Page 3 of Astaroth
Luca set their hand on his tailbone and gave him a gentle push. “Go on.”
He stumbled, easing toward an extravagant table draped in crimson cloth. Pillar candles reached toward the chandelier high above, and flames danced in a stone fireplace, casting an orange glow across the cherrywood floor. The room was silent and still. Besides the crackling logs, Briar heard nothing but the sound ofhis own pulse. He steadied his breathing, paying mind to how quickly he inhaled, how loudly he exhaled, and lifted his chin.
At the head of the table, Astaroth sat with one foot propped on the edge of his chair, cradling a wine glass below parted lips.
Demon king,Briar thought, snared in Astaroth’s cool, thoughtful gaze,you are not what I expected.
Astaroth sipped his wine. His foot slipped and he kicked the chair beside him, pushing it carelessly. “Sit,” he said, inclining his chin toward the empty seat.
Briar approached the table as he would a coiled cobra. “Lord Astaroth—”
“Aster,” he corrected.
Briar recognized the familiar rasp.One million.Except here, with candlelight jilting across his strong jaw and straight nose, the Great Duke was not confined to darkness. Like this, Briar’s buyer became fiercely handsome and deceptively youthful. He wore his hair short, buzzed close to his scalp, and was dressed simply, swathed in black from head to toe. A pink scar marred his chin, but otherwise, his olive complexion was free of imperfections. Even his hands, knuckles topped with bronze bands and a copper signet ring, appeared smooth and hairless. Long, dark lashes flicked as he studied Briar’s face.
“You’re Briar,” Aster said, as if a question lingered somewhere after his name.
“You bought me, you should know,” Briar said. Panic shot through his stomach.Apologize. He set his teeth, squared his shoulders, and waited, testing the space between them. A Duke of Hell could demand respect—earned or not. He anticipated the back of Aster’s hand to grace his cheek, but the blow never came.
Instead, Aster laughed in his throat. Cutely, almost. Like a muffled hiccup. “I did, didn’t I?” He set his glass on the table and reached for the decanter, carefully pouring thick, violetwine into Briar’s empty goblet. “So, tell me, what could possibly convince a dedicated War Angel to mend the enemy?”
Briar’s mouth tightened. He dug his thumbnail into his palm. “It’s complicated. A moral duty, if you will.”
“You had amoral dutyto the lesser-demon occupying the body of a young girl?” Aster rested his elbow on the table, trailing his pointer finger along the rim of his wine glass. “Interesting.”
“They had a pact. Neither could survive without the other. No harm had been done, not by the demon, not by the girl. They were living peacefully.”
“Michael felt differently, I’m sure.”
“I’m a medic,” he said, exasperated, and swallowed the urge to snap. “War Angel or not, I was charged to heal the wounded, cure the sick and ensure survival. I did my job despite how Michael felt.”
“They killed her anyway?”
“Slaughtered her like a lamb,” he bit out.
“What a shame.”
“Yes,” he said, and cleared the emotion from his throat. “Yes, it was.”
Aster hummed, clanking his glass against Briar’s. “I can relate, you know.”
“I disobeyed my commanding officer. You instigated a civil war. I doubt we stand on common ground.”
“Technically, I disobeyed my commanding officer, too,” he said, offering a crooked smile. He pushed the glass toward Briar. “It’s bad luck not to drink after a toast.”
“What’re we toasting to?” He lifted the glass to his mouth, resting the rim on his bottom lip.
“I intended to say mutual disregard for authority, but I’ll choose something else. Courtship. How’s that?”
“Who’s courting who, Great Duke?” Briar asked, weighing heavy on the click at the end ofduke. Pomegranate bloomed on his tongue, spiced with cardamom and cloves. When he lowered the glass, Aster pushed against the stem, guiding it back to his mouth. Briar took another long pull, gaze steady on the demon seated before him. Aster’s eyes scaled his throat as he swallowed.
“Well, I certainly can’t court you if I own you,” he mumbled. His thumb found a red droplet lingering at the corner of Briar’s mouth. “I could have you, though.”
Briar blushed terribly. “And if I’m not a thing to be had?”
Another soft, surprised laugh. Aster brought his wine-stained thumb to his lips and sucked it clean. “Then I’ll convince you.”
“Pardon. . . ?”
