Chapter 26: Lana

T his is the first time that I get to explore an archdemon's fortress alone and without sneaking through tunnels. Ashtaroth's sanctum is very unlike Asmodeus'. Instead of being an ancient ziggurat with little decoration, this domain makes me think of what a Gothic cathedral and medieval castle's baby would look like.

The hallway I escaped into is gloomy despite regular intervals of mounted candelabras. It's just too big to be properly lit, both wide and tall, horizontal support ribs meeting above me on the vaulted ceiling like archways. The ceiling itself is adorned with intricate carvings and, for all its austerity, I still find it incredibly beautiful.

I don't sit in any of the alcoves with their sturdy benches, decorated on each side by gargoyles. I'm full of a painful nervous energy and I want to push myself into expending it, try to relieve it somehow. If I wasn't worried that running would cause guards to stop me, I would have broken into a sprint. As it were, the guards and servants I encounter just bow out of the way. Why? Because their master had me for dinner and staked a claim over me publicly? I would tell them that I'm sure their behavior towards me matters nothing to him, but that would mean stopping to talk, and I can't stop. I need to keep going.

A small gray imp wearing scaled black armor bursts out of a room to my right. It must have pilfered someone's lunch because it's holding two squished cherry tomatoes, one in each claw-tipped paw. It's lightly furred and it can't be much taller than two feet – definitely below knee height. Its small wings have hooks on the upper tips and claws on the bottom of the phalanges extending from them. The membranes stretched in-between the delicate bones are a dusky claret red, similar to the tomatoes it still holds, juices leaking over its little fingers. It teeters back on its tiny clawed feet and its bat-like ears flick. The round black eyes look even bigger in the imp's surprise at seeing me, glittering above a button nose and a Cheshire-Cat-like mouth full of shark-like fangs.

The imp chirps, impales the tomatoes on its tiny gray horns, and darts away, a spade-tipped tail spinning behind it in the air current of its rapid departure. Blinking in bewilderment, I continue down the hallway, avoiding the occasional slimy drop full of tomato seeds.

Going aimlessly from one hallway to another, occasionally peering into the large halls revealed by open doors or entrance archways, I feel like I've been exploring for at least an hour, but I don't seem to be walking in circles. Just how big is this place? I didn't get to see it from the outside, having entered it by being squished into the size of a ping-pong ball and pulled through the ether.

How will I find Kevin and get out of here? Now I no longer have to worry just about myself and how long it will take for that unfeeling baboon's ass to be done playing with me – I have Kevin's wellbeing to take into consideration as well. I'm mad at him and I can't help it. While I understand his motivations, he acted without forethought, like a child, and just made everything worse.

Angry tears return to my eyes and as they slide down my cheeks, I find myself feeling tired… empty.

There's a balcony just ahead and, while it may give me an insight as to the appearance of the fortress from the outside, I mainly head there because I want to sit in a corner out of the way, and not have to worry about looking like I'm keeping it together.

The balcony is even wider than I thought. Vaulted archways support the roof, sharp tracery descends between the decorated pillars, throwing a thorny shade over the terrace, while the waist-high railing sports root-like decorations. It feels like I'm in a gazebo that nature overtook in its abandonment.

The balcony overlooks the Garbhodaka Ocean and, stepping close to the railing, I can see some of the fortress I'm in. It's as massive as it felt while walking through it, a black gothic monstrosity perched on the edge of a stark cliff, with numerous battlements and pointed spires – all black with an orange glow in some windows – in sharp relief with the stormy skies behind it.

Despite the emotionally numb state I'm in, my jaw drops, and, perhaps because of the state I'm in, I can't find it in me to process what my eyes are seeing right now. The sheer size and dark beauty of it. I back away from the railing and turn to the long sofa set against the wall. It's like the gothic negative of a renaissance sofa – instead of bright teal cushions decorated with fleur de lys and gold painted wood, this one is all heavy dark wood and dark, dark brown leather cushions.

I sit for another hour in a meditative (or dissociative) state, listening to the thunder and the crashing waves. Of course, I feel him before I see him in my peripheral as he sits next to me. He's quiet for a while, just sitting, his arms crossed.

"You must be hungry," Ashtaroth finally says, and I turn to look at him. His features are unreadable and no longer angry, the occasional wisps of fire in his amber eyes calm .

"Are you? Is that why you're here?" I return. And, okay, I sound a bit salty, but who can blame me?

His jaw grinds, a muscle under his eye twitching, but he hesitates. "I came to apologize."

My eyebrows crawl up to my hairline in surprise. "For what?" I ask slowly.

"You are upset," he remarks coolly in answer.

I scoff. "So you want to apologize because I'm upset, and not because of what you said? Typical man." I lift my palms up mockingly. "I'm sorry you saw me banging your sister, honey."

He huffs impatiently, uncrosses his arms, and leans his elbows on his thighs. "I do not believe I have ever apologized for anything to anyone other than the Dark Prince," he says with a bitter twist to his lips. "And there an ‘I apologize' encompasses any transgressions made and all those one has yet to make."

I look at him until he turns his head in my direction, an imperious eyebrow raised in question.

I give him an evil grin. "I'm waiting."

"For what?" His expression is wary. It's a novel feeling to have someone who can go all ‘Sodom and Gomorrah' on a city appraise you with caution.

"For the apology, of course," I say silkily. "I haven't heard the words yet."

He takes a deep breath, his lips twitching, and is that a hint of respect in those glowing amber eyes? "I do apologize, lamb." He keeps his eyes locked on mine. Unused to apologizing he may be, but he is certainly not a coward. Though it would have been better if he dropped the demeaning pet name.

"Alright," I concede. I straighten and he mimics my movement. I'd love to ask him if what he said wasn't the truth then, but I don't want to pour salt in the wounds. While an apology may start the healing process, an injury takes consistency to close. And still, it scars over.

"I saw a furry imp earlier." I change the topic. There's only so much emotional vulnerability I'm willing to show, and I'm not yet ready to argue over Kevin's wellbeing again. "I didn't know they come in a baby format."

He clicks his tongue in dismissal. "His kind breed like any mammal-adjacent creature. And the younglings require centuries to mature," he clarifies. "The one you saw is older than you."

Huh. I didn't expect to see anything that's not a warrior, servant, or courtier here. But I guess a palace this massive would house quite a few demons. Still, I ask, "Where are its parents?"

"Dead." He offers nothing further and stretches his long legs in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. I'm so easily distracted by him. Judging by the self-satisfied smirk on that angelic visage, he caught me ogling him again.

"It's an orphan?" I try to bring the focus back on the topic of the imp and not my inability to keep my eyes off him, no matter his behavior. It's a miracle he came to offer an apology knowing how weak I am when it comes to fighting my attraction towards him.

"He," he emphasizes, "is an aggravating pest. And his name is Puck."

"Puck," I repeat and smile. That's adorable. But hang on a moment. "I don't see you tolerating a creature of no use who is a cause for annoyance."

He harrumphs. "He will be both utterly useless and a bothersome vexation for centuries yet."

That's not what I meant. I narrow my eyes at him. Why hasn't he simply crushed the baby imp under the heel of his steel-booted foot? "I'm surprised that the demons living here haven't eaten him then, if he's so annoying." I hide my smile and caress the smooth surface of the leather cushion between us.

Looking up when there's no retort, I can see him staring at the movement of my hand. I stop and he clears his throat. "My domain is the nucleus for pride and promiscuity and my subjects glut on that. So long as I am here, they will not devolve."

"I see," I say thoughtfully. That's what happened in Asmodeus' court.

"Your friend," he begins, tone cautious. He's diverting my attention, but clearly unwillingly, judging by the way he forced the words out. Obviously, I'm not the only one not wanting to argue about it again. But why bring it up then? Fear washes over me faster than icy water from a bucket challenge. I jump up.

"Did something happen to Kevin?"

Ashtaroth shakes his head. "I offered to free him, but he refuses to leave without you." I guess that's to be expected. Though I'm surprised he offered to let him go after wanting to stick him into a dungeon.

"Is he okay?" I'm still standing in front of his lounging form and though I'm looking slightly down at him, he's the one exuding authority and dominance.

He hesitates and then says, "He was getting a… sponge bath from Sariel and Armaros when I entered the room." I can't help it – I snort in a very unattractive way. The sound seems to encourage him to continue though, as he says, "He was tied naked to the posts of Sariel's bed and seemed utterly terrified that I may have come to join the, ah, festivities." I burst into laughter, picturing Kev's shell-shocked face as the much larger archdemon stood near his exposed body. "As I spoke with him he… stood to attention," Ashtaroth adds, eyeing me with a mischievous smile, and tears of mirth start leaking out of my eyes. "You're not upset?" He stands up and observes me with some caution as if I'll start another fight over the matter.

"No," I say through my laughter. "He deserves it a bit for coming after me without a plan and putting himself in danger." I shake, picturing Kevin's embarrassment over getting an erection just from the presence of a male archdemon. "They won't rape him, right?" I sober up. He steps closer and lifts his hands to my face, brushing off my tears with his thumbs. My breath hitches in my chest and my mouth opens at the unexpected sensation of his calluses against the apples of my cheeks.

"No," he murmurs and takes a step back. "My niece Naamah charged into the room, proclaimed she had ‘dibs' on the human, and absconded with him. While his sexuality is no longer in danger, I have seen her use her tail in ways that will probably alarm the boy. At first." I just nod, shell-shocked at how these demons play ‘pass the ball' with living beings they deem beneath them.

I blink and my thoughts wander again, catching on the way he said the word dibs. I should have had my attention span checked out while I was still living in the human lands. "You speak in a very outdated way and rarely use contractions. I don't think I've heard you use any modern slang unless it's a quote."

He purses his lips and scratches at the stubble that's shadowing his chin. I wonder if he shaves or just wills it away. "All Celestials are created with an innate capability to understand and speak every language. I guess I don't see the point in colloquialism." He raises his eyebrows, waiting to see my reaction. While he did sound less stuffy with the last sentence, he ruined it by using ‘colloquialism'. Still, I give him an encouraging smile. I won't delve too deep into my motivations for wanting him to feel like his effort is appreciated. I'm probably just dicknotized. Though I still haven't really seen it. I automatically look down at his leather-covered crotch and he growls quietly.

"You must eat; you only had a bit of soup over the course of two days and I prefer you conscious. Though taking your soft and utterly pliant unconscious body would also please me greatly."

I open my mouth in affront, ready to yell with the speed and volume of a marketplace hawker, when he suddenly lifts me and cradles me to his body, holding me against him like he did after the dining room live porno show. "I can walk!" I squawk indignantly.

"You wandered far from my wing and your mortal body needs sustenance," Ashtaroth decrees, and walks back inside like a conquering warrior making off with his plundered prize.

I don't bother nagging him over his heavy-handedness. What's the point? Instead, I relax against his firm chest, resting my head under his chin, and breathe in his sweet and woodsy smell. I'll flagellate myself over my desires some more tomorrow.