A Demon’s Guide to Wooing a Witch

The witch had a cruel streak.

And Astaroth liked it.

He’d spent the afternoon torn between laughing, screaming, and resisting the urge to jerk off into a nearby bush. Whenever he thought he’d wrestled his arousal under control, she’d done something to set it off again. A long, graceful stretch with her arms over her head, followed by touching her toes. A wicked wink over her shoulder as she’d slid her hand over a wrist-sized branch to duck under it. In one particularly cruel moment, she’d uncapped her water bottle, taken a drink, then let some slop over her chest, the water glistening against her tan skin.

Even when she hadn’t been deliberately trying to wind him up, she’d managed. Her jeans weren’t the tightest, but every step highlighted the taut curve of her bum, and without her shirt, he could see the flex of her biceps and the toned stretch of her abdomen.

The things he would do to get his mouth on her.

He didn’t care that the trail had all but disappeared or that a stray branch had scratched his cheek. He didn’t care that he was sweaty and gross. He didn’t even care that Isobel’s cabin was nowhere to be found.

This was exciting.

The feeling was a novelty for an immortal like him. Former immortal, that was. Soon-to-be-immortal-again, once he figured out how to manage it. After centuries of the same dramas played out over and over, people blurred together, and even wars became routine.

Calladia though . . .

He’d never met anyone like her.

Ahead of him, she stopped with a sigh. “Maybe we’re on the wrong path.”

“Generous to call it a path.”

Calladia narrowed her eyes at him. “Not helpful.”

“Maybe we should stop for the night,” he said. “The light’s fading.” The snippets of sky visible through the branches held sunset hues, and beneath the canopy it was growing dark. Soon it would be risky to keep clambering over roots and rocks.

“More helpful.” Calladia rubbed her neck. “We’ll need to find a clearing to set the tent up in.”

“True.” Astaroth eyed the tangle of bushes and trunks on either side of the track. “Easier said than done.”

Calladia set her pack down, shrugged her flannel back on—alas—then pulled out the yarn she’d tied knots in earlier. She undid them, then wove a design between her fingers, whispering to herself. Astraroth watched, intrigued by the intricate movements. Not many witches preferred thread work to ground their spells, as it was a notoriously difficult discipline. There were countless types and combinations of knots to remember, and even the tightness of a particular knot could change the desired effect.

He took a moment to look at her soul using his demon senses. It glowed in her chest like a small sun, golden and radiant. In olden days he would have considered the potential of removing it from her, but he liked seeing it there, where it belonged.

As a bargainer, he should feel ashamed for a thought like that. But as a bargainer, there was a lot he was doing that he should feel ashamed about. He’d gone from a stone-cold manipulator with a fearsome reputation to . . .

Well, a demon who was currently smiling giddily at the witch he was feeling an alarming amount of emotion toward.

A stick rose from the ground and hovered in front of Calladia at waist height. It was Y-shaped, like a dowsing rod. The stick quivered, rotated in a circle, then snapped to the right, pointing off the path.

“What spell was that?” Astaroth asked.

Calladia began shoving through the bushes in the direction the rod had indicated. “A spell to find fresh running water. That’s a good start for a decent campsite.”

Astaroth followed, ducking under branches and pushing foliage aside. He noticed Calladia was doing her best not to damage the undergrowth, so he followed suit, contorting himself into odd positions rather than snapping twigs off.

The sound of trickling water grew louder. They reached a small stream tumbling down the slope. The terrain was still uneven, but Calladia made a triumphant sound and pointed. “There we go.”

Downstream, the water curved around a boulder. On the opposite bank was a shelf of rock, and beyond that a narrow patch of earth before the trees crowded in. Calladia led the way, picking over rocks and fallen wood, and Astaroth followed. Curious about the potential for a bath, he dipped a finger in the water, then shuddered. He would not be washing in that.

“Do you know any bathing spells?” he asked. “The water’s bloody freezing.”

She laughed. “Not really, but I do know spells to make you smell better. Do you want to smell like roses or lilies?”

Astaroth considered. “Lilies, if I must.”

“Wow, I was sure you were going to ask me to make you smell like sandalwood and leather or something.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not really sure what sandalwood smells like, to be honest.”

“It’s a nice scent, if cliché.” Somewhere along the line, romantic literature had informed men they could smell like a few oddly specific things: sandalwood, pine, leather, and musk. What kind of musk? Who could say. Since some perfumers expressed beaver anal glands to produce castoreum as a tincture, he suspected most people would rather not know the particulars.

“Someday I will find a subject you don’t have a hoity-toity opinion on,” Calladia said, shaking her head.

They reached the curve in the stream where the water shallowed by the rock ledge. The stone was cool, though it held a modicum of heat from the setting sun. Not enough to please a demon, but true heat was hard to come by this time of year.

They set up the tent in the strip of earth beside the ledge. It was a decent spot, and the overhanging branches provided a barrier in case of rain.

Once everything was set up and their packs tucked away, Calladia stretched. “I’m hoping we can find a hot spring nearby.” She undid the knots in the yarn and tied more. “Tarqui en pinnisen.” Moments later, the dowsing rod zoomed into view, coming to a quivering stop in front of her. Calladia wound the cord around her wrist and palm. “Pinnisibsen a chauvodasi.”

The stick started gliding into the woods.

Calladia grabbed towels from her pack. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get warm.”

The hot spring was small, tucked away at the base of a hill formed from an old rockslide. Wafts of steam rose toward the sky, which had darkened to a dusky purple spattered with stars.

Calladia cast another spell, and two floating yellow orbs sparked to life, casting a gentle glow over the scene. The pool was cloudy turquoise ringed by orange mineral buildup, and flowers bloomed around it in a riot of color. The blossom-tinged air had a faintly sulfurous edge, though Astaroth’s nose acclimated within a few breaths.

“Isn’t it late in the season for flowers?” he asked, leaning down to touch the purple petals of a night-blooming orchid. Its stamen gleamed as silvery white as the stars above.

“There’s magic in these mountains,” Calladia said. “It’s most concentrated in Glimmer Falls and the area immediately around it, but the ley lines extend all over the place. Hot springs tend to pop up over those ley lines, and the magic and heat keep the foliage blooming year-round.” She gave him a crooked smile. “Mariel explained that to me. She can feel the magic in the earth in a way I can’t.”

Mariel’s name hovered in the air between them, an invisible reminder of the conflict holding them apart. Astaroth didn’t feel like reliving whatever he’d done to Mariel, but instinctively, he knew she was the key to breaking down the remaining antipathy between him and Calladia. “Tell me about her,” he said.

Calladia looked surprised. “What do you want to know?”

Astaroth bent to unlace his shoes. “What’s she like? How did you become friends?” He toed off his shoes and socks, then stripped off his jacket and shirt.

Calladia was staring at his chest. When he cleared his throat, she shook her head and turned away. “She’s funny,” Calladia said as she started unbuttoning her own top. “Her brain jumps all over the place, and she asks the weirdest questions. And she’s kind. Like, freakishly so. She bakes muffins for the neighbors, goes out of her way to rescue lost people or animals, and will drop everything to help a friend out.”

Great. Astaroth had not only harmed Calladia’s friend; he’d harmed a muffin-baking philanthropist. “You said she can feel the magic in the earth,” he said, shoving his trousers down. He considered stripping off his undergarments, then decided against it for the moment. “She must be very powerful.”

“You still can’t have her soul,” Calladia snapped.

Hurt arrowed through Astaroth’s chest. “That’s not why I’m asking.”

“Then why are you asking?” Calladia asked, planting her hands on her hips. She looked suspicious, which was the exact opposite of what he’d hoped to accomplish.

Astaroth scrambled to defuse her temper. “Because she matters to you, and I want to know everything about you.”

Calladia’s lips parted, and suspicion turned to surprise.

Astaroth shifted, feeling awkward. That had been too much to reveal. If she suspected the depth of his obsession with her, she’d probably be disgusted.

“Well,” Calladia said. “That’s . . .”

“So,” he blurted. “Tell me more. If you want, of course.” He hurried to the edge of the hot spring and sat on the edge, dunking his feet in the water. Oh, that was nice. He slid into the pool, gripping the edge until his feet found purchase. The water came up to mid-chest, and it was rapidly warming him up to a decent temperature. He’d been chilled for days, his physiology struggling in the colder human realm.

Calladia continued stripping, a process Astaroth watched avidly. Unfortunately, she stopped with bra and underwear still on, but the view was still divine. Her thighs were thick with muscle, her calves sharply defined, and the curves of her hips and breasts were subtle but elegant. Her body was a finely honed weapon, and Astaroth would gladly be her victim.

“You’re ogling me,” she said as she approached the pool.

“I am,” he readily agreed. Her underwear looked to be plain gray cotton, and he wanted to get his mouth on her until the fabric darkened with her arousal. Then he’d pull them aside, licking all over her slick skin before sucking her clit.

Below the water, his cock began to stiffen.

She shook her head as she lowered herself to the edge of the pool. “Shameless.” She dipped her toes in and hissed.

Astaroth ducked under and came back up, then made a show of shaking out his hair, sending drops flying.

Calladia shrieked, shielding her face, then started laughing. “Bad demon! We aren’t all blessed with your tolerance for heat.”

He watched as she slowly submerged her feet. “So,” he said, returning to the earlier conversation. “Tell me more about Mariel.”

Calladia did, painting a brief yet vivid sketch of a sweet, beautiful woman with a good heart and unpredictable magic. Witches tended to be specialists or generalists; while Calladia was a generalist, good at most things, Mariel was clearly a specialist with an incredible affinity for plants. The two women had been friends since childhood, forming a strong bond based partly on having control-freak mothers.

Calladia’s deep love for her friend was obvious, and Astaroth felt a mix of guilt and envy. Guilt that he’d targeted someone Calladia valued this much, even if he couldn’t remember it, and envy that someone else got to experience the gift of her unshakable loyalty. She might deny being a good person, but Calladia loved deeply and fought hard for the people she valued, and if that wasn’t goodness, what was?

A buzzing came from Calladia’s backpack, and she stiffened. “Oh, no,” she said, dread creeping into her tone. “I forgot about my mom’s event.”

“You wouldn’t have been able to make it anyway,” Astaroth said.

“Yeah, but that’s not going to stop her from being pissed at me.” She sighed and got up, then walked to her pack.

“Why answer?” Astaroth asked as she pulled out the phone.

She put her finger to her lips. “Hey, Mom.” When a muffled but clearly angry voice responded, Calladia pulled the phone from her ear, made a face, then put it on speaker.

“—told you it was important! Josiah Jenkins is a high-value possible donor, and he’s big on family values. What am I supposed to tell him about your absence?”

“Tell him I’m out of town at that fake wellness retreat,” Calladia said. “Or tell him a demon recently blew up my house and I don’t have time for political dinners.”

“I’ve already spread the word it was a gas leak, so make sure you stick to that story. Bad enough to have one demon in town; if people suspect you’re involved with more demon business, it’s going to ruin your reputation.”

“You mean your reputation?” Calladia shot back. “I don’t have a reputation to protect.” She sat, setting the phone on the rock next to her, then plunked her feet and lower legs in the water all at once, wincing at what must be a sting of sudden heat.

Over the phone, Calladia’s mother sighed. “I know you don’t value it now, but someday you will, and you’ll be grateful I went to these lengths to keep you respectable.”

“I don’t want to be respectable. I want to be me.”

“You mean reckless, violent, rude, and unmotivated?” Cynthia’s laugh sounded bitter. “Sometimes I wonder what I’ve done to deserve such an ungrateful daughter.”

Calladia flinched. Astaroth waded toward her, tempted to grab the phone and drop it in the hot spring.

How could Cynthia treat her own child like this?

It took a lot to truly appall Astaroth, but after only this short conversation, he was horrified. “Has she always been like this?” he asked softly.

Calladia’s eyes were wet, but she wiped the drops away with the back of her hand and held up her finger, signaling him to wait. “I’m not ungrateful,” she said. “You kept me fed and a roof over my head when I was a kid. You paid for school and magic tutoring.”

“A substantial amount, too!”

“A substantial amount,” Calladia echoed. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to end up exactly like you. I have my own dreams, my own goals.”

Cynthia scoffed. “And what are those? Besides embarrassing me every time your name ends up in the gossip column for fighting.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t fight all the time if I wasn’t so bloody mad all the time!” Calladia shouted. “Maybe I’m reacting to an atmosphere of constant disapproval. You ever think of that?”

Astaroth gripped her calf beneath the water as if he could anchor her and keep her safe as this storm swept through.

“Why are you swearing like a British person?” Cynthia asked. “And really, what do you have to be angry about? You’ve lived a charmed life. You’ve had anything and everything you wanted, whenever you wanted it.”

“Everything except your approval.”

“Approval has to be earned,” Cynthia snapped. “So far, you’ve only tried to spite me.”

“Bullshit,” Astaroth said softly, holding Calladia’s gaze. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears. He stepped in front of her, grabbing her other calf as well. There was nothing sexual in the touch; he just wanted to be there for her.

Calladia closed her eyes and took a deep breath, blowing it out through pursed lips. He saw her pulling herself together as her expression smoothed into a calm mask. Then she nodded. “I won’t be at dinner tonight,” she said into the phone, mirroring her mother’s icy tone. “I’m your daughter, not a prop for the campaign trail. And until you can see me as that again, I won’t be attending any other dinners either.”

She hung up. The phone immediately began vibrating again, but she switched it off and threw it overhand into the forest. “Good riddance,” she muttered.

Her legs had relaxed enough for Astaroth to step between them. He moved his grip from her calves to her face, directing her to look at him. “That was appalling,” he said.

“Which part?”

He looked at her incredulously. Did she have to ask? “Every word out of your mother’s mouth. I’m a demon, and even I think that was downright cruel.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to my life.” Her shoulders sagged. “Maybe she’s right. I do go out of my way to piss her off.”

“No.” His denial was loud. “Don’t let her diminish you. You’re a warrior, Calladia, and you don’t need to apologize for being who you are.”

Her lips trembled as she smiled, and a tear slid down her cheek. “When did you get so nice?”

He scoffed. “I’m not nice. I’m honest.”

“I thought you were a famed liar.” She swiped at her eyes.

“To the rest of the world, maybe. Not with you.” He held her gaze, willing her to see his sincerity. “Like calls to like, Calladia. You’re a force to be reckoned with, no matter what your mother says. I’m six hundred years old, and you still put me in my place.”

Her mouth twisted. “That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

“It is. You’re just not used to people who admire strength.” He considered the hunch in her shoulders and the tragedy still written across her features, wanting to erase them and bring back his proud, fierce queen. “You’re more than strong though. You’re funny and loyal and witty. You’re adventurous. You burn, Calladia, and it’s not your failing if other people can’t handle your light.”

The glow from the floating torches cast stars across her watery eyes, and her hair gleamed gold. She was luminous without even trying.

To Astaroth’s shock, she wrapped her arms around him and leaned down, pressing her face into his shoulder. It couldn’t have been a comfortable position, perched above him on the ledge as she was, but she settled into him with a sigh. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He nodded and placed his hands at her waist, heart pumping madly.

Once her breathing had slowed, Calladia spoke again. “You asked if she’s always been like this. Yes and no. She was always strict when I was growing up, and she wanted me to be polite and tidy and all that, and she would have preferred I take up piano instead of rugby, but it was never this bad.”

“What changed?” Astaroth asked, rubbing her lower back.

“Running for office.” Calladia nosed at his neck. “It was wild how fast the shift happened. One minute she was my disapproving, perfectionist mom, and the next it was like all her toxic traits had hardened into her whole identity. Like the power suits and back-alley deals became her personality.”

“And your father?” he asked. Calladia hadn’t spoken of him.

Her laugh was bitter. “We’ve never really had a relationship. To be honest, I think he’s hiding from her. He traveled for business a lot when I was little—I had a nanny—but now he’s gone all the time. I’m pretty sure he’s renting a house in Thailand.” She shrugged. “I haven’t seen him in two years, and Mom tells everyone he’s away on business or likes to keep his life private.”

Astaroth’s throat felt thick. At least his mother, unpredictable as she seemed, clearly cared for him. Calladia had grown up with an absent father and a disapproving mother. What she described was a cold, lonely sort of isolation, a prison of neglect and impossible expectations.

“They’re both wrong,” he said softly. “Wrong to abandon you, wrong to make you feel small.”

She sat up again, and he reluctantly released his grip on her waist, but she kept her hands on his shoulders. “Thank you,” she said. “You know, you’re the only person besides Mariel and Themmie who knows how bad it is. Mom plays up the whole ‘happy-but-busy family’ impression, and everyone assumes things are fine.”

“They’re not fine.”

“No, they’re not.” She sighed. “I thought Mariel had it worse for a long time, since she’s had all this prophecy and magical legacy shit hanging over her head since childhood. And her mom’s overbearing, too, but I think it comes from a place of love, twisted as it is. She wanted Mariel to be the most powerful version of herself, and yeah, it was to fit the family legacy, but it was also because her mom wanted her to be successful. They just didn’t define success the same way.” Her fingers flexed over his skin. She was cold; Astaroth wanted to tug her into the pool and warm her up, but he didn’t dare do anything to disrupt the moment. Having her willingly touch him felt a bit like having a butterfly land on his finger, and he didn’t want her to fly away. “But you know what happened when Mariel said she’d cut contact until her mom started treating her with more respect?” Calladia asked.

“What?”

“Her mom apologized.” Calladia’s mouth tipped in a crooked smile. “We’ll see if it lasts, but she’s apparently trying. And if her mom acts the way she did before, Mariel isn’t going to tolerate that behavior.”

Human relationships were tricky. No one knew that better than a demon who had spent his career finding new ways to sink his hooks into their vulnerabilities. Astaroth was aware that what he was about to ask might backfire, but it needed to be said. “Have you thought about cutting contact with your mother?”

Calladia’s gaze focused somewhere over his shoulder, but he could tell she wasn’t looking at anything in particular. She was thinking.

“I have,” she finally said. “But it makes me sad.”

“You would be far from the first human to make that choice to protect themselves.” Astaroth had seen it before, had even helped facilitate it. Sometimes family could be so toxic, there was no other option. Of course, the witches and warlocks desperate to cut contact with cruel or downright evil relatives had stopped caring after their soul bargains, since the “soul” in question included emotion, but they’d been better off after.

Or had they? An uneasy doubt crept in. He wouldn’t want Calladia to become an emotionless echo of her vibrant self. She was also the first human he’d really, truly let himself grow close to. Oh, he’d enjoyed sex and war and politicking with humans, but none of them had touched him on a deeper level.

Calladia, with her prickliness and courage, had.

For the first time, Astaroth wondered if what he’d done as a bargainer was wrong on some level. The demon plane required souls to survive, but was that enough of a reason to manipulate mortals into giving up their very essence?

What if there was another way to bring life to the plane, but demon society was so steeped in tradition they hadn’t considered making a change?

Stagnant, Calladia had called it. Closed borders, closed minds.

“I hope she loses the next election,” Calladia said. “Maybe she’ll return to normal once she’s not so power-hungry.” She made a face. “Not that normal was great, but there’s a difference between an overbearing mother and a dictator.”

“She might,” Astaroth said cautiously, “but she also might not. Not everyone is capable of change.”

“I know.” Calladia took a deep breath, then shook out her arms and cracked her neck in a way he recognized meant she was shrugging off heavy feelings so she could move on. “Anyway,” she said, “that conversation is done for now. She can leave all the voicemails she wants, but I’m not turning the phone back on until tomorrow.” She frowned toward the woods. “Assuming I can find it.”

Astaroth wasn’t going to push the issue. It was already remarkable she’d shared what she had. “The water’s warm,” he said, sinking neck-deep.

“Is it?” she asked, expression turning sly. This storm was passing, and Calladia, ever resilient, was coming out on the other side with a smile. She kicked her feet, splashing him. “I couldn’t tell.”

He wiped water off his face. “You look cold,” he said. “If you come in here I can warm you up.”

“An interesting proposition. And a totally selfless one, I’m sure.”

Wanting to tease more of her bad mood away, Astaroth looked around, then leaned in conspiratorially. “And—” He broke off, plunging beneath the surface with a shout and a splash. He flailed his arms wildly. “Help!” he shouted as he burst from the surface again. “The kraken!”

Calladia was already halfway in the pool and looked ready to strangle whatever was attacking him. When she realized he was joking, she laughed, then shoved a wave of water at him. “You jackass! I thought you were drowning.”

He coughed out the water that had splashed into his mouth. “Not yet. But you’re welcome to finish the job.”

She slid the rest of the way in and headed toward him. “You know what? I think I will.”

Well, there were worse ways to go.