my tongue.
Taz shoots Red with a look. “Elle, knock it off. That’s my daughter. I won’t tolerate you being inappropriate toward her.”
Red—Elle—pouts slightly but drops her hand. “You’re too proud for your own good, Taz.”
“Still no luck on remembering who the mother might be?” a gorgeous man asks, drawing my attention his way. His skin is a smooth mahogany, his wings and eyes a soft tan, and his head bald and shiny. He swipes a silver tray from one of the serving imps and starts shoveling the little finger foods in his mouth three at a time.
“No, unfortunately,” Taz tells him. “The Savor’s lack of recognition is making it very difficult. I do pride myself on good taste, of course, but I can’t recall ever fucking a unicorn or something so rare that it wouldn’t have left an impression on me and given her that purple shade,” he harrumphs.
“Hmm,” the bald man says between large bites of food. “I once thought the same thing. Turned out, I had been imbibing inferno currant instead of sin gin. The procurer sent me the wrong order. I ended up tripping balls for about a month. Sired two offspring with a Rashookin and didn’t even know it until fifteen months later.”
All the other Abdicated cringe and make various noises of shock and disgust.
“I know. No idea how I even found a female, but it turns out, I like their sting, and the twins born from her are some of my favorite progeny to date.”
“Hmm, maybe I’ll try to find a Rashookin…” a woman with driftwood-toned hair, skin, and wings remarks thoughtfully.
Everyone groans. “Every fucking time,” Baldy rolls his eyes and then pops another bite of food into his mouth.
The driftwood female narrows her eyes. “Excuse me? What does that mean?”
“It means you always have to do what we’re doing, and have what we have,” Red cuts in as she fixes her breasts in her dress.
Driftwood crosses her arms in front of her, making her own boobs push together in her emerald green dress. “I do not,” she argues. “Anyway, I have a progeny that I birthed from a Krampus. None of you have that,” she says smugly.
“I forgot about that one,” Tazreel exclaims, clearly entertained by the she-demon’s weird offspring.
“Yes, but you only slept with the Krampus because he was paying more attention to me that night,” Red—Elle points out.
Driftwood flashes her teeth at Elle, but Taz gives the females a warning look. “No. Under no circumstances can you fight during my dinner party. The last thing I want is gossip about how the inner circle can’t get along. My home is a respectable place, and you will act accordingly.”
Both females roll their eyes.
“Well, I blame Luce,” Elle says, tossing back her red hair. “He always has the most diverse and outrageous parties. It can hardly be helped. Desire has a way of running away with you.”
Driftwood nods. “That half Krampus progeny of mine is in charge of my whole army now. I’ve never seen a more proficient General,” she brags, and that makes Tazreel look at me like he’s now seeing possibility where before there was only disappointment.
The group’s familiarity with one another and their camaraderie help me to calm down slightly. They talk about me like I’m not standing right here and like my actual presence is inconsequential, but I can live with that. Like Lousen said, hopefully Tazreel will forget all about me soon and move onto something else. These Abdicated seem like the sort to get bored easily.
“Will you be auctioning her off?” a male asks, looking me up and down like I’m a horse for sale. He has bronze skin, hair, eyes, and wings, and he looks like he’s wearing armor made of pure gold. Every finger has a gleaming ring on it, there are jeweled bracelets on both of his wrists nearly to his elbows, and he also has a heavy diamond pendant on his neck, and both ears covered in pierced gemstones. He is decked out more than an elderly lady out for a night at the theater.
I get so blinded by all the wealth he’s wearing that I nearly miss his question. But as soon as it filters in my brain, my eyes fly to Tazreel in a look that says, don’t you fucking dare.
But before Taz can say something one way or another, a male with pure black wings and hair steps forward. He’s wearing a black button up and slacks, and he’s drop-dead sinfully