Page 12 of Demon's Mate
ASH
“An art gallery?”Ash stared at the pristine, modern building Dante had taken him to in the Arts District. Since when had Onyx been interested in art?
Dante didn’t seem phased, but then he’d known about this place for more than a minute. “It’s become one of the most prestigious in the city.” If Ash didn’t know better, Dante sounded impressed.
Dante opened the door, and Ash followed him into Gallery Four.
The front room was cavernous, with the ceiling extending past the lofted second story. A small plinth sat in the center of the foyer, holding an abstract sculpture. Two large paintings hung on opposing walls, with a sleek reception desk situated behind, sectioning off more gallery space at the back of the building.
Onyx was not at the desk.
“May I help you, gentlemen?” asked a rather short man with perfectly done silver hair.
Ash stepped forward. “We’re looking for Onyx.”
“Onyx?” The man stiffened. “And who, may I ask, is inquiring?”
Ash gave Dante a sidelong look. He’d better deal with this. Ash didn’t have the patience. He could blame it on living out in the woods alone for too long, but waiting over two millennia for his mate had worn his patience away.
Dante approached the silver-haired man and began reminiscing about an opening Onyx had apparently organized several years ago that had debuted a now-famous artist. It was like Ash had stepped into another world.
At least Onyx was channeling his energy into something productive and seemingly legal this time.
After a few moments, the gallery curator departed up the stairs, presumably to find Onyx, though not before he wrinkled his nose at Ash’s touristy shearwater shirt. He came back down minutes later.
“You may go up,” he said to Dante.
“Thank you,” Dante replied graciously. Ash climbed the stairs without acknowledging the man.
At the top, Onyx leaned against an open doorway at the back of the equally cavernous second story. He was smaller than Ash or Dante in height and weight and looked alarmingly human.
Onyx wore jeans and a T-shirt, but unlike Ash, his looked expensive and painfully fashionable. Onyx’s pale skin glowed like he’d fed recently, and he’d dyed his hair to match the deep blue of his eyes and wings. Not that his wings were on display, of course.
“Ash and Dante,” Onyx cooed in a sing-song voice. “What have you come to hassle me about this time?”
Ash bristled. “We don’t hassle you.”
Onyx raised a brow.
Okay, fine, but the hassling was always warranted. “Have you done something we should know about?” Ash braced for the answer.
“Of course not,” Onyx purred.
Ash didn’t believe him. He was nothing but trouble. However, that wasn’t why they were here. “Do you have somewhere we can talk? That man from downstairs is probably listening in.”
“Follow me.” Onyx turned down the hall he’d been blocking and led them to a room at the back. “Would you like something to drink? Ash, it might help with your crankiness.”
Dante unsuccessfully stifled a snort.
Ash glared at him. “I’m fine. I eat regularly.”
Demons had to drink blood to maintain their immortality in the Human Realm, another hitch in Lucifer’s plan no one had known about ahead of time. Ash didn’t cast illusions to feed on innocent, unsuspecting humans, and he often couldn’t be bothered finding a willing member of the magic community to source blood from, so he was constantly pushing how long he could go without feeding. But he wasn’t telling Onyx that.
Onyx opened a small fridge hidden in the wood paneling of an ornate bookcase on the side of the room. “Really, Ash, let me pour you a glass. It’s bagged.”
“Stolen then.” Ash wasn’t surprised.
“No, we buy it,” Dante cut in. “Or at least I do.”
