psychologist, Freud, could probably spend an eternity studying me. Perhaps I should track him down.
“I’ll see,” I tell Naamah. The truth is, I’d rather stare at Simone’s back than another sweaty pile of bodies.
My daughter scrutinizes me from the corner of her eye.
“You know, if you’re not careful, you’ll end up like Beelzebub. Ruling over an abandoned territory, sitting on your throne covered in flies.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Beel is the lord of flies. I am the lord of lust. By that logic, should I not be covered in pussy instead?”
Naamah waves me off, then gracefully hops back up to her feet. “You know what I mean, Father. I already worry about Uncle Ashtaroth. Don’t make me worry about you as well.”
“My brother is older than most dirt,” I say with a smirk. “You cannot compare me to him.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Naamah mutters, sounding unconvinced. “See you at the Easter orgy?”
I sigh. “Maybe. Send my love to Sharezen.” Not a daughter, but a granddaughter—several generations removed—and someone who often accompanies Naamah when there’s fun to be had.
After Naamah leaves, I decide I’ve tortured myself for long enough.
It’s time to visit Simone again. One thought, and I’m in the cave.
She’s lying in bed, her back turned to me, the food on the low table untouched.
Of course, I have Forneus put together the best food and morsels from the human world and deliver them to her several times a day.
And she does eat—she’s not suicidal, just extremely stubborn.
“Hello, little fairy,” I purr, and grin when I see her stiffen.
She tries hard to pretend she doesn’t notice me, but I see her glancing at my body when she thinks I’m not looking.
Her scent becomes stronger sometimes, the vanilla overpowering the orchids that inspired this cave’s foliage.
My Simone smells edible when she’s aroused.
And I’d like nothing more than to eat her.
“When will you let me go home?” she asks me then, her melodic voice weaving around me like a spell.
“Abaddon?” I ask her, sitting on the edge of her bed. “Or France?”
As predicted, this makes her turn around, hope shining bright in her gray eyes. I’m a sadistic bastard, aren’t I? The look on her face must show her I’m teasing, and she deflates.
An odd tinge of guilt pierces my chest. What’s wrong with me?
“What would make this more tolerable for you?” I ask her, extending an olive branch. “Servants? Games? Books?”
The look she gives me would shrink a lesser creature. “How about my freedom, you brutish man? Ge?lier maléfique.”
Evil jailer. That’s a new one. And she’s hurled plenty of insults my way these last few weeks.
With a long, drawn-out sigh, I throw myself down on the bed next to her.
Simone stiffens, and I can hear her heart thundering in her chest, see the vein pulsating at her neck.
Someone hurt this woman. I’ve wondered, but now I’m certain.
She’s been hurt in ways that make her body fearful of a man’s presence.
And it infuriates me. But I have to keep calm, or I’d only make it worse.
“I would love to make your stay here more pleasant,” I say, keeping my voice light.
“Why?” she asks, desperation leaking into her voice. She turns to face me, though she makes sure our bodies don’t touch in any way. “Why not let me go? I’m just a girl, still human despite whatever celestial blood flows through my veins. Why me?”
That’s a good question. And one I can’t answer to myself, let alone her.
“I want you,” I tell her, my voice raw and honest. I see the apprehension on her face, but she doesn’t look surprised. She is gorgeous—more beautiful than any angel or demon I’ve seen. She must be used to men’s reactions to her beauty.
The thought of other men leering at what’s mine enrages me.
“Like this?” she asks, voice small and hollow. “Unwilling?”
I roll to my side so I’m facing her but still keeping a small distance between our bodies.
“Simone,” I breathe. “I can smell how you respond to me. You may not want to be attracted to me, but you are. And sooner or later, you will give in. Hopefully sooner,” I end with a wink that seems to make her angry. Good, I prefer it over seeing her sad.
“You know how good-looking you are, you insufferable buffoon,” she seethes.
My lips stretch into a wide grin. “So you admit you think I’m good-looking?”
Simone rolls those beautiful gray eyes before turning her back to me again. But I think we made some progress today.
She’s wearing one of the beautiful gowns I gave her—probably because she tried washing her leather garments in the stream the other day and they got ruined.
“How do you like your clothes?” I ask conversationally. “Any preferences?”
“Yes,” she mutters, still facing away. “Would it kill you to give me some leggings and T-shirts? These are all heavy and awfully uncomfortable.
“Hmm,” I muse. I guess I can admit that my desire to see her in extravagant ball gowns outweighed any consideration for her comfort. I sigh. “Very well.”
I snap my fingers on both hands, and more clothes appear—this time designed for comfort.
Now, I don’t need to snap my fingers; I’m not a djinn, but I like giving her cues she can follow.
Simone sits up, looking at the new clothes. I can see it on her face: she wants to try them on, get out of what she’s wearing now.
“Go ahead,” I say magnanimously.
She turns her head and lifts an eyebrow, looking at me with confusion evident on her pretty features.
“Try them on,” I finish, smiling widely.
My smile turns into laughter when she picks up a jewel-toned pillow and slams it into my face.
“Fine, fine,” I say, extricating myself from under the deadly onslaught. “I’ll leave you alone in exchange for you eating something today.”
She shoots me a glare, crossing her arms. It only serves to draw attention to her cleavage, pushed up by the gown’s corset. She must feel my gaze on her, because the pale skin there flushes pink.
Simone clears her throat. “My eyes are up here, Az.”
I smile, blinking at her innocently. “And as lovely as they are, they’re nothing compared to your incredible—”
I don’t manage to finish the sentence before another pillow slams into my face.