The voice came from behind him, sweet and completely unbothered.
Owen moved on pure instinct — a sideways drift that cleared three feet of distancs between himself and whatever had just put its face close enough to his neck that he felt breath on his scales.
He turned.
And there, the demon stood where he had been standing, as if she had always been there and the world had simply arranged itself around her.
He took her in.
Purple-tinted skin, a fitted black suit with cutouts placed in ways that were structurally unnecessary and clearly intentional to be sexually appealing. Small black horns curving back from her forehead and slim tail with a pointed tip that moved with an idle, independent quality, like it had its own opinions.
Her beauty was Objectively striking and alarming.
