Page 28 of The Misfit Mage and His Dashing Devil

Bez opened the closet door, flinging shirts onto the bed and carpet. “Boring. Ugly. Tacky. Uh, maybe—no. Itchy. Who would ever wear this? Yuck. Bland. Blasé.”

He’d emptied half the wardrobe before his eyes lit up, a smile filling his face as he caressed the single dress suit pushed to the back of the closet. Immediately, Bez threw on the frayed, navy-blue suit which probably came out for every major social event from weddings to funerals. He rolled the sleeves of the dress shirt and jacket up to his elbows, and the slacks cut off at his calf like dressy capri pants. Wait a second.

“Have you gotten taller?” I asked.

“Gods yes. I’m fine being a tiny tyrant, since most mortals hardly reach six feet, but I refuse to have to look up to everyone I make conversation with.”

It was amazing how much possession changed the host body. Really, it was less of a possession and more of a transformation. Fascinating.

“So, you ready to go?”

“What?” I froze. “Where?”

“Anywhere but here. They want me dead. They want you dead, too. I’m not sticking around.”

“I’m not leaving.” I crossed my arms.

“Oh, you sure about that?”

The fact was, Bez could force my hand a lot more assuredly than I could his. What I needed was something mutually beneficial. The only problem was all Bez wanted was to murder mages.

“I want to clear my name.”

“You still have a Diabolic binding, which will make you a target.” Bez rummaged through the sock drawer, pulling out rolled up ties and holding them to his chest. “It also makes me a target by association.”

“How long will it last?” I asked, which was a waste of time because Bez would only lie.

“Not sure.” He shrugged. “A few weeks maybe. A few days if I’m lucky. I didn’t see how much of me you took.”

I had no idea either. I stared at my palm, a light pink scar almost completely faded now, but that single cut had turned my entire world upside down.

“Does it feel good?” Bez folded his collar up, wrapping a bright blue tie around and adjusting it.

“What?”

“Having me inside you? Do you quiver with delight? Quake in anticipation?”

“You’re insufferable.” I sucked my teeth, taking a tense inhale because as murderous and aloof and innuendo-y as Bez was, I needed him. “I’d like to make a proposal.”

“For marriage? Pass.”

“For mutual assistance.”

“Handies?” He rocked his head side-to-side considering. “You’d just talk the entire time. Pass.”

My cheeks burned. “This is serious. I’d like to find the real culprits behind this attack.”

“To clear your name?”

“Yes. And then we can wait out the bond. You can leave.”

“Not sure I see the mutual assistance part of this.”

“You get your freedom, I get a cleared name, and we stop this war on the Collective.”

“Mages and Mythics and whoever the hell else fighting among each other makes my lowkey life easier. Let them be distracted.”

“But, and hear me out, a Diabolic has never helped the Collective before.”

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