A Demon’s Guide to Wooing a Witch -
: Chapter 22
Calladia couldn’t believe how surreal the morning had gotten. A surprise werewolf ambush, the appearance of demons, and now the revelation that Astaroth was no longer immortal . . . It was a lot to process when the sun had been up for less than two hours. Not to mention what had happened before the werewolves, but Calladia was good at compartmentalizing, so she shoved that interlude into a box in her brain. There would be time to panic about it later.
She felt out of place among the demons. She’d gotten used to Astaroth’s otherworldly beauty, but now she was faced with two more stunning people. Lilith’s face held the same sharp angles as Astaroth’s, and her hair looked like molten fire. Her swashbuckling outfit was beyond cool. Sandranella’s face was perfectly heart-shaped, her eyes were dark and intense, and she resembled a warrior goddess in her wine-and-gold dress.
Were demons universally sexy? A question for a later time.
“Go on,” Astaroth said, sounding defeated. “What other disaster awaits?”
Sandranella looked grave. “Moloch is moving quickly to consolidate power. He’s suggested Tirana as your successor.”
“Tirana, Tirana . . .” Astaroth wore a look of concentration, and then his eyes widened. “No, you can’t choose her. She’s a powder keg, and she’s even more vocal than Moloch about hating hybrids.”
“You remember her?” Calladia asked.
He grimaced. “A particularly unpleasant memory from the Spanish Inquisition just popped up.”
“Trust me, I don’t want her on the council either,” Sandranella said. “But without you, the progressives are outnumbered, and Baphomet is showing signs of being receptive to Tirana and Moloch’s arguments. I fear without your return to strengthen our alliance, the council will regress further into the Middle Ages.”
Lilith made a face. “The Middle Ages were so dull. Everyone stank.”
“Who’s Baphomet?” Calladia asked, looking between them.
“The lead demon on the high council,” Astaroth said. “At least he was when I was young. He must still be.”
It was promising that he was recovering memories of the demon plane—well, sort of, since she didn’t want him to turn into a villain again—but learning there were more demonic enemies to face wasn’t exactly reassuring.
“We need you, Astaroth,” Sandranella said, “but not like this. We need the old Astaroth, the one with a master plan to take Moloch down. If you can eliminate him, Baphomet can be persuaded to undo the banishment.”
Astaroth grimaced and ran his hands through his hair. “I wish I could bloody remember that master plan. Can the decision on a replacement be postponed?”
“Maybe, but Moloch is pushing hard.”
Lilith made a rude noise. “I don’t care what that pathetic worm wants. He can wait.” She grabbed one of her braids and started chewing on it. “I’ll create a distraction,” she said around a mouthful of hair. “There’s a fyre drake who owes me a favor. If she torches a few key buildings, the council will have to investigate.”
Calladia was starting to like Lilith.
“Let’s fight on multiple fronts,” Sandranella said. “I’ll start a word-of-mouth campaign that Astaroth will be returning, more powerful than ever.”
Calladia could think of one major flaw in that plan. She raised her hand. “Um, slight problem. Moloch thinks Astaroth is dead. If he finds out otherwise, he’ll come after us again.”
“Not if we keep him busy enough.” Sandranella looked at Astaroth. “You know returning will be easier if the public is primed for it. The hybrid community would also welcome the news. Morale has been low since your banishment.”
“Wait, I thought no one knew he was a hybrid,” Calladia said. She knew next to nothing about demon politics, and it was rapidly growing confusing.
“They don’t,” Sandranella confirmed. “But Astaroth and I have been vocal about protecting the rights of hybrids.”
“What if the news gets out?” Astaroth asked. His face was tight, stress carving lines in it she hadn’t seen before. “I’ll be a laughingstock.”
Calladia bristled. “Hey, being part human isn’t that bad.”
The demons ignored her. “Baphomet will make sure the information doesn’t leak,” Sandranella said. “It makes him look negligent to allow a half demon to hold power for so long.”
Lilith abruptly clapped her hands, and Calladia jumped. “So we’re decided,” Astaroth’s mother said. “Sandranella and I will wreak havoc on the demon plane while Astaroth seeks out this witch who may be able to restore his memories and immortality. I’ll also do some digging through Astaroth’s den to see if I can uncover whatever information he was compiling on Moloch.”
“My den?” Astaroth asked, sounding surprised. “It’s mystically locked, since I’m rarely there. How do you plan to get in?”
Lilith smiled indulgently. “Oh, sweetie, I dug a tunnel into your bedroom centuries ago.” Everyone turned appalled looks on her, and she shrugged. “What? Sometimes a mother likes to watch her baby sleep.”
“Well, that’s unsettling,” Astaroth said, “but convenient, I suppose, since I can’t return to the demon plane like this.”
“What about your flat?” Calladia asked. “Would you have stored information there?”
“I portal into his closet in London frequently,” Lilith said. “I’ll check there, too.”
“Seriously?” Astaroth asked incredulously. “You’ve been spying on me all this time?”
Lilith blew him a kiss. “Stalking is my love language.”
“I thought commissioning bounty hunters was her love language,” Calladia muttered. “And kidnapping.”
Lilith turned her icy blue eyes on Calladia. “Love can be expressed in any number of ways,” she said solemnly.
The woman was mad as a hatter, but Calladia felt a twinge of jealousy. How was it possible the legendarily deadly Lilith was a better mother than Cynthia Cunnington? Lilith might stalk Astaroth, but she clearly loved and supported him, up to and including drinking blood from the skulls of his enemies.
Would Calladia’s mom do the same? No, she would not. Skull chalices would be deemed bad for campaign optics, just like Calladia herself was.
Sandranella motioned, and a portal appeared in the air. “We’ll head out. Do hurry on your quest, Astaroth. The demon plane needs you.”
Lilith made kissing sounds. “Bye-bye, dear, can’t wait to vanquish Moloch with you.” The demonesses stepped through the portal, which vanished as if it had never been.
“Well,” Calladia said. Her legs felt weak, so she sat on the log. “That was a lot.” She ground the toe of her boot into the mulch. “I don’t understand why everyone talks about being part human like it’s some terrible thing. What’s so wrong about us?”
Astaroth raised his hand and started ticking items off. “Humans are fragile. They live short, cosmically meaningless lives. They’re overly emotional. They—”
“All right, all right,” Calladia said. “I get the picture, even if I disagree with it. But you are—or you were—immortal, and you’re hardly fragile. What does it matter if you get emotional?”
“To give in to sentiment is to embrace weakness.”
Calladia was going to call bullshit and brainwashing on that one. “Lilith loves you. Is she weak?”
He scowled. “No. But she was already insane by the time I was born. Everyone accepts that’s the way she is.”
Calladia shrugged. “Maybe if you came out as a hybrid, everyone would accept you, too.”
“I would say I appreciate the optimism, but it would be a lie. With demons like Moloch shaping policy, there’s no way hybrids will be granted equal rights.”
Calladia disliked Moloch more and more as time went on, which was really saying something, since her second encounter with him had involved him blowing up her house. “Then pull a French Revolution. Overthrow his snooty, purebred ass and create a new political system.”
Astaroth let out a pained laugh. “Calladia, you are far too naive.”
She bristled. “I am not.”
“You’re thinking like a human. Your political dynasties rise and fall in the blink of an eye compared to the demonic power structure. Our course can’t be changed so easily.”
Calladia rolled her eyes. Definitely calling bullshit on that one. “You know what I think the problem is? You’re falling into the same trap people like Moloch do. You think of humans as inferior.”
“I do not,” he said, outrage suffusing his face. “I’ve always been fond of humans.”
“But you hate the part of you that is human, don’t you?”
Astaroth didn’t reply.
Just as she thought. Calladia was tempted to smack Astaroth across the horns and tell him to expand his worldview. “Maybe you think human politics are too brief to pay attention to,” she said. “But the demon plane sounds stagnant, in my opinion.”
Now he looked offended. “It’s a beautiful realm with a long and storied history. Just because we live longer doesn’t mean we’re stagnant.”
“And yet hybrid rights haven’t advanced much since you were born six hundred years ago.”
Astaroth opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked down at his lap and started fussing with the hem of his T-shirt.
Gotcha. Calladia might prefer solving problems with her fists, but not every problem was a nail in need of a hammer. Some required a more delicate touch. “I think,” she said, “that being half human can be an asset when confronting Moloch. Everyone expects you to behave and think like a purebred demon. So what if you don’t? What if you forget everything about long, storied traditions of discrimination and take drastic action to change things?”
Astaroth picked at a loose thread. “It won’t work. Who would want to listen to me after they learn the truth? They’ll call me emotional and weak, my logical mind clouded by my heritage.”
“Who would want to listen to you? The entire hybrid community, for starters.”
Astaroth looked up quizzically. “The hybrids? What could they possibly do?”
“Maybe they aren’t just victims in need of protection. Maybe they’re warriors waiting for a chance to fight for their cause.” Sensing his hesitation, Calladia went in for the kill. “Maybe they’re strong, disciplined, and cunning . . . like you.”
She shifted, insecure and a bit embarrassed at having delivered the compliment. The two of them didn’t say nice things about each other. They bickered and joked, and, yes, sometimes felt each other up, but their dynamic had little room for softness. But with the way Astaroth was staring at her like she’d blown his mind and hung the moon all at once, she couldn’t regret it.
While she waited for his response, Calladia closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun. The woods were wild and awake, full of buzzes, chirps, and rustles. The wind that tugged at her hair also ruffled the treetops and raced over the hills and valleys, like the exhalations of some great beast of the earth.
Being in nature made her feel small, but in a good way. Maybe that was part of being human. In the long stretch of time, she was just a blip. And when you were a blip, you didn’t have to worry about the weight of eons. You could live as loudly as you wanted in the space allotted to you.
Calladia’s life had been lacking in joy for a while. Had she let her fear of being hurt stop her from living boldly?
Could she make a different choice, as she was asking Astaroth to do now?
Astaroth’s hand covered hers on the log. Calladia opened her eyes to find him still staring at her with that wonderstruck expression. “Calladia Cunnington,” he said, “you are a marvel.”
Her smile probably looked goofy, but who cared? She tossed her hair over her shoulder and lifted her chin. “It’s because I’m human,” she said in a teasing tone. “Small life, big dreams, zero fucks to give.” Like a corgi in the universe’s dog park.
He lifted her hand to his mouth. “Your life is many things,” he said, lips pressed to her skin, “but it’s far from small.”
Calladia eyed the forest. “I don’t love the idea of leaving Clifford.” Her beloved truck was the closest thing she had to a home at the moment.
“This means camping again, doesn’t it?” Astaroth sounded dismal. But when she glanced at him, he gave her a crooked smile. “Somehow, my delicate constitution and I will endure.”
She shouldn’t find him so entertaining. But over the course of the trip, the evil demon had transformed into a snarky yet supportive rascal. She liked this version of Astaroth, with his clever wit and absurdities. It was worrisome how much she liked him.
Would he remain the same once his memories were recovered though?
Calladia felt uneasy at the thought. Realistically, he needed to be whole again to confront Moloch and enact change on the demon plane, but would he still be willing to publicly fight for the hybrid cause once his memories returned? Or would he fall back into stagnation, cynicism, and easy, glib lies? He’d spent his long life in the pursuit of power, not justice, after all.
In aiding him, was Calladia inadvertently creating one more corrupt politician who could break her heart?
Stop it, she told herself. She wasn’t in love with him or anything. Would it be depressing to see Astaroth become the merciless demon of legend once more, rather than the flawed but fascinating man he was now? Yes. Would it break her? No.
Calladia didn’t break. Even at her lowest, she’d clawed her way back up.
“Let’s go.” She shrugged on the pack that held her sleeping bag and other necessary supplies. They’d stopped at a grocery store and clothing outlet in Griffin’s Nest, so they were fully provisioned. Astaroth had insisted on his own backpack to carry the tent and the other half of their supplies (which he still swore he’d pay her back for). When she’d teased him about chivalry, he’d gotten annoyed and said it was called teamwork and that the chivalric code had been left in medieval times for a reason, and he’d thank her not to reintroduce that church-and-state-focused propaganda to the modern world.
Each trailhead had a carved rock at its base depicting various animals. They chose the one with a bat etched into it—thanks, Bronwyn!—and started hiking. The trail quickly grew steep, the trees closing in overhead and blocking out the sky. Roots jutted out of the ground like gnarled knuckles. Soon the path dwindled to a mere track, and forward progress required shoving branches aside.
“Are you sure this is the right path?” Astaroth asked after a thin branch whacked him in the face. He spat out a dead leaf.
“I didn’t see any other bat signs,” Calladia said.
“Why go to the trouble of setting up a whole bloody quest leading to her house when she clearly doesn’t want to be found?”
“Drama,” Calladia said. “Alzapraz once spent a year crafting a hedge maze to his front door. It was only when he tried to order delivery that he realized what a bad idea that was.” According to Mariel, her great-great-etcetera-grandfather had pitched a fit when the delivery person had given up and thrown the pizza over the hedge in the general direction of the house. The next day, the maze was gone.
The air was cool, but the exertion warmed Calladia up, and sweat began to collect between her breasts and at the small of her back. She took off her pack, then stripped off her flannel and tied it around her waist, revealing her sports bra.
A choking sound was followed by crashing and the snapping of twigs. Calladia turned to see Astaroth half inside a large bush he’d apparently walked into. He staggered back, tripped over a root, and landed on his ass.
She burst out laughing.
“Rude,” Astaroth said. “I could have been injured.” He scrambled to his feet and brushed off his backside, then picked leaves out of his hair.
Calladia was still chuckling. “The mighty Astaroth, brought low by a bush.”
“Brought low by your strip show,” he said, flicking his eyes up from where he was inspecting his shirt. The desire reflected in his pale blue irises made Calladia’s cheeks heat.
“I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of people in their bras.” This bra wasn’t what one might term seductive either—it was black, with a sturdy band and a scooped front that barely hinted at cleavage.
“Yes,” Astaroth said, “but none of them were you.”
Calladia, who had so far managed the hike with no trouble, was suddenly breathing hard, and a hot throbbing started between her legs. It was the way he was looking at her from beneath his brows, all smoldering intensity and barely restrained lust.
She shouldn’t have let him finger her this morning. Now she was desperate for him to do it again.
He would oblige if she asked, she was sure. He could have her up against a tree in seconds, his hand diving between her legs as his lips fastened on her nipple through the sports bra.
Calladia felt the lure of the cliff edge again. A wicked impulse seized her. “If I asked you to make me orgasm right now, would you?” she asked.
“Yes.” Astaroth shrugged off his backpack and strode toward her, face set in determined lines.
Calladia was addicted to the push and pull of power between them. When he was close enough to touch, she stopped him with a hand planted on his chest. His pectoral was firm beneath her fingers. “Tell me,” she said.
“Tell you what?” His hands settled on her hips, a light touch that burned with promise.
She leaned in until her lips brushed his ear. “What you would do.”
He made a low, rough sound. “Wicked witch. You want to hear the dirty details? Wouldn’t you rather I show you?”
She definitely wanted him to show her, but the tease was too delicious. “Tell me,” she repeated.
He was so close she could have closed the gap between them in the span of a heartbeat. “I would start with kissing you,” he said. “Slow at first, but not for long. I wouldn’t be able to resist tasting you deeper, kissing you harder.”
“Mmm.” She liked the sound of that. “And then?”
His smile was slow and sensuous, and Calladia’s eyes dropped to his lips. They were nicely shaped, and she knew from experience that though they were soft, he could wield them like a weapon. “You need to learn patience,” he said. “The best things are worth waiting for.”
She cocked a brow. “Are they? I think the best things are worth seizing when you want them.”
“Which is why you’re making me talk dirty rather than using my mouth on you, right?” His chuckle wafted over the corner of her lips. “You like these games, Calladia.”
“Maybe,” she answered breathlessly.
“I think you’d like other games, too. We can play them, if you like. The game where I tie you to a bed and tease you for hours until you’re begging me to fuck you would be a fun one.”
“Maybe I’ll tease you for hours,” she rebutted, though she’d gotten wetter imagining him tightening knots around her wrists.
“Also a good game,” he agreed. “How about the one where we fight to see who ends up on top? Or the game where you’ve got to stay quiet, no matter what I do?”
She shuddered. “Could be fun.” She aimed for nonchalance, but the raggedness of her voice gave away how aroused she was.
“I have so many games we could play.” Astaroth nuzzled her ear with his lips, and the ghost of his laugh brushed over her skin when she shivered. “But let me tell you how this one would play out.”
One hand traveled slowly up her bare side, stopping with his thumb under the curve of her breast. The fingers of his other hand stretched over her ass, squeezing lightly. Calladia brought her other hand to his chest as well, bracing herself against him.
“I would take off this bra,” Astaroth said, “and then I would kiss your gorgeous tits all over. Suck on your nipples, bite them if you like the pain.” His teeth lightly pinched her earlobe. “Do you?”
She nodded, incapable of speech.
“I’d suck and pinch your nipples until they’re sensitive and swollen, and when you beg me to stop, I’ll kiss my way down your stomach.”
“I never beg,” Calladia said.
“Not yet anyway.” He pulled back enough to give her a wicked smile. “If you were wearing leggings, I’d pull them down with my teeth, but for these I’ll use my hands.” He ran his fingers along the waistband of her jeans, and the touch made her belly quiver. She wanted his fingers to creep lower, but he kept them tucked into the waistband—a hint of what he would give her, should she let him. “I’ll strip you naked, then go to my knees.”
“Oh.” Calladia felt dizzy at the thought. It had been a long time since she’d received oral, and it had always been clear her partners were doing it out of obligation. “You don’t have to,” she said. “I’m fine without it.”
“But do you enjoy it?”
With him looking her directly in the eye, it was impossible to lie, so she nodded wordlessly.
His smile widened. “I do, too. And I will, the moment you give me permission. I’ll kiss and lick your beautiful cunt until you’re screaming, and then I’ll do it some more. You’ll need to push me away to stop me.”
Sweet. Fucking. Hecate. He was so vehement, she had no choice but to believe him. It made her want to whimper and strip off her jeans.
He whispered the next part in her ear. “Unlike you, impatient witch, I know how to take my time. I’ll make you wait. Just for the first orgasm, you understand. Once you’re begging for it—and you will beg—I’ll give it to you, and after the first I’ll make you come over and over again, even when you claim you can’t take it anymore. Because you can, and I’ll show you how.”
Calladia whimpered, and her knees wobbled. She nearly stumbled, but the hand still anchoring her ass held her steady.
“Oh, my warrior queen,” Astaroth said softly. “Has anyone ever worshipped you the way you deserve?”
Calladia wasn’t sure what she deserved. She wasn’t particularly pure of heart or noble of spirit, and her life had been spent spitting in the faces of people who called her loud, aggressive, unfeminine, embarrassing, not good for optics. She faced the world with teeth and claws bared.
When she didn’t answer, Astaroth growled and shifted his grip from her butt to her hair. “Listen to me,” he said, fisting the strands at their roots. “You deserve everything you want. You should take everything you want, the way you once promised me you would. And if you can’t do that yet, say the word and I’ll do it for you.”
Calladia wasn’t sure if she wanted to leap on top of him or cry. One would be a loss of horny composure, the other a lack of emotional composure, and she wasn’t ready to relinquish either yet, so she grabbed his hand, removing it from her hair. “What would you do after all these hypothetical orgasms?” she asked. When he looked like he wanted to keep giving her a sexy pep talk, she sucked one of his fingers into her mouth and cocked a brow as if to say, Well?
He tipped his head back and groaned. The light shifted over his horns with the movement, and Calladia wondered what they would feel like. They were glossy as obsidian; would they be silky smooth? Cool, or hot like the rest of him?
He gave her the frankest, dirtiest look she’d ever received. “Then,” he told her, “I’d fuck you.”
He didn’t provide details, but he didn’t need to. Calladia’s imagination took over, envisioning all the ways he could take her. Up against a tree, her leg hooked around his ass, or bent over a nearby fallen log. Maybe on her back in the mulch, the two of them too caught up in animal urges to care about comfort or dirt. She’d flip him over before long, riding him hard and fast, and then it would be a battle, like he’d said. A game to find out who would end up on top.
This game had reached the tipping point. They stared into each other’s eyes, breathing heavily, bodies close but barely touching. With the slightest movement, she could turn words into reality.
The look on his face was too delicious though. He looked desperate. And Calladia liked playing games, but she liked winning them even more.
She pulled his finger to her mouth again, sucked it, then bit the tip. Then she dropped his hand and stepped back. “Interesting,” she said. “Let’s keep hiking.”
His exhale was half groan. “Witch, you’re going to kill me.” His erection tented the fabric of his pants. He was going to have a hell of a time hiking like that, and Calladia had enough of the devil in her to like that. It was only fair, since her underwear was soaked and the inseam of her jeans pressed against her clit with every movement.
She winked and turned away. “Try to keep up, demon,” she called over her shoulder as she grabbed her pack and set out again.
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