FIVE

Azeroth

I try to keep my eyes off the naked thighs of my employee, but on the way up to her face, I encounter her nipples poking against the thin fabric of her top, and my good intentions are somewhat derailed. I might have spent far too many hours speculating about just how succulent those breasts are. In my defense, they're fucking great tits.

Damn it! This is a HR nightmare.

Why is she standing there just staring at me? "I hope you know what you're doing, because I'd like to make this quick."

She gapes at me for another long minute. A minute during which I keep my eyes resolutely on her face.

Eventually, she speaks, but it comes out slurred. "'s a matter of fact, I do. I need revenge!"

She waves an unsteady finger in my face. How much has she had to drink? Fuck, her tits are distracting in that top.

Stooping, I pick up a sweatshirt from the floor. I grimace when I discover it's slightly sticky. Like the rest of her kitchen. What the holy hell happened here?

"For the love of god, put this on and tell me who you want me to smite, and let's get this over with." I hand her the sweatshirt.

She ignores it completely. Her mouth hangs wide open, her expression astonished. She giggles. "Are you even allowed to do that?"

This is exactly as painful as I imagined it would be when Mordicus waved that stupid document in my face. With astonishing forbearance, I take a deep breath and remain calm. "Do what?"

"Are you even allowed to say for the love of god? I mean you're a demon, aren't you?"

I'm about to lose my temper. She summons me just as I was getting into my emperor size bed for a wank and a good night's sleep with this? "What the hell is your problem?"

I'm not proud of the fact that it comes out pretty shouty.

She blinks up at me, big brown eyes going all watery. Her lower lip wobbles threateningly. "Where do I start?"

Her makeup is smudged under her eyes, presumably from all the crying she's already done tonight. Her house is a disaster. I don't know her well, but she seems more together than this at work. Usually.

In fact, everything about this is off.

Elodie is not the sort of person I expect to be summoning a demon. She seems too nice.

When I speak, I regulate my tone to be a little more gentle. "If God exists, I've never met her. Come on. Tell me what happened."

She crumples. Sitting down in the middle of the sticky mess on the kitchen floor, she folds into herself. It's a small mercy when she lets me pull the sweatshirt down over her head and help her get her arms through the sleeves.

When I'm done, the hood of the sweatshirt falls back. She blinks up at me, her eyes extra large with long dark lashes. They're almost as disarming as her body.

"I summoned you to help me get revenge on my ex-boyfriend." The waver in her voice makes my throat uncomfortably tight.

"Ah." That's right. Our exchange on Monday comes flooding back to me and I wince. This is something big if she's so upset by him she was prepared to summon a demon. "I remember now. I'm sorry."

When her tears start falling, I rub absently at the strange ache in my chest. I crouch beside her.

Revenge on an ex. Seems a waste, if you ask me. I'm sure she has no idea what this will cost her. Most mortals don't. They fritter away a piece of their soul on a wish that brings them no joy in the end.

It's not my job to police what humans bargain their souls for. Sometimes, I wish it was, though. Or at least, I wish I could offer some advice.

What a bullshit job. I can't even get it done quickly. This isn't the clean cut sort of ‘make me rich now, demon slave' summoning. Those pricks deserve whatever they get.

Not this sweet human.

Rubbing a hand over my face, I think for a minute. "Where are the glasses?"

"Huh?"

"For a drink of water."

She gives me a confused look, but points to the cupboard above us. At least that stops her tears. I reach up and collect a glass, filling it with water, then hand it to her.

"Drink. You're going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning. Might as well do what we can to prevent it." Might as well do what I can to stop her making a rash decision she'll definitely regret in the morning. I need to slow things down and try to understand what's really happened here.

Why am I like this? It's like I'm trying to prolong my own misery.

She obeys. I watch her drink while I consider how to play this. I can't unsummon myself. That damage is done. If I don't make this bargain, Mordicus will get wind of that. No doubt, he'll send someone else to tempt her. She's emotionally vulnerable. Ripe for the plucking.

Maybe if I'm the one to do it, I can do it gently.

Jesus, I am exactly as creepy as that sounds.

"You want revenge, huh? And you want me to help you do that?"

"Yes." She fixes me with such a serious look I can almost believe she's sobered up a bit.

Then she tries to set the glass down and almost drops it.

I catch it and set it on the counter. "Then ask me three times, and it will be so."

Despite my plan, I almost hope she backs out here.

She doesn't, though. She counts them on her fingers. "Help me get revenge. Help me get revenge. Help me get revenge. There. Three."

I sigh. "Then I'm bound to serve you until it's done."

"Good! Let's go. I'll get my keys." She tries to get up, stumbles and falls into my lap.

I drag my mind away from all the tingling places she's touching me and shake my head. "Not tonight. You're not going anywhere tonight. You know the saying. Revenge is a dish best served cold."

It can wait until she understands exactly what she's getting herself in for. Every action I take for her will cost another piece of her soul. I'm bound to collect, but I don't have to be such a bastard as to let her wrack up a debt bigger than necessary.

"Aw, no. I want revenge now. I want you to make his balls the size of—"

"Tomorrow," I insist, before she can finish the sentence and force me into action. "I promise. You can make a whole list. Tomorrow."

I stand and set her on her feet. Then I turn her in what I'm guessing is the direction of the bedroom. She grumbles, but lets me push her toward the open door on the other side of the living area. To get there we have to step over patches of stinging salt and sticky liquid and rubbish strewn everywhere. By we I mean me, because Elodie isn't doing a lot of stepping over. Rather, she treads through everything, leaving a sticky trail of salt that stings my bare feet.

By the time we reach the bedroom, I'm practically smoking. "What happened to this place? Did he trash it before he walked out?"

She doesn't seem to be listening. Instead, she's frozen in the doorway. "Oh, God. His sweatshirt."

I follow her gaze to an overflowing box in the middle of the floor. On top of the pile is a tatty gray sweatshirt. Leaving her there, I step around her and go to the box. I stuff the spilled contents inside and shove it into the closet. "Gone."

She traipses forward, and freezes again beside the bed. "Where are my pajamas?"

"Don't worry about that, just get into bed."

"But I should have a shower." She starts stripping off the sweatshirt and I rush to stop her. "Elodie!"

She freezes, giving me that sad puppy dog look again.

God damn it!

"Tomorrow," I say gently. "Take a shower tomorrow. Take revenge tomorrow. Take an aspirin and get some sleep now." I lead her to the bed and help her lay down. She goes willingly enough. I pull off her soiled socks and discard them on one of the piles of things. Then I tuck the duvet over her and make sure she's settled.

She stops me just as I'm creeping out of the room. "Azeroth?"

"Mmm?" Do I want to know what she's about to say? Is she about to demand I rip away a chunk of her soul to make a wart appear on the end of her ex-boyfriend's dick?

"You're a good dream. I'm glad I dreamed of you tonight."

Fuck. There's that ache in my chest back again. Why did she have to be sweet? It's my fucking Achilles' Heel. Too bad she'll probably hate me tomorrow when she realizes what happened.

Her eyes are already closed as I pull the door shut behind me. At least one of us is getting a good sleep tonight.

I find a spot on the sofa that isn't taken up with socks and dirty mugs and sit, resting my head back against the cushion. I guess now I know why her presentation went so badly on Monday. Of all the humans in Heartstone who could have summoned a demon—of all the humans on the east coast!—it had to be her. This could get messy. Who am I kidding? It already is.

I've seen thousands of women in their underwear. Yet the image of Elodie's pink panties and thick thighs spins around in my mind's eye.

I think it was the socks that did it. Them, and the combination of curves in all the right places, and her big brown eyes pleading with me from under dark lashes.

I can't be clinical here. In fact, I'm having a hard time feeling anything other than guilty and horny. This isn't going to make her problems go away. What it'll do is leave a whacking great hole in her heart. The kind that comes from damage to your soul.

Ask me how I know.

Poor thing. I wonder what the story is. I guess I'll find out in the morning. Not like I can leave. I won't be able to leave her side until I've taken that piece of her soul.

For some reason, I'd rather not think about that right now.

I run my hand between my horns and through my hair as I look around the room. The place is a mess. I'd been about to head to bed myself, but now I'm wide awake again and it could be hours before I'm tired enough to sleep on this dumpy little sofa.

With a sigh, I get up and pick up the trash. I do my best to put it all in a pile, and wipe up most of the salt and alcohol from the floor. But there is stuff tracked into the carpet and to be honest, there's a reason I pay a cleaner.

When I check on Elodie, she's sleeping soundly. She's adorable, too. Arms flung out in a childlike pose, mouth parted slightly on a soft snore. So drunk she's not even dreaming, so there's not even anything for me to feed on.

With a sigh, I tuck the blankets higher and return to the sofa. At least, I have a little more room to stretch out now, though my feet still hang off the end.

It's a shame it had to be Elodie. Her soul seems too perfect to be marred with this. It will be, though. By the time we're through, it will be pock-marked and ugly just like the rest of them. I hate the thought of being responsible for that.

Maybe Mordicus is right. Maybe I am growing too soft. I've never thought so hard about a summons or a contract.

I should get some sleep.

I don't though. I lay awake for hours, alternating mentally tracing the shape of her thick thighs with tracing the shape of her soul. Both are mesmerizing. The combination leaves me utterly confounded.