Page 54 of The Misfit Mage and His Dashing Devil

“I didn’t do anything.” Which was true. It merely ended swept into our travels when I fled from Ian, the grimy mage I’d kill one way or another.

Walter examined the lock mechanism, then searched the nightstand for something. He slipped on his pair of lime green briefs, covering himself, before stepping off the bed and further investigating the room.

“What are you searching for?”

“Pencil, pen maybe, paper, parchment preferably.” Walter rifled through drawers stuffed with trinkets and spare clothing Mora had acquired. “Could you help?”

“I’ve got plenty out here,” Mora said loudly from the other side of the door, knocking like it made a difference as she whipped the door wide open.

I put my hands on my hips, holding no shame, while she blatantly studied my mortal physique. It didn’t appear too aesthetically different from the last time she’d seen it fully exposed, but each host body did have a few slight variable changes depending on how it merged with my composite. Walter slapped his hands over his bare chest and small stomach. Not where Mora’s eyes landed anyway.

“Didn’t want to interrupt,” she teased. “But it sounded like you’d finished.”

“Just give us a moment to get dressed.” Walter’s face burned bright red as he hid himself behind the bed, scrambling to pull pants on while lying on the floor. He grabbed his tattered shirt and frowned. I supposed I could’ve simply taken it off him.

I grabbed another from the drawer of spares Mora had in this guest room and found a personal favorite for Walter to wear.

“Are there any others?” he asked.

“None your size.” I batted my lashes.

“This is definitely not my size.” He wriggled into the bright pink shirt.

The tight cut framed his slender, muscular body well. The deep V-cut and short sleeves exposed his pale skin, while the short cut at the bottom revealed the fuzz of hair on his belly leading to his crotch.

“Come and join me.” Mora extended a hand to Walter. “I’ve made tea. We can discuss Bezzy while he dresses.”

“It’s not like either of you hasn’t already seen everything.” I grinned. “I’m fine as is.”

“Manners, Bezzy.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Put your cock away, and I’ll consider it.”

I rolled my eyes and dressed. Stepping into the kitchen, Mora pulled a cup of tea from Walter as it neared his lips.

“No, no, dear. Mortal tea is on the kettle,” she explained, handing me the hot glass. “I’ll fetch it. It’s one of Kell’s favorites. Pistachio Lime Yerba Mate.”

Walter scrunched his nose at the offering. I, on the other hand, thought it sounded delectable. More than the whiff of diluted troll wafting from the steam in mine and Mora’s cups.

“What’s in the other tea?” he asked, eyeing her cup opposite him like he half expected a severed finger to float up.

“Baby organs.” I smirked as Walter shuddered.

“Ignore him,” Mora said, handing Walter his tea. “Babies are far too gummy to make into a good tea.”

Walter spit his drink, eyes bouncing between us, likely gauging if Mora jested or rather made light of murderous Diabolic tendencies.

“I’m kidding. Everyone knows mortals taste better once they’re ripe.” Mora twirled her fingers, telekinetically bringing a collection of pens and pencils with various papers and parchment for Walter. “So, dear. What do you intend to jot down?”

“Oh, um…” He gulped, so flustered and struggling to shrug off Mora’s sick humor. Not all humor—we did feed upon whatever seemed most palatable in the moment. “Well, since the grimoire has a lock, I thought I’d start with a divination decryption incantation. They’re both fairly low-level, and I’ve used them lots with my work in the archives.”

“Why don’t you perform a release incantation?” I asked.

“That’s too high-level for me.” He lowered his head shamefully, something he’d done far too many times working in the repository when scolded by hisbetters. This technique perfected his humility by averting his gaze and letting his long curls drape over the tops of his rims. He’d performed a collection of sophisticated incantations to retrieve this grimoire, yet still believed it’d been my Diabolic essence that had assisted in the feat. We’d have to sit and discuss this matter. Diabolic essence didn’t enhance a mage or Mythic’s power. In fact, too much of it, and it’d devour the individual’s mana to thrive in the higher capacity of a host body. Hence why the mana in this body had nearly been depleted.

“We can discuss your self-worth issues another time,” I said, stepping toward the table. “For now, let’s put a pin in the introspection and open this damn book.”

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