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“Wait, aether? Like in the horribleThormovie?”
There was a brief pause. “I do not think it was that bad.”
“Please,” Joy scoffed before her brain was done processing. She spun around, gaping like a fish. “Wait,you’vewatchedThor? No, please don’t answer that,” she added quickly, spinning back around to face her wardrobe, her mouth still gaping. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.
The demon continued talking like nothing was amiss. “To answer your question, yes, the aether is indeed similar to what was referred to in the … “horrible”Thormovie.” She could fucking hear the air-quotes. “It is the thing that is all around us like air. The fifth element, as some humans call it. The ability to manipulate the aether is what your more supernaturally inclined humans call “magic”.”
She shook off the absurdity of the rest of the conversation, and the fact that he’d watched fuckingThor, and not justThor, butThor 3. That seemed like a very important distinction. It implied he’d watched1and2.
Why was a demon watching Marvel movies?
“Right,”Joysaid,shaking her head. So, while she unfolded her plan, she didn’t have to worry about him hovering over her shoulder all day and night. Though that would be kind of nice, if only—
No.Down, Joy.
“Great. Fantastic. Here’s the plan.”
So, the human wasa she, and her name was Joy. Malachi found himself falling a little bit in love with her just because of her name alone, even though it was a contradiction to the woman before him. There was no joy to be found here. A riot of emotion poured from her frame, the most prominent of which was her hatred, and the focus on her plot for revenge. Malachi didn’t think he’d ever tasted anything more fucking delicious. Except maybe her blood.
Hisever-perpetual hunger clawed at his stomach, and he licked his lips, trying to chase the memory of the taste. Drinking human blood was frowned upon, even strictly forbidden in most sects; Malachi had never seen the effects himself, but there were several warnings of how … addictive it could be. Based on the descriptions he’d heard, it was similar to a human imbibing alcohol or ingesting drugs. But based on the little of Joy’s blood he’d tasted, that description could not compare. It had felt like taking a shot of pure euphoria; it had felt like being in the arms of his Sovereign, cradled and protected from all the hurts in the universe.
Joy was standing in front of a mirror now, wearing the dress that was splattered with red like blood. The dress was cut in half; the top didn’t cover her shoulders, leaving them and the faint outline of her collarbones exposed. The skirt swept the floor, with a slit on the right side that went all the way up to her thigh. Malachi stared at the strip of brown skin in the middle of top and skirt, then at her exposed leg and thigh, thinking of how easy it would be to rip those flimsy straps off and tug the top down—or how easy it would be to grip the sides of the slit on her skirt, and rip until it came off completely, revealing every dip and curve of her naked frame beneath.
Malachi had witnessed unsuspecting humans in the throes of passion before, and even knew demons explored the same pleasures from time to time, but he’d never once felt the urge to partake in his baser desires. He nearly laughed. When would he have had the time? While he’d been held prisoner, back in his sect? Or while he’d spent the months after his escape hiding in the mortal realm, living like a hermit?
But right now, it felt like a cumulation of all the years he’d spent suppressing his emotions had come bursting to the fore. One look in her eyes—one inhale of her scent and one single taste of her blood—and Malachi had been rendered as animal as someone like him could be. Only all those decades-worth of rigid self-control kept him from begging her to let him feel what it would be like to sink into her soft flesh.
She’d merely combed her hair, a one-inch-high dark brown afro, her feet in killer strappy red heels that lifted her a few inches off the ground. Her mouth and nails were painted just as red as the dress, the colour doing absolute wonders for her warm brown skin.
With your help, I’m going to stalk him, she’d explained.I’m going to follow him around like an apparition in his periphery, day after day, night after night, and just when he thinks he’s about to lose his mind, only then will I go in for the kill.
The matter-of-fact way she’d spoken of her revenge had made Malachi’s lust worsen, had had him stiffening underneath his robes, his mouth flooding with saliva. God, her viciousness tasted so fuckingexquisite. Desmond’s greed for money and power always left a slimy aftertaste in the back of Malachi’s throat, but something about Joy’s bloodthirst burst inhis mouthlike sweet, fresh fruit.
Joy turned to face him, finally done with her face. He felt almost bowled over by her beauty.An ombre of black-to-red eyeshadow shaped her eyelids, making the brown of her iris and her skin seem almost luminous. Her brown cheeks were rosy, her red lips slightly shimmery with gloss. Once again, he thought of kissing her, of staining his mouth with all that red.
“I’ve always been a huge fan of the whole femme fatale persona, hence the getup.” She gestured at herself, cocking her hip. “What do you think?”
“You look … edible,” Malachi said, his voice hoarse.
She blushed, the scent and sight of it making him feel weak in the knees.
Dangerous, his subconscious whispered. Demons had gone mad for less.
“Right.” She cleared her throat. “Right,” she repeated, her voice now clear, hard, as she refocused on her task. “How does this work? Do I have to drive? Or take a Bolt, rather; I don’t drive.”
Malachi felt the desperate urge to impress her. “Do you know where your victim lives?”
“No. But I know where he works,” she said darkly.
“That’s good enough.” He reached out, his hand hovering in the air. “May I?”
For some reason, she became flustered. “Right, yes, okay,” she said, reaching out to curl her fingers into the dip of his elbow.
Malachi sucked in a sharp breath at the feel of her touch. She seemed to be breathing quickly, too.
“Think of his place of work,” he said gruffly.
He felt her instinct through the bond afforded to them by the contract, the pathways to said work, and reached out for the aether. When he took a step, she automatically did, too. Another, and they were standing across the road from a small supermarket.
