Page 38 of All's Hell That Ends Well

He tilted his head, his silver-white hair sliding over his shoulder. “See, I don’t think that is to be taken literally. You have my nephew’s scent all over you?—”

I remembered with a wince that this creep was actually Azazel’s uncle. Ugh, this family.

“So, clearly, you are not off-limits,” Samael continued. “It would surprise me if my father were to be territorial with you. He’s never been possessive about his lovers.”

I almost threw up in my mouth. No joke, I actually gagged. The revulsion from imagining what Samael had just suggested was just too overwhelming.

“I’m not his—” I couldn’t even say it.The yuck is strong with this one.“We’re not”—I flailed with my free arm—“together.”

Ugh, a full-body shiver of the gross kind took hold of me.

“Oh?” Cold curiosity glinted in those creepy eyes of his. “He has personally claimed you, granted you his direct protection, and given you a suite in the private wing of the palace, right next to his own.”

What? Lucifer’s quarters were that close to mine? What the what?

“How am I to interpret that, other than obvious favoritism due to him being taken with you?” He cocked a dark silver brow. “He hasn’t shown interest in anyone since Lady Lilith was murdered, so naturally, I am intrigued by the one who has caught his attention after all this time.” He gave me a smile that was likely meant to be charming.

All it did was make my skin crawl.

“I am not involved with him like that,” I said with emphasis. “And you’d better take your fingers off me right now.”

His smile sharpened. “Or what?”

I stared at him with simmering hatred and the scorching heat of indignation. How dare he keep his paw on me when I’d made it abundantly clear I didn’t want him to touch me? How dare he make me feel small and inconsequential, like his rank and strength entitled him to run roughshod over my boundaries?

I’d had it with arrogant demon bastards throwing their weight around.

Time to check that fucking ego.

Inside me, my power rolled and thundered like a brewing storm. That newly jacked-up power, infused with the strength of an archdemon.

Bet he has no idea I’ve got that in me.

I purposefully let my lower lip tremble as I allowed the anger I felt to fill my eyes with the hot threat of tears. “Or I’ll cry,” I sniffled, laying it on thick with the acting.

Samael’s shoulders relaxed as he threw his head back to laugh.

Which was the precise moment I struck.

With a roar, I unleashed the raw power brimming inside me. It erupted in a blinding firestorm of epic proportions.

I’d only meant to shove Samael off me and maybe make him stumble a bit.

What I did was blast him clean through the opposite wall, which crumbled in a deafening crash. The floor shook, cracks spreading outward from where I stood. The ceiling above the wall through which I’d catapulted Samael caved in, the upper level of the palace came down amid billows of dust, and the ensuing rubble sealed the opening in the crumbled wall.

Oops.

I grimaced. Holy crap. That had been a bit more power than I’d meant to use.

“Well,” I said and pivoted on the balls of my feet to face Gilarion, who stared at me with a slightly horrified expression. “We should get to the gate before Rubble Boy digs his way out, don’t you think?” I speed-walked past him, my heart beating a mile a minute. “Chop-chop!”

Gilarion hurried to catch up, and together we all but jogged to the gate. No sense in waiting for Samael to come after me. I had no idea if he’d try, or whether the explosive demonstration of my strength just now would make him keep his distance.

Usually, little spats like this were common but negligible occurrences among demons. The strict hierarchy and social rules served as guidelines and actually prevented a lot of fights, but every so often, demons liked to check if the ranks needed adjusting.

Plus, in order to deal with grievances, violence was used as often as diplomacy. Sometimes, a bit of posturing and snarling sufficed, much like in packs of predators. Commonly, though, there’d be little fights, and as long as no one died, “Anything goes” was the motto.

Samael had provoked me, and I’d put him in his place. Things could go either way from here. He might take the loss and accept me as an equal due to the power I’d displayed. Or he could take my show of strength as a challenge and the fact that I’d dared to clap back at him as a personal insult, and then decide to come at me again to thoroughly defeat me and make it clear that he was stronger.

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