“Well, he really is good with a stick,” Calladia said. “Literally. He fought off Kai’s pack.”
“Avram told me that,” Ben said. “I still can’t believe you got in a fight with my cousin.”
“We got in a fight with each other,” Calladia said. “Very consensual. And speaking of consensual, about Astaroth’s metaphorical stick . . .”
She broke off as the door swung open, letting afternoon light into the restaurant. Two familiar horned silhouettes appeared.
“Oz!” Mariel shot to her feet and hurried over. “Everything okay?”
Calladia stood, too. After the door closed, it took her eyes a moment to adjust, and then warmth flooded her chest at the sight of Astaroth, whole and seemingly unharmed.
Then she noticed the bruising on his jaw. “What happened?” she asked, jogging over. She turned his face in her hands, inspecting the mark. Thankfully, she still had half a restorative potion left after healing the cut on her head from Tirana’s whip.
“Ozroth hit me,” he said.
Mariel gasped. “Oz, you were supposed to talk, not beat him up.”
“We did talk,” Oz said. “After I beat him up.”
“I had it coming,” Astaroth pointed out. The two demons shared a look, then a nod of acknowledgment.
Reconciled, then, or at least on the way. Calladia felt a massive surge of relief, not just for her friendship with Mariel, but for Astaroth and Oz. Astaroth had basically raised Oz, and when a relationship like that turned toxic, it was almost impossible to correct course.
Her phone seemed to burn a hole in her pocket. After calling multiple times the previous night, her own mother had gone quiet. It wouldn’t last though. And Calladia was beginning to accept that, unlike Astaroth and Oz, there might not be a way back for her and her mother.
She forced a smile. “I’m sure he did have it coming,” she said, patting Astaroth’s cheek. “But I’m glad you didn’t permanently maim him.”
“Yeah, she needs all his parts in working order,” Themmie called out.
Mariel started snickering, and Calladia rolled her eyes. “We’re meeting in the demon plane tomorrow, right?”
“Right,” Themmie said. “I’m making protest signs tonight.”
“Then I’m going to say goodbye for now.” Calladia winked at Mariel. “If it’s our last night on Earth, I want to take my time appreciating all of Astaroth’s parts before Moloch chops them off.”
Oz nearly choked. Mariel and Themmie collapsed into hysterical giggles. Ben eyed the door longingly.
And Astaroth? He gave her a wicked smile and palmed her ass. “Then hurry up and start appreciating, my warrior queen.”
* * *
Calladia and Astaroth stayed in the same treehouse from before, this time with Tansy’s cawed assurance that the griffin would not allow any visitors. Candles flickered in the windowsills, champagne was chilling in a bucket, and claw-punctured rose petals had been sprinkled over the bed.
“Seems a tad cliché,” Astaroth said, eyeing the setup.
Calladia rolled her eyes. “Of course you have a pretentious opinion.”
“What’s going to happen to those petals? They’ll be crushed or end up in my unmentionables. It’s impractical.”
“If you want me to stuff them up your ass, just say so.” Calladia uncorked the champagne and sniffed appreciatively at the vapor wafting out.
“When I ask you to stuff something up my ass,” Astaroth said, “it will not be flower petals.” He held the flutes out so Calladia could pour.
“I’ve always wondered what pegging someone would be like,” she mused. The guys she’d slept with had not been interested in letting her peg them, though they’d had no qualms about asking her for anal.
“We can try it sometime.”
She laughed, pleasantly surprised. “You mean it?”
Astaroth lifted his glass and grinned. “Calladia, I am over six hundred years old. I have been there, done that with most carnal activities, and if I haven’t done something already, I’d probably like to try it out.”
“Fascinating.” Calladia would have to make a list of possible carnal activities. She took a gulp of champagne, and the flavor burst on her tongue, crisp, bready, and faintly fruity. She’d sampled enough champagne at political events to recognize it was a quality vintage.
“What, no toast?” Astaroth asked. “Poor form, Calladia.”