A Demon And His Witch (8 page)

“Remy, Lucifer’s own guard. What brings you to our fine establishment?” said the warden, recognizing him.

Surprised, Remy looked harder at the demon, then smiled. “Crax, you old bugger. So this is where you ended up?” He almost didn’t recognize Crax, the emaciated youth he once knew now enormous in size.

“After the academy,” where all demons, full, half or quarter went when still in their teens, “my Lord assigned me to the prison, but it’s only recently I earned my promotion.”

“Congrats on running the place. Nice gig,” Remy congratulated. Personally, more than a few hours in this place and he’d probably go mad and end up drooling in a corner. It took a tough stomach and mind to work in a place like this.

His old school chum puffed up his chest. “Thank you. But since you didn’t know I was here, something else obviously brought you.”

“I’m here on behalf of our Lord. I am investigating the escape of five of your prisoners.” And there went Crax’s jovial smile, which, for the uninitiated was more frightening than the scowl he currently sported.

“Those bloody fuckers. We got one of them back last night. He’s getting reacquainted with the rack as we speak.”

“Did you question him on how he escaped?” Ysabel asked before Remy could.

Crax’s yellow gaze took her in before he answered. “I asked. He won’t answer. Some kind of spell is stopping him. I’ve called in the Lord’s witch to take a look since my resident magikers can tell me nothing.”

“Might we have a turn? My lady friend and I have an interest in the case and have our Lord’s permission to investigate.”

“Be my guest.”

Crax led them through a warren of hallways, some of the archways branching off, showing scenes of fire and torture, others whipping, some skinning, and one strange one involving tickling.

The warden saw Remy ogling and chuckled. “That there psycho thinks that laughter is a sin. Killed the neighbor’s kids because they kept giggling in their yards. So, we spend all day making him laugh. You should hear the chap sobbing in his cell at night as he beats his head on the wall.”

Yeah, like he said, Lucifer excelled at what he did.

Entering a part of the building that seemed awfully quiet compared to the rest of their journey, Remy frowned. “Do you have silence dampening spells on this section?”

Crax shook his head. “I told you that Pedro fellow wasn’t talking. And I mean at all. Not a scream or peep no matter what we do. It’s freaking the boys out.”

It freaked him out, never mind the others, and flicking a quick glance at Ysabel, he saw the troubled line on her forehead.

They entered a chamber, well lit with fluorescent lights which made the scene shine in all its gory details. Suffice it to say, it was nasty, even by his standards, and bloody, hence the drains in the floor.

Ysabel stepped daintily over the red rivulets inching their way down into Hell’s plumbing until she stood in front of a large rack. Splayed, spread eagle and raw, like meat skinned for a spit, was their friend from the night before, Pedro, and he didn’t look like a happy resident of the Pit which suited Remy just fine. Scumbags deserved punishment.

Despite the lack of noise, only a blind idiot wouldn’t notice that Pedro suffered. His eyes bulged. His mouth hung open in a silent scream, but nothing, not even the hiss of air could be heard. It wasn’t right. Even mutes made noise.

Remy watched as his witch eyed the man up and down, then sketched some symbols in the air. He caught a hint of magic, the ozone scent and electrifying tingle giving her attempts away. The scene didn’t change and it remained quiet enough to keep even a baby demon sleeping.

After a few moments, she turned, appearing pensive. “Whatever has him bound is strong. And subtle. I can’t even see the threads to the spell preventing him from speaking.”

“Which means he definitely had some kind of outside aid in escaping.”

“Impossible,” sputtered Crax. “We monitor visitors closely. Frisk them more thoroughly than their lovers.”

“You can’t see magic though,” she advised dryly.

Crax scowled at her observation.

“We’ll need copies of the visitor logs,” Remy ordered. “And I want to see their cells. Maybe their mysterious benefactor left a clue.”

“Of course. Follow me.”

Ysabel strode after Crax, and Remy dropped back, more to admire her ass than anything else. Round, with enough cushion for the pushing, he couldn’t wait to –

“It looks even better bent over,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Not that you’ll ever see that. I save that for my special friends.” She laughed, a husky sound that went straight to his cock and stroked him. Then the minx added a little extra wiggle to her walk. Like he said before, his Lord knew how to torture, even his favored soldiers.

They visited five solitary cells – stone walls, no window, seamless rock for the floor, thick metal bars for a door – bare of everything, even a blanket.

“There’s nothing here,” Remy growled as he paced the last one. Not even a misplaced scent.

“No magic,” she mused running her fingers over the stone blocks. “No carved messages. Nothing. How did they escape again?”

Crax shrugged. “We’ve yet to figure that one out. One moment, they was all in their cells crying for the abyss, the next time we checked, they was gone. The doors still locked, not a single alarm tripped.”

“What about the video footage?”

A glob of spittle hit the floor and sizzled before Crax answered. “Fucking wiped. The whole lot of them. And before you ask, no, we have no idea how the fuck it happened. Bloody imps most likely, though. The pesky buggers get into everything.”

“So let me get this straight,” Ysabel asked. “You lost five prisoners, have no idea how or when, have no video footage due to some malfunction, and you can’t even make one chained up soul talk?”

“When you put it that way, it sounds bad.”

Ysabel stepped up to the warden and although she remained shorter than him by almost a foot, she seemed to grow somehow in presence. “What’s bad is if you let any more prisoners escape, the Devil won’t have to fire you because I’ll come down here myself, carve your body parts off one at a time and feed them to the hounds. Incompetence is unacceptable and I will not tolerate it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Remy laughed as Crax reeled back from her, a dazed look on his face. He was still chuckling as they exited the rusted gates.

“What is so damned funny?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“You. I mean, you couldn’t even hold your own against Pedro last night and yet you’re threatening the warden of Hell’s Prison. That takes balls.”

He received no warning, just a flick of her hand and he went flying, his impromptu airborne status halted by a crag of rock. And not a smooth one. Ouch.

Ysabel stalked toward him, hips undulating, power weaving around her frame lifting her curls in a wild dance. Stuck like a bug, her magic binding him in place, he enjoyed the view of his witch having a tantrum. Talk about hot.

“First off, demon, let’s get one thing straight. I. Am. Not. Weak. What you saw last night was another fucking subclause of Lucifer’s that makes me of the same strength physically and magically as when I died, but only when on the mortal plane in the presence of the souls I damned. Any other time, I am not to be messed with.”

“If you’re so bad ass, how come I never heard of you?”

“I prefer to stay out of the spotlight, unlike some sorceress’s I know,” she said with a smile as she came to stop in front of him. “But I do have a nickname.”

“Hot on a stick?”

“No.”

“Spanks with magic?”

“Most definitely not.”

“I know, you must be the famous BJ Swallows.”

“I am going to hurt you.”

“I was right?”

“No. And your made up names are just pissing me off.”

“Made up? I’ll have you know those monikers are just a few of the more famous witch ones I know. Of course, I don’t know if their magical abilities extend beyond the pole they dance on, but still, they’re very well known in my circles.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Are you going to tell what your name is then? ‘Cause I’m gonna wager it isn’t Magical Pie.”

He really needed to learn how to keep certain thoughts to himself, an easy thing to promise with the iron grip she had on his balls. Not exactly how he pictured their first time touching.

She twisted. He winced. “Let this be a reminder not to fuck with me. And just so you know, while my nickname is the Blood Witch, my true title is Satan’s Assistant.”

She was the one who had all the damned souls trembling? Hot damn. “I
have
heard of you.”

“Good, then you know what I can do. And might I add it hurts.” She leaned up on tiptoe as she said it, her lips so close to his.

But Ysabel wasn’t the only one with surprises. And truly, she’d pushed the boundaries of temptation too far. He snapped her magic binding and wrapped his arms around her, bringing her flush against his chest. “Did I mention, apart from ability with fire, I can unravel several forms of magic?” Then he kissed her, and by all the coals in the furnace of Hell, he’d never burned hotter.

*

How did I go from putting him in his place to having his tongue in my mouth?

An interesting question for sure, but not as intriguing as the fire he ignited. While Ysabel on a few occasions – usually drunk –let other men kiss her –before she decked them with magic –nothing compared to Remy’s embrace. Not even Francisco’s kiss.

How he could suck her lower lip and make her feel it between her legs was a mystery – one she enjoyed. How he could curl his tongue around hers and wring a pleasurable shudder from her body made no sense. His hands cupped her bottom, squeezing her cheeks, pressing her against his firm body. A body excited to feel hers, judging by the hard bulge nudging her belly.

The moment was one of utter madness – and arousal. She wanted to rip the shirt from him and drag her nails down his torso. She wanted him to hoist her so she could wrap her legs around his waist and…

She tore her mouth from his and shoved at his chest. “What have you done to me?”

Eyes glittering with desire, he regarded her. “I kissed you.”

“Obviously. But how did you make me enjoy it? Kisses aren’t supposed to make me feel like, like –”

“You’re a beautiful, desirable woman in need of man’s touch? Aching to feel his –”

“Don’t you dare say it! I don’t want you. I don’t even like you. So again, what kind of magic did you use? Or is it a drug?”

He smirked. “It’s called expert technique, little cougar. For an experienced woman of your years, I would have thought you’d know that.”

She refused to blush or avert her gaze. “I’ve been with men before.” Actually, a single man, who while capable of giving her pleasure, ended up betraying her. Apart from her education with Francisco, her only comparison came from drunken fumblings that never went further than sloppy kisses, which she followed by a rinse with 99% proof liquor to wash out any residue. “This was nothing like that.”

“Thank you. Shall we continue?”

“No. And don’t you do what you did to me again.”

“It’s called a French kiss.”

“Whatever. Try it again and I’ll –”
Bend over and beg you to take me. Scream as you tongue my pussy. Fuck you until – “
Argh! I hate you.”

Stomping away wasn’t one of her shining moments, especially since she felt his gaze boring into her backside, and damn it all if it didn’t make her add an extra wiggle.

I need to get him away from me before I do something stupid.
Yeah, like orgasm with something not made of plastic for the first time in five hundred years.

*

Lucifer lined up his shot and gave a few practice swings with his number nine thigh bone. The shrunken skull waited for him to putt. He pulled back and –

“I demand you castrate him!”

– his shot went wild, careening off the pillars and missing his interior putting green entirely. Sighing, he turned and faced Ysabel, who, as usual, appeared annoyed.

“What has he done this time?” he asked as she flopped into a chair.

“He kissed me.”

He’d always known Remy was braver than most. “The horror. The shame. And?”

“What do you mean,
and
? I didn’t want him to.”

“So tell him no.”

“I did. Kind of.” He stared at her. She sighed. “Fine, I kissed him back. But I didn’t want to. He made me do it.”

Lucifer blinked. Stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it. Surely he misunderstood. “He made you do it? I’m sorry, did I suddenly enter an alternate universe? Since when does anyone make you do anything? I’ve been trying to get you to show up on time for five hundred years and you still insist on making your own hours.”

A smirk graced her face. “I do it to keep you on your toes. But, back to the kissing demon. I want to know how to stop him from using his magic or potion or whatever it was he used to make me like it.”

Now this was interesting. “You’re mad because you enjoyed it?”

“Loved it, actually,” Remy announced, striding in unannounced. It seemed his witch’s bad habits were rubbing off.

“Does no one knock anymore?” But they weren’t paying Lucifer any attention as they faced off.

“I did not like it.”

“Liar. The tongue in my mouth said otherwise.”

“I was pushing yours out.”

“Then what were the moans of pleasure?”

“I did not moan.”

“Mmm. Mmm.” Remy closed his eyes and adopted a blissful expression with puckered lips.

It occurred to Lucifer as Ysabel raised her fingers that he might want to take cover.

“I am going to turn you into an imp,” she threatened.

“Touch me in a non-erotic way and I am telling you right now, I will consider it foreplay, and not only will I kiss you again, I will strip every piece of clothing from you, lick you from head to toe, and make you scream my name, not once, not twice, but three times as you come.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she huffed, her eyes flashing with ire – and more intriguing to Lucifer, interest.