Playing With Fire - Katie MacAlister [129]
I kept my jaw clamped shut as I said slowly, moving my mouth as little as possible, ‘‘No, thanks.’’
She admired her own image in the mirror for a moment, fluffing up a strand of extremely styled blond hair before setting down the mirror, giving me a big sharky smile. ‘‘Well, still, you have to admit that all this is awfully romantic.’’
‘‘Romantic?’’ I asked, my thoughts immediately turning to the dragon in human form who made my knees weak.
‘‘Yes! Terribly so!’’ She must have seen the look of confusion in my eyes, because she continued as she packed a good fifty pounds of cosmetics and accompanying items away into a small pink duffel bag. ‘‘Magoth making you his consort and giving you access to all that goes with such a position, I mean. It’s so incredibly romantic that he wants you so much, he’s willing to overlook the fact that you’re not at all suited for the position. It just goes to show that even a demon lord has his soft side.’’
I rolled my eyes. ‘‘Magoth has no soft side, and he doesn’t want me. Nor have I said I’d become his consort. I’m a wyvern’s mate, and that is where my heart lies, not here in Abaddon with Magoth.’’
Sally’s jaw sagged a little. ‘‘You’re a wyvern’s mate? The dragon kind of wyvern? The leader of—what do they call it? A dragon sept?’’
‘‘That’s it,’’ I answered, still trying not to move my mouth at all. The mask was drying, pulling my flesh taut, which didn’t make it easy.
‘‘A wyvern’s mate!’’ She looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘‘Then what are you doing here?’’
I sighed. ‘‘It’s a long story, too long to tell you now, but the abridged version is that when my twin created me, I was bound to Magoth as his servant. Because I’m a doppelganger, he used me to steal items he wanted. One day I ran across Gabriel—he’s the wyvern for the silver dragons—and we discovered I was his mate. Magoth found out about it and demanded I hand over a priceless dragon artifact, the Lindorm Phylactery. I refused and gave it to Gabriel instead.’’
Her eyes, kind of a muddy green, almost popped out of her head. ‘‘You refused? You went dybbuk?’’
I nodded.
‘‘Sins of Bael! But . . . you’re still alive. And whole. Not to mention the fact that Magoth told me you agreed to be his consort. Why would he say that, let alone allow you to live without being in perpetual torment, if you went dybbuk?’’
‘‘Magoth is a bit . . . different,’’ I said, only barely stifling in time the wry smile that hovered on my lips. ‘‘I guess he knows that being his consort is more of a perpetual torment than anything he could do to me physically.’’
‘‘You find him unattractive?’’ she asked, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘‘He’s gorgeous!’’
‘‘I think he’s very attractive physically. What woman could resist those smoldering dark looks? Certainly the women of the last century couldn’t. And didn’t. You know he was a silent film star, yes?’’
‘‘Well, I know he looks kind of familiar.’’ She thought for a moment, then mentioned a name.
‘‘That’s him. The resemblance to his film self is more noticeable when he wears his hair slicked back. But regardless of his handsome exterior, the interior gives me nightmares.’’ I grabbed at her sleeve as she wandered past, continuing to gather up her things. ‘‘Sally, I know you’re spending time in Abaddon as part of your application for the empty demon lord position, but I don’t think you really understand what things here are really like, what the demon lords are. They may appear to be human, but they lost all shreds of humanity long, long ago, and Magoth is no different from any of the others . . . well, except he may be slightly more airheaded than the rest.’’
‘‘Not the biggest garbanzo in the three-bean salad?’’ she asked with a smile.
I gave her a wary look. ‘‘Not even close to it, no.’’
‘‘That’s all right.’’ She patted my hand for a moment, then turned to preen in front of the black-draped mirror that sat in the room Magoth had (unwillingly) assigned to me. ‘‘I like my men a bit dim. Makes them easier to handle.’’
It was my turn to stare in disbelief, and stare I did. ‘‘It’s true