Page 9 of The Misfit Mage and His Devilish Desires (Diabolic Romance #3)

Wally

After Bez and I finished—well, after I’d finished—Bez summoned Orias and the other demons to join us in the bathhouse. I sort of expected Bez to want or desire a little mutual satisfaction. But Bez beamed with delight, requiring nothing in this moment, satisfied entirely by my completion. Not that he was a selfish partner; it was just that our dynamic usually involved me serving Bez’s needs. I craved it, craved him, always.

Yet now I found myself stirring with new desires, new ideas, passions and wants and primal needs. Needs that sought to control Bez, use him, bring him the same subservient satisfaction he’d offered me since the first time we’d been together.

“Get out of your head, Walter.” Bez flunked my temples from either side with the points of his tails and reeled me from my thoughts.

I adjusted my tunic, covering myself as best I could since Bez had ripped the sides all the way to the top of my hips. My ears burned when the demon attendants gazed, only comforted by the eager delight in Bez’s crimson eyes while he kept his attention locked onto me.

Orias squeezed past the entourage of demons and shrank in size so he could fit inside the bathhouse.

“I have a Cerberus who does that,” I said, thoughts spinning into a hundred concerns for Weather.

While I definitely doted on him, chances were he already missed Bez. For whatever reason, the hostility Bez demonstrated appealed to all three personas of our Mythic beast.

“Fascinating. Size manipulation is a standard ability for Diabolics,” Orias replied. “I didn’t realize other creatures possessed the skill.”

“You can change your size?” I quirked a brow at Bez, recalling the only time his stature had dramatically shifted came from a decapitation incident and a lack of essence to reform his full size.

“But of course.” Bez looked down, towering above in his demon form—at least a solid foot in height difference. Possibly more because, despite my best efforts, spatial awareness wasn’t a strong skillset I possessed. “Which part of me would you desire I change the size of, Lord Walter? I can enlarge anything to your specifications.”

His teasing smirk made my ears burn even more. Yes, he maintained a completely composed demeanor with no hint of snark in his voice, but his sass cut through to the deepest core of my being.

“No.” I grimaced. “You’re sized just right. Not too big or too small or…um, yeah. Just right.”

“The three bears will be glad to hear that.” Bez winked, which only added to the flustered scrunch of my face.

“A Cerberus and three bears.” Orias nodded. “You must crave a zoo of beasts for a collection. Perhaps we can acquire you some unique oddities of exotic beings.”

“We don’t have bears,” I said. “I mean, we have them in our world, but I don’t personally have any bears.”

Orias’ iris wiggled into an almost rounded shape, possibly a sign of his confusion, so I went to clarify until Bez interrupted.

“It’s a mortal expression, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Ah.” Orias nodded his bulbous head. “Mortals do say the strangest things. Perhaps the satisfaction of the three bears would make more sense in one of your many other languages.”

“How do you know our language?” I asked.

“Research,” Orias said.

“He probably devoured a few hundred humans to gain an understanding of our world,” Bez whispered.

“That’s awful.”

“Surely, the thought occurred.” Bez grinned. “You don’t think these host bodies are volunteers, do you?”

I recoiled a bit, turtling my neck, then buried the thought. There was nothing to be done about it. Nothing by me. These demons might fear the wrath of Walter Alden, hybrid devil guy, but I didn’t want to cross anyone while here in Hell. Lilith’s Hell. The devil still yet to reveal herself since my arrival.

“Allow us to offer a bit of relaxation and wonder before escorting you to the first course of the Devil’s Banquet.”

I twisted my lips into this anxious, scrunched, puckered confusion because, in all my time with Bez, I’d never seen him enjoy a normal meal. Since it appeared nothing other than demons and devils survived within the walls of Hell, I could only imagine the most disturbing cannibalistic meals ever conceived.

Bile built in my throat at the thought, and I did my best not to hurl.

“It’s rare for them to import food into Hell.” Bez raised his brows. “It’s such a lower being need to require sustenance and all that.”

Well, that was slightly comforting, but then Bez’s concoctions and ideas behind seasoning rang in my head, and I hoped his chefly ways were far from what other Diabolics considered appetizing.

“Let us begin with a few treatments on the physical extremities.” Orias clapped his tentacles together, using the clack of the hooked spikes to usher the demon attendants, who used their telekinesis to shift the room’s arrangement.

“Hmmm. A spa day in Hell.” I chuckled. “This isn’t the horrors I expected.”

“Remain on your guard all the same,” Bez whispered. “Everything is a test, an evaluation of how you hold yourself. I plan on being insufferably demanding.”

“How’s that different from any other day?”

Bez scoffed, then smirked, then let his gaze drift from me. His eyes gleamed with excitement at the supplies telekinetically carried into the bathhouse by the demon attendants. They all huddled around furniture where Orias encouraged us to rest. I sat in the cushioned seat, studying the equipment. I placed my hands on the nearby table positioned so I could lounge while they worked.

“Mani pedis?” He fluttered his fingers with dazzle, adding essence to the sheen black of his growing claws. “I’m here for the pampering, but it doesn’t seem very on point with the theme.”

“Actually, manicures date back to 3200 B.C., which ties into some of the earliest forms of hygiene, cosmetics, a desire for…” I bit my lower lip when Bez’s eyes glazed over. “All right. Let’s enjoy a little pampering.”

I carefully lifted my feet and set them in an empty tub where someone went to work cleaning my feet. The entire experience was well beyond my comfort zone. Strangers touching me. Working on me. It was something I’d rather tend to independently, privately. But something told me devils weren’t modest or concerned about burdening someone else with serving them. I let my mind spin to every fact I knew about manicures because my thoughts had immediately drifted back to how hot Bez was when he served me. Served my cock. My cock that was already getting stiff at the idea of once again—

“What color were you thinking?” I asked.

There were hundreds of nail polishes arranged on racks and presented in a similar fashion to opening a crayon box.

“Something bold and stylish.” He hummed for a dramatic pause, but we both knew the color he’d choose. His favorite color. “I’m gonna go with neon orange.”

He eyed the assortment on display, resting on the several shades of orange in selection.

“Or perhaps I’ll settle.” Bez feigned offense. “Walter, must we settle for subpar oranges?”

“Um…”

“Never.” Orias’ tentacles flailed, and his essence went to work, conjuring a new collection of nail polishes to fill in the gaps in colors he’d offered. Not sure how he managed to create so many other shades when he’d already practically included every color in the rainbow spectrum. Watching him work was like going to a paint store where they had fifty types of white to choose from that only differed on the most microscopic level.

“And what color would you like, Great Lord Devil Walter Alden of the Misfit Mortal Mage Hybridization?” Orias levitated half of the nail polish bottles, providing a circular catalog for me to sift through as they whirled slowly around.

“Hmmm.” I tapped my chin. “Probably just the clear polish for a nice clean look.”

“Wonderful choice!” Orias applauded me, which made me feel less like a devil and more like a toddler, but given the tantrums devils were expected to have over any tiny whim, I figured the toddler comparison was too generous.

Bez rolled his eyes and then flaunted his neon orange polish.

“On second thought, let’s go with black.” I nodded affirmingly.

I’d attempted a rocker style back as a teen for all of, like, five minutes. The wardrobe required a lot of laidback glam, which was a difficult look to accomplish when I had an obsessive need to be anything but casual. Plus, the first time I painted my nails, my mother had opinions . It wasn’t the femineity or the queerness. No, she was always fine and accepting and open to any lifestyle her children chose. Except for failure, which I majored in. The real judgment came from the fact she considered me dull as dishwater. It was bad enough I was a failure from a lineage of the most elite mage pedigree, but to change my style to something edgy and alternative made me nothing more than a tragic try-hard in her eyes.

Critical, menacing eyes that still haunted my memories. With the brush of the black polish over my thumbnail, the expression of my mother’s gaze blossomed in my mind. A hateful expression of pity that burrowed to the depths of my soul and made me squirm in place. Even with her long gone, locked away without her magic, I’d never truly escape her years of venomous disgust directed toward me.

“Looking cute, Lord Walter.” Bez puckered his lips, stealing me from my own self-loathing and reminding me in an instant how much I’d grown, changed, and left behind that person who blundered everything he tried. I wasn’t the apprentice who failed every time he applied himself. I was a devilish hybrid with the most darling demon at my side.

I crinkled my forehead. “Are devils allowed to be cute?”

“I don’t see why not, Great Lord Devil Walter Alden of the Misfit Mortal Mage Hybridization,” Orias interjected. “Lilith often strives to be seductive, professing herself the most unattainable harlot of lust and love.”

“Yet she’s most commonly known for ripping out still-beating hearts and strangling her lovers with their entrails.” Bez chuckled.

“Precisely.” Orias’ iris wriggled and set almost into a sideways smile. “The complexity of devils is truly unique to all lesser beings.”

I frowned. That didn’t make devils sound complex at all. It sounded very human, which Bez obviously agreed with based on how he rolled his eyes and then mouthed “petty bitches” before returning to his mani-pedi.

The demons breezed through Bez’s treatment, literally moving at a blurred speed and not spending nearly half the detail on him as they did for me. Not that he complained. His voice dropped deeper, and he bellowed weird noises that I couldn’t comprehend, but it made my essence react. Each growl commanded faster work, a retouch on something already finished or something else Bez relished in ordering.

When Bez’s nails had finally dried, he skipped the massage table they had set up at a nearby station, using a tail to flip it over, and then he strutted over to one of the smaller tubs surrounding the big pool he’d spilled bloody remains into.

“Hurry up, Lord Walter.” Bez unfastened his armored skirt and dropped it to his ankles, standing completely nude with only the gauntlets on his wrists.

Without any hesitation, Bez jumped into the tub. He rifled through the assortment of bottled products lining the tub and squeezed a bunch all at once, releasing a medley of sweet fragrances that created bubbles in the boiling water.

It was quite inviting, and when Bez glanced back at me, grinning, I desperately wanted to get up and join him. Instead, I paused when another demon grabbed my hand and went to work filing my nails yet again.

“Actually, I’m pretty sure this is finished.” I half-smiled. “Mostly. Looks good. Great. You don’t have to do the whole thing again. Do you? I wouldn’t want you to have to feel the need to work on redoing all of this again.”

Gods, that was wordy when, in reality, I simply should’ve said “no” because I wanted this to end. To be over. To completely conclude. To wrap up, so I could hop in one of the hot baths with Bez and make obnoxiously loud groans of satisfaction in bubbly water.

“No worries,” the demon said, filing faster. “Just a final touch-up to ensure everything is precisely perfect.”

The file zipped back and forth against my nails, jumping from one to another and back again so quickly it required my essence to track the demon’s movements. I knew it was essence, too. The sensation of reality stalling, slowing down as my eyes widened and locked onto the action at play. There was a recklessness to their haste until suddenly, the tip of the file jabbed the cuticle of my index finger when hopping around.

I winced, sucking in a sharp breath when a drop of blood pooled at the tip of my freshly painted nail. Hard to see the difference between scarlet blood and black polish, but again, my essence fueled my vision, adding layers of nuance I never realized was possible.

It took everything in my power to reel back the building essence. It surged through me, seeking retribution and ready to explode.

The pain reminded me of the horrors I’d endured when picking at a hangnail, only for it to bleed and tear and ache and threaten eternal agony until the end of time. Seriously— if walking through Lilith’s doorway to Hell involved a hangnail, I might’ve actually considered letting the world roll the dice against a devil.

Okay, dramatic, but it hurt like fuck. I prepared to put my finger in my mouth and clamp down until the blood clotted and the pain subsided, but essence trickled out in a tiny weblike thread, stitching the little tear in my flesh while dragging the droplet of blood back into my body.

“Cool.” I widened my eyes, entranced by the active essence working like a colony of cells determined to keep me, my body, and the kingdom optimally functional. Since I refused carnal destruction, resisting every impulsive urge to eviscerate, the essence changed strategies. Maybe I was getting the hang of this stuff. Little by little.

“Deepest apologies, Great Lord Devil Walter Alden of the Misfit Mortal Mage Hybridization.” Orias thrashed, shoving aside every demon attendant in his path, whether they were performing entertainment, tending to Bez, or preparing for the next spa treatment. “This is a travesty of the highest proportions!”

I held up my hand, showing the healed finger. “It’s all r—”

“Unacceptable.” Bez leapt out of the tub, wings outstretched and tails snapping. Each one flicked against the floor with a crack and thwack from the water. They hit with such force, they sliced through the marble.

In a flash, Bez lunged forward. He moved so suddenly, even my vision struggled to keep up, recalibrating to slow down reality and study his movements. Did I actually slow time, or did my essence merely alter the perception of my brain receptors so I could comprehend super speed in a digestible manner? I’d wager on the latter. Either way, I’d confer with Bez in private so I could gain a better grasp on this continuous growth in my Diabolic abilities. But first, I needed him to calm down.

“Bez, I’m fine.”

He stood completely naked, drenched in water and covered in soapy suds that didn’t hide his most private areas. Not that it concerned Bez to swing his dick while also swinging that menacing attitude. Part of me wanted to giggle, reminded of the first time he’d kidnapped me and threatened to chase me buck naked if I attempted to flee while he showered. But his furious expression made me swallow that humorous thought and keep it to myself.

“You dare presume to attack Lord Walter?” Bez snarled, glaring down at the demon who’d accidentally struck me.

The demon shivered, dropping the file. It clinked almost as loudly as the demon’s hands that slapped the marble floor when they knelt to apologize.

“I meant no harm.”

“Bah.” Bez waved a dismissive hand, his tails flicking in unison and smashing nearby furniture. “As if you could ever harm my great lord. It is your audacious nature, your impotence, that infuriates me.”

“Bez.” I grimaced and bit my lip because I’d agreed to follow his lead here in Hell. If that meant staying quiet while he verbally ripped this low-level demon to shreds, then so be it.

Whether for the show of authority or indulging in his own ego, Bez’s antics reminded me of every time a practitioner emotionally eviscerated me when I worked in the archives. The number of times I’d been called an “incompetent fucking moron who can’t do anything right” could fill a calendar. All three-hundred and sixty-five days, not the monthly spreads.

Bez slashed the demon across the face, watching the essence lash out defensively as the host body was hacked through. In one swift motion, Bez had torn open flesh, bone, muscle, and brain matter. All things the demon’s essence could restore, but Bez didn’t offer the chance.

As quickly as he’d leapt over and attacked, he summoned black flames between his hands and dropped an inferno of fire down onto the demon who’d struck me.

I bit my knuckles to stifle a shocked scream. Not that anyone would hear it over the horrified wails of agony unleashed by the demon Bez incinerated.