Page 105 of Surrendering Hope (The Hope Legacy)

I tip my head back. “Fair point.” I hook a thumb over my shoulder towards the bedrooms. “I need to get ready for my first date.”

Emi strolls towards me. I pause. “What are you doing?” I ask.

She shoos me towards the room. “Coming with you.”

“As much as I’m sure this is feeding into Zee’s fantasies…”

“And mine,” Jed shouts.

“…I can dress myself.”

She scowls at me. “Our friendship is damaged after you didn’t trust me. Are you going to deny me the special bonding activity of helping you choose an outfit?”

Resigned, I sigh and trudge towards my room, Emi hot on my heels.

“You can only milk this so long,” I mumble.

“That’s what he said!” Jed and Zee shout.

Emi chuckles. “I know, but after this you’ll see what an excellent bestie I make.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Natia

Taurus - the happy drunk

What does one wear for a date with a demon? The sacrificial white? Bite me red? Or perhaps gothic black announcing a dark side? Commanding leather? Sultry lace? My new female bestie rejected these. According to Emi, to get what I want and adhere to the standards expected by hell’s elite; I should avoid the cliché and opt for feminine, yet sexy. Skin tight suggests a conclusion to the evening that is not happening, so my modest knee length off the shoulder cobalt silk dress, that accentuates curves, yet screams royalty fits the bill.

I round the corner to the main chamber of Hell’s Hole and locate Ant propped against the gleaming bar, talking to Frank. He’s dressed in black slacks, a form fitting black shirt, and snazzy white suspenders. Maybe he’ll whip out a hat and moonwalk? I sashay in my matching heels towards the demon, curious glances thrown my way by the occupants of Hell’s Hole, more so than my initial visit. The hushed tones of ‘Pandora’ whispered, suggests my sudden popularity is because the cat is out of the bag, and mankind’s initial fall from grace is amongst them. Ant and Frank swing their gaze to me, Ant’s silver eyes flash as he takes me in, whilst Frank wolf whistles. Thick tension intensifies until I reach Ant and he places a chaste kiss on my cheek. At his approval, the crowd lets out an audible sigh of disappointment. Blood thirsty crowd tonight.

“Natia, my daring temptress, whilst the reason is grim, I look forward to this evening with you,” Ant says, perusing my bare legs as if my entire body was on display. Jeez, this guy could give Archan a run for his money on the whole seduction thing, but it’s not lecherous, more appreciative. And whilst that particular arrogant ass is tied up with being possessed, he’s still the only arrogant ass for me. Frank shoves a menu towards me depicting several cocktails. He slides his finger to the second section.

“Avoid these,” Frank advises.

I perch on the stool and glance at the menu, my eyebrows raising a little further with each title. “Lucifer’s holy flaming balls?” I mutter.

Ant grins. “Spicy.”

“Cinnamon,” Frank explains as he pours a variety of liquids into a shaker. I follow his movements, noting the cinnamon flavored vodka. With a skill reminiscent of a young Tom Cruise, Frank shakes the container before pouring the clear misting liquid into a martini glass and dropping two purple orbs into the center. With a wink, he thrusts it towards me. I glare at the offending balls as they sink to the bottom of the glass.

Tapping the glass, they bounce around in an unattractive fashion. I’m forty-nine percent sure I don’t want to know, but as I’m genetically wired to be curious, I have to ask. “What are they?”

Frank chuckles as Ant’s eyebrows creep up. “Lucifer’s balls.”

Snorting in a most unladylike manner, I glare at the offending balls and slide the glass back to Frank. “Frankly, Frank, I’m disappointed. Whilst Lucifer offering his balls to me will save me a job at a later date, I’ve seen bigger balls on house cats.”

“Are you calling Lucifer a pussy?” Ant asks, dragging the drink close to me.

I eyeball the drink and shrug. “Eh, if the size of the equipment fits.”

Frank snorts out a laugh as Ant sends him a sharp glare. Guess laughing at the boss man’s prowess is not advisable. Frank ducks and slams a plastic container in front of me full of… red grapes. He plucks one from the stalk, rolls it around between his fingertips and squashes it, allowing the juice to run down his hand. “No demons were harmed in the making of this drink.”

“More’s the pity,” I mutter.

Sniffing the drink, I confirm the potent scent of cinnamon is likely to help the drink live up to its name. I grasp the glass and take a giant slug. Go big or go home, right? I cough and splutter as the burn dries my throat and waters my eyes. Ant drags a white cotton handkerchief out of his pants pocket and pats my cheeks whilst chuckling. “Bloody hell woman, you’re meant to sip it, not down it.”

Once the initial burn simmers down, the aftertaste is pleasant. I sip at the drink. “So where to now?” I ask, twisting around on my stool to take in the growing crowd of Hell’s Hole. A voluptuous vampire bats her long eyelashes at me as her tongue flicks out to lick her ruby painted lips. I grab a tiny stake from the pile left on the bar (also known as a cocktail stick) and stab one of Lucifer’s proverbial balls before biting into it, the juice dripping on my lip. Nobody ever accused subtlety of being my strong suit. She quirks an eyebrow whilst waiting to see what I do with the second grape. I’m tempted to stake it and throw it at her. It wouldn’t kill her as it wouldn’t reach her heart, but it would sting.

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