Fashionably Fooled (Hot Damned #13) - Robyn Peterman Page 0,6

time I look at your face, I want to remove it.”

That wouldn't end well. My face was gorgeous. “Did I do something to upset you?”

There was a long silence as she thought. “I think it’s that you’re breathing,” she eventually shared.

Again, not encouraging.

My stomach dropped, but I pressed on. “Do you regret our mating?”

“No. I love you.”

“But you feel the need to decapitate me?” I inquired, getting more confused by the second.

“Yes.”

“Would it help if I stabbed myself?” I asked, remembering Astrid’s advice.

“That would be nice,” Elle replied. “I think it would cheer me up.”

Shit. The things a man did to keep his woman happy. Although, Astrid had just earned a few points.

“Wonderful. I’d be delighted to stab myself for you, lover,” I lied through my teeth. “Would you like to come out of the closet so you can watch me impale myself on a sword.”

“Can I eat the chocolate croissants first?” she called out.

“Of course. Just let me know when you’re ready to observe me skewer myself,” I said, trying to keep my tone conversational and light even though I was speaking of goring a body part for her.

“Thank you, Lucifer. I love you.”

She certainly had a strange way of showing it, but then again, we were a strange couple.

“Where in the Hell are my Demon Generals?” I snapped as I scanned the meeting room in annoyance.

My office doubled as the war room in the Dark Palace. Normally, the strategically placed turn of the century instruments of torture and the obscene statues calmed me. Today? Not so much. Deadly mischief was afoot. I’d received an alarming letter and I needed to eliminate the sender immediately.

Ten of my top warriors were seated at the onyx marble table looking tremendously uncomfortable. The breakfast food from earlier had been removed—or rather eaten—by Elle. Aunt Flow’s visit had made my lover extremely hangry. As Elle was barricaded in the closet, I went on with my necessary business and hoped to Hell and back she would stay put for at least a half an hour. There were at least four dozen chocolate croissants on the platter.

The Demons at the meeting trembled and refused to make eye contact. I was aware that all had just lived through a series of vicious explosions and earthquakes, but this was ridiculous. Striking fear in my subjects was necessary and delightful. However, these particular Demons were chosen due to their lack of a fear gene. Their state of agitation wasn’t expected or welcome.

Apparently, word of my womb eviction day had spread, and someone wanted to stop it and end me. That was unacceptable. I couldn’t even blame Astrid for sharing the news as the letter had arrived via a four-headed vulture yesterday right after Elle had eaten a vat of nacho cheese without the chips.

Closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose, I sighed dramatically.

The terror in the room increased.

“I believe I called a meeting,” I ground out through clenched teeth as I noticed a bit of chocolate on the sleeve of my custom Armani suit. I was half tempted to lick it off. However, that wasn’t exactly dignified, and I was still somewhat terrified of my mate’s new and unhealthy obsession with sweets. I’d sworn off anything with sugar in it for the foreseeable future.

As the world’s greatest lover, one would think I understood women—especially my woman. One would be wrong.

My plate was rather full at the moment, and I didn’t have time for anyone to disobey, dissent, or spread the news that I’d licked my suit. My sanity had been sorely tested already this morning due to my almost decapitation over blueberry breakfast bread. I’d also promised to stab myself. My life, or lack thereof, was precarious right now.

I was the damned leader of the Damned. This was not working for me.

“For shit and giggles,” I began as the Demons squirmed in their seats. “Would anyone like to share why Darby, Dino, and Dagwood are absent?”

It still irked me that my three top Demon Generals had chosen new monikers. What was so wrong with Skuolonu, Bealsahm and Gamunoch? I was fortunate. I went by many names—Lucifer, Satan, Beelzebub, Prince of Darkness, Divine Asshole and occasionally Uncle Fucker… I tried so hard to let the Demons find themselves creatively. Happy Demons—a relative term—were more productive. However, this changing of names game had frayed my last nerve… not to mention they were late.

But then again, when one lived for thousands of years, it was difficult to begrudge