Calladia hurried to Astaroth’s side. Moloch’s blood painted her knuckles and was spattered over one cheek. “We need to get you to a doctor,” she said.
Astaroth swayed, feeling light-headed. Not from blood loss—with the dagger still inside, he wasn’t worried about that just yet—but because the experience of being stabbed didn’t improve over time. “He missed vital organs,” he wheezed. “It’ll be fine. I need to finish the speech.”
Calladia gave him a murderous look. “If you avoid getting treatment just to give a speech, I will twist this knife. Just try me.”
“I swear I’m not in danger of dying at the moment.” He kissed her before she could clobber him over the head and drag him away. “Let me finish the speech. Then we’ll go to a doctor.”
Calladia hesitated before holding out her hand, pinkie extended. “Will you pinkie swear?”
Astaroth didn’t know what that meant, but he would swear on anything she liked. He reached out, looping his pinkie around hers. “I pinkie swear.”
She shook his hand solemnly. “The pinkie swear is a sacred vow. You can’t break it.”
“And I won’t.” He smiled, then winced at a throb of pain in his side. He was relieved to see Moloch being restrained by multiple council members, progressives and conservatives alike. Baphomet, too, was being hotly questioned by two conservative demons.
Finally, the council was taking action. And all it took was a light stabbing.
“Closing our borders to other species isn’t the answer,” Astaroth said, addressing the crowd again. “Nor is discriminating against hybrids. We’ve grown stagnant as a species, and while the souls bring life to our plane, we haven’t bothered to think of other options.”
He reached for Calladia’s hand, twined his fingers with hers, then raised it overhead. Her skin glowed in the demon twilight.
“The plants started blooming when the witches and pixie arrived,” Astaroth continued. “That means we don’t need to rely on soul bargains to keep the plane alive. We’ve just got to open our borders to others. Allow them to share their light with us.” He kissed Calladia’s hand. “In return, perhaps we can share some light and love as well.”
Moloch was screaming threats and thrashing against the people chaining him. Tirana and Baphomet were similarly bound. Sandranella called for the gargoyles, who started dragging the three demons away.
“Hold on,” Astaroth called. He looked to Calladia. “Do you have something you want to say to Moloch?”
Her grin was vicious. “Do I ever!” She walked up to Moloch, then punched him in the face. “That’s for my house.” Her next hit went to his gut, and he groaned. “That’s for Astaroth.” Finally, she tied a series of knots with a strand of her hair. “And this is for the whole demon plane.” She muttered a spell, then booted Moloch in the groin.
The demon launched over the rooftops as if shot from a catapult, his scream fading as he disappeared into the distance.
“That was cool,” Mariel said, “but, uh, do we know where he went?”
“He’s in chains,” Calladia said. “He won’t get far.”
Lilith grabbed Kai by the back of the neck and hauled him down into an aggressively tongue-forward kiss. “Werewolves have an excellent sense of smell,” she said after she broke away. “Fetch him for me?”
With a hearty howl at the sky, Kai leaped off the dais and started running.
A demon doctor hurried toward Astaroth. She tugged the knife out, then began treating the wound. Astaroth winced at the sharp pain, but he felt much better once his side was packed with medicinal herbs and gauze.
“So,” Sandranella said once the doctor was done. “Fancy being a part of the high council again, Astaroth?”
Calladia stiffened. Astaroth looped an arm around her waist, considering.
Being on the high council would give hybrids a voice in the seat of power, but did he want to keep doing this? The endless machinations, the slow march of progress . . . how long would it take Astaroth to fall back into the pit of cynicism and ambition?
His past was part of him. Not a comfortable part—more akin to a splinter under his skin—but still there. He didn’t want to be that person again.
And yet . . .
He faced Calladia, pulling her into his arms. “Calladia,” he said seriously, “will you be angry if I stay on the high council? Or at least act as a consultant for hybrid rights?”
A consultancy might be better anyway. More freedom to explore the worlds. More time to spend with his love.
Calladia’s face fell, but she recovered quickly, giving him a tight smile. “Guess you decided to take Isobel up on her offer, after all.”
Wait, Isobel the life witch? Astaroth was briefly confused before realizing Calladia thought he was planning a return to immortality, not just the high council.
After everything that had happened though, Astaroth had come to a conclusion.
The best aspects of himself didn’t come from his demon heritage, though he still wanted to make his mother proud. And though Lilith had a demon’s love of ambition and ruthlessness, more importantly she loved him.
He’d just seen Calladia, Mariel, Ozroth, Themmie, and a pack of random werewolves fight for demon hybrids for no reason other than that it was the right thing to do. Over the years, he’d watched mortals live with such aggressive passion, it boggled the mind. Living on Earth had provided a contact high of sorts, but Astaroth was done letting other people live boldly while he tried to diminish his emotions.
The best aspects of Astaroth were human.
Maybe it was because human lives were brief. They crammed in so much meaning that each day was an adventure. They cared so fiercely that their love stories echoed through time.
He wanted to make his mother proud, but more importantly, he wanted to make himself proud.
Though she was smiling, fear and sorrow shone from Calladia’s beautiful eyes. Astaroth cupped her cheeks, vowing to do whatever it took to erase that pain. “Calladia,” he said with his entire heart, “I don’t want to be immortal again.”
Her brow furrowed. “What?”
“I’m not going to contact Isobel again—well, after I pay her those gold doubloons, damn it. I’m staying mortal.”
After a moment, hope bloomed over her face like an exquisite flower. “Really?”
“Really,” he confirmed. “I can still do good here, and I hope to get more hybrids on the council going forward—and we should probably expand the council anyway—but as for my life . . .” He trailed off, thinking how to word it.
Words could do a lot, but not everything. His truth was a feeling, precious and warm, held safe within his rib cage. His truth was also in his arms, his equal in every way.
“Calladia Cunnington,” Astaroth said, “my warrior queen. I love you, and I want to spend a life with you. The good and bad and annoying and sublime. I want you to shout at me and kick my arse. I want to tickle your feet and tempt death. I want to live with you, as fully and aggressively as we can.”