Chapter 8 #2
“Shit, are you okay?” Clara rushes toward me, her hands hovering over my skin.
Her shoulder brushes my wing and I jolt.
Dimitri won't stop expounding on how much he loves when someone touches his wings.
I am nothing like him. He uses that knowledge against me more often than I'd like.
Clara touching me is nothing like him. What does it say about me that a mere skim of her flesh against my wings has my cock hardening?
The shadows that make up my wings may be rooted in magic, but they're not as sensitive as my actual skin.
I'm sure if they were actual wings, I'd be bending her over the couch and having my way with her.
“I'm fine,” I grunt. “I'm practically made of fire, Clara.” Her name rolls off my tongue with ease.
“Guess they wouldn't be able to burn you at the stake, huh?”
“Was that a joke, little witch?”
She snorts, settling across from me on the floor. “Did you laugh?”
“Touché. You know, there were witches burned at the stake. Just not by humans.”
“Excuse me?”
I shrug, not really wanting to give her a history lesson about her own people. I pick up one of the many tools she was using. Why she'd need a hammer when these are all screws is beyond me.
Clara huffs and rips it from my hands. “Explain.”
“Some witches got out of control. Their heads got a little too far up their asses, and they started dabbling in some shit they shouldn't have.”
She purses her lips, narrowing her eyes. “So, demons…burned them?”
I shrug again, wishing I would have kept my damn mouth shut. “It was necessary.”
“How the hell is that necessary?”
“Clara, not all witches are like you or the witches you grew up with. They were rotten to the core and infecting others. Remember that mind control spell? That's where they began and it only got worse from there.”
Deep grooves appear between her eyes. It's hard to fully explain the extent of their corruption, especially to someone like Clara.
I don't know a lot about where she grew up, but I know a little. Dimitri was kind enough to find out more about her and keeps slipping me tidbits of information. I’d be pissed, except he needs a side quest to occupy his time.
If he keeps calling her my witchy girlfriend, though, I might stab him.
“You can give up on the desk. I'll deal with it tomorrow,” she murmurs.
I don't want to go back. It's more than just the meeting and the paperwork.
I was content for several decades. Even recently, I didn't need more than what I was doing.
Training demons as they move up the ranks, traveling to different dimensions of Hell, and even running errands—it filled my time at the very least. Lately, I'm struggling.
I'd rather spend my time here putting together a desk and pretending it has nothing to do with the witch sitting across from me.
“Why do you need a desk?” I ask, fitting another screw in a hole that's much too big.
“I sell plants. It comes with its own paperwork, and my back hurts when I work on it in bed or on the couch.”
“You have a business?”
“Yes…why?” Her lip slips between her teeth, and I have the irrational urge to bite the plump flesh.
I shake my head, wishing I would have kept my damn shirt on. “No reason. Just wondering.”
A jingle rings through the space and I glance around.
She jumps up and strides from the room. I have no idea where the music came from or what she's doing.
Instead, I focus on the parts in front of me.
It's the only way I'll be able to ignore whatever's happening between us.
None of this makes any fucking sense—with Clara or with the desk.
I pick up one piece of wood after another and throw it down again.
It doesn't matter how I fit them together, none of it works.
My frustration grows with each second until smoke rises from my skin.
“Fuck this,” I mutter.
I snap my fingers and the pieces fly into place. It's so quick, I can barely follow them fitting together. Shadows swirl around the desk and I smirk. None of the screws were used, but that shouldn't matter.
“You're telling me you could do that this whole fucking time? You asshole,” Clara cries from the doorway.
She stomps toward the desk and runs her hand along the top. She brushes a finger along the burn mark I left behind. If she complains about it after I saved her all that time and frustration, I might lose it on her. Then again, bantering with her has been…fun. Exhilarating even.
She huffs, pulling me from my thoughts, and she drops onto the couch.
I didn't even notice the basket full of clothes.
As she starts folding them, I wonder if this is her polite dismissal.
I don't know how long it's been in Hell, but I doubt the meeting is over.
And the paperwork will still be waiting.
“Thank you for putting the desk together.” She unfurls a towel and hides behind it. “Am I annoying you?”
“What? Why would I be annoyed?”
She sighs as she drops the fabric and levels me with a stare. “Because I keep summoning you and making you do all these tasks for me. Seems to me as a demon, you'd have better things to do. Plus, all I've ever done for you is make you fries. And those weren't even for you.”
I lean back on my hands. “You're not annoying, Clara. Now, tell me about this vacation.”