Page 72 of The Deer and the Dragon
“Who is Azrames to you?”
She blushed again, which confused me. Before, I’d thought it was merely the sexual chemistry pinking her cheeks. Now I recognized it as something else entirely. “What do you want to know?” She lifted a single shoulder in a half-shrug, though she fought too hard to keep the gesture casual. It was utterly unconvincing.
I unwrapped my hair from the towel, absorbing the remaining dampness as I looked at her. “Well, clearly the sex is terrible and you hate each other, so, being cagey about it makes sense.”
She sank against the wall, crossing one ankle over the other as she looked at me. “Tell me, wise and powerful Marlow, what would you have me do?”
I gestured to the lavish life around me. “Move to Hell? Be with him? Be in love? Be happy?”
“I am happy.”
“He said you hadn’t seen him in twenty years!”
She began to unbutton her shirt to change into her sweats. Given her silence, I took my cue to do the same. I slipped the robe off my shoulders, feeling guilty for letting such expensive material puddle at my feet. I stepped into a pair of Fauna’s baggy pants and the short-sleeve shirt she’d offered me. There would be no bra or panties in Hell, it seemed. I supposed that was okay, as long as everyone in the house was fine knowing I was cold.
“Tell me something,” she said, exhaustion tinging her voice. “Truly, Marlow, I want an answer.”
I straightened and looked at her, preemptively defensive.
“If someone adores you for your chaos, what’s the best way to honor that love? If they treasure your rootlessness, if they celebrate your anarchy, if they love you as you are, do you think they’d be dancing in the streets if you gave up the very essence at the core of your being that made them fall for you?”
I folded my arms over my chest, both to cover the chilly evidence beneath her thin, white shirt and to shield my discomfort.
She pushed. “Humans do it all the time. I swear to the gods, it’s the norm in your realm. And how often does it make them happy?”
I shook my head as if to argue but had no defense.
“Besides,” she said, levity returning to her voice. “Hell doesn’t fit my aesthetic.”
“But then…” I didn’t know what to ask, except, “Why did you have to throw back four drinks to work up the courage to call him?”
She snorted. “Az is wild in bed. He’s amazing, but you’d need a few drinks too after a long break from that kind of ride.”
I opened my mouth to respond but snapped it shut again.
I couldn’t begin to comprehend a nymph and demon’s parameters for kinky sex, so I began to unzip the bag to see what had been hidden at the back of the closet. Searching for something to break the haze of my confusion, I asked, “Why did we need Betty to call him?”
“That one is your fault. We needed a safe space to prove the efficacy of your ink outside of your sigil-painted apartment,” she said, snatching the bag from me. She shook the bag free and procured a stunning gown. “Thank the gods and goddesses we got our hands on Aloisa’s sølje; otherwise I’d still be mortal-bound just to keep you safe. It really ties my hands. And not in the fun way…” Her mind seemed to drift, one hand idly tracing the bare skin of her wrist.
I cleared my throat.
“Anyway.” She handed me the dress, snapping to attention. “I think this one suits your coloring better. I’ll wear the green one. Let’s have a relaxing day, so don’t worry about changing yet. Tonight, we meet the King.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“How’d you sleep, Marmar?” Azrames was cursedly shirtless as I emerged from the bedroom. It was an act of cruelty and violence that someone with such an impeccable body would walk around his own apartment with sex-mussed hair in only boxers. Of fucking course the hot man was covered in tattoos stretching from a single pectoral to his shoulder as the piece snaked down his arm. What a cliché.
My gaze had initially begun in ongoing shock that his skin was truly shades of iron and steel, as if watching a movie from the fifties, or staring at someone who’s stepped out of a turn-of-the-century photograph but living in a fully saturated world. Somewhere between the line of demarcation in his abdominals and the thick tree trunks he had for legs, I’d forgotten what I was doing and neglected to look away.
“Ow!” I gasped, jerking to see what had accosted me.
Fauna had pinched my ass while walking by. She grinned as she pranced, barefoot, into the kitchen. “Wanna borrow him?”
These two were going to be the death of me.
There was no pride to salvage. I covered my face with my hands and shook my head before joining them in the kitchen. “Do I smell coffee?”
“How do you take it?” he asked.
