7. Vesper
Vesper
It’s been exactly twelve hours since I summoned a Duke of Hell, and my kitchen already feels like a staging ground for an unholy sitcom.
I shift Bethie’s little toddler weight against my hip as I bustle into the kitchen. She’s in the peak of her ‘Boo from Monsters Inc.’ phase—semi-sturdy legs that just learned to toddle and a vocabulary that’s about fifty percent ‘no’, twenty-five percent “mamma”, and twenty-five percent ‘Ba or Va.’
The summer morning air filters through the open window. I love the scent: cedar, pine needles, and the jasmine I’ve spent months growing and nurturing.
Valefar follows me like a well-trained hellhound, then stands awkwardly near the counter like he’s afraid the laminate might bite him. He looks completely overwhelmed by the toaster, shock and suspicion crossing his features.
Despite the confusion, the morning light catches the edge of his black horns and the bronze shimmer of his chest. I track the way his muscles ripple beneath that shimmering, hellish skin, and something low and possessive twinges in my chest.
He’s mine. I feel it in my bones—a shocking, soul-deep ownership that’s only gotten stronger since we…well, since last night. As long as he continues to be a good big boy, I’m keeping him.
This is unreal. I’ve known him for one night. Part of me wonders if it’s some twisted devil magic. I remind myself it could also be all the fresh, raw endorphins. Not to mention his demon dick is the best I’ve ever had.
Regardless, I want him to stay. At least for the time being. I remind myself to be cautious. Don’t make any promises…to him or myself.
His tail, that wicked spade-tipped weapon, flicks out and brushes the edge of my thigh as I pass. I don’t mind. I love the way it feels—a constant, rhythmic reminder that he’s always mindful of me. But he surveys the kitchen items, brain practically bursting with questions.
I give him a crash course. Don’t turn on the stovetop. Unless you want to get burned. He tells me he can’t get burned by normal fire. That’s…interesting.
The coffee pot is a sacred object. He examined it like a treasure. The refrigerator and the pantry store food. He sniffed and read labels. The sink is the “wash basin.” I demonstrated by cleaning my hands. He followed my instructions.
The dishwasher? I’m not getting into that right now.
Finally, it’s time for a little test.
“Here, hold her for a minute while I get the food,” I say, stepping into his space and placing Bethie in his massive, claw-tipped arms.
Valefar’s jaw practically hits the floor. His eyes widen into golden dinner plates as Bethie gurgles and giggles, her little arms lifting instantly to reach for his horns. He’s frozen, a seven-foot statue of demonic panic, but he doesn’t drop her.
“Goat, goaaat!” Bethie squeals, her fingers wrapping around the ancient, obsidian bone.
“By my horns!” he exclaims.
“Hooorns,” she mimics.
I flash a quick, sharp smile as Valefar slowly, agonizingly lowers his head so my toddler can touch him. It’s surreal—the predator yielding to the tiny human—and it sends a fresh wave of heat through me. And all my tattoos.
I turn to the fridge, grabbing eggs and milk before snagging the bread and cinnamon from the pantry. I’m midway through cracking an egg when a startled, raspy shriek erupts from the demon’s throat.
“Lady Vesper! I believe the tiny beastie is trying to eat me!”
I spin around, laughing as I see Valefar holding Bethie out at arm’s length. My daughter has her mouth wide open, her wet, sloppy toddler lips having just tried to latch onto his bronze cheek.
“No, silly,” I say, waving a whisk at him. “She was just giving you a toddler kiss.”
Bethie giggles, reaching her arms out to do it again. Valefar just blinks, focus shifting between me and the small creature like he’s trying to decipher a particularly complex curse.
I’m convinced Bethie is the sweetest toddler in existence.
Everything is a wonder to her. Her tantrums are short-lived, instantly eased by a toy, a book, or a snack.
When I’m upset, she’s always there to give me a hug or cup my face.
And sometimes, when she looks at me? It’s like she is staring into my soul.
“Could you put her in that chair, please?” I gesture toward the highchair.
He obeys instantly. To my surprise, he handles the harness like a pro, clicking the plastic buckles together with ease. I suppose they have similar restraint devices in hell, though probably with more lava and fewer Cheerios.
“You can sit there.” I wave my spatula toward the chair at the corner of the table.
I hold my breath as he settles his massive weight on the vintage wood. I pray it doesn’t collapse, and my shoulders only drop in relief when the chair gives a warning crack but holds firm.
Valefar doesn’t notice. He’s eyeing a fallen teething ring and a rattle on the floor. With a flick of his gaze to the box of tissues, he reaches down, snatches the toy, and wipes them off thoroughly before handing them back to Bethie.
She rewards him by wagging the rattle, banging it on the tray with a thwack.
Valefar jerks back, his tail lashing. “Is she playing some foul tune for punishment of the ears?”
I tip my head back, a laugh bubbling out. “Something like that. If it comforts you, the feeling is mutual. But she makes up for the annoyances in a multitude of ways.”
He tilts his head, studying her, his shoulders still stiff, but his tail flicks and curls in a relaxed curiosity, not fear or aggression.
I focus on the stove, getting five slices of French toast done to a golden brown. I tear them into tiny pieces, add some mashed fruit, and carry the plate to Bethie’s tray. She immediately dives in, humming a happy, sticky tune.
As I watch her, I notice Valefar’s focus roaming over every inch of me. It’s a heavy, scorching weight that hums heat between my legs, making my nipples tighten under the slip. I can feel him tracking the line of my neck, then up to where my septum piercing catches the light.
I guess I should change. But…it’s another decent test to see how he controls himself after last night.
I turn to face him, leaning against the counter. “So, Big Guy. What do you eat?”
He clears his throat. “Mostly raw meat. Or whatever hellish rodents we can catch in the Pit.”
My chest pinches with remorse for his past, but hope springs right back up. I lean over and press a quick, lingering kiss to his cheek, right where Bethie tried to snack on him. A muscle in his jaw bounces.
I win with a saucy grin. “I’m about to rock your world, Vale.”
His brows lift. “I believe you accomplished that last night, Mistress.”
My cheeks redden, but I dart to the fridge, grab a full pack of bacon, and dump the entire thing into the frying pan with a glorious, sizzling hiss.
Just then, Bethie squeals, clapping her hand on the tray, playing more with her food now vs. eating.
“Vesper, I believe your tiny twin may be broken,” he observes, genuinely concerned. “Is there something I can do to help her put the food in her mouth?”
It’s hard not to laugh or smile or chuckle at everything he says. “She’s fine,” I assure him. “Seventy-five percent of toddler minds are full of playful curiosity and twenty-five percent are raging tantrums when things don’t go their way.”
I shuffle the bacon around, avoiding any hot, greasy sparks. Sure, some children are more prone to tantrums. But Bethie is so well-behaved. And I’m very grateful.
I cook the bacon to a crisp perfection, not overdone. Placing the entire hoard on his plate, I stray to the table and set it before him. He leans over and sniffs. No reaction yet. And then…
My demon lover selects a piece and slowly brings it to his mouth for a first taste, tongue sliding out. He freezes. My heart skips a beat. Blood practically thunders in my eardrums.
And then…
Everything in his expression melts. His adorable tail starts wagging, thumping on the floor like a giddy puppy.
I lean back against the counter, almost enthralled as he plunges strip after strip in his mouth, savoring each one.
It spreads more warmth through me because he doesn’t gorge.
Not that I would blame him. But something about how he eats.
Happy purrs rumble in his chest, resonating in his throat.
I grin when he licks the bowl, followed by his fingers before he suddenly turns to peer up at me, still sucking on his pinky.
After a few moments of silent stare-down, Valefar’s mouth spreads into a toothy grin.
“I’ll take that as a good sign,” I practically chirp with pride.
He tilts his head. “Did you know serving a demon food seals a mating bond?”
I freeze, all the blood leaving my face. “You’re kidding, right?”
He gives me a blank stare. Right. No kids in hell.
“Joking. You’re jesting me, right?”
The light dawns on his face. Then, he grins, showing all his sharpened demon teeth. “Yes, Lady Ves. I am jesting.”
Every tense muscle in my body relaxes. My breath heaves in relief. “I thought you couldn’t lie.”
“Lie, no.” He lifts a clawed finger. “Jest? Yes. And…it was more of a jesting question, not a proclamation.”
That’s a relief. Don’t need any of that nonsense.
He slowly rises. Oblivious to us, Bethie alternates between toying with her food and sticking her sticky fingers in her mouth.
Valefar approaches, his shadow towering over me. I smile as his tail wisps along my leg while he drinks in every inch of me. But I’m pleased when they settle on my face.
He swallows hard, then parts his lips to say, “Thank you, Vesper.”
Aww, his hand flexes, then his fingers curl toward me, yearning. I don’t hesitate to snatch up his hand and squeeze it, bringing it to my face, encouraging him to touch my cheek, which is beyond flushed. “You’re welcome, Valefar.”
He opens his mouth to say more when movement from the left catches his attention.
“Oh, there you are,” I say to our resident freeloader cat with the personality of a Husky drama queen.
Valefar moves. A gasp tears from my mouth at the same time that he crashes to his knees, stretches his arms out, and lowers his head to the floor, his whole body trembling.
Bethie gurgles, her hand reaching for the cat while I stare down at the demon and ask, “What in the world are you doing?”