Fashionably Dead Down Under(84)

“I can sense it’s here,” Satan said as he paced the destroyed dining room and assessed the damage.
“Can you sense that I’m totally over this?” I muttered and pressed my fingers to the bridge of my nose only to realize my sparkly skin had reverted back to normal pale Vampyre chic.
My uncle threw back his head and laughed. “Thank you. I needed that.”
“I wasn’t exactly joking,” I huffed.
He bent down and picked up a shard of glass that was at one point an exquisite crystal vase. He expelled a sigh and shook his head. “I’ve spoiled them rotten,” he mumbled. “It’s time for me to retire for the evening. I’m sure you’ll find your accommodations satisfactory.”
“Why me?”
“Pardon?”
“Why me? Why not have Cole or the Guards find the Sword?”
He played with the fragment of crystal in his hand. It caught the light from a chandelier that had miraculously weathered the storm and cast brilliant dots of color on the wall. “Because you’re blood. I don’t trust anyone but blood at this point. Besides, most of them don’t believe the Sword exists.”
“Does it?” I asked.
“Does it what?”
“Does the Sword really exist?”
He took my face in his hands and I leaned in, mesmerized by him. Ethan stiffened beside me but stayed quiet. “Indeed it does and if it’s not found . . . ”
“I know,” I said.
His hand dropped down to my stomach and he gently placed it on my slightly rounded belly. “If the Sword is not found it will put the life of this child in peril.”
“That sounds like a threat,” Ethan said softly with an edge that made me uneasy. Neither one of us stood a chance against the Devil—at least I didn’t think we did.
“Not a threat. It simply is. The child you carry is special.”
“And by that you would mean?” I asked.
“Exactly what I said.”
Son of a bitch, my child was special enough with his Vampyre-Demon heritage. He did not need any more special.
His hands left my body and I felt strangely bereft—sad. He was a link to my father no matter how I felt about my parentage. I wanted him to want me like a daughter. Wait. WTF? I wanted the Devil to be my daddy? Heaven and Hell help me . . . I needed some therapy.
My uncle considered me for a moment and I wondered if he knew what I’d been thinking. “I find it interesting you didn’t kill her when you have the power to do so.”
“A killing machine with compassion is always such a big hit at parties,” I quipped. I didn’t want him to know that I might have destroyed her if it hadn’t been for Puffy Lips. I didn’t want to deal with that fact about myself yet.
“Ah yes, compassion . . . that pesky little habit.” He smiled and then turned to go.
“Will what she did affect her claim to the throne?” I asked
He paused and turned back. “No. Her behavior tonight will have no bearing on whether or not she succeeds me.”
“Will having a son affect it?”
“Possibly.” He nodded. “But probably not. In the end–and mind you, the end is many thousands of years away—it will not be up to me who shall succeed me.”
“Who will choose?” He was a ball of cryptic and I expected no answer.
“You, Astrid. You will choose.”
With that, he disappeared in a cloud of black glitter and smoke. I fell back into Ethan’s arms and sucked in a huge breath.
“I didn’t want to know that,” I whispered and bent over at the waist so I didn’t hyperventilate. “I’m going to stop asking questions.”
“Quite honestly,” Ethan replied, as shocked as I was. “I think that’s a fine idea.”
***
I was right back where I started when I arrived in Hell. The same room with the same predictably cheesy black silk sheets—only this time I knew exactly where I was, the walls were silent and I was with the man I loved.
“Ethan I . . . ”
“Astrid, stop. The answer is I don’t know. The only good thing to come out of that conversation is the very likely fact that you will be around thousands of years from now. Everything else was alarming to put it mildly.”
“I don’t want that job,” I whispered as I tried to pull the thigh high boots off my tired legs.
“Let me help,” he said and unzipped my dress.
“What about my boots?” I whined as he slipped my dress over my head and tossed it on the floor.
“You’re going to leave those on.”
“I am?”
“You are.”
Tilting my head to the side and batting my lashes, I feigned a huge yawn. “It will be awfully uncomfortable sleeping in stiletto boots.”