“Good point.” She raised the flute. “What should we toast to? A successful protest tomorrow? The imminent recovery of your memory?” As soon as she said the latter, she regretted it. Yes, he might have some secret piece of information to defeat Moloch hidden away in that devious brain, but she was feeling optimistic about the group’s plan. What if, when the old Astaroth merged with this new version, he went straight back to his old ways? Would he decide sacrificing humans on the altar of his immortality was worth it, after all?
Astaroth seemed oblivious to her inner debate. He was relaxed and smiling, looking utterly dashing in a crisp gray button-up and charcoal slacks he’d sourced at a local store. Candlelight flickered off his obsidian-smooth horns and played over the sharp contours of his face. The light loved him, as much as she was beginning to—
“I’d rather toast to you,” he said. “A toast to Calladia Cunnington, as fair as she is fierce. Long may she terrorize werewolves.”
Calladia laughed, though her heart was racing from that thought she’d almost completed. The light loved him . . . “I can hardly toast to myself,” she said.
“There’s an obvious solution.” Astaroth tipped his chin to a haughty angle. “You can toast to my beauty and brilliance.”
“More like your vanity.” She shook her head, still grinning. She smiled around him an unreasonable amount, truly. “I would like to propose a toast to Astaroth, soon to be of the Nine again, as beautiful as he is brilliant. Long may he fight for hybrid rights.”
A lump formed in her throat. Hecate, she was beyond emotionally compromised for this ridiculous, charming, intense demon. If he could just stay mortal . . .
Astaroth’s expression had softened. “Long may he fight,” he repeated. “I like that.”
They clinked glasses, maintaining eye contact as they swallowed. It felt like a ritual, as if the words of the toast were a spell and the champagne a potion, and together they were reshaping reality into a shared vision.
Astaroth set his flute down on an end table. “Calladia,” he said softly, stepping toward her.
Calladia’s phone started buzzing. “Ugh,” she said, putting the glass down and heading for her backpack. “This had better not be Themmie calling to ask about a color scheme for her protest posters.”
Her heart sank when she saw the name on the caller ID. She should have known this reckoning would come sooner rather than later. Her mother would never stay silent for long.
Astaroth took one look at her face and intuited the issue. “You don’t have to talk to her.”
“I have to at some point. She’s like a terrier with a rat when she’s upset about something. She doesn’t let go until she’s absolutely brutalized the topic.”
This conversation was going to be especially ugly. Calladia butted heads with her mother frequently, but she hadn’t missed a mandatory event before.
They’d been building to this for a long time though. Every snide comment about Calladia’s career or appearance, every time Calladia had snapped back . . . it had been escalating. When Calladia had opposed her mother at a recent town hall discussing the construction project that would have harmed the forest, it had pushed their relationship troubles into the public eye. I know you’re selfish and don’t want to let anyone else enjoy nice things, Cynthia had said in front of everyone. It had felt like being slapped.
Maybe a better person would de-escalate to salvage the relationship, but Calladia wasn’t built like that. And why should she be the one to cede ground?
Calladia Cunnington, as fair as she is fierce. She fixed the words in her mind, took a deep breath, and answered the phone. “Hello.”
“Oh, so now you can bother to answer the phone when I call?” Her mother sounded seriously steamed.
“I was busy last night.” Busy getting her proverbial socks knocked off by a sexy demon. She checked her smartwatch, wondering how long this talk was going to take. If they were facing Moloch tomorrow, she wanted to have those metaphorical socks completely obliterated by Astaroth.
“I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know people have been asking why you didn’t show up. Rumors have been swirling ever since your shameful display at the town hall.”
“My shameful display?” Calladia asked, temper igniting. “You were the one backing corporate greed over the well-being of your constituents.”
“Oh, please. Like you know a thing about politics.”
Calladia let out a disbelieving laugh. “I’ve watched you manipulate and threaten your way to power for years. I’m pretty sure I understand politics.” She was also sure she never, ever wanted to engage in them herself.