It took all day.
It took all day.
Why did it have to take all day? The two of them stood in front of a quaint log cabin, tucked near the upper reaches of the mountain.
George remained steady as he pointed at the cabin, while Azazel would have been panting if he were a human. Feeling out of place for not being a human, he began to fake pant.
"Finally," he said. "You ready, George?"
"..."
Azazel walked up to the cabin door. He then turned around, gazing at George. There is no way in hell he will fit inside this building. He's got two feet on me.
"Wait here," Azazel instructed.
Without a single word, George dropped to the ground. He laid back, audible snoring immediately discernible.
The demon was impressed with how quickly the hulk fell asleep after falling to the ground. He must have been pushing himself during the trek up the mountain. He would have questions about the man later when he returned, but for now, he had to focus on recruiting the carpenter.
Azazel cleared his throat before he knocked. A moment later, he could hear light footsteps on the other side.
"Who is it?" A feminine voice spoke out.
Azazel assumed the tiny voice must belong to a daughter or wife. "I am here to see the carpenter."
He heard a click. He placed his hand on the door, allowing himself to enter.
After entering, he was greeted with the stare of a woman smaller than Emma. She had large blue eyes, and...well, he diverted his gaze upward as her overalls barely covered anything. He was an engaged man, after all.
"Is the carpenter here?"
A sly look spread across the woman's face. She circled the taller demon, shamelessly checking out everything he had to offer. If he had known this cabin existed before meeting the family, he would definitely have made a beeline to the mountain first, but having met Emma first, he kept his composure.
"Depends who is asking," the dainty blonde asked as she let down her long ponytail. She's purposely trying to be seductive. I cannot falter.
Azazel had a high moral compass in the previous world, which may have been non-existent if he only had the desires of a demon to go off of.
"My name is Azazel," he nodded, his glance diverted at the ceiling. "Excellent craftsmanship, this cabin..."
"Well," the woman said as she placed a hand on his chest. "I am good with wood."
She chucked, and Azazel swallowed hard. Is she...trying? To? Uh...
"Yes, I'd imagine you are a highly skilled professional in a long line of craftsmen great at working with large wood," another facepalm on the way to be delivered. Way to go, good King George.
It was at this moment that he realized his looks could also prove to be a disadvantage for him. He didn't think it would be quite this alluring to a female gaze, especially after the way Emma reacted to him. Perhaps she had just been forcing herself against the pull she felt? Or perhaps she didn't give a damn about appearances?
The woman backed up. "I am Natasha," she said, leading him to the kitchen. "Please spend some time with me. I will be sure to introduce you to who you are looking for if you keep me company tonight."
He was rather nervous about her proposition. Now, under normal circumstances, he would have been thrilled by such an offer, but even if he only knew Emma for...a day? Two? He already felt he was tied down to a spectacular game of beasts and prey.
Natasha dug through a cupboard, retrieving a couple of glasses and a large bottle of liquid. She giggled as she waltzed over the table, bending forward to put her assets on display as she poured two glasses. "Moonshine."
Could demons consume moonshine? Azazel wondered as he sniffed the liquid, recoiling slightly. The scent was pretty appalling. Alcohol never smelled the best, but something about his current senses made it even less appealing. Maybe demons couldn't even feel the effects, in which case it would be a non-issue.
Here goes nothing, he thought as he downed the entire glass in one go. He needed to get drunk for this, if possible. It always made him go limp.
The woman laughed and poured him another glass. "Impressive," she whispered, taking a huge swig straight from the bottle herself.
Ah, so she is the equivalent of a party girl. He had seen her type before. They would often get wasted, and they would encourage their friends to do the same.
Azazel did wonder where her father was. He didn't want to wait the entire night to head back to the self-proclaimed Duchess. Lost in his thoughts, he finished the second glass.
And a third...
...fourth.
...fifth.
...sixth.
...seventh.
He was hammered. His head began to spin as he watched her finish off the rest of the bottle. Perhaps it wasn't the best of ideas to get completely plastered in unknown territory, but surely there could be worse situations to be in, like drunk in front of an enemy.
If he remembered correctly, that was how he ended up proposing to his first wife, but the details were rather fuzzy.
His skin was flushed red. His head rested on the table as he tried to remember exactly what he was doing. At that moment, he had even forgotten about his murder and reincarnation into a demon. For a moment, he was taken back to his time as George, which he would never physically be again.
"Oh boy," she stammered. "Guess what?"
"What?" he mumbled. She looked oddly like Elizabeth. "Elizabeth?"
The girl smiled and shook her head. She was too wasted to understand what he had said. Natasha simply ignored his words in the moment.
She looked out the window and noticed George #2 lying on the ground. "There's a huge drunk guy out there."
"Maybe I should...go...piss on him," Azazel muttered as he walked outside. Wouldn't that be something—pissing on a guy when he is most vulnerable to the pissing?
He walked up to George, staring down at him. God, he's huge.
The girl ran out of the house with a quill and an inkpot in her hand. "Wait."
She straddled George, who remained asleep. She doodled on his face, giving him a mustache, and traced circles around his eyes. Azazel chuckled when she stood up, laughing at the defaced man on the ground. That was better than pissing.
"Run!!" Natasha yelled out as she ran back inside.
Azazel quickly ran in beside her. He laughed manically, his fangs on full display.
Natasha became curious. She reached up and placed her fingers over his fangs, mesmerized. There was a certain look in her eyes. Azazel couldn't interpret because not only was he wasted, but he was also terrible at reading women, even when sober.
Azazel stopped laughing and closed his eyes. He allowed her to trace her fingers over his fangs. Something about that felt nice.
He sat down on the floor, and the girl sat in his lap. She reached up and stroked his horns.
Azazel blushed. "Stop!" He attempted to plead, but it went unheard. She continued to stroke his horns, which were sensitive when someone else touched them. He was losing control.
The flush in his cheeks deepened as she kept her hands on him. With one swoop, he picked her up and carried her to the sofa in the back of the cabin, his body towering over her as she stroked his long horns.
Azazel could see the blood rising into her cheeks, allowing him to get a better whiff of her pooling blood. A shockwave blasts through his spine, sending his demonic desires out of control. He had a moral compass, yes, but not when intoxicated, apparently.
"Bite me..." She murmured.
Azazel was legitimately panting now as he pressed his lips against her neck. Who was he to say no to such a request?
She shut her eyes tightly as he readied his fangs, the tips of them grazing over her skin. "I won't be able to stop..." He warned.
"Don't stop, then..." Natasha said, waiting for further contact.
Without hesitation, the tips of his fangs pierced her skin, sending jolt after jolt of desire coursing through his veins. He sucked the sweet, floral blood straight from her neck, savoring the taste.
Natasha arched her back, pressing her body against his as he savored the rich blood. There was no comparison between the blood of this woman and that of an animal. The blood was a taste he could easily grow addicted to. He couldn't stop himself from lapping up the intoxicating flavor of the woman beneath him. If he weren't careful, she would be left with nothing to sustain her life. She had played a dangerous game with him.
The blood was so warm, thick...
...and it hit him.
His drunken ass passed out, rolling off her and onto the floor.
Both of them fell fast asleep, for different reasons, but even when he sobbed up, the taste would be nothing either of them would forget. Sure, demons didn't sleep, but he was in a certain state of trance, which he would not be arousable from for quite some time.
He would also probably be reminded daily to never consume alcohol again.