Read Online Azagoth: A Demonica Novella (1001 Dark Nights) by Larissa Ione - Free Book Online

had.
    She eyed him like he was a rabid hellhound, and when her gaze dropped to his feet, he barked, “What are you doing?”
    “Checking for hooves.”
    He was pretty sure his horns grew larger. So did his dick.
    Irritation that he couldn’t control his own body, let alone his emotions, pissed him off even more. Made him...as she put it, extra reapy . Then she was walking toward him, her long, fluid strides kicking her slim hips out with each strut. The bare expanse of her belly became a focal point as she came closer, and suddenly, all the writhing, shifting feelings inside him narrowed into a single stream of lust.
    Much, much better. Fury, joy, sadness, guilt...those were things he couldn’t deal with. Lust, though... that he could handle, and handle very well.
    “Look,” she said as she halted in front of him. “It wasn’t my fault that we had to come back. We used up the entire hour—”
    A tap on the doorjamb cut her off, and they both looked over to the open doorway where Zhubaal stood, outfitted in leather and weapons.
    Not a good sign.
    “My lord, I had a meal sent to your dining room.” He gestured down the hall. “And...you have another visitor.”
    “Send them away. I’m done for the day.”
    Zhubaal shifted his weight in an uncharacteristic display of unease. “Sir...it’s Methicore.”
    Instant alarm shot up Azagoth’s spine, and he instinctively stepped in front of Lilliana. “Is he alone?”
    “Aye.” Zhubaal’s tone was grim. “I shackled him with Bracken Cuffs.”
    The cuffs, designed to neutralize supernatural abilities, weren’t necessary, not when Azagoth was the most powerful being in his own realm, but with Methicore’s history, it was a wise precaution. Plus, being shackled was humiliating, and Methicore deserved it. And worse.
    “Send the bastard in.”
    Zhubaal bowed deeply and left. As soon as the door closed, Lilliana stepped closer. “Who is Methicore?”
    “He’s a vile excuse for an angel,” he growled. “A pox upon his kind.”
    She frowned. “How do you know him?”
    Azagoth inhaled deeply, doing his best to keep the monster throbbing inside him at bay. “I know him,” he said thickly, “because he’s my son.”
    * * * *
    Bastard. A vile excuse for an angel. A pox upon his kind.
    Azagoth’s words about his own son completely obliterated any warm fuzzies Lilliana had begun to feel for him. It was too reminiscent of her own father’s rejection of her. She’d been the product of breeding for a purpose, and when she’d approached him a quarter of a century ago in an attempt to get to know him, he’d made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with her.
    “I have a mate and sons now, and I don’t need you barging into our lives and ruining everything.”
    In other words, his family didn’t know about her. He’d kicked her out of his grand residence with instructions to stay away from him and his family.
    Looked like Azagoth was no better than dear old dad. She should have known.
    As Zhubaal escorted Methicore inside, anger at the way he was chained boiled up. She’d been shackled the same way only a few weeks ago, and the memory of being rendered helpless and at another’s mercy closed in on her in a claustrophobic wave.
    Methicore stopped a few feet inside the doorway, but Zhubaal remained outside, his hand hovering over a blade at his hip. Was this male truly such a threat? Or had Azagoth taken a page from her father’s playbook? The moment her father had realized who she was, he’d summoned two underlings to flank her, as if she’d come to murder him instead of beg for acceptance.
    “Father,” Methicore drawled. “Did you take out your horns on my account? How special.” He resembled his sire in height and coloring, but he was slimmer, and where Azagoth’s eyes had glazed over with icy indifference, Methicore’s burned with hatred.
    She wasn’t sure which was worse.
    “Why are you here?” Azagoth’s expression gave nothing away, as