Page 34 of Hell-Bound

Suddenly, Azur began to laugh, a belly laugh that sounded too jovial for such an imposing creature.

“No, no, I’m sorry, my dear.” He wiped a fake tear away from his eyes. “Don’t worry. I knew you’d forget where you put your contract so I ensured you wouldn’t lose it. I’m quite clever that way.”

He flashed her self-satisfied grin.

Ren breathed out, releasing the knot in her chest.

“That’s—that’s great! Where is it?”

Azur stood up and walked to stand in front of Ren,casually leaning back on his desk with crossed legs.

“I’m a little disappointed you didn’t figure it out.”

Azur’s eyes, still glowing, hypnotically sparkled, and his face regained its serious intensity. The power radiating off of him felt like she was the opposite side of a magnet. She blinked rapidly, afraid that this might be some Devil trickery to seduce her—or whatever it was they did.

“Enough of your games. Just tell me where it is,” she bit out.

He bent down close to her, and for the second time in less than a day, she was face to face with a High Devil. She could feel his breath. It smelled like roses suddenly ignited by fire.

“Why do you Devils get so close?” she managed to stammer out despite the heat rising in her chest, visions of the Devil’s writhing still present in her mind.

“My dear. I truly don’t know what you mean,” he drawled, slowly reaching his hand towards her, grazing her thigh.

Ren gasped, too shocked to recoil.

But he jerked his hand back, plucking the piccolo from her waistband.

She came to herself, wrath appearing suddenly.

Azur’s face, still so close to hers, smiled twistedly.

“Give. That. Back,” she gritted out through clenched teeth.

He gave a deep-throated chuckle.

“My dear, please don’t feed my sin. At least not now. I may not be able to control myself if you do,” he said as he ran his fingers delicately across the dimples of her piccolo. “Mortals are so temperamental—it is quite delightful, really. You more than most.”

Ren’s whole body tightened. Hating the idea that he knew more about her than she did.

“Play it,” he suddenly demanded, offering her piccolo back to her.

Her anger turned to confusion.

“What? You want a performancenow?”

“Yes, actually,” he crooned, checking his perfect nails.

She had to admit, a comforting song felt like the only thing that made sense right now. The only thing that always made sense to her.

“What…should I play?” she asked, retrieving the piccolo, which did, in fact, feel warmer.

He shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

Still skeptical, she raised her piccolo cautiously to her lips, keeping her eyes on the Devil lest he snatch her precious instrument away again.

When it reached the seam of her lips, her whole body contracted for a moment, pushing air through her lungs.

She began to play. But no—she wasn’t playing. The piccolo seemed to be taking over—forcing the air out from her.

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