Chapter Twenty-Eight
DEVLIN
I pull Violet onto my lap, and she straddles me and slides her hands over my shoulders, her gaze never leaving mine. She smiles now, a sweet and bashful thing that’s so very Violet it breaks my heart to look at it.
I don’t know how much time passes, me staring at her, falling deeper into her eyes, her searching mine for a soul that may very well not exist, but then the logs shift again and sparks cascade from the fire, startling Grumpy and Sunshine out from beneath the couch, and Violet sighs and traces a delicate fingertip across my brow and whispers, “What I wouldn’t give for a peek inside the Devil’s mind.”
“Very scary. I don’t recommend it.”
“Can’t be all that bad. I mean, not like g-string-on-a-horse bad.”
“No, not quite. I was… thinking about home, actually.”
“I’ve heard California has the best sunsets. Is that true?”
“It is true, but I was thinking of my first home.”
“Hell?”
I nod. “Specifically, the Desolation Mountains. It’s a region of Hell reserved for the worst demons guarding the worst souls who’ve ever existed—men condemned to eternal torture. The darkness there is endless—jagged black peaks as far as the eye can see, black sky, black rivers so poisonous even the most battle-hardened demons avoid them. The creatures who roam those peaks will tear a man limb from limb, wait for the body to regenerate, and do it all over again, because no one ever dies. Suffers, but doesn’t die. There’s no sound, either—not even a whisper of wind or the screams of the damned. Just a maddening, all-consuming silence. Near complete sensory deprivation punctuated by the most unimaginable pain and anguish. But in the very center of the region exists a lake the color of the deepest sapphires, ringed in flame. No one knows how it was formed, for it’s far too breathtaking to have come from Hell’s creators. It simply… exists.”
“Is that where you live? When you’re there, I mean?”
“No. I’ve only seen it once.”
“What made you think of it now?”
“Your eyes.” I trace my fingertips along her brow. “The color, the fire behind them. Beautiful and fierce. A quiet rebellion that defies all expectations.”
A tear slips down her cheek.
“You asked me once why I left Hell,” I say, my voice barely a whisper in the fire-lit dim, one more confession I’ve never before shared. “It was my family who asked me to leave, Violet. My father, mostly, but the rest quickly fell in line.”
“I thought… I thought you were cast out of Heaven, not Hell. At least, that’s the story I’ve always heard.”
“That bit is true. I was cast out. Then they gave me free rein in Hell, which seemed to satisfy all parties, as it kept me out of their precious homeland and allowed my father to keep a foothold in the lower realms by proxy.”
“What happened to make them cast you out of Hell, too?”
“I committed an unforgivable sin.” I shake my head. A bitter smile dawns. “Many, many centuries ago, I fell in love with a witch.”
Violet gasps.
“Not just any witch, either. But an ancient sorceress glamoured to ensnare me at every turn. I fell for it, too. I was so enraptured by her, I truly believed she loved me. But it was all a ruse she concocted to get close to Hell's upper-level guardians. Witches aren’t permitted in Hell unsupervised because of their association with Hell's demons—together, they’re a force too powerful to contain. That’s why so many of them attempt to summon demons to the material realm, but a demon is most powerful in its home realm. So any witch who enters must be escorted by me or a member of my family.”
“Did you escort her? The sorceress?”
“I’ll spare you the details, but yes. She wanted to see my home. And I, being significantly younger and ever-so-slightly less discerning than I am now, wanted to impress her. So off we went. Long story short, she spelled me, left me for dead, and seduced the guards, tricking them into freeing the worst demons of the lot. They returned to the material realm and started a war with the God of Death. Humans got caught in the crossfire, scores of them died, all blamed on some natural disaster or another. My father had to intervene, which he despises—his favorite pastime is watching humans destroy each other in his name. In the end, it was determined I was at fault. That I was reckless, selfish, irresponsible. That I would never be fit for Hell’s throne—never be fit to be anything but a jester, eternally mocked. Utterly discarded.”
Tears fill her eyes, but I force myself to keep going.
“To further humiliate me—and to profit from my desperate need to please him—my father granted me the opportunity to earn my way back. Sign one million corrupt human souls to Hell in a thousand years’ time, and I’m free to return, with the caveat that I can never leave Hell again. Fail to sign them, and I’m banished forever, cursed to die here as a mortal man. Those were his terms.”
“What do you mean by signing souls? How does that even work?”
“Essentially, my demon companions and I find the most corruptible, reprehensible humans, give them an encouraging nudge toward the dark side, and ask them to sign away their souls. It’s really that simple. Most of them do it without batting an eye, not even realizing they’re pledging themselves to eternal demonic servitude.” I stare into the flames, shame gnawing at my gut. “My father deemed it an impossible task.”
“Is it?”
“According to my last call with Finn, we’ve only got one left. Then I’m free to return to Hell. Free to take up the throne and rule over the kingdom of the damned once more, my immortality intact, my fate sealed.”
“But that’s… not what you want,” she whispers tentatively, her touch compassionate, not a shred of judgment or fear in her eyes despite my vile confession. “It’s… it’s your father.”
“What of him?”
“All this time, you haven’t been chasing your throne or your immortality. You’ve been chasing the affection of a man who’s wholly incapable of loving you.” At this, her tone turns sharp. “I don’t care what mistakes you made in the past. Any parent who abandons their child and intentionally sets him up for failure is just doing it for the gratification of their own warped ego, and I’m sorry, but they don’t deserve anything from you. Not your obedience. Not your apologies. Not your right to happiness. And certainly not your eternal life.”
I nod. As usual, she sees right through it, right down to the rotten core.
“You’ve given him so much of it already,” she whispers, her thumbs brushing the tears from my cheeks—tears I didn’t even realize I’d shed until I felt her touch. “You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be… to be loved.”
“There was a time—not so long ago, really—that I wouldn’t have believed you. How could I dare to want happiness or love after spending so much of this immortal existence just… just ruining things? Mostly on purpose. I mean, I get why I did it. I’m not proud of it, but I get it. Why bother trying, right? If you never do anything right, no one can be disappointed in you for fucking up. You’re just meeting the expectation. But that’s… not a way to live.”
“And it’s not who you are, Devlin.” She presses her hand to my heart again. “I hate that anyone made you doubt it. Especially your own family.”
I take her hands in mine. Bring them to my lips. Kiss each one of her fingertips. Close my eyes and try to breathe through the crush of emotion in my chest.
“Centuries of anger and resentment have nearly stolen my capacity for anything else, Violet. And I swore to myself—swore it on my very throne and the family I so desperately wanted back—that I’d never love another. Least of all a witch.” I open my eyes again. Gaze into hers, still shining with understanding, with hope, my beacon in the all-consuming darkness. Smile. “The thing of it is, mushroom… I’ve gone and fallen in love with you anyway. Accidentally, but completely. And I’m not quite sure what to do about it, because when I look into those beautiful blue eyes, I can’t help but think of a day on the near horizon when I’ll no longer be able to, and I can scarcely breathe because of it.”
“Devlin,” she whispers, those endless sapphire pools nearly drowning me, and I swear my bloody heart stops beating as I wait for something more—more words, another touch, anything.
It feels like a day, a year, an eternity before I finally see it, but then… merciful Hell, there it is. The dawn of a smile, the smile that heals me, that tells me that maybe—for once in my fucked-up immortal disaster of existence—I really do deserve something better.
She’s still in my lap, knees bracketing my hips, and now she leans forward with a kiss, powder soft at first, feathering my cheeks, erasing the last of my tears. She moves on to my mouth, a gentle brush against my lips, and then her kiss turns passionate, fearless, a promise that holds the entire world inside it.
I twine my fingers into her curls and deepen our kiss, claiming her as she has claimed me, and then she’s shifting down, her mouth blazing a path along my chest, my stomach, unbuttoning my shirt as she moves lower, lower still, every hot kiss making me hard for her, aching, until finally she slides a hand inside my pants and frees my cock, stone-hard and throbbing at her touch.
She’s on her knees in front of the couch, her head in my lap, my hands in her hair, and when the devious little mushroom finally glances up at me over those ever-smudged glasses, her eyes full of mischief, I gasp. It’s my red-hot shower fantasy come to life.
I tighten my grip in her hair, holding her back, if for no other reason than to take this opportunity to freeze this moment, to sear it into my memories.
“Let me taste you, Devlin,” she whispers, her breath misting over the tip as she grips me, strokes me, melts everything inside me. “Please.”
I’m already trembling for her, my resolve breaking. “As much as I love hearing it, Violet, this is one thing you will never have to beg me for.”
One more smile, shy but determined. One more mischievous flare in her eyes. And then she lowers her mouth and her tongue darts out, swirling around the tip, and ohhh fuck...
Without warning, she takes me in deep—so fucking deep I can’t even see straight anymore. I bury my hands in her hair again, guiding her into a perfect rhythm as she sucks and licks, moaning against my flesh, unraveling me one desperate kiss at a time until I’m certain I won’t survive this. Won’t survive her.
She draws back, teasing the tip once more, then taking me in so fast she nearly gags, and…
“Fuck, yes. Right there… Right… fuuuck… Violet…” I clench my teeth and hold my breath and fucking shatter for her, spilling down her throat, shuddering against her lush mouth as she takes it all in, every fucking drop, and when she finally pulls back and gazes up at me one more time, her eyes dark with lust, her lips swollen, and demands that I take her upstairs—right fucking now—I know there’s no more denying it.
Ancient oaths be damned. I’m wholly at her mercy—the sweet, formidable, beautiful witch who has the Devil utterly bound.
First by magic, second by love.
And I’m quite certain it will be my downfall.