Page 32 of The Misfit Mage and His Devilish Desires

“We don’t have bears,” I said. “I mean, we have them in our world, but I don’t personally have any bears.”

Orias’ iris wiggled into an almost rounded shape, possibly a sign of his confusion, so I went to clarify until Bez interrupted.

“It’s a mortal expression, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Ah.” Orias nodded his bulbous head. “Mortals do say the strangest things. Perhaps the satisfaction of the three bears would make more sense in one of your many other languages.”

“How do you know our language?” I asked.

“Research,” Orias said.

“He probably devoured a few hundred humans to gain an understanding of our world,” Bez whispered.

“That’s awful.”

“Surely, the thought occurred.” Bez grinned. “You don’t think these host bodies are volunteers, do you?”

I recoiled a bit, turtling my neck, then buried the thought. There was nothing to be done about it. Nothing by me. These demons might fear the wrath of Walter Alden, hybrid devil guy, but I didn’t want to cross anyone while here in Hell. Lilith’s Hell. The devil still yet to reveal herself since my arrival.

“Allow us to offer a bit of relaxation and wonder before escorting you to the first course of the Devil’s Banquet.”

I twisted my lips into this anxious, scrunched, puckered confusion because, in all my time with Bez, I’d never seen him enjoy a normal meal. Since it appeared nothing other than demons and devils survived within the walls of Hell, I could only imagine the most disturbing cannibalistic meals ever conceived.

Bile built in my throat at the thought, and I did my best not to hurl.

“It’s rare for them to import food into Hell.” Bez raised his brows. “It’s such a lower being need to require sustenance and all that.”

Well, that was slightly comforting, but then Bez’s concoctions and ideas behind seasoning rang in my head, and I hoped his chefly ways were far from what other Diabolics considered appetizing.

“Let us begin with a few treatments on the physical extremities.” Orias clapped his tentacles together, using the clack of the hooked spikes to usher the demon attendants, who used their telekinesis to shift the room’s arrangement.

“Hmmm. A spa day in Hell.” I chuckled. “This isn’t the horrors I expected.”

“Remain on your guard all the same,” Bez whispered. “Everything is a test, an evaluation of how you hold yourself. I plan on being insufferably demanding.”

“How’s that different from any other day?”

Bez scoffed, then smirked, then let his gaze drift from me. His eyes gleamed with excitement at the supplies telekinetically carried into the bathhouse by the demon attendants. They all huddled around furniture where Orias encouraged us to rest. I sat in the cushioned seat, studying the equipment. I placed my hands on the nearby table positioned so I could lounge while they worked.

“Mani pedis?” He fluttered his fingers with dazzle, adding essence to the sheen black of his growing claws. “I’m here for the pampering, but it doesn’t seem very on point with the theme.”

“Actually, manicures date back to 3200 B.C., which ties into some of the earliest forms of hygiene, cosmetics, a desire for…” I bit my lower lip when Bez’s eyes glazed over. “All right. Let’s enjoy a little pampering.”

I carefully lifted my feet and set them in an empty tub where someone went to work cleaning my feet. Theentire experience was well beyond my comfort zone. Strangers touching me. Working on me. It was something I’d rather tend to independently, privately. But something told me devils weren’t modest or concerned about burdening someone else with serving them. I let my mind spin to every fact I knew about manicures because my thoughts had immediately drifted back to how hot Bez was when he served me. Served my cock. My cock that was already getting stiff at the idea of once again—

“What color were you thinking?” I asked.

There were hundreds of nail polishes arranged on racks and presented in a similar fashion to opening a crayon box.

“Something bold and stylish.” He hummed for a dramatic pause, but we both knew the color he’d choose. His favorite color. “I’m gonna go with neon orange.”

He eyed the assortment on display, resting on the several shades of orange in selection.

“Or perhaps I’ll settle.” Bez feigned offense. “Walter, must we settle for subpar oranges?”

“Um…”

“Never.” Orias’ tentacles flailed, and his essence went to work, conjuring a new collection of nail polishes to fill in the gaps in colors he’d offered. Not sure how he managed to create so many other shades when he’d already practically included every color in the rainbow spectrum. Watching him work was like going to a paint store where they had fifty types of white to choose from that only differed on the most microscopic level.

---