“I put a little extra oomph into the amulet.” The hag’s face hung over him. Could that be concern in her indigo eyes? You didn’t see that color often in humans. In different circumstances, he might find it fetching. She’d lined those unusual eyes in dark black makeup, which made them stand out even more against the ivory of her face. Considerate of her, because he could read the worry clearly in their depths. She was right to be worried. When he got out of this binding—and he would get out—she was going to pay for every indignity he’d suffered and every impertinence she’d visited on him. These humans could not be naive enough to believe this was the first summoning he’d dealt with.
Another face wove into sight. Backlighting haloed her blond hair, and her melting brown eyes grew moist. “Is he okay? We’re not hurting him, are we?”
Some injuries went deeper than bruises and scrapes, and his pride was feeling rather dented. As he was pride, that was a whole lot more than this pathetic little coven had calculated for.
“I don’t think so.” Hag frowned. “He doesn’t look like he’s in pain.”
“No.” The blonde grimaced. “He still looks angry.”
Oh, he was so beyond angry it was laughable.
“Alrighty then.” The older woman rubbed her palms together. “We need to get him out of here before somebody comes.”
“Pants first.” The blonde blushed.
Modesty was hardly his first consideration, but lying here, incapable of moving, with all his parts on display only added to the indignity.
“Right.” The hag nodded and looked uncertain. “We’ll put his pants on.”
He dared her with his eyes to get near him.
“I’ll do it.” The older woman grinned. Joints cracking and on a groan, she lowered herself to her knees beside him. “They make you hell princes pretty, and that’s a fact.”
Pretty? Pretty! He was so much more than pretty. Spring flowers were pretty. Blue-eyed, fluffy kittens were pretty. Presents tied up with bright red bows were pretty. He was Lucifer, king of hell. At least he liked to think of himself that way, and for as long as it pissed off his fellow hell princes—especially his brother—he would continue to do so.
“Don’t get too close.” Bianca put her hand on the older woman’s shoulder. “I don’t know how incapacitated he is. We’ve never had a chance to test the amulet.”
Good information to have.
The blonde chewed her bottom lip. “But he’s safe, right? He’s not going to suddenly recover.”
“Well, handsome.” Patty winked at him. “You going to give me any trouble or you going to let me put some pants on you?” She chuckled. “Now, if it was up to me, I’d leave you the way you were created, but these younger women are a bit more squeamish.”
If he wasn’t so infuriated, he might have laughed. She was outrageous. And she made short work of covering him up. In gray track pants. Dear hell! This was not even clothing. Men in this age needed to reevaluate the way they clothed themselves. At least the sweatpants felt like cotton and not some heinous synthetic fabric.
“Thanks, Patty.” Hag smiled, her wide mouth painted a compelling dark red. “Christen?” She looked to his left, revealing the elegant sweep of her neck.
All the better for him to wrap his hands around again. He searched her white skin for signs of bruising from his previous grip.
“Can you get the wheelchair?” There was a definite edge to her voice, as if she was doing all she could to be pleasant. He preferred her fire.
“Why should I get the wheelchair?” Christen whined. “You’re not in charge here, Bianca. You can’t order the rest of us around.” His voice grew in confidence. “Do I have to remind you that I am head witch?”
He hadn’t been around this coven more than a few minutes, but he knew who was in charge despite what the weasel said.
Patty rolled her eyes and met Lucifer’s gaze as if she shared his opinion. “If you can believe that.”
Clenching her jaw, Bianca took a deep breath. “I know you’re head witch, and I’m not trying to order anyone around. You’re closest to the wheelchair.”
“No, I’m not,” Christen said.
“Makes you want to deball the fucker,” Patty whispered to Lucifer.
He heartily agreed. In fact, he might defer his vengeance on the pretty hag until he’d had the opportunity to teach Christen all about the natural order.
“Are you going to get the wheelchair?” Bianca kept her gaze locked on Christen.
After a pause, Christen appeared, peacocking with his shoulders back and his chest out. “No, I’m not. But if you can’t handle him, I can always zap the bastard.” He smiled at the women. “I want to remind you girls that I have enough power to render the bastard unconscious if he threatens any one of you.”
Deferment of Bianca’s punishment it was.
“Women,” Bianca snapped. “We’re women, not girls.”
He heartily supported her point. She was definitely a woman, and not only because his current position gave him a good view of her womanly assets. There was definitely some tension between his pretty hag and dear Christen. He was glad he knew the prick’s name. Vengeance was always better when delivered with that personal touch. He couldn’t blame Bianca for wanting to snap the weasel’s neck. He’d toss it in for her as a freebie. Calling this piece of shit a weasel wasn’t fair to weasels. Weasels were never cowardly. Mean, stubborn, and determined, but never cowardly. Floppy hair was more like weasel adjacent.
“Really, Bianca.” Weasel-adjacent smoothed a hank of shining red-blond hair behind his ear. “Do you really think now is the time for a lecture on the patriarchy?”
The girl—sorry, woman—who resembled Bianca gave Weaz-adj a look of cow-eyed adoration. Girl, not woman, he corrected himself. No woman worth her salt would give Weaz-adj that look.
“You know what she’s like.” The girl giggled.
Patty winked at him. “I know.” She snorted. “Total prick.”
He might actually grow to like Patty.
“I’ll get the wheelchair,” the blonde said and vanished from his line of sight.
“Thanks, Lynn.” His pretty hag smiled at Lynn. She had a lovely smile. It was a pity that what he was going to do to her wasn’t a smiling matter, and he wouldn’t see many more of her smiles.
