An unnerving and terrorizing rumble shook the office and echoed ominously through Hell. I considered moving my meeting with Astrid to a safer part of the Dark Palace. Surely Elle wouldn’t attack me again with a guest present. However, my mate seemed to have lost her mind as of late, and I had no clue what she would do next. Normally, I found Elle’s violent tendencies arousing. This morning? Definitely not.
Astrid eyed me with concern as she warily got to her feet. “Was that a freakin’ earthquake?”
“Not exactly,” I said, staying as vague as I could. It wouldn’t really do to explain that I’d almost been beheaded by the woman I loved over breakfast. Not to mention, Astrid tended to have loose lips, and I didn’t need the Immortal Universe to know that my mate was trying to dismember me. I had the reputation of being an evil badass to uphold.
“Mmmkay,” Astrid said, still on edge as she began to pace. “Maybe I should come back another time when Hell isn’t about to blow up, and you don’t have a table of food on display that makes me want to permanently rearrange your face.”
“About that,” I whispered, glancing around the area again. “I wanted to have the buffet removed before you arrived, but… DUCK,” I shouted as I grabbed Astrid and threw her under my desk.
Her head hit the wood with a loud thud, and I winced as a sharp knife slammed into my upper leg. Thankfully, Astrid and I were Immortal and would heal quickly. The perpetrator of the attack disappeared as quickly as she’d appeared.
“What the actual fuck?” Astrid demanded, punching me in the stomach as I wedged my huge frame under the desk next to her.
“Shhh,” I whispered, pulling the dagger out of my hip and melting it with a flick of my fingers. “She’s trying to kill me.”
“So am I, Asshole of the Underworld,” Astrid hissed and blasted me with a bolt of searing hot magic.
“Lord of the Underworld,” I corrected her.
“Same thing,” she said with a raised brow. “Anyhoo, as the Dork of Down Under you’re impossible to kill. A dagger in the derriere isn’t gonna do much.”
Astrid demonstrated her statement with another painful blast of lightning.
“See,” she said with a giggle. “You’re still breathing.”
“Stop it. And it wasn’t my ass, it was my hip,” I snapped, still keeping my voice low. “If I retaliate, the Dark Palace will explode. I’d suggest you keep your itchy trigger fingers in your pockets, or I’ll come for an extended vacation to the Cressida House and make your life a living Hell—which is my specialty. I’ve had a seriously bad morning.”
Astrid sighed dramatically, zapped me again and pushed me out from under the desk with her stiletto clad feet. I was now exposed. For a brief moment, I considered pulling Astrid out from beneath the desk and crawling back to relative safety, but that was a cowardly move. I was many things, but I was not a coward.
“First of all, you’re doing an outstanding job of making my life a living Hell right now even though I’m technically dead. And I’m really not sure how, but somehow, you’ve made me feel sorry for you,” Astrid said with an exasperated shake of her head. “Who’s trying to kill you and why? If your story is even remotely plausible or makes any sense whatsoever, I’ll help you by putting an end to someone stupid enough to try to off the Devil’s ass.”
“No,” I said quickly. “No offing necessary. It’s Elle. She’s become very food aggressive. I think it’s a Siren thing. She electrocuted me for just looking at her blueberry muffin.”
My statement rendered my filter-less niece silent. I was perplexed as well. I’d even gone so far as calling my mother about the conundrum with my mate but got her voice mail. Her ludicrous message informed anyone who called that she was at a pole dancing competition in Belize, where cell reception was spotty at best. Mother Nature kept a bizarre and horrifying social calendar.
“The Keeper of Fate tried to annihilate you for looking at her muffin?” Astrid asked, trying to bite back her grin.
She failed miserably.
“It’s not humorous,” I hissed.
“Actually, it is,” she contradicted me. “However, just to be clear here, blueberry muffin isn’t code for some warped sexual thingie. Right?”
“It is not code for anything,” I huffed. “It was a goddamned blueberry muffin. I don’t even like blueberry muffins. I didn’t want