Where the Devil Don't Go - Ch. 1-7 (Patreon)

Chapter 1

Christopher

Christopher hated his cage the most. It was big enough for him to stand in but not wide enough for him to raise his arms or turn around. He wasn’t meant to be comfortable. Master said he didn’t deserve comfort. Master said he didn’t deserve anything but misery and suffering. He should be grateful Master kept him at all.

Christopher didn’t mind the punishments. Once upon a time—when he’d believed in fairy tale love, the kind where chaining a person to a wall didn’t necessarily mean they were enemies—he’d even enjoyed them, craved them. But that was back when Master was still convincing him that not only did love exist, but that he’d somehow lucked into finding his dark Prince at barely sixteen, when he was far too young to see every red flag waving in his face. He sighed, shifting uncomfortably behind the bars before resting his head against the wall, attempting to ignore the seething jealousy coursing through him.

Master lay on the enormous family-size bed in his penthouse apartment in the city. He wasn’t alone. Outside, beyond the floor to ceiling windows, the lights of the skyline twinkled, looking brighter than any stars overhead, but Christopher could only watch his Master. He hated him—he could say that without any hesitation—but there was this cord, this bond that tied Christopher to him, and it went far beyond anything as frivolous as love. Obsession. Compulsion. Insanity? Christopher needed Master. Not just for food and shelter but to breathe. He didn’t know how or why, could never explain it to anybody without sounding as pathetic as he felt, but he was…beholden to him. No matter the level of abuse or degradation. No matter how many years Master spent carving away who Christopher was.

Disgust and loathing slithered inside him as he tried not to look at the bed. At Master. Some barely legal twink rode him enthusiastically, seemingly finding Christopher’s presence a turn-on more than a deterrent. Christopher had once found it exciting, too. Being watched. Being shared. Back when he thought it was his choice. Now, he knew better. There was no choice. There was only Master.

He wanted to sleep. His eyes burned and his brain felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Sleep wasn’t an option. If Master had put him in the box under the bed, he could have possibly drifted away, drowning out the sound of the boy’s moaning. It was dark and though there was no cushion, he didn’t feel the pressure to keep himself awake like he did in the cage.

There was no protection in the cage. Plenty of room between the iron bars for knives or nails or fists. It wasn’t smart to let his guard down with Master so close. Hypervigilance sort of came with the territory after eight years of captivity.

Christopher let his head loll toward the window, frowning as a blur of movement caught his attention on the balcony, almost as if something had fallen. Had he reached a level of exhaustion where he was now hallucinating?

Christopher’s eyes went wide, his breath leaving him in a forced exhale as the glass doors leading outside exploded inward, the walls surrounding it spider-webbing with a sound that made Christopher’s whole body numb and his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth.

Then a man was standing there, inside Master’s bedroom, looking incongruously normal as the tempered glass wall behind him began to drop dramatically to the marble floor like tiny bits of ice.

Christopher wasn’t the only one startled. Master threw the boy off him, bolting to his feet, seemingly unbothered by his nudity. “Who the fuck are you?” he snarled.

That was a great question. Christopher leaned forward against his will. The man was striking, though not in the flashy heroin chic rockstar way Master was. He preferred leather pants and expensive designer labels. The intruder’s clothing, however, looked expensive, but not in a way that would draw attention. He looked like any other wall street trader or overpriced attorney.

Christopher couldn’t stop looking at the man. He wore a perfectly tailored gray suit that hugged his broad shoulders and trim waist. He had perfectly quaffed chestnut hair that pushed off his face, exposing strong brows, full lips, and a square jaw with a dimple in his chin. He looked like he’d left a board meeting to make this grand sweeping entrance into the bedroom. Except, that bedroom was on the fifteenth floor.

So, where the fuck had he come from?

The man sneered at Master, who looked at the boy who’d shared his bed moments ago. The boy darted forward as if to defend Master, but the moment he touched the man in the fancy suit, he dropped like a stone at his feet, smoke erupting from his ears and nostrils as if he’d burned from the inside out. Christopher gasped, drawing the stranger’s attention.

He tilted his head, frowning as he looked at Christopher naked and caged, and he felt it in his core like a caress. They stared at each other for a long moment, as if sizing each other up, before the man seemed to dismiss him. He imagined he didn’t look very threatening.

“You’ll pay for that,” Master swore, glaring at the boy on the ground like an expensive broken vase, which had disappointed him by not protecting itself better. The stranger’s outward appearance morphed, leaving what could only be described as a demon in its place. A demon. A fucking demon. The kind Christopher had only read about in books. But there was no other word for what was standing there before him in that upscale Manhattan apartment.

While the stranger who’d arrived was six foot two at best in his human suit, this demonic entity was easily seven feet tall, with red leathery skin, huge black wings, a long tail, and eyes that burned orange like fire in the dim light. He was also very naked and very well endowed…by human standards anyway.

Christopher swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, unsure what to make of this overwhelming creature who’d sprung from the body of some mortal man. Maybe he was high. Or sleeping. Maybe he’d died and this was hell. But if it was hell, shouldn’t he be more afraid? The current emotion coursing through him certainly wasn’t fear.

This stranger wasn’t the only one who seemed to suddenly transform. Master dropped to his knees, his tone sniveling. “Forgive me, my liege. I didn’t recognize you.”

“Forgive you?” the demon asked, his voice dry and rough as sandpaper. “I’ve searched for you for over a decade while you’ve squatted here, enslaving humans, living among them like you have the right? Forgive you? You’re lucky I didn’t liquify your insides on the spot.”

Master’s gaze dared to dart upward, the sound leaving his lips barely more than a whimper as the creature gave a low rumbling growl that went straight to Christopher’s cock. Maybe it was seeing Master brought to his knees after years of abuse or maybe Christopher had a weird monster fetish he’d never realized until just that moment, but either way, he pressed himself closer to the bars, the cold metal a balm to his suddenly overheated skin.

“My lord, surely you understand… You were trying to kill me. It was self-preservation.”

The monster gave a hissing laugh. “You’re an abomination. You were never meant to exist. Now, all you’ve done is piss me off and prolonged the inevitable. You’re lucky I don’t find torture and suffering as addictive as my brother. I’ll make it a quick death.”

Master’s head snapped up, for once looking truly terrified. “Surely, I can offer you something? There must be others you can take first? The list of your…abominations is long, no? Surely, it would take you another decade at least to collect them all. My boy… Take him? He looks a bit…ugly, but I assure you, he’s an impeccable slave. Docile, subservient. I’ve made him the perfect whore. Take him. You can have him. Just let me be the last on your list.”

They both turned to look at Christopher, who refused to cower under their gaze. He was the perfect whore, but he didn’t think Master deserved the credit for that. Christopher had dreamed of serving since he was old enough to know sexual submission was a thing that existed outside of erotica novels.

“You think to offer me a human? What did you do to it?” the monster rumbled.

“What? The scarring? He likes it. You can even make him beg for it. He needs it. I’ve seen to that. I assure you, he’s well trained. You can do anything to him and he’ll still moan like a little slut. I promise. Sometimes, he cries, but I promise you, more often than not, he begs for more.” This wasn’t the first time Christopher had been forced to listen to Master list off his qualifications like he was nothing more than livestock, but, somehow, it was more shameful in front of this…whatever he was.

Christopher used to love being Master’s submissive, or at least the idea of it. But Master had made him almost unrecognizable through years of torture and abuse, both physically and spiritually. Still, when the demon looked at Christopher, he turned his good side towards him, still wanting this monster to think him beautiful.

The creature moved faster than Christopher’s eyes could even register. Master was kneeling at his feet and then dangling from his clawed fist, feet jerking as he fought for purchase, his skin turning red, then purple, as spit flew from his lips. Christopher found he could no longer breathe either. He clawed at his own throat, falling back against the wall. What the fuck?

The creature growled. “You’re an incubus. He’s tied to you. Look at him! Even now, he fights to take in a breath simply by the strength of your hold over him. I don’t get what father sees in these creatures, but you knew the rules, even here on Earth, and you chose to spend your time enslaving humans, mating with them, bending them to your will.”

Master scrabbled at the creature’s wrist ineffectually. “I only did what you created me to do. I only exist because of you. Please—”

Whatever he was about to say died as the creature punched through Master’s chest and ripped his heart from his body. Christopher screamed at the burning pain that shot through his own chest, unable to stop from glancing down, expecting to see a fist-sized hole there as well.

But the pain was fleeting. The moment Master—Vincent’s—heart stopped, it was as if a veil had fallen from Christopher’s eyes. The constant desperation to be near him, to please him, was just…gone, like a cord had been severed. Had all of this truly been against his will? Had he enslaved himself to a monster in a human suit? He blinked, feeling like he was waking up from an eight year nightmare.

Before he could fall too deeply into his existential crisis, the creature turned his attention to Christopher. He could only watch as he prowled closer, stopping when there was nothing between them but the bars of the cage. He peered downward, inhaling deeply like he could smell him. “You weren’t meant to see any of that,” he rumbled.

Christopher swallowed hard, giving a stilted nod. “But I did.”

The creature gave a world-weary sigh. “Yes, you did.”

“Are you going to kill me?” Christopher heard himself ask, his heartbeat only now starting to gallop in his chest once more.

“I’m afraid I must.” Christopher could feel tears filling his eyes. “Human tears don’t move me,” the monster assured him.

“That makes sense, I guess,” Christopher said, resignation heavy in his words. “Can I, at least, ask a question first?”

The monster’s response was a hissing chuckle, like steam escaping a pipe. “Are you going to ask me what I am? Because there’s truly no simple answer to that. Fallen angel, demon, killer of monsters.”

“I was just going to ask your name,” Christopher said with a watery laugh. “But that is a cool bio. Like a video game character.”

The creature grinned, revealing rows of sharp teeth. “I have many names. You might know me as Lucifer, Satan, the Morningstar, the light-bearer, God’s chosen one…but most people call me Samyaza.”

The snort of laughter that escaped from Christopher was beyond his control. He pressed his fist to his mouth until his teeth left indentations, but still he couldn’t stop the laughter spilling from his lips. After spending years as an apparently unwilling sex slave to a monster who’d carved him up like a Thanksgiving turkey, he was about to be slaughtered by a demon named…Sam. Fucking Sam.

Sam tilted his head, once more looking at Christopher like one might examine a newly discovered species. “Are you having a psychotic break, human?”

Christopher could only laugh harder, the bars of his cage digging into his back. Was he? He was laughing in a demon’s face but he was crying, too, scalding tears trailing over his cheeks as he pondered his life ending just as he got it back. “Possibly. Before you kill me can you at least let me out of this cage?”

Once more, Sam frowned. “I would think you’d prefer the barrier. I am a monster.”

“Will this cage save me from my fate?” Christopher asked.

Sam scoffed. “Of course not.”

Christopher wiped at his face. “Then I’d prefer not to die in here.”

Sam the demon gripped the cage’s door, ripping it from its hinges and tossing it to the floor with no effort before turning and retreating a few paces to let Christopher exit. Once he was free, Christopher swept past Sam and walked to the hook where a black silk robe hung, slipping it on and tying it.

“I don’t really want to die naked,” he explained without being asked. “Being found with these two will be embarrassing enough. I wish I smoked,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “This seems like a cigarette kind of moment.”

Sam frowned, stalking closer. “I can’t figure out if you’re brave or traumatized. I’ve never seen anybody meet their death with such a level of calm.”

“Haven’t you heard? My generation can’t wait to die. Blame it on our nihilistic Gen-X parents.”

It was meant to be a joke, but the moment the words left his lips, he longed to take them back. He really didn’t want to fucking die in this penthouse with that fucking piece of shit Vincent or the poor dummy who’d died trying to save him. He wanted his eight years back.

“What if I told you I’m willing to honor Vincent’s trade?” he asked.

“Pardon?’

“I know I’m not much to look at anymore thanks to him”—he paused to glare at Vincent and the gaping hole in his chest—“but he wasn’t wrong. I’m well trained. An excellent submissive. I do…like pain. Not so much with the disfigurement though if you could do without it. But I could handle it too…if that was your thing. I’ve never been with a demon before”—he once more glanced down at his former master— “or I guess I have, but he didn’t look like you.” He licked his lips, looking at Sam’s thick, uncut cock. “With enough prep, I’m sure we could make it work.” I hope.

Sam gaped at him. “You—are you saying you’d let me breed you in this form?”

Christopher bit his lower lip, letting it drag between his teeth before he shrugged, gazing up at Sam from beneath thick, black lashes. “I mean, I kinda preferred you in the suit and tie, but I’m not going to lie, I think I kind of dig the horns and the wings. The claws are a little terrifying when I think of all my soft bits, but you can’t make me any uglier than Vincent already has.”

“No amount of scarring could make you ugly, pet.”

The softness in the demon’s words made Christopher feel like he had fishhooks in his lungs, and the odd term of endearment—pet—made the blood rush to his dick. “I could be your pet, your boy. I hated calling him master. He didn’t deserve it. But maybe something else for you… Sir? Daddy?”

A soft snarl escaped from Sam’s lips and Christopher couldn’t help but take advantage, stepping closer to run his hands along Sam’s chest. It didn’t feel like human skin, but it was smooth over the bulk of his muscles, velvet over steel. “Daddy?” he tried again. “Do you like it when I call you that?”

This time, it wasn’t a growl but more a frustrated rumble. “This is madness. I have no use for a human. You are strange, silly, frivolous creatures. I have a job to do. But… But I won’t kill you.”

Christopher should have felt relief at his words, but disappointment flooded his system, soaking his words as he scoffed. “Look at me. Look what he’s done to me. What kind of life can I have with half of my face mutilated? If you don’t want me, you might as well kill me.”

In the time it took Christopher to blink, Sam was in his human form once more, back in his gray suit. Fuck, that was cool. When Sam stepped forward, butterflies took flight in Christopher’s stomach. When he cupped his face, his cock throbbed. How long had it been since somebody had touched him in kindness? Had they ever?

A strange warmth seemed to pulse from Sam’s hands, and when he dropped them to Christopher’s shoulders and turned him toward the full length mirror leaned against the wall, his mouth fell open. His pale skin was no longer marred by raised red lines. There was no thick scar running from the corner of his mouth to his brow. His eyelid no longer drooped from where Vincent had severed the nerve.

Christopher stumbled closer to the mirror. It was him but…not. His long dark hair still curled down to his shoulders, but his pale skin looked pink and healthy, the dark circles under his eyes had disappeared, his lips were cherry red, and his pale blue eyes seemed lit from within. He turned back to Sam. “What did you do to me?”

“I healed you. Nothing more. You have the face of an angel. Believe me, I’d know. There’s nothing you couldn’t have looking the way you do. Humans are such simple creatures. Especially human men. You can have anything you want from them, if you only ask.”

Christopher met Sam’s gaze, noting his eyes were a rich jade green with threads of gold. “What if I don’t want that?”

“Want what? To live?”

“What if I don’t want some simple human man?” Christopher asked.

Sam shook his head. “What are you asking?”

Christopher smiled. “I guess you could say I’m a human standing in front of a demon, begging him to let me call him Daddy.”

The movie reference was clearly lost on Sam, but he studied him with such intensity it felt like he was examining his insides. Finally, he shook his head, seeming both confused and exasperated. “Put some clothes on. You can’t go anywhere dressed like that.”

Christopher’s heart soared in his chest as he rushed to comply. He pulled on the first pair of jeans he found and a soft oversized silver sweater. “You realize they’re probably going to think I murdered them, right?” he said, tone conversational.

Sam snapped his fingers. “You can’t murder anybody if you’re dead.”

Christopher froze. Was that a threat? Was Sam just toying with him? Had he intended to kill him this whole time? Sam smirked, pointing to the bodies on the floor. Christopher sucked in a breath at the sight of his face on the dead twink’s body. He jerked his head back before the mirror, lip curling as he realized he wore the dead boy’s face.

Sam chuckled. “Relax, pet. It’s simply a glamor. It will be gone as soon as we are. Let’s go.”

Chapter 2

Samyaza

“How did it go?”

Sam cut his eyes to his brother, Arakiel, who lounged behind Sam’s large oak desk, feet kicked up, voice droll, as he twirled a pen end over end along his knuckles. Arakiel already knew how it had gone. He was just being an ass. He was always just being an ass.

“I’m not in the mood today, Brother.”

Ari snorted, his laugh condescending. “Are you ever in the mood?” When Sam didn’t take the bait, he asked, “Are you going to do it?”

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, fixating on the gray brick walls, letting his eyes roam higher to the ribbed vaulted ceiling. “I have no use for your riddles or head games. What is the ‘it’ you speak of?”

Ari chuckled. “I love when you make me work for it, Brother. The ‘it’ I speak of is the human boy I imagine is currently lounging in all his cherubic glory on that gothic monstrosity of a bed in your chambers down the hall. Do you truly intend to…bed it?” The last words dripped with mock disdain, like he’d seen a roach crawl across Sam’s desk.

Sam didn’t ask how Ari knew. He always knew. With a flick of his wrist and a shake of some animal bones, Ari could see all. Yet, somehow, he couldn’t—or most likely wouldn’t—see how close he was to pushing Sam too far. Annoying people was Ari’s version of a hobby and Sam was his favorite target. They might have celestial roots, but Ari was very much suffering from middle-child syndrome.

“And if I do?” Sam asked, kicking himself for even entertaining the question. It wasn’t Ari’s business. Sam was the head of the Grigori. He didn’t need to justify his actions to anybody, least of all Ari.

Ari let his loafered feet fall to the gleaming hardwood floors. “If you do,” he said, rising from Sam’s chair to stretch loudly, giving him a glimpse of toned copper skin and black ink tattooed across his side, “I’d ask if you were off your fucking nut.” At Sam’s snarl, his brother added, “Respectfully.”  His tone was mockingly light, his hands gesticulating wildly.

Sam wanted to tell Ari to mind his own fucking business, that he was free to do as he pleased, but, instead, he walked to the bar in the corner of his office and poured himself two fingers of bourbon, swallowing the fiery liquid like it was ice water and he was dying of dehydration.

Sam had no idea why he’d taken the boy. His dick twitched behind his zipper just at the thought of all that pale skin and curly shoulder-length brown hair. Okay, so he had some idea as to why he’d taken him. In the eons he’d been on this planet, never once had anyone, much less a human, gazed up at him in his true form and asked to serve him. It was a heady sensation. One Sam hadn’t been able to ignore, whether he intended to take the boy or not.

It wasn’t as if Sam was desperate for sexual gratification. He wasn’t. There was no shortage of his kind walking amongst the humans. Sam and the other watchers had made sure of that years ago. There was no need to try to seek comfort with a…human. While they might be his father’s favored progeny, to him, they were nothing more than pretty chimpanzees with quirky habits. He enjoyed studying their customs, their cultures, and, once upon a time, he’d even enjoyed teaching them all the knowledge his father had tried to hide from them. But now, he viewed them the way humans might a pretty insect.

But this boy, Christopher, had thrown him when he’d gazed up at him with those liquid hazel eyes and begged not to live but to serve, serve Sam—service Sam—in his demon form. It was madness, really. He wasn’t certain any human could handle him in his true form, at least not comfortably, but Christopher hadn’t sought comfort, just his life and maybe some form of wish fulfillment, because when he’d looked at Sam in his demon form, he’d been not only scared but aroused, and it was that combination of fear and sex that had overwhelmed Sam’s better judgment. How could he say no to that?

As wrong as it seemed, Sam wanted to know what it felt like to bed and breed the boy, not only in his human form but as his true self. Especially when the boy had called him Daddy. One of those odd human quirks he’d once found so fascinating. People with Daddy issues wanting to call a stranger Daddy while bedding them. Over several centuries, Sam had sired hundreds of offspring with other demons, but he was no father figure.

But Christopher didn’t want a father figure. He wanted a master—somebody to use him—and Father forgive him, he’d slipped. His first slip in a thousand years. Even now, when he should be forming a cohesive plan to finish his list and end his millennia of suffering, he could only think about the boy in his chamber.

“Well?” Ari said, impatience leaching into his voice.

That’s right. His brother had asked him a question. Sam sighed, pouring another two fingers and downing it. “This conversation is tedious. There’s no harm in me playing with him until I’ve completed my mission.”

Sam watched Ari’s reflection cross his arms over his broad chest in the large mirrored wall before him. His brother was an odd duck in human form. Tall and toned, skin sun-kissed like those of Middle Eastern descent the originals created in his father’s image with inky black strands, a full beard, and lashes so black he always seemed to be wearing makeup. Sometimes, he was. Today, he wore expensive tailored black slacks and an obnoxiously loud button down shirt, which had probably cost as much as his Balenciaga loafers that he insisted on wearing without socks, a habit Sam found nauseating.

“You’ve got five more names on your list and then you’re finished. Forever. You get to finally rest. Why would you risk losing your chance at salvation by dabbling with a human? It would be like deciding to stick your dick in a houseplant. They aren’t like us. They can never be like us. They’re…simpletons.”

Sam spun around. “Who cares? What precisely is so great about us? We led a rebellion, fell from grace, corrupted our father’s chosen ones. The ones he loved over all others. We bred with demons and created a race of monsters so vile we’ve been cleaning up our own mess for centuries. And don’t get me started on those who fell and bred with the daughters of man.” Sam took a deep breath and let it out, reining in his temper. “I’m just amusing myself. Why shouldn’t I enjoy my final days here on Earth before being judged by our celestial counterparts when I finally finish my list? Do you truly believe we’ll be saved? That Heaven will invite us back in with open arms? You can’t. Because only a fool would believe that, and you, for all your many, many faults, Arakiel, are no fool.”

“Look at you, minutes into this human’s presence and you’re already becoming quite maudlin, Brother,” Ari said. “I choose to believe that there is redemption and forgiveness for even the darkest of souls.”

“We have no souls, Ari,” Sam reminded him. “You can choose to alleviate your fears with thoughts of rainbows and reunions with our brothers, but the truth is, all that waits for us when we finish our lists is a swift death and an afterlife in the void, floating in darkness.”

Ari’s dark eyes softened. “Brother—”

Sam held up his hand. “I have no fear of judgment or the darkness. After centuries here, it sounds like a bliss I can only begin to imagine.”

“So, this boy, this…human…is some final hurrah? A going away gift to yourself?” Ari asked, no longer sounding amused or even angry, just confused.

Sam didn’t blame him. He’d had no love of Earth, no true pull to see anything good happen to his father’s most prolific science project, but yes. If he was being honest with himself, the idea of spending his final months bedding and breeding that boy, forcing him to bend to his will, burying himself in every part of him…it seemed like a gift. One he wouldn’t refuse himself after all these years. “Perhaps.”

“And the others? Our brothers? The ones who sit around that table,”—he gestured to the large oak table—“what of them? Will you tell them they can now go out and take human lovers? Keep them as pets? Use them the way our half-demon offspring have? Surely, even you, the great Samyaza, God’s chosen one, can see the danger in giving this lot even a small amount of freedom. Look at the havoc we’ve already caused.”

“What I do is none of their concern. I didn’t ask to be your leader. If you wish for me to step down, then say so. If not, I suggest you, and them, mind your business and focus on your own missions. Besides, they need not know why he’s here.”

Ari scoffed. “They are seers, animancers, necromancers, clairsentients, clairvoyants. They already know. I knew the moment you arrived with him. I can smell him even down here among the stagnant water that runs beneath the city. He smells like overly perfumed flowers.” He wrinkled his nose. “I can smell how much he wants you, and, if I can, so can the others.”

“You’re being dramatic. Have I kept you from practicing your talents? Do I force you to keep your magical gifts bound? No. My gifts are flesh based. I’m the embodiment of lust. That is how Father made me. Despite all his attempts to make us sexless, unfeeling soldiers, my gifts always came down to two things, Arakiel. Fucking and fighting. I set off a chain reaction of events that bred a race of halflings just like the incubus I murdered last night. All to set myself free from His hold so I could fully explore my gifts. Sex, lust, attraction, desire, obsession…that all only exists because I fell. Why shouldn’t I reap the fruits of my labor? Why shouldn’t I be able to have one last pretty thing for myself before being cast into the abyss?”

Ari raised a dark brow. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you become so vocal about a human before. Or anybody, really.”

Sam shrugged. “It’s not the boy, it’s your insolence. I don’t like being questioned.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Ari said with a smirk before it fell away once more. “You won’t be able to hide him from the others. Like I said, I can smell him. But more importantly, I can feel him. He’s the snake hidden beneath the flowers, Brother. Mark my words. Bringing this human into our midst just set off a chain reaction none of us are prepared to face.”

Sam thought of the boy’s countenance once more. “He’s no serpent. Azazel was the serpent. He’s the one who triggered the first chain reaction by falling in love. First with Lilith and then by breeding with Eve.”

“Yet, Azazel pled for forgiveness, kissed our father’s feet, and swore to never fall again. Now, he reigns supreme in hell.”

Sam scoffed. “Is that what you wanted? To be the king of pain? To rule over lakes of fire with nothing but the screams of suffering humans as the soundtrack to your life?”

Ari shrugged. “I would have at least liked the opportunity to repent, to beg forgiveness. Doesn’t it ever bother you? Azazel is the one who talked us into this rebellion and yet he’s forgiven, even after introducing sin to father’s chosen ones. It’s bullshit.”

Sam crossed the room, falling into his chair and leaning back. This was hardly the first time they’d discussed Azazel and it most certainly wouldn’t be the last, but, tonight, he found he had less patience for it than usual. “Bullshit or no, we don’t get to question Father’s decisions. Doing so is how we got here in the first place.”

Ari shook his head. “I truly don’t get you sometimes, Brother. You are supposed to be the level-headed one. The one who rules with his head, not his heart. The head on your shoulders, that is. When the others realize what you’ve done, you’ll start a war.”

“Over a human boy? He’s simply a play thing. A bed-warmer. Surely not worthy of triggering a global outcry from our kind. I’m not the first fallen one to bed a human. Hell, I walked in on one an hour ago doing just that. They seemed to be enjoying themselves quite a bit.”

“And where are they now?” Ari asked.

Sam’s stomach clenched. Fuck. He’d walked right into Ari’s trap. “Dead.”

“Precisely. As they should be. It’s immoral for our kind to mate with their kind and you know it. You’re being selfish, Samyaza. Kill him. Or if, for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to do that, fry his brain and then cut him loose in the city and let him ramble on the sidewalks about angels and demons like the other forgotten humans do.”

The thought of chucking Christopher out into the streets, brain scrambled, a victim to both other humans and the elements made his blood boil. The boy might be just a play thing, but he would be Sam’s play thing only. He didn’t like sharing his toys. Especially not pretty toys filled with dirty promise, begging him to break them.

“I’ll do no such thing. Let it go, Ari. None of this is as dire as you make it out to be. If you offered up predictions like this to your followers, they’d label you a charlatan without a moment’s hesitation.”

“That’s the difference between us, Brother. I don’t mind being labeled a fraud if the warnings and predictions I give are true. I’d rather speak the truth and be mocked than sell pretty lies at the expense of my integrity.”

“Integrity? You spawned a race of halfling psychics, mediums, and empaths. You, yourself, have bred with humans and demons alike over the years, causing them to be filled with angst and dread. You gave them just enough knowledge to make them feel hopeless and insignificant, so spare me the lecture on integrity, Arakiel. Nobody would thank you for their gifts if they knew the price they’d paid for receiving those gifts.”

Ari threw up his hands in a dramatic display. “You’re being impossible. I’ll do my best to keep the others at bay, but you better sort your shit out, and fast.”

Sam felt a smile spread across his face at his brother’s theatrical tantrum. He’d missed his calling as a flamboyant Vegas illusionist. “Goodnight, Arakiel.”

Ari didn’t say a word, just threw up his middle finger, holding it at a height Sam wasn’t likely to miss.

Once he was alone, he found himself replaying his argument with Ari. The irony was he’d had no intention of honoring Christopher’s request. He’d only taken the human boy with him so he’d have more time to figure out what to do with him. At least, that was what he’d told himself before Ari decided Sam couldn’t have him.

Sam might have started out life as one of God’s perfect soldiers, but he’d never been a fan of orders, of being told what he could and couldn’t do. Maybe that was why it had been so easy for Tamiel and Azazel to convince Sam that the key to their happiness was to fall from Heaven, to wreak havoc on Earth.

Sam had done a great deal of stupid things just to prove he could and many more just to prove to others that if they said he couldn’t, then he not only would, but he’d do it in a spectacular display of defiance.

It brought a smile to his face to think that Ari’s dire warnings and grim predictions about Christopher’s place in Sam’s bed were the very thing that had driven Sam to make the decision to bed him in the first place. One might even say it was Ari’s fault.

Sam had never mated or bred a human before, but he imagined it couldn’t be much different than bedding another angel or even a demon. He just needed to be careful. He wanted Christopher broken, wanted him begging, but not so broken Sam couldn’t put the pieces back together when he was done with him.

Sam might be a monster, but he was a considerate monster. Besides, if Christopher liked Sam’s horns and wings, wait until he saw his tongue. His real tongue. The thought had his cock thickening behind his zipper. Yeah, it was time to pay his new toy a visit.

Chapter 3

Christopher

Christopher had no idea what to do with his hands or his clothes or anything, really. It was like he’d spent the last eight years in a coma and had suddenly woken with no memory. Now that Vincent was dead, his spell was broken and Christopher felt lost. But more than that, he felt used. And stupid. A small part of him tried to console himself with the thought that he’d fallen victim to a magic he hadn’t known existed, but some other part of him wondered how he could be so stupid as to believe somebody like him in the first place.

And now, there was Sam…a literal demon. A demon Christopher had promised to serve—sexually—in any way that demon saw fit to use him. The thought should’ve scared him. The size of his cock alone should have terrified Christopher, but he’d once heard a statistic that the human anus could stretch up to seven inches, and while Sam was long and thicker than anything Christopher had ever seen in demon form, he was certainly not seven inches thick.

But it would hurt. Christopher shivered in anticipation. He loved that sharp spike of pain and adrenaline. Just thinking about being held down and fucked by Sam in his demon form had him hard and a little sweaty. But Sam in his human form was equally compelling. Maybe it was just Sam.

The whole ride back to the church—the irony had not been lost on him—Sam had remained silent, but there was a restrained violence that seemed to live just below the calm exterior. Even when he smiled, there was always this look in his eyes that said he could snap and murder a city block, leaving them bruised and bloody, without even mussing his hair.

Christopher wanted to say he didn’t know why that idea turned him on, but he did. Of course, he did. Nobody had ever loved Christopher. Not ever. He’d been a footnote in the life of every person who was supposed to care about him. So much so that when he went missing eight years ago, nobody had even bothered to look for him.

The memory was a gut punch. Not the physical kind—he’d learned to handle those long ago—but the kind that caused your brain to flood with chemicals that made you hurt in your soul. What would it be like to have somebody love him? To have somebody love him so much they’d kill or die for him? Didn’t everybody want somebody who loved them enough to set the world on fire for them?

Christopher shook the thought away. That wasn’t what this was about. It was about staying alive by keeping Sam satisfied. If Christopher had to hurt, to bleed, to suffer, all the better. Christopher was an excellent victim. Vincent had told him on the regular that he was pretty when he cried. He’d take Vincent’s word for it. When he was being abused, Christopher drifted to a place inside himself, had since he was little. But it was better that way. The world he’d built in his head was far superior to the one he’d been born into.

Would Sam care that he disappeared into himself? Vincent didn’t. As long as he opened his mouth for his cock, as long as he cried and begged and subjugated himself when he’d demanded. Christopher could do that on auto-pilot. He was very good at disassociating. If he had any kind of superpower, that was his.

There was no sense in delaying the inevitable. Christopher stripped himself naked, kneeled on the cold tile floor, placed his hands behind his back, gazing down at the intricate mosaic tile work and just let his mind grow quiet. He didn’t know how much time passed before the heavy door of Sam’s chamber creaked open, but Christopher’s knees and shoulders ached.

Christopher didn’t raise his gaze, didn’t speak, but he was aware of Sam on an atomic level. Could hear the way he stopped dead for just the briefest of moments, barely a pause, before he began to walk around the bedroom as if Christopher wasn’t naked and waiting. Still, he could feel Sam’s gaze on him, heavy as a blanket. As he took off his watch, slipped off his expensive shoes, he never took his eyes off Christopher.

There was the sound of ruffling fabric but not the sound of it falling. Was he rolling up his sleeves? Removing his tie? Unbuttoning his top buttons? The idea of seeing Sam’s throat exposed made Christopher’s cock jump like it was Victorian times and he’d just gotten a peek at an ankle. What was he doing? Was Sam not going to acknowledge him at all? Vincent had done that sometimes but only as punishment. Only in the box and, sometimes, in the cage when he forced him to watch.

From the corner of his eye, Christopher watched Sam sit in the black velvet Queen Anne chair, crossing his leg, ankle over knee, slouched like some bored prince. He supposed that was what he was. A prince of the underworld. Lucifer, himself, maybe. That was what he’d said anyway. Who was Christopher to argue with a seven-foot leather-skinned demon?

“Look at me.”

Christopher raised his eyes to Sam’s. His heartbeat galloped in his chest. In just those few minutes Sam had been gone, Christopher had forgotten how striking the older man was, the power he exuded just sitting in a chair, barefoot. His cock hardened. Sam noticed. Vincent would have walked over and stomped on it, but Sam arched a brow, a slow smirk stretching across his face.

“What am I going to do with you?” he asked, his voice a low timbre that was nothing like the growl of his demon side.

“What do you want to do with me, Daddy?” Christopher asked, liking the way the honorific rolled from his tongue. His demon Daddy. What a strange twisted turn Christopher’s life had taken.

Sam rose in one graceful move, crossing the room, before hunkering down just before him, his thumb grazing Christopher’s chin. “That is the question, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Daddy?” Christopher asked, not sure if that had been rhetorical or not.

Sam examined him closely, his touch burning into Christopher’s skin. “You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

Christopher’s heart skipped a beat, his breath leaving in a tiny gasp. “Yes, Daddy.”

Sam’s thumb moved from Christopher’s chin to run across his bottom lip before slipping inside. Christopher let his tongue slide over the pad of Sam’s finger, savoring the tang of his flesh, but he did nothing more. He hadn’t been given permission. He looked Sam dead in the eye, letting him know he was awaiting further instructions.

“Suck it,” he murmured.

Christopher immediately began to nurse his finger, sucking it in long slow pulls, keeping his gaze on Sam just in case he did something wrong, but Sam’s human eyes were replaced with the sulfur yellow of his demon eyes. Christopher whined, shifting as his cock throbbed.

Sam chuckled. “You really do like my demon side. Interesting.”

He pulled his finger free and gripped Christopher’s throat, rising and taking him with him. “Open your mouth.”

Christopher did as he commanded. Sam leaned forward, his tongue dipping inside Christopher’s mouth. Christopher had never kissed anybody before. But he wasn’t kissing Sam; he was being kissed. Sam was rubbing his tongue over Christopher’s, both hands around his neck in a gesture that was both hot and vaguely threatening. Sam could rip his head off if he chose, but he simply gripped his throat like he wanted Christopher to know he wasn’t safe.

Sam moved his lips to Christopher’s ear. “There are so many things I could do to you. I’ve tortured people for centuries.”

Christopher swallowed, mouth suddenly a desert. “Like what?”

“Horrible, grotesque, unimaginable things. Things that would make what Vincent did look like a trip to an amusement park.”

Christopher began to tremble, and Sam inhaled deeply. “There it is. That’s what I want. Your fear.” He growled low in his throat, a literal fucking growl, like a dog or a wolf. The hands around Christopher’s neck were suddenly clawed, sharp needle-like talons stabbing at his skin.

Christopher whimpered as one of those hands dropped to his balls. Tears pricked at his eyes as goosebumps erupted along his skin, and he clenched his jaw, waiting for the inevitable searing pain as Sam literally destroyed him, but it never came. Instead, he gently dragged his nails over his sack in a strange pleasure pain that sent a shiver of awareness across his whole body.

Then the hand was gone, and Christopher was falling, shoved back into the mattress, Sam following him down, shoving him higher onto the bed to make room for himself between Christopher’s now splayed thighs. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth as he looked at Sam kneeling, still clothed, demon eyes, demon claws—he snarled at Christopher—demon teeth. What had Christopher gotten himself into? At least he knew Sam was a monster. Vincent had kept his true nature under wraps.

Sam pressed his nose to the skin on the inside of Christopher’s knee, dragging it along the delicate skin there, inhaling as he went, before burying his face in the spot where his thigh and pelvis met. Christopher clenched his shaking hands around the comforter beneath him, while Sam pushed his legs wider, leaving him vulnerable.

He could feel Sam’s breath against his balls, the sting of his claws on his thighs. Christopher didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what this was. Vincent came at him with knives and brands and, sometimes, just his fists. But Sam was…breathing him in, savoring him, studying him. The pain of his claws pressing into his skin was nothing compared to the exquisite anticipation of what came next. “What are you doing?”

Vincent would have exploded at Christopher for his impertinence, but Sam just gazed up at him with feral eyes. “I can’t very well take you apart if I don’t know how you’re put together.” Before Christopher could even formulate a response, Sam’s tongue unfurled from his mouth—not the one he’d kissed Christopher with moments ago, but the other one. His non-human tongue. He licked the space between his thigh and his balls in one long stroke.

Christopher’s mouth fell open. Sam’s tongue wasn’t normal by any means. It was longer, thicker, rougher, almost like a cat’s, but his cock throbbed at the sensation. Sam shoved Christopher’s legs higher until his hips protested and he hissed in pain. Sam cut his eyes to him, tilting his head like an animal. “You’re so small and fragile.”

Christopher frowned. “Is that a bad thing? That’s bad, isn’t it?”

Sam’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t answer, his tongue licking over Christopher’s balls and the seam of his other leg. “Hold your legs open,” he snarled.

Christopher did as he asked, flushing to the tips of his ears. This felt so intimate and strange. To Vincent, he was a living, breathing toy. He’d had absolute power over Christopher and he’d debased him in a million ways, but he’d never done anything like this…whatever the fuck this was. Christopher’s fingers dug into the backs of his knees as he held himself splayed open for Sam to look at. To…play with.

When Sam spread him open, there were no claws. Christopher moaned long and low as Sam’s tongue licked over his hole. “So small,” Sam muttered, seemingly to himself, then something prodded at his entrance. He whimpered as he realized it was the tapered tip of Sam’s tongue. Jesus.

At Christopher’s cry, Sam pushed deeper, then retreated. He was making a noise that almost sounded like a warm purr, his chest heaving beneath his crisp button down. “I want to taste you.”

“Aren’t you?”

Christopher yelped as teeth sank into the tender flesh of his inner thigh, his hands flailing at his sides, his brain reeling from the sudden attack. Just as quickly, Sam was laving at the wounds like an animal might, licking the blood with his soft, very human tongue, savoring each drop. “You taste amazing.”

Christopher’s whole body trembled. “Th-thank you.”

Suddenly, Sam was looming over him, his blood still smeared across his lips. “Do I scare you?”

Christopher let go of his knees, his heels hitting the mattress. “Yes.”

“Do you like it?”

Christopher hesitated. Did he? He was shaking, dizzy, his heart jackhammering in his chest, his nipples and cock hard. His thigh muscles ached and his balls throbbed. “Yes,” he said, realizing it was true. He did like this feeling, whatever it was. “Do you like me being scared?”

Sam nodded. “Yes. But only for me. Fuck, you smell so good like this.”

It was such a strange thing to say. But only for him. Sam didn’t want anybody else scaring Christopher? Like his fear was a prize. Sam reached for something out of Christopher’s line of sight, and then he was reaching down between them, two thick slippery fingers pushing into him without warning. “Ow,” he keened, face contorting as fire shot through him, the tight ring of muscle protesting the sudden invasion. Sam grunted, forcing his fingers deeper, his gaze locked on Christopher’s face.

“Tell me it hurts.”

Christopher whimpered. “It hurts, Daddy.”

Sam twisted his fingers, fucking into him. “Do you like hurting for me?”

Fuck. “Yes, Daddy.”

The fingers disappeared, leaving Christopher feeling empty and hollow. Then Sam was sitting back on his knees, removing his shirt, lowering the zipper on those tight black pants, pulling his cock free. Christopher thought he might pass out. Sam’s human cock wasn’t as intimidating as his demon one but it was bigger than anything Christopher had seen before.

Sam used the lotion on the side table to slick up his cock, pushing his clothing just far enough out of the way to not hinder him, before he was back to looming over Christopher, one hand on the bed beside him, the other guiding his cock to his entrance. “Hold yourself open for me.” Christopher raised his legs, spreading himself, knowing he needed every advantage. “Good boy.”

Christopher gasped at the praise, but Sam had muttered it almost like it was involuntary. Had Vincent ever said a kind word to him? Even when he was done hurting him? All thoughts of Vincent vanished as the head of Sam’s cock breached him, pushing in only a bit before pulling back. He looked down at Christopher’s entrance in annoyance. “Maybe I healed you too well.” After a moment, he said, “Get up.”

Christopher froze at the sudden order, then rushed to comply. Sam sat where Christopher had laid, crooking his finger. “Come here.”

Christopher licked his lower lip, eyeing Sam’s huge cock as understanding dawned. He straddled Sam’s thighs, heart pounding so fast he thought he might collapse. He settled until once more Sam’s cock was pressed against his hole. Sam flicked his hands, claws emerging to drag slowly along Christopher’s bare thighs. His gaze followed the lines they left behind, reveling in the sharp sting, but knowing it would do nothing to take away the blunt pain to come.

Sam used more lotion to slick his shaft and gave Christopher a look like he wouldn’t wait forever. Christopher’s hands shot to Sam’s shoulders as the first inch settled inside him, his blunt nails digging as he whined. He forced himself to breathe, to relax, rising up and trying once more to let Sam in.

Sam’s fingers found Christopher’s nipples, teasing over them, before trailing his nails lightly over his belly, his hand wrapping around Christopher’s softening cock. “You can do it. I know you can take it.” How long had it been since somebody had touched his dick for anything but pain? “You’re so beautiful. Your face, your agony, is beautiful.”

Tears trailed down Christopher’s cheeks as he repeated the process of rising up and sinking down, cries falling from his mouth each time his body gave up more space. He shouldn’t have been hard, he shouldn’t have been turned on. It hurt, this invasion, but it felt good too, like he could do this for Sam, like he needed to do this for him, be good for him, be everything he was supposed to be.

Sam’s nails scraped his cheeks, his chest, his arms, leaving the barest hint of scratches behind, but it was intense. The sensory overload of feeling Sam everywhere had Christopher’s head spinning until he felt woozy, not like with Vincent, not like he was disassociating, but something else, something more, like he’d been given a sedative but one that made him horny and euphoric.

He wasn’t sure when the pain stopped and the pleasure started. He didn’t know when the ache in his ass became a dull throb instead of a burning ring. He just knew he was riding Sam, sitting in his lap, head thrown back, working himself up and down while Sam spurred him on, hands on his hips, driving up into him as he came down.

Sam’s attention, his undivided, unwavering attention, was a heady thing, but his expression gave away nothing. It wasn’t blank, just intent, watching Christopher, like he was more interesting than Sam’s pleasure. But maybe Sam didn’t like it, didn’t like sex with a human. It made him want to be better, do better. “Is this good? Is this okay?”

Christopher found himself on his back, Sam still buried in him, his knees over Sam’s elbows. “If I have any complaints, you’ll know.” Something in Christopher withered, tears pricking his eyes once more. Sam pistoned his hips in and out of him, driving himself deep enough for Christopher’s toes to curl. He was so deep, so full, it was like he could feel him in his belly, but he just stared over Sam’s shoulder at the elaborate plaster ceiling overhead.

“Hey,” Sam said. “Where did you go?”

Christopher smiled. “I’m right here, Daddy.”

Sam stopped moving, dropping Christopher’s legs to grip his chin. “Don’t lie to me. What just happened?”

“Nothing, Daddy,” he said, smile watery.

Sam frowned, once more examining him like he could read his mind. “You need the words, don’t you? That’s your thing.”

“What?”

Sam began to move within him once more, his mouth pressed against his ear. “You need me to tell you that you’re doing well. That I’m pleased. You need me to validate you. Sex with humans is new to me. I forgot it’s not just your bodies that are fragile but your hearts and your minds. It won’t happen again.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Hush.” Sam bit him, teeth sinking into his shoulder hard enough for Christopher to cry out. “God, I love the way you cry,” Sam muttered, licking his earlobe before biting down. “You’re doing so well, taking my cock so well. Being so good for me.”

Christopher knew it was all lip service, but, still, it was hard not to fall back into that space. Sam fucked him like he couldn’t get enough, he bit him like he needed his blood to survive, and now, he was telling Christopher that he was good, so good, just for him.

“I want to breed you,” Sam snarled against his throat.

It wasn’t a question. Christopher wouldn’t have said no even if it was. He was too far gone. Sam rolled him onto his stomach, yanked him up onto his hands and knees before slamming back inside him.

“Touch yourself.”

Christopher froze. “What?”

Fire trailed across his skin as Sam slapped his ass hard. “Touch yourself, get yourself off. I want to feel you come. I know humans do that.”

Christopher had never been allowed to actually enjoy sex, not when anybody else was around. Only sometimes, when Vincent forgot to cage his cock and left him alone. He wrapped his hand around himself, using his pre-cum to slick his palm. It was slightly sticky, keeping his movements from being fluid, but it was more than enough. Once more, Sam spread him open. “Fuck, you’re stretched so tight.”

Just the knowledge that Sam was watching himself fuck into Christopher was enough to send him hurdling towards the cliff of his release, but when he curled his body over him, rutting against him like an animal, once more sinking his teeth into his shoulder, that was it. Christopher came hard, crying out in surprise, his seed spilling over himself and the mattress.

Sam grunted, his hips stuttering as his thrusts fell off rhythm, his teeth still embedded in Christopher’s flesh as his cock throbbed with his orgasm. Christopher collapsed onto his stomach, grimacing at the wet spot. Sam licked at the teeth marks on his shoulder, still oozing blood. He didn’t pull out right away and Christopher was grateful. He felt like laughing and crying at the same time.

“You did very well. Better than I could have imagined.” He kissed his injured shoulder. “Do you wish me to heal this for you?”

Christopher thought about it for a minute. “No. I think I want to keep it.”

“Good.”

Christopher hid his smile in the covers. Sam sat up, his cock slipping free of Christopher’s body. He winced as Sam roughly pulled his cheeks apart, examining him once more. “You are still intact,” he said, sounding rather clinical. Still, he ran the pad of his finger around Christopher’s abused rim, pushing the cum back in a few times. “I can make the pain better if you like. I don’t want you so battered I can’t use you later.”

Christopher’s dick twitched at the thought. “I’ll be alright.”

Then Sam was standing, zipping his pants and replacing his shirt. “I’ll have somebody bring you something to eat and some clothing. If you’d like to take a bath, it’s right through that door. There are fresh towels.”

Christopher’s heart sank. Of course, he wasn’t staying. Vincent had never stayed either. But he wasn’t locking him in a box or forcing him into a cage. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Christopher didn’t look up as Sam rearranged himself or when he walked to the door, but when he hesitated, he did finally glance towards him.

Sam cleared his throat. “I meant what I said. You did very well. I’m…very pleased.”

It was so weirdly formal that Christopher had to fight the urge to laugh or cry. “Thank you.”

Then he was gone and Christopher was alone. He buried his head in the pillow and sobbed. He had no idea why.

Chapter 4

Samyaza

Sam took a seat at the end of the bar, grateful for the quiet. The place was a dive, a dimly lit, dirty little hole in the wall that smelled like sweat and beer. Sam liked dwelling in dark places. He was at home in the dark. There were others like him strewn about the place, demons, angels, those who fell somewhere in-between. None of them were on his kill list so they weren’t his concern. He just wanted a drink and a little bit of peace. At least, that was what he told himself.

A witch named Crystal was working the bar. She dropped a whiskey in front of him without asking for his order and left him to it. He hadn’t been there in a while, but he had been a patron for decades. He stared down into the amber liquid, doing his best to reconcile what had just taken place in his bedroom.

He shouldn’t have let Ari goad him into doing what he’d done. He didn’t understand humans. He didn’t get what they needed. He’d been so caught up in looking at him, playing with him, turning him this way and that. He’d smelled so good and looked so angelic, like the cherubic ones painted on chapel ceilings. He’d been so expressive, so…vulnerable. It had triggered something inside him. A need to punish that had been dormant forever. He was reformed.

It didn’t matter anyway.

He’d gotten something wrong. Of that, he was certain. The boy had started crying before the door was even shut. Perhaps he’d hurt him too much? Not given him enough praise? He’d liked the pain. He’d made the most wonderful sounds, breathy pants and tiny squeaks like a mouse. He was tiny like a mouse, too. Watching the boy take his cock had been one of the most erotic things he’d ever seen. He’d been so determined, had worked so hard to please him.

But Sam had ruined it, ruined him. The boy’s scent had soured at the end, just before he left, his sadness drowning out the scent of sex and fear. And then he’d heard him crying. That wasn’t the only time he’d fucked up, though. He’d been buried inside the boy the first time he’d lost him, saw the moment he had drifted outside himself to escape. That was when he’d realized the boy wanted praise, needed reassurance. He’d gotten him back, had pulled his focus. But it clearly wasn’t enough.

“Well, well, well…look what the cat dragged in.”

“Not tonight, Abby.”

Abaddon cackled, the sound echoing through the room. “You’re in my bar, sweetie. You’re never in my bar. Not anymore. Does this have something to do with your fight with our brother?”

Sam finally looked up as she slid onto the barstool beside him, her dress sliding dangerously higher. Sam looked away. Abaddon was like a brightly colored bird. Her hair was a shocking shade of magenta, her green eyes highlighted with glittery purple shadow. Only her clothing lacked color. Her black dress was painted on, and her leather boots were high enough to cover her knees, the heels sharp enough to kill. It was theatre. She was a caricature of a human. Unlike Sam and Ari, she loved them.

“Let me guess, Ari called you to come down here and talk me into killing…the boy.”

She gestured at Crystal, who dropped a glass of water in front of her on the bar before wandering away again. “Ari called me to complain that you were a stubborn ass who’d stolen a human for a pet. A sex pet.’”

Sam’s jaw ticked. “I didn’t steal him. He was offered to me as payment for not killing an incubus on my list.”

She snickered. “Yet, you killed him just the same and kept his…offering.”

“The human offered himself to me in exchange for his life. Begged, in fact.” Perhaps Sam was embellishing that part a little, but how could he refuse that face?

Abby crossed her legs. “Tough choice, bed a demon or die. Doesn’t seem like a fair trade. Kind of like do I want to get eaten by a lion or mauled by a bear? Both dangerous, both shitty, both will probably kill you, one just slower than the other.”

Sam grunted. He didn’t like this, this feeling like he’d made the wrong call, done the wrong thing. He didn’t do the wrong thing. Not anymore. He set the example. He showed the others how to behave. How to finally find peace by righting their wrongs. “Are you telling me I violated the boy?”

Her brow shot up. “Already? My, certainly not letting the grass grow under your feet, are you? He must be something special. I’ve never seen you so interested in a human. Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you interact with a human if it could be helped. Ever. They’re more my thing.”

Sam stared down into his drink once more, like it held the secrets of the universe. “I’ve interacted with humans.”

“You said humans were the equivalent of house plants with anxiety.”

“This one is different.”

“Oh,” she said, as if his answer explained everything. “That’s why you’re here at my bar after all this time. Not because you want to be alone, but because you want to talk to me about your human.”

“No.”

“Liar.”

Sam wasn’t lying. He didn’t want to talk about Christopher. Not exactly. At least, he didn’t think he did. He’d done something wrong, and he didn’t like doing things wrong. He could feel Abby’s eyes boring into him.

Finally, she said, “Okay, maybe you don’t want to talk about your human but about humans in general… Something hypothetical? Nobody knows them better than me.”

Sam scoffed. “I don’t think spending centuries torturing an entire race makes you an expert.”

“Yes, you do. That’s why you’re here. Besides, I may have spent centuries torturing them for fun, but now, I do it for money. Down there, it’s all about giving them nothing they want, making them see the error of their ways. Up here, it’s about giving them what they need.”

“Humans need to be tortured?”

Abby shrugged. “Some of them. Humans are weak, fragile, emotional. They have depression, anxiety, neuroses. They breed and pass those imperfections onto their children who don’t know how to cope, so they turn to people like me.”

“You’re a dominatrix because humans have crappy parenting skills?”

Abby tsked. “I’m a dominatrix because people need a pressure release. Pain releases endorphins, floods the brain with chemicals that make them feel high. It’s…stress relief.”

“So, when I made him hurt, it got him high? Was that why he was making all those noises?”

Abby leaned in, resting her chin on her palm, smirking. “What kind of noises?”

Just imagining the sounds had him fighting another hard-on. “Like, high-pitched, breathy noises. Like…like a squeaky toy.”

Once more, Abby threw her head back and laughed. “You liked it. You liked bedding this human. No wonder Ari is beside himself. Does he know you’ve already had him? I imagine not or he’d be taking the church down to the foundation with his supernatural temper tantrum.”

“It’s none of his business. It’s nobody’s business.” He looked at her pointedly.

“You came here. You came to me. You want to know something. So, out with it.”

Sam wasn’t sure what the hell he was even doing in there. But she was right. He’d sought her out because nobody understood humans like she did and he couldn’t shake the notion that he’d hurt Christopher, not physically but in some other way. “I think I did something wrong.”

“Wrong? I’m assuming you don’t mean physically. The mechanics of sex are still the same, angel, demon, or human. At least, in these bodies. Did you hurt him?”

“Yes, but he liked that,” he said dismissively. “I told you, he made these…noises. But he liked when I told him he did a good job.” Sam flushed. “I figured that out all on my own.”

“Great job, Columbo,” she said, patting him on the shoulder awkwardly. She was making fun of him, that much he knew.

Sam glowered at her. “When I was leaving afterwards, he cried and he smelled sad.”

She frowned. “What do you mean, when you were leaving? How long after you did the deed did you dip out on him?”

Sam frowned. “Immediately. I had things to do.”

Abby tapped the bar to get the witch’s attention, holding up two fingers. A glass of whiskey appeared before her. She took a long gulp before she looked at him. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

“Look, I’m not going to pretend to be some saint when it comes to humans. Lord knows I’ve racked up quite the list of war crimes, but, down there, they’d earned it. Divine justice and all that. Up here, you can’t just get them high off of sex and pain and trust and then abandon them when they crash. You essentially poured whiskey down his throat and then abandoned him, drunk and alone.”

Had he done that? Had he left Christopher broken? “He said he didn’t want me to heal his bites or…anywhere else that I injured,” he said vaguely.

“It’s not the physical parts that bother them… It’s the emotional parts. Humans need extra care. They need attention. It’s like you said, they’re just like houseplants. If you’re nice to them, give them love and care, they grow. If you neglect them or their needs, they shrivel.”

“He’s an emotional houseplant?”

“Maybe that’s not the right analogy. They’re like pets. They’re weirdly loyal, they’ll let you get away with anything if they like you, but only if you give them head scratches and belly rubs…metaphorically speaking.”

Sam frowned at her. How was he supposed to metaphorically rub Christopher’s belly? “I offered him food, a bath, clothing, I told him he was a good boy. Isn’t that attention?”

“Okay, I was trying to be gentle with you because you’re a demon who knows literally nothing about humans, but you can’t shove your giant monster cock into a tiny human and then walk out and leave him lying in the wet spot. It’s…impolite. There needs to be cuddles and praise and food that you give him while you’re still there. That’s how this exchange works in the human world. They give you their pain, but you have to make them feel safe and loved.”

Sam scoffed, shaking his head. “He’s plenty safe. Do you think I’d allow anybody to hurt what’s mine?”

“If he’s yours, then he’s your responsibility. All of him. That includes his head and his heart. We don’t feel things like they do. Ari’s right. He’s a bad idea. You are this close to finishing your list and disappearing forever. What happens to your new pet when you do? You can’t just leave him to one of your demon buddies. They’ll kill him without a single thought. Or maybe you don’t care about that? Are you just going to use him up until there’s nothing left and kill him or wait until he kills himself? ‘Cause if that’s the case, what are you even doing here darkening the doorstep of my establishment?”

“I-I don’t want to leave him broken.” That was true. “But I’m not giving him up. Not yet. I like the way he smells. I like the sounds he makes when I’m inside him. I like that he isn’t afraid of my demon side. Hell, I think he prefers it to my human face.”

She looked at him like he was the ridiculous one. “Then you need to listen to him when he talks, hold him when he sleeps, praise him when he does something well, especially after sex.”

“And that will make him not smell sad anymore?”

Abby shook her head. “Temporarily. But he’s going to fall in love with you and then you’re going to complete your list and disappear into nothingness and he will be left alone. Unfortunately, you can’t magic that away.”

Sam sighed, downed his drink, and slapped a twenty on the bar, leaving Abby to watch him go.

“You’re welcome,” she called as he pushed the door open and headed back into the crisp night air.

The bar was a short walk from the church. He took the back entrance behind the rectory, heading below ground, grateful he didn’t run into Ari or the others on the way back to his chambers. Inside was dark, but it had no effect on Sam’s vision. On the table was a tray full of untouched food, but no Christopher.

Sam knew he was there somewhere. He could smell him, smell the salt of his tears and the scent of his sadness. He found him at the foot of the bed, curled up like a little mouse under what looked like the rug from the bathroom. Sam frowned, scooping him up and placing him on the blankets.

The boy’s eyes remained closed. “I know you’re not sleeping.”

Christopher blinked up at him, expression miserable. “Sorry, Daddy.”

“Why are you on the floor when there is a perfectly good bed?”

“I didn’t know where I was supposed to sleep.”

Sam felt the boy’s words like a physical blow. “What do you mean?”

“Vincent didn’t let me sleep on the bed. I didn’t know what to do.”

Abby was right. Sam was shit at this. He brought the tray over and placed it on the bed, undressing himself, leaving his clothes where they fell. One of the staff would get them tomorrow. When Christopher saw Sam stripping, he sat up, wiggling out of his own clothing as if he expected sex to be the next logical step. He didn’t look excited about the prospect.

Sam climbed onto the large bed, not lying down but sitting beside the boy, dragging the tray closer. “Why didn’t you eat? Was the pasta not to your liking?”

Christopher shrugged. “I’m not supposed to have carbs. They make you fat.”

Sam frowned down at the bow-tie shaped noodles. “You humans have such strange notions about…everything. Open up.”

Christopher did as Sam commanded, taking the bite offered and chewing thoughtfully. Sam managed to get five more bites before Christopher shook his head. “I’m full, Daddy.”

Sam could sense the lie, but he let it go, moving the tray off the bed before peeling back the covers. “You eat like a little mouse, too. Get in. It gets drafty in here at night.”

Christopher wriggled himself under the blankets but laid there like a wooden board, staring up at the ceiling. Sam had really fucked this up. He just wasn’t sure why he cared. “I shouldn’t have left you earlier.”

“What?”

“I should have stayed, fed you, bathed you. You gave me your body and I just used it and left. That was…rude of me.”

The boy turned then, looking at Sam as if he’d slapped him. “I don’t understand. You’ve been very…kind.”

“I made you cry.”

Christopher’s eyes grew wide. “You weren’t supposed to hear that. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just get…emotional sometimes after. I’ll do better next time.”

Sam grunted, his frustration overwhelming him. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t say anything wrong. You were perfect. You did…everything right.” Tears sprang to Christopher’s wide eyes. Sam should just walk away. Should send the boy away. Instead, he put his arms around him stiffly. The boy’s response was equally timid. “I don’t really understand humans,” Sam confided.

Christopher sniffled. “Me neither,” he mumbled against Sam’s chest. “So, I guess we’re even.”

Sam forced himself to relax. Once he did, the boy seemed to melt into him, his eyes closing. Before long, his breaths grew even and Sam was certain he was really asleep. This was far more work than he’d anticipated when he’d gotten up this morning.

Still, he wasn’t willing to give this up. Whatever it was. Not for Ari. Not even for Christopher. After centuries of trying to prove otherwise, Sam really was the bad guy.

Chapter 5

Christopher

Christopher woke to a low growl in his ear, a single predatory rumble that shot sparks of fire into his blood, his cock hardening instantly. “I want you,” Sam rasped.

“You have me, Daddy,” Christopher whispered back, a shiver rolling over him when he realized Sam was fully transformed and the body wrapped around him was his demon form. A wave of apprehension overcame him, and Sam inhaled deeply, like his fear was perfume to him.

With trembling hands, Christopher reached back, letting himself feel Sam’s leather-like skin for himself, his hand skimming one hard thigh and down over the swell of his ass. He expected it to feel tough, hard somehow, but it was sleek, smooth, supple. Did his wings feel the same? Where did they go when Sam was lying down like this?

“I like the way you feel,” Christopher heard himself say, voice full of wonder.

“I like the way you touch me,” Sam murmured, voice low and throaty in a way that stoked some internal fire in Christopher.

“Can I look at you, Daddy?” he asked timidly.

There was a strange hesitation before Same said, “Yes.”

Christopher rolled over, and once they were face to face, he found himself caught in Sam’s sulfur yellow gaze. He trailed his fingers over Sam’s face. He looked like himself in some ways, like Sam with skin painted red. Sam in shadow, the angles of his face in stark relief. Sam seemed to purr as Christopher’s fingertips skimmed over him, mapping his lips, the sharp line of his nose, his cheekbones, mapping the plains of his face. When he reached the base of Sam’s horns, he hesitated. Was that okay? Was there a demon protocol? Did somebody have to ask before handling another person’s horns?

“You can touch them,” Sam said, watching him in a way that made Christopher feel like Sam wanted to eat him alive.

Maybe he did. He was a demon, after all. Maybe Sam simply liked to play with his food before he ate it. Christopher liked the way Sam played. He traced the base where the horns sprouted from Sam’s skin before creeping higher to curl his hands around the looping structure. Were horns made of bone? The texture reminded Christopher of a nautilus shell, the ridges barely discernible. “They’re beautiful,” he whispered before his gaze darted to Sam’s. “Can I say that?”

Sam grunted, catching Christopher’s jaw between his thumb and forefinger, examining his face. “You’re beautiful. Beautiful and small and so easily broken, like fine china.”

It wasn’t said with any malice, more a deep longing, like he worried about the capabilities of Christopher’s body, if he could withstand whatever depraved things he wanted to do to him. That thought shouldn’t have made Christopher’s cock leak, but it did. He wanted to be used by Sam, hard and often. Even though he still ached in his core from Sam’s huge cock, he wanted to feel it again, wanted Sam to push his limits and make him hurt.

Christopher wanted to be good for Sam, but this version of him was intimidating in every way. He was just so big, all bulging muscle and appendages that could ravage him in ways he’d never recover from. Still, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Sam’s, breath hitching as his tongue slipped between razor sharp teeth.

Sam closed his teeth until Christopher gasped at the sharp penetrating sting, the taste of metal flooding his mouth before Sam began to nurse his wound, drinking deep from his tongue until his toes curled and his cock throbbed in time with Sam’s sucking pulls.

Christopher wanted more, needed to be on his knees for Sam, needed to serve him, service him, make him feel good. He let his hand slide down Sam’s body, whimpering as he finally felt the full weight of his cock in his palm. Sam in human form was large, but Sam in demon form was…formidable.

Still, the way he rumbled at the feel of Christopher’s hand on him was more than a little addictive. He ran his finger along the tip, feeling the wetness there. He wanted to taste him. “Can I suck it, Daddy?” Christopher asked, eyes wide.

“You can try,” Sam said, sounding like he couldn’t imagine the logistics necessary.

Christopher pushed gently until Sam was on his back. He started to move down the mattress, but Sam grunted his disapproval. Christopher looked back in confusion.

“Not like that.” Sam gripped Christopher by the hips, pulling him over him until his knees rested on either side of Sam’s head.

Christopher was tall, but he still needed to stretch to reach Sam’s cock. He pushed back the foreskin, teasing Sam’s slit with his thumb before sliding his lips down over the crown. Sam’s skin felt nothing like a human’s, sliding between his lips in a way that made Sam wish he could unhinge his jaw like a boa constrictor and swallow Sam whole.

When Christopher teased Sam’s foreskin with his tongue, Sam made a noise like a cat’s purr that went straight to Christopher’s core. He’d never blown a demon before, at least not one who looked like an actual monster. He could only hope he was doing a good job, could only take cues from the rumble in Sam’s chest and the way his claws dragged shallow scratches over Christopher’s ass, his lips pressing open mouth kisses against the delicate inner skin of his thighs.

Sam curled his body in, planting his heels on the bed so he could work his way up into Christopher’s mouth, forcing himself deeper until his jaw ached and his hands pressed against Sam’s hips, desperate to keep some semblance of control.

That was when he felt it—the familiar scrape of Sam’s demon tongue teasing just behind his balls, sliding between his cheeks, pressing against his oversensitive hole. He couldn’t help the anxious cry that fell from his lips. It was ripped from his core. Sam’s clawed fingers spread him open, the tapered tip spearing just past that tight ring of muscle with only his saliva for lubrication.

Christopher’s whimper became a moan as Sam’s tongue retreated before pushing back in, moving deeper, forcing Christopher’s body to accommodate his intimate invasion, hands in a vise grip around his hips, trapping him in place so he could do nothing but take whatever Sam wanted. Each time he pushed farther, the ache became a burn as his tongue seemed to only get thicker the deeper he pushed.

Christopher tore his mouth from Sam’s cock, his hand moving to replace his lips as he tried to breathe past the pain and the fear, muscles screaming, as Sam plunged his tongue impossibly deep, only retreating when Christopher yelped, not sure if it really hurt or if he was just frightened by the feeling of fullness, his body taut as a bowstring, ready to snap.

“Daddy,” Christopher cried, voice trembling with fear.

Sam’s hands loosened, still holding him in place, but his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over his hips and thighs. Perspiration erupted along his skin as Sam began rhythmically fucking his tongue in and out of Christopher in a slow, steady tempo that had his eyes rolling back, tendrils of pleasure unfurling within him, making his aching cock drool onto Sam’s chest.

Christopher didn’t know when he started rocking back, when his hands released Sam to clench at his torso, trying to get Sam deeper, chasing the pain, adrenaline firing through his blood until he was high from it, couldn’t get enough of it, needed more. He wanted to please Sam, to touch him, suck him, make him come, but he couldn’t think with the feelings coursing through him.

“Daddy,” Christopher moaned again, not even sure what he wanted at this point or what more Sam could give him, but he felt untethered, like he was floating, somehow both terrified and exhilarated.

Sam’s clawed fingers suddenly released Christopher’s hip to thread through his dark curls, yanking him upwards until he was hovering over Sam’s face, hands pressing on his chest, unable to stop himself from riding Sam’s tongue, working it deeper even when his body said it was at its breaking point.

When Christopher’s hand floated towards his cock, Sam snatched it away, trapping both arms behind his back so he could hold him steady while he fucked up into him.

Somehow, not being able to touch himself didn’t seem like a punishment but a challenge. He was already so close, Sam’s tongue was pressing just right, glancing against that tiny bundle of nerves until each thrust was driving him towards a deep, shattering climax. “Please… Oh, fuck. Daddy…”

Sam made a noise, a deep guttural sound that vibrated through his tongue, his claws digging into Christopher’s forearms. And that was it. His orgasm hit him, pulsing through him in deep drugging waves as he spilled untouched onto Sam’s chest.

He was still shaking when Sam upended him, already in his human form by the time he was looming over him. “Open,” he commanded.

Christopher’s lips parted almost against his will, Sam’s cock sliding home. Christopher’s hands spasmed against Sam’s thick thighs, forcing himself to relax as Sam used his mouth, forcing himself deep into his throat, growling as Christopher swallowed around him, holding his cock in place until his eyes watered and panic began to set in. Christopher’s blunt nails scraped at Sam’s skin until he released him, soothing a hand over his forehead almost like an apology before going back to fucking in and out of Christopher’s mouth.

It was dizzying, the lack of oxygen, the animalistic sounds falling from Sam’s lips, the way he pushed Christopher past his limits, making him wonder if he was going to perish between Sam’s legs, getting used for his pleasure.

“I’m going to come,” he snarled, muscles clenching as he pulled back just enough to paint his release over Christopher’s lips, cheeks, and eyelids, the taste of him sweeter than any human.

When Christopher opened his eyes, Sam smeared his cock through the mess on his face, then gently pushed himself back into Christopher’s mouth. He sucked obediently, watching as Sam’s chest heaved with effort above him.

After a moment, Sam pulled free, rolling off the bed and padding naked to the bathroom. For a moment, Christopher feared Sam would once more dress and leave him alone, covered in cum. Instead, he returned with a washcloth, gently cleaning his face. Part of him had wanted Sam’s cum to stay there, had wanted some memory of Sam having been there, having taken pleasure in Christopher’s body.

The euphoric feeling was already falling away before Sam climbed back into bed, the inevitable crash of adrenaline causing a heavy sadness to fall over him, tears leaking from his eyes. Maybe things were easier when he was under Victor’s mind control. At least then, he was always miserable, never felt the drop. He’d never felt much of anything at all, just the vague sense of a job well done that Vincent had mindfucked him into thinking was enough. It was nothing like the pleasure he had with Sam. And, somehow, that made this all so much worse.

Sam rolled onto his side, staring down at Christopher as he cried, wiping at the tears as they fell, examining him a little like a science project. “Did I hurt you, pet?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Sam tilted his head in that way that made him seem more animal than human. “Did you like it?” Christopher nodded, words catching in his throat. “Then why are you crying? Is this a human thing? Are you hungry? Do you need some water? Praise? Reassurance?”

Sam seemed to be running down a list of Christopher’s possible needs. He sniffled, then gave a half-laugh. “I’m okay.”

Sam nuzzled his face up against Christopher’s neck, inhaling deeply. “You smell so good. Like pain, sorrow, sex. You were so good for me. Nobody has ever hurt for me like you do. It makes me want to keep you naked and tied to this bed so I can use you whenever I please.”

Christopher’s voice trembled as he said, “If that’s what you want, Daddy.”

“Who wouldn’t want that? Want you?” Sam murmured, his voice a low rasp in his ear as he pressed kisses against his skin. “But, alas, you can’t stay in this room all day. You need sunshine. Fresh air. This place is not set up with humans in mind.”

Christopher looked at him in horror, true panic setting in for the first time since he’d laid eyes on Sam. “Are you making me leave?”

Sam frowned. “Do you not wish to be outside?”

Christopher shook his head violently. “I don’t want to go out there.”

Sam’s hand fell on Christopher’s chest right over his heart. “Why, pet?”

Christopher’s gaze drifted to somewhere over Sam’s shoulder. “There’s nothing good out there. It’s too loud, too violent, too much coming at me all at once. I’d much rather stay here. It’s quiet here.”

There was a long pause before Sam enquired, “When was the last time you went out into the world?”

Christopher shrugged. “I don’t know. What year is it?”

Sam’s brows rose. “Did he truly not allow you any freedoms?”

Christopher closed his eyes, humiliation washing over him. “Freedom was to be earned. I was never good enough for that.”

“You will never be free of me until I say so, but you may go outside. Fresh air and sunlight are not luxuries, pet. They are a necessity for your kind. Without them, you get sick. I will not allow you to be sick when I could have prevented it. Abbadon will murder me.”

“Abbadon?” Christopher questioned.

“She’s a…friend? Coworker? Confidant? She said humans need to be cared for, like pets or houseplants.”

Christopher’s mouth quirked up at the corners. “I’m your houseplant?”

“You’re my…pet human.”

Christopher couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped. “You’ve never had a pet human before?”

“No. I find it's kind of like owning an exotic animal. I know I shouldn’t have you. I know it's forbidden. But the pleasure you give me just looking at you makes me go against everything I know is right.”

Christopher’s heart tripped behind his ribs. Sam didn’t hide his thoughts, just put them out there, whether good or bad. Christopher liked that. He’d rather know than not know. Uncertainty was the worst kind of punishment. He needed clear instructions. He needed the truth, whether he liked it or not.

“Well, you’re a kind master, way better than my last. Not that you had to work that hard to wrestle the title from him. But I’d much rather stay here with you than go out there.” Christopher flicked his gaze to Sam in what he hoped was a seductive look. “Just think of all the things you can do to me.”

“Oh, I am, pet. But I have duties to attend to outside this room. Responsibilities that cannot wait.”

“Like your demon day job?” Christopher asked.

A slow grin split Sam’s lips. “Yes, something like that.”

Christopher worried his bottom lip between his teeth for a minute before saying, “Please, don’t make me go outside. I don’t know how to be out there anymore, especially not alone.”

Sam gazed at him for a long moment. “Fine. For now. But you can’t just stay in here alone. I’ll assign you a companion. Somebody to help occupy your day.”

“You’re going to assign somebody to be my friend?”

“Yes.”

Christopher pondered that thought for a moment. “This is a weird situation, huh?”

Sam settled around him, almost like a child clutching his favorite toy, his chin pressing against the top of Christopher’s head. “The weirdest.”

Chapter 6

Samyaza

“So, you mated with…it?”

“Et tu, Sariel,” Sam said with a sigh. “Him. Christopher. I expect this from Ari, but not you. You’ve created so many demon-human hybrids, you’re practically a supernatural sperm bank.”

Sariel shrugged. “What can I say? When I show women how to work with the moon and the tides, they’re just so very grateful. Magic brings all the humans to my yard.”

Sam rolled his eyes. It wasn’t the magic bringing the humans to him. Sariel looked more angel than demon, fashioning his human countenance after Guillaume Geefs’ famous sculpture. He had curly blond hair that cascaded past his shoulders, blue eyes, golden skin, and a body like a marble statue. Sam was only grateful men lacked the ability to carry children or Sariel would have spawned an army of halflings and not just a dozen or so every decade.

Unlike Sam and the others, Sariel was quite pleased with the order of things. He didn’t care to destroy what he called his children and said magic was a gift for all, not just angels and demons. That kind of talk was what got them into this mess in the first place. Luckily, he was always more than happy to help the others run down their worst creations.

Sam had gotten some intel on a Leviathan living in the sewer below the city. Many demonic creatures had gone underground when they’d learned they were being systematically eliminated, so it didn’t come as any surprise to Sam. Still, he didn’t relish the idea of ruining his suit. He’d brought Sariel for backup. Leviathan could be particularly nasty, especially if they were feral.

“What’s it like?” Sariel asked as they trudged through the damp, dank labyrinth that ran beneath the city.

Sam side-eyed him warily. “What’s what like?”

“Mating with a human. What’s that like for you?”

“I’m not sure I understand the question. You’ve been with more humans than demons.”

“Yeah, but when it comes to sins, I’m lust. You’re wrath. How does father’s greatest torturer mate with a human? I hear he’s rather frail.”

“He’s not frail. I find he’s actually rather resilient. He wouldn’t even let me heal him after our first encounter.”

Sariel gave him an odd look. “You realize there should be no reason to heal somebody after sex, right? Like, what are you doing to the boy?”

Sam felt his shoulders stiffen. “Nothing he doesn’t want me to do.”

“He wants you to hurt him?” Sariel asked, sounding more fascinated than judgmental. “Is he crazy?”

“Lots of humans seek pain for their pleasure. Abby says as long as I care for him afterwards, there’s nothing wrong with…testing his limits.”

Sariel’s eyes went wide, and he tilted his head in a way that told Sam he was further gone than he thought. “You asked Abbadon—creator of the furies, sower of discord—for advice on mating with a human? She’s a bigger monster than you are,” he said before adding, “No offense.”

Sam gave a sigh, tugging at his tie. “I’m not sure when my sex life became fodder for public consumption, but what I do with Christopher is not up for debate.”

Sariel stopped so abruptly Sam had to turn to look at him. “You want to keep him around.”

Why was everybody so shocked by this? Wasn’t he entitled to a few months of comfort before an eternity in darkness? Christopher was warm and willing and smelled like all the best things. Pain. Fear. Strife. And, afterwards, when Sam pulled him into his arms, he smelled like contentment. Sam had made him feel those things. Samyaza, God’s sword, made a human boy feel…happy? No, maybe not that. They were both far too fucked up for that. But maybe small moments of peace were all two creatures could ask for.

Either way, it wasn’t for anybody else to judge. He’d steered the ship for the Grigori for far too long. He’d earned the right to be a little bit selfish. He didn’t want to leave Christopher worse than when he found him—was determined he’d find a way to make him okay before he left—but he was too selfish to let him go. Christopher needed to serve, and Sam would be damned if he would serve anybody else but him. Nobody else could be trusted to know just how much he could take. Viktor had proven that.

“Until I complete my list, yes. I don’t see what’s so wrong with that.”

Sariel lifted a hand, tipping it this way and that. “I wouldn’t say it's wrong. Well, hurting him might be, but if he likes it, then I suppose it's a wash, but what happens to him after your list is completed? The others will kill him. He knows too much.”

Sam looked him dead in the eye. “Then I will entrust you to ensure they do not. One of your witchlings can hide him or keep him safe. Or perhaps he can just stay at the church. You can put him to work. Maybe he and Lily will become fast friends and he’ll become just another presence for the others to tolerate.”

“Lily isn’t human. She’s a demon-fae hybrid. And the others only tolerate her because she’s my child.”

“Well, I’ve tasked her with being Christopher’s companion while he’s with us. He needs a friend. And he doesn’t like being out in the world.”

They began to walk once more, Sam inhaling deeply, catching the Leviathan’s scent. They smelled like all the worst parts of the sea, fish rotting amongst the kelp and seaweed. Sam found the stench repulsive. He couldn’t imagine how it was sustaining itself down there, toiling in the sewers. What was it eating? Sam quite honestly didn’t want to know.

“You want Lily…my Lily…to be your boy’s human companion? She annoys the shit out of you. You said she’s loud and jarring and that she doesn’t ‘know her place.’”

All of those things were true. Lily leaned hard into human culture, not to blend in but because she adored humanity. She loved their clothes, their music, their culture. She saw beauty in everything no matter how ugly, and she could talk—for hours—about literally anything. She was a golden retriever in a human suit and Sam hated dogs.

But she was also a sword wielding badass, a fierce advocate, and had a toxically chipper attitude. While Sam wouldn’t appreciate it, Christopher could. He would. He needed someone happy in his life. Someone who might coax him into the sunlight. Sam dwelled in darkness. He couldn’t be that for Christopher. But Lily could. Her fae blood made her overwhelmingly attractive to humans, and her knowledge of their culture could be just what Christopher needed.

“I find, in this very specific instance, Lily is uniquely qualified for this task. While I might find her…over exuberant, others like Christopher are attracted to her light. He needs that light.”

Sariel raised a brow. “What is it about this boy that has you so twisted in knots? Are you sure he’s human and not a witch? Because you certainly seem to be under his spell. Is the copulation really that good?”

It wasn’t about copulation. Well, Sam had to admit that was exquisite. He’d only been with others like him, demons who mated like venomous snakes or like they wanted to tear each other apart. Christopher had never experienced a demon before, and Sam found that using his body to make Christopher squirm was almost a bigger turn on than burying himself in Christopher’s body. Almost. Even now, all Sam wanted was to forsake all of his duties and go bury himself in his boy.

Sam shrugged. “The sex is exceptional, yes. He calls me Daddy, which is one of those things I never quite understood about human culture, calling somebody by an honorific deemed worthy of only parents. But I find I quite like it. He expects me to care for him. Me. A man who has peeled the flesh of another like I was shelling a shrimp. He trusts me.”

Sariel chuckled. “This is what happens when you spend your whole life living amongst humans but not as a human. For years, I’ve begged you to at least dip a toe in the water, to go out and live beside them, see that your initial thoughts when we fell were correct, that they were worth all the strife. You adamantly refused. Now, you’ve dove headfirst off a cliff into deep waters over one boy. You do nothing in half-measures, Samyaza. I’ll give you that.”

They rounded a corner and Sam stopped short as the corridor sloped and disappeared under dark water. He wrinkled his nose at the stench, the fluorescent lights overhead flickering like in a horror movie. “There has to be another way to get to it.”

Sariel’s forehead furrowed. “Like what, precisely? Fly? This corridor isn’t big enough for wings.”

He was right. Sam began to unbutton his shirt, slipping off his Scritto leather loafers. When he reached for his belt, he noticed Sariel watching him. “What? Those are three thousand dollar loafers and this suit is Tom Ford. I’m not ruining my favorite suit in…that. My demon form is far more adept at traversing the mire we’re about to find.”

“For somebody who hates humans, you sure do love their fashion.”

“I don’t…hate humans.” Sam said, shifting into his true form and trudging into the sewer water. “I just think they squandered the gifts we gave them. They use weapons not to defend themselves but to subjugate others. We taught women magic and men used it as an excuse to abuse and enslave them. We taught them to read the stars and they treat it as a joke. We gave them gifts such as clairvoyance, clairsentience, and clairaudience, and half of them don’t bother to use their talents and those who do are treated as village idiots unless their gifts are needed. I just don’t understand humanity.”

Sariel didn’t shift into his demon form; he didn’t seem as concerned about his jeans and faded t-shirt as Sam was about his suit. “You can’t blame humans today for their behaviors. They’ve been brainwashed for centuries to turn away from their gifts all because of that book.”

“Yes, but that is my point,” Sam said, water waist deep. “Whose idea was it to have humans interpret the divine teachings? They twisted it, perverted it for their own agenda. It’s no wonder Father keeps wiping them off the map.”

Something brushed against Sam’s leg, slick as a fish. He plunged his hand into the water, ripping the serpent free by the razor sharp gills along its back. It instantly locked its jaws onto Sam’s forearm. “God, I fucking hate Leviathan,” he grunted, prying its curved teeth free and slamming it against the tiled walls.

Sariel tossed him his sword before throwing his body against the squirming creature. It took two healthy swings to behead the creature. Both were breathing hard by the time its corpse slid back into the water. Sam’s arm stung where its curved teeth had sunk into his skin. Black ink-like ooze bled from the wounds. He’d have to get Kash to heal him. While Sam could easily heal humans, the bite of a Leviathan took more strength and understanding of medicine than he possessed.

“You want to go get a drink?” Sariel asked.

Sam and Sariel began trudging back towards Sam’s neatly folded clothes. He didn’t want a drink. He wanted to go back to the church, have Kash heal him, and then drag Christopher back into bed. But that would have to wait. “Just one. I would rather not have this spread.”

“Yeah, I hear if you wait too long, you start to grow scales like a fish or a mermaid,” Sariel said, tone conversational. “Though, it might be an improvement from your current Hell Boy aesthetic.”

Sam extended his middle finger. “Fuck you.”

“Oh, those days are long gone, my friend. Besides, you have your human pet to play with.”

Sam couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. Yes. Yes, he did.

Chapter 7

Christopher

Christopher was lying on the bed reading from the stack of books Sam had left him when there was a knock on the door. Before he could rise to answer, it flew open and a girl entered. “Hi, I’m Lily. I’m apparently your designated hybrid companion.”

Christopher did his best to take her all in. She was…colorful, like an exotic animal. She was tiny and plump, with bubblegum pink hair, white freckles painted on her golden skin, and eyes that were an unnatural shade of jade green. She had a cute button nose, full pink lips, and a piercing through each nostril. She wore fishnet stockings beneath short shorts, combat boots, and a black crop top with a kitten wearing devil horns that read, ‘Cute but Psycho.’

Christopher could only blink at her, finally finding his voice enough to say, “Hi?”

She plopped down on the freshly made bed, falling back to look up at the ceiling. “I thought for sure there would be mirrors on the ceiling. It's the buttoned up ones who are always the biggest freaks, you know?” She didn’t sound like she expected an answer. When he continued to just stare, she asked, “Did his majesty not tell you I was coming?”

“His majesty?”

“Yeah, your sugar daddy. Master. Trick. Whatever you’re calling him. He hates me, so you must really need a friend if I was brought in to do the job.” She winked. “Spoiler alert: I’m a lot.”

Christopher found himself smiling, though he didn’t know why. “You’re very…sparkly.”

She pushed herself up onto her forearms. “It's because you’re human. You guys love my kind. The fae half, not the demon half. Though, I guess you could be attracted to that side, too, since you’re currently taking it from our fearless leader.”

“You’re a faerie?” Christopher heard himself saying. As if his life couldn’t get any weirder.

“Half. Half fae, half demon.”

“Oh.”

“So, Sam says you don’t like to go outside. Is that true?”

Christopher’s heart sank, his stomach souring. “It's not safe out there.”

He didn’t want to have to explain to yet another person why he didn’t want to venture into the outside world. Luckily, it seemed he wouldn’t have to.

“Yeah, I get that. Humans are the worst. I mean, I love your music and clothes and even the cute things you do to decorate your bodies and homes. But when it comes to how you treat each other, you kind of suck. And that’s coming from a demon.”

“So, you don’t like to go outside either?”

“Who me? I love it out there. There’s so much to see and do. So many places to go. But if I spend too much time out there, humans start to act a little weird.”

“Weird?”

She nodded. “Yeah, being around somebody like me can make some humans a little…off. They start to follow me around, try to touch me. One guy sniffed me on a subway once, another followed me. Two girls started fighting over me one time in a bookstore.”

“That’s…”

“Crazy, I know. I’m telling you, it's my fae blood. It makes people crazy.”

“Am I going to go crazy around you?”

“Hah. Maybe. Maybe not. You smell pretty well claimed. It’s usually single people whose wires get crossed around me.”

“Claimed?”

“Yeah, I can smell him all over you. Everybody can. You’re causing all kinds of problems out there.” She pointed her thumb towards the door.

Christopher assumed she didn’t mean the outside world but whatever chamber laid beneath the church he’d seen when Sam had first brought him home. Home? It was such a foreign word. Christopher had never really had a home.

“What’s out there?” he finally asked.

“We call it the catacombs. Wanna see it?”

He swallowed hard. Did he? She just said nobody liked him out there. He was somewhat used to that, he supposed, but usually the people who treated him poorly were just plain old humans, not demons with razor sharp teeth and a penchant for blood and pain. “I-I don’t think I’m supposed to.”

Lily scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, you are. You can’t live your whole life in one room. That would be crazy.”

Christopher felt like he’d lived a thousand lifetimes in one room. Life with Vincent had been like a waking nightmare, but one he was too drugged to leave, drugged on magic and too brainwashed to even understand the things happening to his body. Not like with Sam. With Sam, the pain itself was the drug, the idea that Sam wanted him bent but not broken, begging but not bleeding. Well, not much bleeding anyway.

Sam did like to bite, but those sharp, needle-like teeth were so precise, the pain was like the prick of a needle, and the weird euphoria that followed was like heroin to Christopher. Yeah, Sam and Vincent were not the same. This chamber beneath the city was nothing like the high-rise prison he’d endured looking down on that same city.

Christopher startled as a hand grazed his wrist, but Lily just smiled and threaded their fingers together. A wave of peace washed over him. He frowned at her. “Did you do that?”

“I told you, your kind love my kind,” she said with a wink. “Let me show you around. Please? I think it would make Sam happy.”

Those words tugged at him. He wanted to make Sam happy. Did demons experience happiness? Christopher didn’t know, but when she tugged on his arm, he didn’t fight her. Just outside his door was a long stone corridor with arched wooden doors dotted along each side. It didn’t seem like such a place could exist under the city. Maybe it was an illusion of some kind?

She took him right, walking along the concrete floor lit by gothic sconces and overhead lights that popped and hissed and zapped above him. The corridor led into an enormous round chamber, covered floor to ceiling with bookcases, the volumes piled within spilling over into stacks on the floor. In the center of the room was a sunken area with overstuffed leather sofas. “Is this a library?”

Lily shrugged. “Of sorts. But you won’t find Harry Potter or Alice in Wonderland.”

“What will you find?”

“The secrets of the universe,” she whispered.

At first, Christopher thought she might be joking, but one look at her round cherubic face and he knew she was serious. “What kinds of secrets does the universe hold?” he asked, floating forward.

“That’s one of the benefits of living in the catacombs, you can find out anytime you want. You just can’t take the books aboveground. It’s forbidden.” She gave him a sad look. “But I guess that’s not a problem for you, huh?”

Christopher’s heart squeezed in his chest. “No, definitely not.”

“Come on, let me show you the other benefits of living down here.”

He let Lily drag him to a set of double doors, which opened to yet another corridor. He gave one last look over his shoulder at the massive library before turning eyes forward so he didn’t fall on his face. They only traveled a short distance when the smell of food hit him, something savory with lots of spices and fresh baked bread. Lily grinned as Christopher’s stomach growled before pushing open the doors to what must be the kitchens.

The kitchen looked like somebody had fused a medieval castle and a commercial kitchen. Gleaming stainless steel appliances, double ovens, large range, and a huge industrial size refrigerator all recessed into wheat-colored stone walls with butcher block countertops, lights that gave off a warm amber hue, and a deep farmhouse sink where a woman with bright red hair stood with her arms submerged up to her elbows.

She glanced up when they entered, and Christopher couldn’t help but notice her eyes were the same unearthly shade of green as Lily’s. “Is that your mom?”

“What? No. This is Keziah. She lives down here and keeps all of us fed. She’s another of my father’s children. We all have his eyes. The real him, not the human version of him. Luckily, people just assume they’re contacts. Keziah is a kitchen witch.”

The woman in question was eerily beautiful. She, like Lily, had a somewhat rounder face, though she was pale where Lily was slightly more golden. She had a purple scarf woven through tresses that fell over her shoulders almost to her waist.

She wore a long strapless green dress that showed off her many tattoos. Some were herbs, some phases of the moon, a few appeared to be sigils or magical symbols of some sort. She pulled her hands from the sink, wiping them on her apron. “Is this him?” she asked, her voice breathless and almost conspiratorial.

Lily’s eyes lit up. “Yes. Keziah, this is Christopher.”

She rushed towards him, cupping his face. She was eye to eye with him. “He’s quite beautiful, isn’t he?” she said to Lily, as if he wasn’t there.

“Yes, very pretty. Like a statue or a painting.”

Keziah ran her fingers through his curls. “Your hair is so soft,” she marveled.

Christopher didn’t know what to say, so he simply said nothing, allowing the woman to run her hands over his face.

“He’s hungry,” Lily said.

Keziah finally seemed to break free of her spell. “Oh, well, I can definitely help with that. Do you like beef stew?”

Did he? He couldn’t remember. Had he ever had it? “I don’t know.”

“Come. Come,” she said, pulling him to the counter where there were two chairs set across from where she’d been working.

Keziah set about getting two wooden bowls, filling them to the brim with a rich, flavorful brew that made Christopher realize he hadn’t eaten a real meal in so long. He picked up the spoon, scooping some of the food, but he stopped halfway between his bowl and his mouth.

Was he allowed to eat?

Sam hadn’t given him permission. He did his best to think of all their previous conversations. Sam had definitely encouraged him to eat after they’d…mated. Had sex? Fucked seemed too disconnected, too garish for what they did together. Being with Sam was like…a religious experience. Sam worshipped Christopher’s body, consumed him, consumed his blood, knew how he tasted.

“Is the food not to your liking?” Keziah asked.

Christopher blinked back to the present. He seemed to fade away from reality so quickly. “What? Oh, no. Sorry.”

He couldn’t be rude. He shoved the spoon in his mouth before he changed his mind, groaning as the flavor exploded on his tongue. “Oh, mah gaw,” he managed around a huge bite.

A delighted smile bloomed across Keziah’s face, revealing snowy white teeth. She brought them a loaf of bread that was still warm, and when Lily broke it apart and offered it to him, he didn’t refuse.

“It's nice to have you here, Christopher,” Keziah said, smearing butter across a piece of bread for herself before stuffing the whole thing in her mouth.

“You don’t even know me,” he said.

“Keziah, food. I’m starving.”

Christopher whipped around at the deep voice that seemingly appeared from nowhere. Christopher could only stare. He was beautiful, like some painting of an Egyptian God come to life. His eyes were piercing even from a distance, pinning Christopher in place.

Lily laughed. “We don’t have to know you to know it's nice to have another non-demon down here. They are all so cranky.”

“You two are welcome to go elsewhere.”

“No, thank you,” Lily chirped. “Christopher, meet Arakiel. Sam’s brother. We call him Ari.”

“Or asshole, depending on our mood,” Keziah said, giving the stranger a tight smile that felt a lot like a middle finger to Christopher.

“You may call me nothing,” the man said to Christopher. “I don’t associate with humans. In truth, your very presence disgusts me.”

Christopher blinked at Arakiel, at a loss for what he should or shouldn’t do in the presence of a demon who seemingly had a grudge against him despite their having never met. He didn't want to say anything that would make Sam look bad. Truthfully, he didn’t want to speak at all. He’d rather a giant hole open up and swallow him whole.

“Christopher, go back to our chamber.”

Sam’s voice was a cool breeze along his suddenly overheated skin. He seemed to melt from the shadows, standing beside another man. Or demon, Christopher thought absently. The man beside Sam appeared amused, but Sam looked furious. Was he mad at Christopher?

His heart dropped to his stomach. “I’m sorry—”

Sam held up a hand. “You did nothing wrong, pet. Take your food back to our chamber while my brothers and I have a talk. Keziah and Lily will accompany you.”