Asmodeus – Demon of Lust: Part 8

A/N – My dear readers! Thank you to everyone who has stuck by me and this story for so long. I sincerely apologise for the wait between this chapter and the previous one; I really have been writing whenever I am able. I doubt any single chapter would be worth a whole year of waiting, but as with everything I write I have poured my soul into Part 8 and I sincerely hope you enjoy reading it. As always PLEASE rate, comment and email me! I love hearing from you guys and I will reply to every email. Happy New Year!

Cheers,

Steelkat

Part 8

We stroll through the gardens, soaking in the light of the setting sun and holding onto each other with utter reverence. I am content beyond words, feeling adored and daydreaming about my wedding. My love assured me that he would take care of everything and I made no protest, curious to see what he has planned for us. My new ring has a deliciously foreign feel to it, hugging the usually barren finger snugly. We head across the road to a quaint little inn as the sky darkens ever more.

Flowers decorate the cosy reception room, attempting to borrow some of the charm exuded by the gardens. While it fails, it doesn’t do so too considerably. The room certainly possesses a loved quality and promises the same from its suites.

The desk clerk is old and worn ragged. His clothes are of good taste but look a little shabby. He perks up when we walk toward him, plastering a strained smile on his wrinkled face.

“Welcome to the Cattleya Inn,” he chirps with false cheer. It’s obvious that he is anything but cheerful, although I hear something else in his voice; pride. “How can I help you today?”

He’s the owner, he has to be. It explains his forlorn demeanour; old-fashioned keys cover the wall behind him, every holder occupied. Pride alone isn’t enough to keep a business afloat, and business isn’t exactly booming.

“We require a room,” Asmodeus replies.

“Of course,” he says, eyeing us wearily when he takes in our appearances. Even though Ash is huge and I’m visibly pregnant, I know how this looks. He thinks we’re both too young to be paying customers. Frankly, I’m with him when it comes to the payment part. I certainly don’t have any money and I doubt Asmodeus keeps a credit card with him. The clerk and I watch expectantly as he reaches into his jacket pocket.

The owner stares with utter disbelief when Ash pays for our room with a handful of small, clear gemstones. I can barely mask my look of surprise as I register the stones to be uncut diamonds.

“Uh, we’re not from here,” I say, thickening my already foreign accent, “Our credit cards haven’t been delivered yet and my fiancé comes from a prosperous South African diamond mining family. I’m sure this will cover any expense?”

I try to keep my voice strong but it becomes lilting and I tend to stutter when I lie. The owner is torn between eyeing us suspiciously and staring greedily at the diamonds. Even to my untrained eye, I, like him, just know they’re real.

“He doesn’t sound South African,” the man says, “And neither of you look it.”

He tears his gaze away from the diamonds to stare at us accusingly.

“And you’re the expert are you? Have you ever been there?” I ask hotly.

I don’t like arrogant or know-it-all people, especially when they think they know everything about the country of my birth.

“I didn’t think so,” I say when he doesn’t answer.

“How do I know these aren’t stolen?”

At that Asmodeus growls softly next to me and I squeeze his hand in mine.

“You don’t,” I reply, “You have only our word that they aren’t and if that’s not enough for you then we’ll take our business elsewhere.”

When I move to retrieve the diamonds, the owner clamps a hand over them and slides them closer toward him.

“Wait! I’m sure you wouldn’t lie to me. You two don’t look like criminals. Well, you don’t anyway,” he looks at me, and then eyes Asmodeus doubtfully.

“You can call me Mr. Carrington,” he says, picking out a key from the wall with quaking fingers, before turning back to stare at us with cloudy eyes, “Well, what are you waiting for? Follow me.” I take it back; I think I like this man after all.

I like him even more when he leads us to his best room. It isn’t the best because of its size or luxury; like the reception building, it has an air about it which makes it feel revered. Every piece of furniture looks lovingly handpicked, chosen for longevity and comfort rather than flashiness or style. No, they were definitely not picked for style. Mismatched couches sit in front of an ancient box-set television with an old fashioned rug thrown on the floor between them for good measure. The head of the bed is pushed against the opposite wall, its duvet and pillows ochre coloured and printed with purple wildflowers. Mr. Carrington opens a door on the left wall and I catch a glimpse of the bathroom. He leaves a basket of miniature bath products on the vanity, having grabbed it from a supply closet as he led us to the room. I can see the corner of a marble hand basin, complete with a brass faucet and I love this room all the more.

Asmodeus shuts Mr. Carrington out as I take in the wonderful simplicity of the room. It completely lacks the intricacy and dark beauty of Asmodeus’ creations; it’s old, mismatched and maybe a little tacky, but just standing here makes me feel so utterly human. How ironic that we constantly dream of beautiful things until we receive them and begin then to dream of simpler times. I resolve right now to make the most of my visit to the human realm.

I jump onto the bed and delight at the creak of the ancient springs within the mattress. God, I need to stop using that metaphor. It hardly applies now that I’ve acquired a fiancé as old as the human race. The thought makes me laugh aloud and I bounce again to hear these decade old bedsprings. Asmodeus gives a whole new meaning to the word ancient.

I stretch out like a sun-bathing cat then curl into myself, snuggling against the deliciously rough cotton of the duvet. The pillow at my head is starchy but smells wonderful. It’s a chemically clean scent, laced with artificial lavender, nothing like the earthy musk permeating everything in Asmodeus’ world.

But that earthy scent is taking over again, because I’ve brought the source with me. Ash lies on the bed beside me and I breathe in one last lungful of the wonderfully normal lavender soap smell before I turn to face him. I don’t know how to behave around him now, in these unreservedly ordinary surroundings. Here, my lust for him seems like a greasy, filthy thing; with none of the inevitability associated with sex. It’s as if we’ve come out of the safety of darkness and I feel vulnerable, open to scrutiny even behind closed doors. Here, sex is cheap and nasty, something to be hidden. It’s shameful to want it and to enjoy it; it’s unheard of as being good and beautiful.

It’s strange to look at him while he wears his glamour. He’s still exquisite, though he wears his features in an innocently boyish way. His hair is still pale, strewn across his pillow but it has dulled from polished platinum to a tarnished, faded gold. His eyes though, even under his disguise, I see my King in his eyes. Even so drastically changed, they still burn with the passion of his fire-lit eyes. It’s a frostbitten warmth, slicing yet strangely soothing. These two pairs of eyes say all that’s worth telling about my lover. They show every side of him, this fiery yet passionate demon with his sharp yet gentle nature. They are everything I love about him.

It’s hard to believe that such an extraordinary being can be hidden beneath a layer of mud. Surely such radiance should shine through, its heat baking the clay until it flakes off and is carried away in the wind. But it holds stubbornly, hiding my King’s terrible beauty behind a handsome façade. I wonder who our baby will look like?

Will he or she possess my plain features with his unnatural allure? Or his sinister good looks with my raging temper and bull-headedness? Will his skin be brown like mine or a vortex of dark colours like his father’s? Will he have my rich chocolate eyes or Asmodeus’ molten lava pair? I can’t wait to hold this enigma in my arms but the very thought has me absolutely terrified. So, for a little reassurance, I stroke my lover’s face and break our easy silence.

“You’ve done all this before with Elysia,” I say. It’s a statement, not a question so he waits silently for me to continue, “Why? What will you do with him when he’s born?”

“The child will be placed here, in the realm of man upon maturity and walk amongst the humans as a living temptation. He will become my link to this world, enticing humans to practice my sin. He will be, like the kin of angels and demons before him, nothing more or less than a choice, a fantasy which the decider may willingly choose. This decision will sway the scales and influence the ultimate fate of the soul. For what is life but an assortment of choices which define the soul making them?”

“So he’ll be an incubus? Or a succubus if we have a girl?” I ask, breath catching as I pull my hands back. I draw them close to me, suddenly wishing that I hadn’t asked.

“Yes my love, this will be his purpose.”

“Purpose? You speak about him as if he’s an appliance not a child. Who are you to decide his purpose?”

“I am his progenitor and his King. He will do as I command.” His words aren’t hard or cold, they simply are; as if there is no questioning their authority and that makes them all the worse.

I sit up, anger rising with me and I face his gaze unflinchingly.

“You will not make a womaniser of my son, or a whore of my daughter.”

He laughs, sitting up and reaching for me. He rests his hands on my hips and draws closer to me.

“My warrior Queen, I do not wish to battle with you today. I yield love, spare your King his miserable hide.” His voice is teasing and playful, his false eyes twinkling.

“Don’t play with me Asmodeus, I’m serious. I don’t care about your desire for a link to the human world. People are lustful enough as it is, they don’t need my children to seduce them. They’ve done well enough without incubi and succubi all this time; they don’t need any help now.”

His gaze is unwavering and I catch a hard truth in his eyes.

Of course, how could I have been so stupid, so naive? To think that after three million years, the baby growing within me is only his second son.

“How many?” I ask, tight-lipped. My gaze has fallen; I find that I can barely stand to look at him now.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“Are you certain you wish to know?” He pinches my chin gently and lifts my face up to his.

“Yes,” I say, then, “No.