Jemma, relaxed in my arms. Trusting. Warm and safe and enjoying my presence. That swelling sense of pride I’d felt when I could do something that would help her, even if it was as simple as chasing the dark away.

And then there was the raging desire to fuck her lithe little body on every surface of her home and in every possible position. After many preparatory orgasms, of course.

Saliva filled my mouth at the thought of tasting her, of licking climax after climax from her pussy, until she begged me to stop. Slipping a finger inside, then two, stretching, making sure she was ready enough to take me.

“Well, whatever you’re planning certainly has you excited!” Hellen scoffed, nodding to my groin. I forced the thoughts from my head—and willed away the sudden snugness of my breeches.

“I couldn’t care less how you get your jollies, Junior …” Her voice became menacingly low. “Just as long as you remember where your loyalties lie.”

With that, she strode for the door. I was about to breathe out a sigh of relief, kick out my big-mouthed hounds and try to work out what the Home these … feelings … were for Jemma when Hellen turned, smirking widely.

“I hope you’re planning to make a proper appearance at the Mephistopheles’ Day Ball. There are a number of eligible demonesses who are hoping for a dance … or an orgy … with you. I know of at least three who would like to be the ones to birth the next Prince of Hell.”

“Ugh,” I muttered, unable to stifle my utter lack of enthusiasm for every word that had just come out of her mouth.

Hellen’s eyes narrowed. “You’d do well to remember that the only thing keeping those Pit Demons from revolting immediately is their anticipation of the ball and the debauchery Father has promised them.” Her fingers clawed into the stone of my doorway, leaving gouges. “After that, we’ll need your experiment to have been proven successful so we can feed them properly. You’ll have perhaps a week at best of their orgy hangovers afterwards before they’ll be baying for the blood of the Royal Family. And, in case you’d forgotten, that includes you!”

My stomach sank. The ball was a mere fortnight away. I had, if I was lucky, three weeks to complete the final two tasks.

And doom Jemma.

* * *

“Wasn’t us, Boss!” Beezle insisted, his eyes gone glassy from the sheer length of time he’d spent tending to his nethers with his tongue. “We kept our mouths shut when she came around demanding to see you. Said we had no clue where you’d gotten to!”

“You are certain you didn’t inadvertently let my plans slip in your excitement?” I asked, rubbing at the base of my horns, where a headache was forming.

“Yeah, promise!” Bub added. “We don’t trust Hellen as far as we can throw her!”