A Demon's Guide to Wooing a Witch （Glimmer Falls, #2(58)

Calladia was thrilled for them and would be delighted to be an aunt figure in their children’s lives, but whenever she considered having kids of her own, she had three immediate thoughts. One: expensive! Two: time-consuming! Three: don’t wanna!

She’d started to wonder if something was wrong with her, given how enthusiastic everyone else seemed. You’ll want them with the right person, Mariel had told her once, even before she’d met Oz and gotten all disgustingly cute and gooey. Mariel was undoubtedly dreaming about babies with freckles and adorable little horns, but Calladia’s vision of a rosy future had always involved just her and someone she loved, the community they built around themselves, and a lifetime of adventure.

She wondered how Astaroth felt about the topic. He might be a pain in her ass, but he was an interesting one, and she wanted to know how his brain worked. “Do you want kids?” she asked. “I don’t know how most demons feel about it, and you’re—” She cut herself off, but not quickly enough.

“And I’m not a real demon, right?” Astaroth glowered at her, then switched his ire to the fireplace. “No,” he said in the direction of the blue flames, “I’ve never wanted kids. Or at least, I don’t think so.” He grimaced and rapped the knuckles of his clenched fist against the mantel. “But who knows what I think about anything, since I didn’t even know I was a hybrid until this afternoon.”

“I guess you have to trust your instincts.”

Astaroth ran his hand through his hair, making the strands stick up haphazardly. In a sexily disheveled way, of course, since he was incapable of looking bad. Calladia was single-handedly holding down the dirty gremlin role for the team.

“Amnesia is a dashed inconvenience,” Astaroth grumbled.

He sounded like an aggrieved duke in a Jane Austen adaptation, and Calladia bit her lip on a smile. “What strong language,” she said. “I’m scandalized.”

Astaroth huffed. “If I haven’t managed to scandalize you yet, I doubt anything could.”

“Have you been trying to?” Calladia asked, genuinely curious.

“No, but it tends to happen anyway.” He walked to the bed and stared at it with hands on his hips. “So we only have one bed. That shouldn’t be a problem. The couch is big enough for you to curl up on, and we can add pillows.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Calladia said distractedly. Her gaze had slipped to his butt, which filled out those ridiculous pants nicely. Then she replayed what he’d said and felt a flare of outrage. “Wait, why am I curling up on the couch and not you?”

“You’re smaller, so you’ll be more comfortable.”

Calladia guffawed. She pushed to her feet and went toe-to-toe with Astaroth. He didn’t retreat, despite her standing uncomfortably close, but did he ever? “I’m not that much smaller than you,” she said.

His eyes dipped to her mouth. “Small enough.” The rough edge to his voice sent a shiver down her spine.

Calladia licked her lips, feeling the electric thrill of a challenge. “What about chivalry?”

“Fuck chivalry,” Astaroth rebutted instantly. “I have amnesia.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Calladia said with exaggerated concern. “I didn’t realize you’d forgotten how to sleep on a couch.”

“Well, I have.” Astaroth sighed heavily. “It’s a tragedy, but alas, there’s nothing to be done for it. I shall make do with the bed.”

Calladia tried not to laugh. “A gentleman would offer the bed to the lady.”

“Do you see a gentleman here? Or a lady, for that matter?”

Calladia gasped. “Rude!”

Astaroth slid his hands into his pockets and shrugged one shoulder, eyes gleaming with mischief. “If you want me to treat you like a lady, I will, but I’ve got to warn you, proper ladies don’t get in fistfights.”

Good point. “Then I’ll fistfight you for the bed,” she said, switching tactics.

“You’d try to take advantage of a wounded man?” he asked, clapping a hand to his chest.

She was torn between laughing and rolling her eyes at the dramatics. “I don’t know why you chose to be a bargainer when you clearly had a bright future on the stage.”

“What makes you think I don’t have time for both? I could have just finished a starring run on the West End for all we know.” His grin was sharp and wicked. He was enjoying this banter.

Calladia was, too. Her breath came fast, and excitement buzzed under her skin. Sparring with the demon held the same out-of-control thrill as dancing at the edge of a cliff or standing outside in a thunderstorm, and Calladia was enough of an adrenaline junkie to crave more. She’d always been drawn to danger.

Tension thrummed between them like a plucked string. What would happen if she seized that thread and made something out of it, the way she wove magic from twine?

The cliff edge—and madness—beckoned.

Calladia dropped her gaze to the demon’s lips and leaned in.

A shrill, jaunty melody started blaring from Calladia’s backpack. She jumped, heart jolting into overdrive. “Guess I left my ringer on,” she said with an awkward laugh, not sure whether she should curse or thank the phone for interrupting her ill-considered impulse.