Page 3

"Excellent." He claps me on the shoulder, an unusual familiarity that I barely resist flinching from. "Who knows? You might actually enjoy yourself."
"Doubtful," I mutter, already planning my strategic entrance and exit to minimize interaction.
"The celebration begins at dusk," he continues, ignoring my obvious reluctance. "Wear something that doesn't have blood on it."
I glance down at my immaculate black leather outfit. "I never get blood on my clothes."
"A true professional." His eyes crinkle with amusement. "Until tonight, then."
As I turn to leave, I can't help wondering what my mother would think of this development. She'd be thrilled at the networking opportunity, no doubt already calculating which high-ranking demonesses might be in attendance. She's not here, but that doesn't mean I won't have to field some prospects.
Gods, I need a drink.
2
VAEL
The palatial guest chamber assigned to me outshines most royal quarters back on Ikoth—all gleaming obsidian surfaces and plush crimson furnishings. Typical of Asmodeus to showcase his wealth through such ostentatious display. I toss my weapons bag onto the oversized bed, the mattress barely yielding under its weight.
"Ridiculous," I mutter, running a hand over the silken coverlet. "Who needs this many pillows?"
A copper bathing pool, steaming and fragrant with oils I don't recognize, dominates the far corner of the room. After a moment's hesitation, I strip and sink into the hot water, letting it ease the tension from muscles always primed for combat. The warmth penetrates deep, reminding me how long it's been since I've allowed myself simple comforts.
My fingers trace the prominent scars decorating my ash-gray skin—each one a lesson, a memory, a job completed. The largest, a jagged line running from my collarbone to my sternum, throbs slightly at the touch. A gift from an Unseelie fae who nearly ended my career before it properly began.
"That one taught you to watch your blind spots," I remind myself, the words echoing in the cavernous bathroom.
After scrubbing away the grime of Ti'lith's streets, I examine the clothing options laid out for me. Someone—presumably on Asmodeus's orders—has provided formal attire: midnight-black pants tailored to accommodate a demon's powerful build, a deep crimson tunic embroidered with subtle gold thread, and a fitted black jacket with sharp shoulders that emphasize my height and build.
I dress methodically, movements economical. The outfit fits perfectly, which means Asmodeus has been planning this longer than he let on. Typical royal manipulation.
As I secure my smallest blade in a concealed sheath at my lower back, I catch my reflection in the polished wall. Without the usual leather and visible weaponry, I look almost... respectable. My horns curl upward from my temples in elegant arcs—a sign of good breeding that my mother never tires of pointing out. My red-gold eyes appear more gold than red in this light, their vertical slits narrowing as I scrutinize myself.
"Remember," I tell my reflection, "observe, endure, exit. No entanglements."
The grand ballroom pulses with energy when I arrive. Demons of various ranks mingle beneath floating orbs of crimson light, creating an atmosphere both elegant and sinister. Music flows from an unseen source, a hypnotic blend of strings and percussion that sets my teeth on edge.
I skirt the perimeter, avoiding eye contact with several demons I recognize from previous jobs. A server passes with a tray of drinks, and I snag a goblet of Amerinth—its purple depths promising sweet oblivion if consumed in sufficient quantity. The first sip burns deliciously down my throat, releasing its characteristic fire in my chest.
"Vaelrix! I didn't expect to see you here."
I suppress a groan as Thaxilius approaches, a minor noble whose cousin I once tracked across three continents for skimming funds from King Vag'thimon's treasury.
"Thax," I acknowledge with a nod, taking another deliberate sip of my drink.
"Still the life of the party, I see." He chuckles, unfazed by my coldness. "Heard you bagged Nev'rozik. Clean job?"
"Always is."
"That's why you're the best." He raises his own goblet in salute. "My cousin still walks with a limp, by the way. Says the weather in his left knee predicts storms now."
I shrug, unapologetic. "He's lucky to have knees at all."
Thaxilius laughs too loudly, drawing attention I don't want. I use the moment to scan the room more thoroughly, noting the presence of humans among the demon guests. Unlike on Aerasak, where humans at least maintain some semblance of freedom, these women are clearly possessions—adorned with jeweled collars and chains that connect to the wrists of their demon masters. Their eyes remain downcast, movements restricted to serving or entertaining.
"Not your style?" Thaxilius follows my gaze to a particularly young human being paraded past us.
"I have no interest in creatures that can't defend themselves," I reply, draining my goblet and immediately replacing it with another from a passing tray.