Page 2 of Deviled Eggs (One Handed Holidays: Crossed Swords Edition #4)

Xalreth

I will not murder The Lucifer…

I will not MURDER The Lucifer…

Have you ever hated someone so much that you had a wet dream about their untimely demise? God, what I wouldn’t give to snap the leg off one of these chairs and stab him through the heart. Might not kill him, but fuck if it wouldn’t be a good time.

My teeth grind until they ache as I stare at the back of Drekoth’s perfectly coifed head. Twenty inches of silky black hair fall in a curtain down his shoulders, not a single strand out of place. Exactly twenty inches.

And how, precisely, do I know it’s exactly twenty inches long? That answer is actually quite simple. I know how long it is because every God-forsaken morning, he forces me to measure it and trim the edges. Then I have to measure it again, just to be on the safe side.

Why?

Because he must be ‘perfect for his adoring fans,’ which somehow means they might realize if his precious locks are a centimeter too long. He is convinced—and these are his words, definitely not mine—that if it isn’t perfect, it distracts from his ‘dreamy orange eyes.’

Gag me with a spoon.

The real reason is because he is a royal pain in my ass.

“Speak plainly, Micah,” Drekoth sniffs, fluttering his hand in front of his mouth to stifle a yawn. “There are those of us in the room that might not pick up on your hidden meanings from all this melodramatic droning.”

Attempting to center myself with a deep breath, my gaze finds Damien’s. He rolls his eyes, nodding his head towards Drekoth before miming a jerk-off motion in the air. My temper subsides and I roll my eyes in agreement, and his smile softens into something he doesn’t show many people.

Behind his sassy exterior, he’s a good guy, and I miss my old friend.

It’s a reminder of the days when my position filled me with pride. When I felt like I was making a difference in this life, even if it was a bit unorthodox. When Damien was The Lucifer, we were tackling social issues and finding ways to improve life in Hell. And, sure, not all of his schemes worked out as expected. I’m pretty sure that curse cloud is still roaming the east side, but rumor suggests it’s weakening. Regardless, Damien cared deeply about demonkind as a whole, even if he hid it behind all that sass.

Drekoth is another story. Hell, he’s a whole other book, written in a language no one else can read. He’s perfectly happy letting things continue in the status quo, and is only concerned with himself.

And his big-ticket items?

Turning me into a glorified hairdresser and hook-up coordinator.

That's not a euphemism for anything other than exactly what it sounds like. As an incubus, Drekoth requires sexual energy to keep his stores filled. I would never fault or judge him for that.

No, what I fault him for is making me organize his buffet. Every Saturday night, I have to stand in Hellraiser’s Tavern with a fucking clipboard labelled ‘Drekoth’s Naughty Nation Sign-Up Station’ and schedule his hook-up appointments for the week. Not only do I make a fool of myself as I plan my boss’s sex life in a little black book, but I’m expected to answer questions about his performance as well.

“How long does he last?” Pop some popcorn. It’ll be ready by the time you leave.

“How big is his cock?” Obscenely large and yet, he somehow still cannot find the G spot or the prostate. Honestly, that takes skill.

“Is he a dirty talker?” If you like weird baby talk, incoherent babbling, and a tendency to shout his own name as he climaxes, then yes.

“What’s his signature move?” There’s this thing he does, where he moves his hips as fast as he can. Inhumanly fast. I call it ‘the jackhammer,’ and it’s possible you’ll get traumatic brain injury once he’s done. If you’re lucky, it’ll help you forget this mess ever happened.

Micah brings me back to the present when he emits a low, menacing growl from his fancy little podium, and when I glance up, I’m startled by the intensity of his lilac eyes. An ethereal light shines from inside them, like miniature lightning strikes dancing in their depths.

“Apologies, Drekoth. I forget your mind doesn’t work as quickly as the rest of us in this room.” I snort a laugh as he arches a perfectly sculpted brow. His eye twitches ever so slightly, and you know this bitch is about to blow. The Archangel has a famous temper, and everyone knows it doesn’t take much to make him explode. A vein throbs in his neck, thudding against the smooth porcelain skin.

The edge of my tongue drags across the pointed tips of my teeth, wondering what that vein would feel like fluttering under my lips. I bet I could bite him and smell his fear.

Bet I could make it thump even faster.

Ugh , what the fuck? Too long coordinating someone else’s sex life has turned my own into nothing more than a fossilized memory, and now I’m sitting here fantasizing over one of the most annoying men in existence. Micah is almost as much of a pompous asshole as Drekoth, though he is easier on the eyes.

Micah is… hmm, how to explain him.

He’s like a seven-foot-tall sparkly stick up your ass, only prettier. High cheekbones, hot body, and shimmering white hair that flows down his back. Hair that would look really fucking nice wrapped around my hand while I mounted him from behind.

And dear sweet baby Jesus in a manger, you know that ass is tight.

My gaze drags over the defined lines of his face, stopping to stare at the pout of his lips as he fights a sneer. A quick, nearly imperceptible flicker of his eyes shows he’s aware of my attention, but they snap back to Drekoth in an instant.

The archangel tosses his shoulders back and stares down his nose, seeming to grow even larger. It’s rare I run into someone bigger than me, but Micah towers over me by a good six inches. His shirt fights against his bulging chest muscles, and holy fuck, I should not be getting hard at this.

Fucking Christ on a cracker, now I’m having to shift my hands to conceal the half-chub that’s demanding attention. I curse under my breath that there are no empty seats as I push on my dick, silently telling it to calm the fuck down.

“Would you like to run the show, Drekoth?” Micah asks, his voice turning deeper as he challenges The Lucifer.

“At least he’d make it quick,” I mutter. “Probably a minute or less, if I had to wager.” Damien snorts again as I realize the room is silent, and now everyone is staring at me.

Well, everyone except Drekoth, whose cheeks burn a deep blue as he fumes at the table. Something tells me I’m going to regret that later.

After the world’s longest silence, Micah finally continues. “The humans have already concocted this travesty of a mythical being, and without guidance, who knows what it could mutate into? It’s time we take control over the narrative. We need to make an official position for The Easter Bunny.”

“You’re joking.” Niklaus’s brows almost meet in the middle of his forehead.

“Does this look like my joking face?” Micah snaps.

“Oh, yes, that’s exactly what it looks like,” I say with a sarcastic smile. “Especially if your joking face is the same as your constipated face.” He glares at me until I drop my eyes to the ground, biting back a grin.

Micah’s hand flourishes as a series of images pop up behind him, projected by some unseen heavenly power. “These are depictions of The Easter Bunny, taken from a popular human news website called Reddit, which I hear is very reliable. As you can see, they are quite disturbing.”

A horrifying slideshow of enormous, grotesque rabbits flashes across the wall. Giant heads and unblinking eyes, painted faces and fake teeth, and fuzzy costumes that look more like pajamas with ears sewn on the hood. In every single image, screaming children sit on their laps and fight to escape.

“Dear God,” Azrael mutters, rightfully horrified.

“Indeed,” Micah says solemnly, displaying a picture of a child biting the head off a chocolate bunny. Brown smears cover his face as he stares through the camera, straight into our souls. The next image shows a different child, holding what appears to be a marshmallow baby chick. She pulls on it from either end, stretching the neck until it’s nothing but skinny strands that are barely hanging on. She beheads the thing like she’s a descendant of Henry VIII, all while smiling.

“That’s fucking brutal .” I can’t pull my eyes away from the tiny child’s malicious grin.

Micah nods again. “They call them ‘Peeps,’ and my research indicates they are named after the cries they make in the final moments before their death.” A collective shiver runs through the room.

A thought hits me, and I scrunch my face as I shake my head. “Why is a giant rabbit laying chicken eggs?”

“Not only is he laying them, but he’s leaving them in yards for children to collect.” For what might be the first time in history, Micah holds everyone’s attention. “None of this makes any sense, and it’s why we need to step in.”

“Okay, pretend for just a moment this isn’t absolute insanity… we all have jobs to do.” Niklaus hesitates when he glances at Cecil, but he doesn’t say anything. No one really knows what Father Time does, but he’s been around so long we’ve all learned to roll with it. “It sounds like you’re creating work for the hell of it. What exactly do you expect this position to do?”

“At the beginning, nothing.” Eyebrows around the table raise. “Understanding the humans’ creation must be the priority. It will take a lot of observation and research. Only once we understand what they expect from this creature will we be ready to proceed.”

“Ohhh…. kay….” I drawl as his purple eyes land on mine. “Easter Bunny project, step one is spywork. Wasn’t where I saw that going, but alright. Then what?”

“ Then ,” he huffs with another toss of that pearly white hair, “we wait until the humans have accepted The Easter Bunny as a fixture in their belief system. Then we can flip the script and use it to influence humanity. Just like The Santa encourages children to be good, and The Lucifer motivates moral behavior from adults.”

“You just pulled that out of your ass, didn’t you?” Micah’s lip lifts in the slightest snarl as he glares at me, drumming his fingers on the podium. “You called this meeting and dragged all of us here because you were bored and needed some attention.”

“Drekoth, get your dog under control,” he growls through clenched teeth.

“If anyone’s the dog, it’s you, angel boy.” A bolt of pure rage flashes in his eyes as he flexes his fists, and a thrill shoots up my spine as I smirk. My arms cross over my chest as I lean against the wall, never breaking our stare-off.

“Well, I, uh… I think you b-both have good points,” The Cupid says, and flinches when I glare at him. “We don’t have to decide everything regarding the position yet, because it will take years before the humans forget they made this up.”

“Yes, Azrael, that is correct.” Micah tilts his nose so high he’ll drown if it rains. “And it is not a year-round job. Whoever fills the role will primarily be needed between February to April, and the rest of their time will be their own.”

Although the Christmas season has passed, The Santa stays busy year-round getting ready for the upcoming holiday. The Cupid is in high demand with Valentine’s Day approaching, and The Tooth Fairy never rests. My eyes move to Cecil, who yawns and runs his fingers through his long gray beard. Still don’t know what that fucker does, but I’ll just leave him alone.

Sliding my tongue across my teeth again, I glance at Drekoth. There’s a compact mirror in his hand, and he purses his lips at his reflection as he fluffs his hair. I have a strong urge to chop that beloved hair off his head and shove it down his throat. Bind him in magical handcuffs and toss him into a forgotten corner of Hell until everyone forgets his name. Nothing would change, because he doesn’t do a damn thing anyway. It would just spare me from watching his incompetence.

Drekoth snaps his mirror closed with a sharp click, like he does a hundred times a day, and the sound severs the final strands of my sanity. It chops my common sense right in half as I realize I will do anything—absolutely fucking anything—to never hear that sound again.

“I’ll do it,” I hear myself saying, and once again, every eye turns to stare at me. Even Damien is speechless, which is a feat in and of itself.

“I’m sorry… I’m not sure I follow,” Micah says, tilting his head as he drags his fingers along the edges of his obnoxious gavel. It’s like he’s about to protest to something and wants to make sure he knows what he’s arguing against first. “You’ll do what ?”

Again, I glance around the circle, and the shock is still clear on everyone’s expression. Annoyance flares as I narrow my eyes, gesturing at their dumb, staring faces. “You need someone to fill the position, and I’m the only one present that doesn’t currently have restrictive obligations.”

“Who will trim my hair?” Drekoth wails in a whisper.

“How about I chop your head right off your fucking neck, and then neither of us has to worry about that?” I snap, and his blood orange eyes widen. I take a deep breath, shaking my head as I turn back to Micah.

“Yes, they might be busy, but you are…” The Archangel twists his face into a disgusted grimace and waves his hand, sweeping it up and down as he gestures at all of me. Just gestures at the entire thing with a sneer. “You are not special.”

“Oh, fuck you, Micah.” His nostrils flare as his temper rages, but I’ve never been one to back down. “Special? You think you’re fucking special? No one else is jumping out of their seats to help you with this asinine project.”

“How dare you speak to me that way?” The lights flicker overhead as his power glides over my skin, and I fight a shiver. What’s meant to be intimidating prickles over my skin, caressing my body as it drifts over my arms and torso.

I lean forward, flashing him my most sarcastic smirk. “Why don’t you move that little party trick lower? If you’re going to put the effort in, at least I can get a happy ending out of it.”

“Must you be so indecent?” Micah growls and his gaze drops to my crotch, where my traitorous cock has started to chub up again. A giant smile rips across my face as a blush tints his cheeks, but he quickly darts his eyes away.

Fuck, is he shy ?!

Why is that so fucking hot?

I bite back a groan and shift to cover the evidence of my current situation. “Yeah, it’s just part of the whole package, ya know?”

“No, demon , I don’t know, nor do I want to know anything about your… package.”

Goddamn, he’s pretty when he’s flustered. He’s blushing deeper now, sputtering on his words. “If you say so.” I lean against the doorframe with a grin as his eyes flash. “So, you don’t want me, then?”

“ Want you? This council does not want nor need your assistance, Xalreth.” His eyes narrow as they sweep the room. Half the occupants stare at the table and try to disappear into the woodwork, while the other half watches our argument with rapt attention. A bowl of popcorn appears in Damien’s lap when he snaps his fingers, a manic grin in place as he pops a piece into his mouth.

Pissed-off purple eyes meet mine as I push off the doorframe and take a step closer. “Doesn’t need me, huh? Yeah, I guess you’re right, with so many people fighting to come to your defense. All these volunteers fighting to accept a bullshit job you just invented.” There’s a mocking tone to my voice that makes his eyes flash even brighter, and they turn positively murderous when I begin to slow clap. “Great show of support. Is it everything you thought it would be?”

I watch the cogs in his head click into place as the realization hits him—I’m his best option.

Possibly his only one.

“Maybe I spoke in haste—” he starts, and it sounds like every word is being shoved out of his throat in his reluctance.

“Nah, I changed my mind. It sounded like a way to get a break from dipshit over here,” I say as I gesture toward Drekoth, “but if it means I have to interact with you anymore, I’ll pass.”

“You cannot pass ,” he argues, gripping his gavel again as though he can make some grand proclamation that forces me to do whatever he wants. “You already offered yourself for the position, and I consider those words binding.”

“What’s that? I can’t say no?” My brow raises as I flash him a threatening smile full of teeth. When he shakes his head, a quiet laugh rolls from my mouth. “Watch me.”

And with that, I turn and walk from the room.