It’s black as night, unnaturally skinny, and half of its head is covered with an exposed skull—an elk’s, maybe, judging by the antlers. And even though it has canine paws, the nails jutting out of it look more like talons. Even the tail is a weapon, draping off the seat with a metallic morningstar on its tip.
“My Wendigo.” Azael’s rough voice from behind me makes the beast raise its head, staring directly at us. I can’t even see its eyes. There’s only a red glow in the holes of the skull.
The second it looks like it’s about to get up, I start scurrying back—bumping straight into Azael. I whirl around in a half-turn, instinctively planting my feet in a defensive stance.
“Relax.” A hint of a smirk touches his lips as he looks down at me, enjoying this far too much. “He’s friendly. Do they not have dogs in the Abyss?”
“No, they do not havehell houndsin the Abyss.”
“Pity.” With a shrug, he walks past me. “Come on. He won’t eat you.”
I feel like that’s a very specific thing to promise someone, and I don’t like it one bit. I refuse to take my eyes off the creature as I edge closer to the wall, trying my best to keep up. “Azael… whatdoesyour pet eat?”
He chuckles darkly. “Greedy bastards, of course.”
There’s an interesting mix of angels waiting for us at the dining table.
Thankfully, the woman with bright red hair is wearing clothes now, but not by much. As if to spite Azael’s demands, she’s put on a red lingerie devil costume, complete with little plastic wings and headband horns.
If it bothers him, he doesn’t show it.
“You’ve already met Ana, the Archangel of Fauna,” he says shortly after we enter the room. “To her right is Tamiel, Archangel of Offense.”
I follow his waving hand to a Viking shieldmaiden of an angel who looks like she could crush me like a toothpick.
He then points to Ana’s other side, where a lean, tall man with snow-white wings is sitting. “Amezarak, Archangel of Sorcery.”
His warm brown skin is beautifully contrasted by the unnaturally iridescent teal markings that snake around his entire body, leading all the way up his neck and into his equally blue hair. He meets my eyes with a small nod of acknowledgment, but nothing more.
“Batriel, the Archangel of Perception.”
The next man has the darkest skin and healthiest locs I’ve ever seen, though the pitch-black color of his bat wings seems to be a place where light goes to die. His hooded eyes sweep over me, inspecting, before he says simply, “Just Bat, please.”
“And then Zaqiel, the Archangel of Emotion.” Azael motions to the last person at the table, and the man flashes me a perfect smile with painfully white teeth. With tawny brown skin and curly dark hair falling significantly past his shoulders, he looks like he’s torn straight off the cover of a bodice-ripper romance novel from the eighties.
“Last but not least,” he says with a wink, only further fitting my assumptions. I’m sure he’s the thief of many hearts, but unfortunately for him, mine is thoroughly locked away. “And Zaq is fine. The ‘el’of our names can get so exhausting.”
Azael takes a seat at the end of the table, motioning for me to sit next to him.
Reluctantly, I comply, and the demons begin to build their plates without another word. Much like the abyss, the entrees are spread out across the table, leaving us to pick and choose what we’d like. I suppose there’s virtually no risk of me being poisoned, so I hardly hesitate before following suit.
“I heard about your little light show,” Ana smiles, ear to ear, from across the table. It’s blindingly pretty, but still a serpentine look, undoubtedly built to lure men into her demonic seduction. Like a succubus. Or an R-rated Jessica Rabbit.
And what am I even supposed to say? ‘Yep, that was me. Sorry about your wall?’ Because I amnotsorry whatsoever.
So I just shrug, taking a bite out of a yeast roll.
Ana waits for a moment before pouting dramatically, as if she’s a spoiled child who is upset that not everyone immediately loves her.
Azael clears his throat in a demand for civility, but she only shoots him a defiant look, sticking out her forked, snakelike tongue. Creepiness aside, it earns her a few brownie points with me. Unfortunately for her, though, I’m not here to make friends. I’m their captive; I intend to raise Hell.
Leaning back in my chair, I make a show of looking over their little group. It’s such a strange admixture of people. “So, this is the mighty Adversary.”
Ana snickers while Tamiel glares at me, and the others just seem to twiddle their thumbs as they wait for someone else to respond to me.
A moment passes of nothing but awkward silence.
Ugh.Why am I even here? I could have eaten dinner alone.
