The Demon’s Queen (A Deal With A Demon)

Once, Pope took the lot of us to some kind of harvest festival, and we had one hell of a good time with the spiked cider and apple picking. This is a lot like that . . . and also not.

It seems like the entire village has come out in celebration. There’s a four-person band striking up a tune. The food smells amazing. Children dart through the gathered people, giggling and shouting with glee. Teenagers make eyes at one another from their respective friend groups. This isn’t a party with an eye for tourists; this is for this community, a social event that it seems like everyone pitched in to make happen. Now they get to enjoy the fruits of their labor.

“Eve.”

Two couples begin to dance. Then three. Then four. The people gathered quickly move back to create an open space for them to spin one another around. My heart lurches at the joy on the dancers’ faces.

“Eve.”

I can’t quite tear my gaze away. Not even for Azazel. “What?”

“Would you like to dance?”

I know what I should say, but I can’t quite dredge up the anger that’s been brimming beneath my skin since the moment I woke up in this realm and realized what he’d done. It’s not that I forgive him—I don’t know what it will take to get there, or if it’s even possible. It’s more that I’m starting to fully understand the kind of man Azazel is . . . to recognize in him the client I shared meals and conversations with over the years. The stories he told me may have been edited, but they seem to hold a core truth.

Or maybe it’s the call of the fiddle-like instrument one of the band members is playing, insistent and tempting. I don’t know, but I set my hand in Azazel’s and let him pull me onto the impromptu dance floor. I’m not short, but he’s massive, and it feels a little absurd as he carefully places one hand on my waist.

Staring up at his roughly handsome face has my heart doing unforgivable things. I shiver at the naked need in his eyes as he leads me around the circle, picking up speed once I get the rhythm down. There don’t seem to be specific steps, but we dance and dance until I’m dizzy and the whole world narrows to the man tethering me with a perfectly polite touch.

I can’t stop myself from laughing in giddiness. It’s worth it, because Azazel loses some of his intensity and grins down at me, relaxing for the first time in . . . I don’t know. Ever, maybe?

“Ready for a spin?” He doesn’t wait for me to reply before he changes his grip on my hand and sends me whirling before him. He catches my hip again, continuing to move with my momentum, as someone cheers in the background—Alice, I think.

As I’m dancing with Azazel, it’s so easy to forget all the bad things that have happened. At least for a little while. The song changes and changes again, and neither of us flags or suggests a break. My breathing comes hard, sweat gathers along my spine, and my muscles ache from more use than I’ve given them since arriving here.

Except for the sex.

There’s no use thinking about that right now. Not when every nerve ending feels alive and brimming with lightning. Not when Azazel’s big hand is on my waist, his heart in his onyx eyes.

The music shifts. I glance over to find the drummer and the one playing a guitar-like instrument sitting back, sweat sheening their foreheads. They laugh and accept frothing mugs of beer, obviously ready to take a break. The fiddler turns the tune to something soft and achingly sweet.

We slow alongside the other dancers. Azazel clears his throat. “We can rest if you like.”

“Not a chance.” I laugh breathlessly. “I love to dance.”

“I’m beginning to see the attraction.” His fingers flex against my hip. “Eve⁠—”

It’s clear he’s about to apologize again. I shake my head. “We don’t have to talk about it again. I may not like what you did, but I’m beginning to understand why.” I glance around. Everyone is so fucking happy. “What happens to orphans in this realm?” The question pops out before I have a chance to change my mind.

Azazel tenses slightly before seeming to make an attempt to relax into the gentle sway of our slow dance. “It’s different in every territory, and even in mine, it varies. In most cases, a child would go to the nearest family member.”

My throat feels thick. It’s so silly. I’ve had a lifetime of therapy to work through the loss of my parents. I may have ended up in foster care, but I was one of the lucky ones. Though my first few sets of foster parents passed me on when they got what they really wanted—a baby—my final set weren’t all that bad. Overstretched and drowning, they did their best with what they had. They never hurt their kids. The bare minimum, but better than some of the stories I’ve heard over the years. Getting handed a check and a backpack when I graduated hurt—a lot—but so many people have had it worse.

I don’t know what Azazel reads in my expression. He does me a kindness and continues. “In villages like this, if there’s no family, everyone comes together and decides who is best prepared to take the child—or children. Then the village does what it can to supplement things so that isn’t a burden on the primary caregiver.”

“Is this one of the other things you supplement?”

He glances down. “Yes.”

Of course it is. Because Azazel cares about his people and uses his power to help them on multiple levels. “What about the city?”

“We have specific families and programs that help them.” He meets my gaze steadily. “On its surface, it’s not dissimilar to the foster care system in your world, but those families are all supported—and monitored—on multiple levels. In the villages, everyone will intervene if something goes awry. In the city, it’s more formal. I won’t pretend that every family is perfect or that there haven’t been bad things that happened, but we work hard to ensure the children are protected.”

The awful feeling in my throat gets worse. “That sounds like it’s too good to be true.”

“It’s not a perfect system. In a perfect system, there would be no need for foster families.” He clears his throat. “But there are fewer children who are in need of parents or guardians now than there were when we were constantly at war.”

Damn him. I swallow hard. “You’re making it really hard to hate you.”

He smiles wanly. “I’m sorry.” Azazel turns us and moves away from the dancing, though he keeps a hold on my hand. “Let’s get you something to eat and drink.”

The moment we reach the table, he’s mobbed. I nibble on a cake that manages to be both savory and sweet and watch the old folk pass Azazel around. He submits to their questions about when he’ll get married and have children with faint laughter and an easy diversion that says he’s been through this song and dance plenty of times before. He even kisses a damn baby at one point, holding them easily in his massive hands. I refuse to acknowledge the lurch in my stomach at the sight.

He may not be fully comfortable in this setting, receiving this attention, but he’s quite good at it. And they all clearly love him. Why wouldn’t they? The changes he’s enacted have positively benefited their lives, families, and communities.

It doesn’t excuse the danger he’s put me in . . . but I’m having a hard time holding on to my anger. This is so much bigger than me. Yes, I wouldn’t be in this mess if he hadn’t spent the last few years as one of my best clients, but . . . It’s not as if I didn’t enjoy the time with him. It’s not as if I didn’t encourage him to keep booking me, to keep choosing me above the other professionals, even though I knew we were in danger of crossing several of my lines. If I’d told him to leave me alone, he would have.

But I didn’t want him to go.

Alice plops down next to me, an easy grin on her face. “You know, I thought it was one-sided, but you’re gone for him too, aren’t you?” She ignores my shocked expression and keeps chatting in that deceptively casual tone. “Don’t bother to deny it. You’re sitting here watching him like you’re seeing the next fifty, seventy, hundred years stretch out before you and you don’t hate the idea of it.”

I blink. “I’m thirty-five. There’s no way I’ll live another hundred years.”

“You will if you stay here. It has something to do with the magic infused in every bit of our realm. It makes people live longer. And yes, it does apply to humans. Not everyone who makes a deal goes home at the end of their seven years.”

Seven years. Not a lifetime.

My anger tries to bloom again, but it sputters and sparks, not gaining momentum. I’m so damn tired of fighting. I don’t know what that means for my future, but Azazel isn’t a monster. He’s a man who’s made mistakes.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I finally say.

Alice takes a long drink of her beer. “He’s getting close to his limit. I’ll distract them, and you get him out of here.”

I glance at her in surprise. She’s been boisterous and irreverent this whole time, but I should have realized there’s a keen and caring mind under all that attitude. “I can do that.”

“Good girl.” Alice bounces to her feet and moves toward the band. A new song begins, and she lifts her mug over her head. “To Azazel!”

“To Azazel!” the crowd cheers. They flock to Alice, cheering and dancing.

The man himself appears at my side a moment later, looking a little hunted. “How are you holding up?”

“Come on.” I take his hand. “Let’s get out of here.” Within seconds, we’ve slipped away. The sounds of celebration follow us into the trees and then finally fade to silence as we keep walking, putting distance between us and the village.

It’s only when we’ve been accompanied by what I assume are the normal night sounds of the trees—it’s not as if I have much experience with nature—that Azazel slows his stride and squeezes my hand. “Sorry about that. I didn’t expect a full event. I should have, knowing Alice.”

“It was fun.”

He pauses and gives me a look. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I know.” I find myself squeezing his hand back. “But it’s the truth. You dance well.”

“So do you.”

This is awkward but not in a painful way. Almost like we’re just meeting, just feeling each other out. It’s strange, especially considering I know what he sounds like when he comes.

Azazel loosens his grip like he might drop my hand, but I give him another squeeze and lace my fingers through his. “They love you.”

“They don’t know me.” He shrugs. “Well, Alice does, but she’s family. It’s not the same.”

My heart twinges, but I’m too content for it to be more than a passing ache. “I wouldn’t know.”

He gives me a sharp look. “Family isn’t only blood. Pope knows you better than anyone.”

My body flushes hot and then cold. “I’m aware.” I swallow hard. I’ve been very pointedly not thinking about Pope too often, but they slip into my thoughts more and more as time goes on. “I miss them.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t look at me. “After I deal with Brosh, I’ll take you home. It never should have gotten this out of control. I never should have panicked. The thought of you being hurt . . .” Azazel gives himself a shake and drops my hand. “I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was only reacting.”

I could call him a liar, could ask him how long it took him to write up that contract and if that counted as solely reacting. I don’t. It would hurt for the sake of hurting, and this moment feels as fragile as a soap bubble. “Azazel?”

“Yes?”

There are so many things I could say right now. The possibilities choke me. Today has shown me a different side of Azazel, but one that’s so intimately familiar, reminding me I’ve known him for years. In the back of my mind, I’ve spent this entire time trying to reconcile the man I thought I knew and the monster who tricked and then kidnapped me. Today gave me both. They’re the same. Facets of a single gem, priceless beyond measure.

I inhale deeply and stop. Azazel takes a few more steps before he realizes I’m not keeping pace. He turns to face me. “Eve?”

I close the distance between us slowly. “I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive you.”

His expression goes tormented even as his gaze heats. “I know.”

“But I’m . . .” I take another deep breath and press my hands to his chest. This feels scarier than anything I’ve experienced thus far, and that includes the attack the other day. “No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop myself from caring.”

“Eve,” he breathes. “You don’t have to.”

But I’ve started and now I can’t stop. “I don’t know what it means for the future or for us or for anything, but I’m so damn tired of fighting. I just want . . .”

He waits. It seems like he barely breathes, like he’d stand right here and be content to listen to me falter my way through this for years.

“I just want you,” I finish in a whisper.

Finally—finally—Azazel moves. He catches my hips and pulls me flush with his body. “Stay with me tonight?”

There’s only one answer. There’s only ever been one answer. “Yes.”

I don’t know how we get back to the castle. It feels like a fever dream of kisses and stumbling steps and questing hands that never quite reach where we need them. Between one step and the next, the forest fades away to be replaced by stone walls and then a familiar scent.

The castle took us to my garden.

Azazel strokes a hand down my spine and looks around. “We could⁠—”

“I don’t want to wait any more.” I shove at his shirt. “Please, Azazel.”

He lifts his arms, but he has to lower the rest of his body so I can get the tunic over his head. I toss it to the ground and go for his pants. He catches my wrists. “Eve⁠—”

“If I don’t get your cock in my mouth right now, I’m going to lose it.”

He blinks. For a moment, I think he might argue, but he finally releases my wrists. “You don’t have to.”

“I’m aware.” I slide his pants down his hips, freeing his thick cock. I love oral sex, both giving and receiving, and there’s been a distinct lack of the former in my life. “Now be a good Daddy and try not to come too fast and ruin my fun.”