Page 22 of Letters to Satan

Then the fucker winks, and my brain goes fuzzy.

“Did you need something, Damien?” We haven’t seen much of each other since our excursion to the reindeer barn yesterday. I’ve been up to my eyeballs in paperwork and deadlines, drowning in my impending doom.

Good times.

“Oh, well…” Hesitating, he appears almost shy, causing me equal parts surprise and skepticism. This timid version of him is incredibly suspicious… more suspicious than normal, even, andthatis a feat.

His eyes finally land on mine as those blonde lashes flutter. “I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner. With me. Tonight.”

My stomach flutters in response, but I clear my throat and attempt to keep my tone professional. “I suppose I owe you some time to discuss our ongoing issue.”

His tongue flicks out between his lips as his eyes dart away… and is that ablushforming on his cheeks?

Holy shit, it is.

A maroon flush that almost hides his freckles paints his face, and I’m mesmerized by it.

“While that is true, I was hoping for something of more of a…” He pauses, those eyes like molten honey as he meets my gaze again. “Personal nature.”

A satisfied smile plays on my lips as I step forward and grip his chin, tilting him towards me. “You wish to dine with me?”

“I do.”

I lean closer, placing my mouth near his ear. “And does this dinner involve dessert?”

“Only the sweetest kind,” he purrs back, and I press a barely-there kiss on the hinge of his jaw. A soft hum rises in his throat, not leaving his lips, and I move further until I pull the lobe of his ear between my teeth.

“Are you behaving?” I murmur as he shudders.

“Why does that feel like a trick question?”

I retreat and hold his gaze, so close we’re nose-to-nose. “Why does that answer feel like side-stepping? What are you up to?”

He smiles, a sweet, serene thing that is just terribly full of suspicion. “I’m the Devil, Nik… I’m up to a lot of things. And if I play my cards right, sounds like I’ll be…” His fingers tiptoe up my chest until they hook under the neck of my sweater and tug, pulling me forward until our lips brush. “Up to somethingbiglater.”

“Trouble,” I murmur, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before remembering that Cadbury is awkwardly standing to the side, pretending he isn’twitnessing this. “Be in my office at six-thirty sharp. Every minute you’re late, you’ll suffer the consequences.”

“Oh, now, don’t tempt me.” A sly grin appears on his face as I raise a brow, and I push the sleeve of my sweater up a few inches, causing the muscles in my forearm to flex in warning. “Yes, sir, I’ll be on time,” he murmurs, tracing a finger along a vein on my arm before smiling to himself and walking away, tail twitching in a little wave goodbye.

Chapter 8

Damien

Once I ensure Niklaus is safely out of the workshop, I linger for an extra five minutes before sneaking back into the Hellve’s den. In a matter of days, the crew has gotten the entire production line operational, and boxes filled with finished products are neatly packed and ready for delivery.

Jujube stands at the front of the room, a miniature tyrant with his nose held high in the air like the aggravating little shit he is. “Lucifer, sir!” he shouts as I approach.

My eyes drift to the red H pinned on his shirt, a bold fashion choice that other Hellveshave begun to imitate. A sudden surge of anger washes over me as I reach over and tear it off his chest, crumbling the paper in my fist.

Indignant, he protests, but I jab my finger between his eyes and watch as they cross. It would be comical if I wasn’t so agitated. “You need to be more careful, and this?” I shake the crumbled paper badge in his face. “This is reckless. This isidiotic.The Santa is already suspicious that something is going on, and you want to flaunt your betrayal by parading around in that?”

“It’ll be fine,” he says, but I don’t miss how he picks at the fuzz on his sweater, trying to hide the subtle tremble to his fingers. “Let me give you an update, sir.” Even though it’s an obvious distraction technique, it proves effective as he moves towards the production tables, and I fall in line behind him.

My stress about Niklaus discovering our operation diminishes when I glance at the table full of dongs, and I manage a smile.

“Our flagship item is the ‘Candy Cane,’” he announces, displaying an eight-inch dildo with red and white stripes and a convenient curve at the tip. The silicone dick flops around, wobbling as he picks it up and waves it through the air. He grins wickedly as he slams it onto the table, the suction cup making a satisfying click as it latches to the metal.

“Second is the ‘Knot Your Daddy’s Christmas.’” This one is golden and swirled, shorter but thicker than the previous model, and a giant werewolf knot swells at the base.

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