Page 13 of Deviled Eggs (One Handed Holidays: Crossed Swords Edition #4)

Xalreth

The following week passes in a blur. Every free minute is filled with Micah, and the ease with which we’ve fallen into this comfortable companionship is terrifying. We have established that neither of us likes to cook, so most evenings we grab dinner together before we fall into bed.

It’s every fantasy I’ve ever had come to life, and they play like a reel through my mind. Ropes binding his hands and ankles behind his back as he knelt submissively. The quiet whines and louder moans that crawled from his throat as I hooked his knees and fucked him face to face. His powerful thighs flexing as he rode me on the couch when I allowed him to remove his cage, and the way his thick cock leaked against my abs until he couldn’t contain it anymore. One night, I even had him bent over his podium, with his pants around his ankles and my hand covering his mouth.

His eyes meet mine from behind that same podium, and he flashes me the tiniest hint of a grin. I have to shift in my seat as more of those memories play in my mind.

“Ugh,” Damien groans as he plops into the chair beside me. “We went decades without having a single meeting and now Micah insists on calling us here over and fucking over again. Is he that starved for attention?”

Something ugly and visceral contorts inside me, the urge to defend him twisting into a knot in my stomach. I force my expression to remain carefully blank, but inside, I’ve never felt so guilty. It feels like a betrayal to keep quiet, and an even bigger one to speak up and bring secrets to light that Micah isn’t ready to have exposed. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you didn’t want to see me.”

Damien makes a show of his irritation, huffing an obnoxious scoff and rolling his whiskey brown eyes up into his head. “All those times you accused me of being the drama queen, and who’s wearing the crown now?”

A soft chuckle forms in my throat as I bump him with my shoulder. “That’s a title no one will ever take from you.”

“Yes, well, you never used it when you announced me.”

“‘All hail The Lucifer, The Queen of Drama’ doesn’t quite have the same ring as the others.”

He tries not to grin and fails, scratching his face to cover his smile. “We had some good times, even if you’re too stubborn to admit it. No, of course I want to see you. It’s him that I have no desire to be around. I’d rather fight my way through a thousand pissed-off demons than have to sit through another meeting with that self-righteous Angel.”

Unbidden, my eyes fall to Micah as he prepares his notes, and the irritation that used to form at his presence is replaced by warm affection. In the past, I’d perceived him as pompous and arrogant, just as Damien does. A sanctimonious, smug man who did whatever he wanted and ignored any advice that didn’t align with his own inflated ego.

But now that I know him, that’s not what I see anymore.

Sure, I recognize the rigid set of his jaw, the unwavering gaze and refusal to bend. The stubbornness that still makes me want to shake sense into him daily. But they’re traits of a man who’s spent millennia with no choice other than to be in absolute control. One who lives by the rule of perfection’s impossible demands, without the freedom that comes from being allowed to fail. It’s a freedom the rest of us take for granted—the ability to fall, knowing we can pick ourselves up from the wreckage.

Not him.

He’s carrying the weight of responsibility that might crush a lesser being, and that’s what I see when I look at him now. Someone who tightrope walks every aspect of his life while he tries to balance the tasks he has no choice but to take. Someone ridiculed and hated, no matter those choices.

Someone who desperately craves love and affection, and is afraid that, too, means he is a failure.

Damien continues to speak, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “Hell, and you’ve been having to spend all this extra time with him. I bet that’s fucking torture, isn’t it?” He mimes stabbing himself under his fingernail, a huge grin splitting his face as if the action is hilarious.

And I suppose at one time, it would’ve been.

I give a noncommittal hum and open my mouth to change the subject, but of course, Damien isn’t done. “If I had to be in his presence that much, I’d throw myself off a fucking cliff. Actually, I’d still be able to hear his pompous ass voice the whole way down, so scratch that. Just give me an old-fashioned beheading, but do it guillotine style, so I don’t have to look at how he lifts his stupid nose into the air.”

“Damien,” I warn quietly as my temper prickles at the back of my neck.

“I mean, he acts like he’s perfect when he is the biggest moron I’ve ever met. How do you get to be that old and still make a fool of yourself every time you open your mouth? He has to know that no one likes his angelic ass.” The room has fallen silent, and when I glance up, Micah stares at the podium, his eyes vacant and jaw tense.

To everyone else, he probably appears to be disengaged and disinterested, but I’ve seen the depth that lies beneath his armor. Damien’s words reached him, but not only that, they hurt him. I recognize the pain on his face, and how he hates himself for allowing it to affect him.

“That’s enough,” I snap, and Damien’s smirk spreads.

“Oh, come on, Xalreth. That arrogant ass doesn’t give a damn about any opinion other than his own. Do you think he even has an entire brain in there? Maybe God was still experimenting when he created Micah and messed up on his head. I bet it’s like a fucking Picasso in there, all disjointed and abstract. It’s the only way to explain why he’s so awful—” Damien’s words are cut off mid-sentence as I wrap my fingers around his neck, my teeth bared in a snarl, and the sudden pressure makes his eyes bulge.

Chaos erupts as everyone else in the room shouts and snaps to attention. A heavy, tingling magic, like a thousand needles prickling my skin, surrounds me as Niklaus roars and leaps from his chair. But his powers are weakened outside his domain, and I’m able to fight through the pain. He thunders over, charging like a bull, but Damien holds a hand out to stop him.

“Xalreth, release him,” Micah says from the front of the room.

“Not until he apologizes.” Damien’s face is turning a deeper red as his eyes narrow and dart around my face. Only he could be in this position and maintain his bored indifference. He knows he isn’t in any real danger—not only is Damien older and more powerful than me, but he’s also one of my oldest friends.

“Xal, it’s fine—” Micah tries again, but I shake my head as I interrupt.

“No, it isn’t.”

“ Xal ? He’s calling you… Xal?! Oh… my… fucking… God … when did this happen?” Damien whispers, so low only I hear him, and I squeeze tighter as my snarl deepens.

“Xalreth, release him.” This time, Micah commands it, and his power pries my fingers back and forces my fist to loosen. Damien continues to stare as we both catch our breath. It’s as though he can read my truth like a book, the words pouring straight from my head. A strong hand squeezes around my biceps and I whirl to face Micah, his eyes careful.

“Come with me.” My gaze flickers back to Damien, and his lips are still curled into that sarcastic, irritating smirk. My temper explodes again, and I’m about to lash out when Micah yanks me back. “ Now .”

“Take a break and get your tempers under control,” he calls over his shoulder as he leads me out of the room like a chastised child. Not sparing a glance at them, he drags me into the space I’ve been using as an office over the past few weeks and slams the door behind us.

“What was that all about?” he hisses, shoving me against the wall and towering over me. He throws his shoulders back, his eyes crackling as his wings flare wide. They almost take up the entire room, twitching in his agitation. Instinct tells me to cower to him, to submit, but I know my angel won’t hurt me.

“He was insulting you!” I hiss back, and his lips pull into a tight frown.

“That doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.” His eyes soften as his posture relaxes.

“You can’t let them get to you like this,” he whispers, reaching up to brush his fingertips over my cheek. “I’m used to it.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be. They don’t even know you.”

“Neither did you, when this started.” My eyes narrow into a scowl as he chuckles, and the lightness of the sound eases a fraction of my stress. “While I appreciate you coming to my rescue, I’m afraid there’s no changing their behavior. People have hated me as long as I can remember. This is nothing new.”

“I don’t hate you,” I whisper, and those heavy lashes flutter as he leans in and brushes his lips over mine.

“I know you don’t, and that’s all that matters. But you shouldn’t pick fights with your friends over me. I’m not worth it.” He presses his mouth to mine right as my heart breaks, realizing he actually believes what he said. To him, those words are absolute truth.

“You are worth it,” I insist, and I interrupt his objection with a nip of my teeth, forcing his lips apart as I kiss him deeper. “Don’t listen to them, okay? Let me prove them wrong.”

He hesitates, and for a second, the thin veil that covers those emotions buried in the deepest, most secret parts of him slips. I see the scars he carries, the emotional weight of his isolated existence.

And I want to take it all away. Protect him from himself.

“I got something for you.” His eyes snap to mine, confusion mixing with his curiosity.

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why ? Has no one ever given you a gift simply because they were thinking about you?”

“No,” he whispers as the last bits of that veil that he clings to are ripped away. A storm of emotions pours out of him. His vulnerability is exposed to me in raw, heartbreaking detail.

“Oh, angel,” I whisper, pulling him in for another long kiss, his unsteady lips shaky against mine.

His sigh breezes over my mouth as he pushes our foreheads together. I reach into my pocket and pull out a square, flat hinged box and press it into his palm. “You asking me to marry you, demon?” he teases, a false bravado to his voice that I don’t call him out on.

“Don’t flatter yourself, angel.”

His lips rise in the slightest grin as he lifts the lid and stares at the delicate golden chains on a bed of white satin. “What is this?”

I take the box from his hands and pull the necklace from inside, undoing the clasp before looping it around his neck. Micah pushes his hair aside, letting me fasten the two sides. I sit back and grin, admiring my work as I trace the shape.

Golden chains weave in an inch-thick band that hugs his neck, and a thin ring hangs from the front. I loop my finger through it and yank him closer, amused at the shock on his face. “Told you I was going to collar you.”

“Won’t it break?”

“The links are Hell-forged, so they’re strong. I could hook you from the ceiling and they would hold.” My fingers continue to dance over the chains before lifting to stroke along his jaw. “They’ll hold forever.”

“It’s beautiful,” Micah says, eyes locked on mine.

“You deserve beautiful things.” He swallows, the bob of his Adam’s apple making the lights shimmer off the choker, and a small smile spreads over my lips. “I had something made for myself, too.” I pull a singular, skinny golden chain from my shirt, and he huffs a quiet laugh when he sees the key to his cage hanging from the end of it.

“Keeps you from misplacing it,” he teases.

I pull him in for another kiss before tucking it back into my shirt. “It keeps you close to me.” He offers me another shaky smile as I wrap my arms around his middle. “They’re going to come looking for us soon. We have to get back out there.”

“Yeah, okay,” he whispers, softly kissing me once more as he traces his fingers over the chains on his neck. He separates himself from me and smoothes his hair, flashing me another gentle smile before his mask slides into place. My heart cracks again as hard lines replace all that sweetness, and I follow him out, avoiding Damien’s eyes like the plague.