Page 5 of Astaroth
“You’re presumptuous.”
“Am I wrong?”
Aster gave Briar a slow once over. “No, you’re not. But whatever idea you have about me is likely wrong. I’m not interested in people who aren’t interested in me, and unlike a few of my brothers, I don’t have a taste for. . .” His lifted his chin, glancing to the floor then back to Briar. “Fear,” he decided. Hismouth curved into a smile. “But you’re still welcome to keep my bed warm.”
“If I want to?”
“If you want to.”
“Why does this feel like a trick?”
Aster snared the scroll with two fingers and pushed it toward him. “It’s not.”
The kitchen door swung open. Servants presented their dinner on gaudy, gilded dishware. Garlic scented the air, as did smoky wood and honeyed carrots. Dark meat, lightly charred and pink in the center, slid onto Briar’s plate first, followed by finely chopped shallots and a drizzle of sauce. Next, glazed carrots, roasted squash and a dollop of mashed potatoes. Briar’s empty stomach ached.
“Elk heart,” Aster said, gesturing to Briar’s plate. He pressed a thick napkin to the cut on his palm. “With. . . What was it, Clementine?”
The servant, Clementine, spooned potatoes onto his plate and smiled fondly. “Cherry wine reduction, sir.”
“See? This is why I don’t cook. I couldnever,” Aster said. He scooted closer to the table. “You’re not a vegetarian, are you? There was a box for that in your file, too.”
Briar stared at the perfectly assembled food. “No, I’ve just. . . I haven’t. . . It’sheart?”
“If we’re going to slaughter an animal, we might as well eat the entire thing.”
He poked the potatoes, then a blackened pepper, and decided, finally, to cut into the heart. At least, it didn’tlooklike heart. He brought a piece to his mouth. Chewed. Swallowed. It was gamey, but beautifully cooked, and truthfully, Briar was too hungry and confused to complain. Aster refilled both their glasses. They ate quietly. Briar tracked Aster’s eyes, coming and going while he forked carrots into his mouth and sipped his wine.
“I’d like to talk to your staff before I make a decision,” Briar said.
Maybe it was his full belly, or the snow drifting past the window, or the logs popping in the fireplace, but he knew he’d rather be confined to Astaroth’s estate than wandering the Colorado woods, wingless and alone. Even if Aster was, actually, a barbaric terror, Briar would endure the Great Duke’s company—in bed or out of it—if it meant staying warm. For a while, at least.
“Feel free,” Aster said.
Briar cleaned his plate. Two servers cleared their dishes, and Clementine, with her blonde curls and milk white skin, set a lavish cake in the center of the table.
“Spiced ginger cake with wine-poached pears and cinnamon caramel,” she said, radiating pride. She clasped her hands together and glanced at Aster. “I improvised with the buttercream. I hope you don’t mind.”
“You’ve made one of these for the house, right?” Aster said, appreciating the dessert with gentle leaning, left then right. He swiped his finger through the frosting.
Clementine swatted him playfully on the shoulder. “Yes, there’s plenty. Don’t be rude.”
“Good, go eat.” He sucked his finger clean and shooed her.
Briar, quite frankly, had no idea what to think. Clementine walked into the kitchen and Aster knifed the three-tiered cake, tipping a generous piece onto Briar’s dessert plate.
For years, he’d heard rumors of the first Fallen. The Kings and Great Dukes and Generals. Monstrous beasts who prioritized sin over all else. Lucifer’s legion reigning over Earth, creating chaos, thriving on havoc, manipulation, and pain. He had tended to wounds lesser-demons left behind and skewered ghouls on short-swords. He’d wrenched open jaws of the recently possessed, glimpsing the rot festering like lichen inside vacatedbodies. But he had never met one of the first, and Aster did not match what Briar had imagined.
“I hope you stay. I wouldn’t mind your company, and honestly, Luca was right, you’re quite beautiful,” Aster said, casually, as if it were a normal thing to say. “I’d like the chance to look at you more often.”
Once again, Briar blushed terribly. “I’d rather not be reduced to. . . to cheap decoration.”
“You weren’t cheap,” Aster assured.
Briar shoved a forkful of cake into his mouth. It was annoyingly delicious.
“Decoration isn’t brave. It isn’t smart, either. It’s there to be dusted and comfortable and ornate. If you honestly think I’ll be ogling you like a Creo cabinet, you’re sorely mistaken.”
“But youwillbe ogling me,” Briar said.
