EOTIGAN FINGERED THE BASE of Inaia’s throat. "You girls couldn’t even wait for the cold cream to come." He said this though his eyes were closed. "Why would we? I mean saliva worked just fine." He heard Thyra’s voice and felt her soft hands in his hair. She massaged his scalp. Eotigan chuckled, searching for Thyra’s warmth with his free hand. "That it did, love. That it did." Finding Thyra by touch alone, relying on his hand’s knowledge of her body because she was simply the most zaftig of his [harem], he put his palm to her large-proportioned ass and let it rest there.

[DING!]

[1500 soul coins used up in purchase of the spell: TRIMSTCIA RUBIDIUM]

[TIER: Rank B Caster Magic]

[ARCANE RUNE: Legendary]

[DING!]

[Host had gained gift from one RANK A Possessed—]

[BOON: 1 Flaming Heart pendant.]

[ PROWESS: The poison scourge | Lamplighter ability | The red sun Orb ]

[MATRON: Galactica.]

Eotigan did see the golden panel of his infernal system that much clearly with his eyes shut out, his Bengal tiger iris moving noticeably behind the lids. He couldn’t hold his tongue. "Which one of you just bought me a [Flaming Heart] pendant from the Arcane Shop?" His women turned stiff. "Inaia," Eotigan slyly requested of his bonded subservient, "you know what to do."

[DING!]

[Gifter has been identified as one POSSESSED by the name of—]

"I did, my lord." A neutral voice came from the rear corner of the maroon sofa they all shared. It was Kam. She admitted to this. Eotigan’s eyes opened then, and the full beauty of his form hit the three women like a dawn rising. His iris were as the god Vulcan’s forge, smelting the gold of divinity. "You bought me a pendant?"

"Yes, ma Lord. I did. And I’m sorry, beautiful Sire, if I did offend. I did nat mean to. It’s just, ya do all dis nice tings for us and we don’t even know ya birthday. I’m truly sorry though if—"

Eotigan held up a hand to stop her. She was afraid she’d fucked up some, but Eotigan was darn sure she needn’t be. Between the three wonderful belles of his harem if he was expecting a girl to be brave enough to buy him a gift, it’d be Inaia, his subservient, because she’d known him since his [Ascent]. She was in his head all the time too. If anyone was going to discern him for the exact moment to pop a balloon it’d be her. But surprisingly, Kambili had beat Inaia to runner-up for main bitch.

Eotigan crooked a finger to her, "come here."

He watched her rise and crawl up his body on the sofa, for she had been lying on her belly. Her hands pushed on his thighs as she came up close against his chest. He loved it. He could see clearly the speckles of gray now in her otherwise hazel eyes, most likely the latent powers of her [Fox Devil]. Again, he loved it. Kambili didn’t know it—maybe she never would—but she’d just upgraded her [waifu] status. The only other girl who’d bought him presents, even going so far as to repeatedly drop gifts at his indifference was his darling Corazón. A true bae that one.

Eotigan petted Kambili’s hair, gazing at her like a samurai might stare upon a blue lake. He had concluded in his mind, it was always the tomboys though. Always the tomboys.

"I am not mad, Kambili. Not at you. Not at all. You mistake the reason for my interrogation. The last amulet I had was blessed by Lilith," Inaia wanted to scream, that fucking cunt, but she would not cut him off, "and you girls know how that went. I don’t wear that shit anymore." He surprised himself by his emotional clarity, "in other words, thank you." Eotigan ended, his eyes spinning in more yellow. Thyra observed quietly from his right side. She’d been listening very closely to him speak, and she could conclude that for a cold-hearted demon, he wasn’t born that way. And his eyes really did change in reflection of his mood.

Thyra had learned from stories told by drunken sailors and happy passengers alike through her many travels on the Cold Sea that [Principalities]—the real diabolical cunts of Hel could shift their bodies, or parts of themselves at will. Lilith loved changing her fucking skin and sometimes sex to suit her wild cravings. Lucifer had a serious fetish for playing angel. Astareth would hang around churches for unsuspecting monks. Thyra had never believed she’d get to meet one of such infamous villains. Or one whose eyes mirrored a spinning supernova, and in anger, a raging phlegethon.

She sat captivated, staring at Eotigan; his ruffian eyes were on Kambili, "come here and give me a kiss." Kam blushed hotly. But she’d heard right. She had never been the one to kiss him though. He always led the kiss. But now he was demanding one. Kambili was so bashful. His words and his smile were what reassured her. She moved in, unsure the angle to meet his lips, so she went with her favorite battle hand: left. It worked better than a charm. Her mouth landed feather soft on his. Her head was tilted to the side. Her hazel eyes were open on his for a bit, then she made a move in with her tongue.

Kambili pulled back with a giggle. "I’ve never led a kiss before. Did I—"

"You were perfect." Eotigan slipped that in before she began to overthink it.

In this age of the House of the Raven, women seldom felt the compelling need to be confident and correctly interprete intimacy signs as men did. It wasn’t something to be improved upon, to commit time to, they didn’t have to be impressionable. In fact all the hot women he had met in his life just had to be. In this regard there was no gulf between a horned female and one without.

Again was never the desire to apologize, especially pretty women. They just didn’t. Julia of Beör, one of the tutors of his formative years, before he’d taken to the Arena had once told him, "Dear Israfel, you’re more likely to see a shark lick a bag of blood than a woman say the words, I am sorry."

Julia of Beör was a woman.

And she’d had some pretty exceptional lessons on the female psyche but here was this biracial redbone, prettier than the isle of Man, like she’d just walked right off Themiscyra and an apology did come out of her mouth. Kambili had become his favorite half-caste in the mortal coil.

"There were no birthdays in Hel." He told them. Kam had relaxed on his chest, spooning him on top. "...but it wouldn’t hurt to have one, I suppose."

The girls were elated—Inaia most of all. She had just spent thirteen hundred silver on a spell to conjure the love sofa underneath them. Eotigan hadn’t even blinked, never mind the fact that the cost of said sofa could pay rent on a lodging in the Rhobine coasts for a moon. Her [Host] had come a long way from Emberfall. And she was pretty sure the villages of Gūndlheim had his effigy. For the time he’d being Earl of that goth estate, he had employed ninety stewards, and all cooking purchases made from the village’s farmer’s market.

"Tell you what," Eotigan’s deep voice pulled Inaia into the present. She had her fingers sunken in his hair—so soft, "you girls cook up a date and I’ll let you know, yeah?"

In that one smidge of time, Thyra, Kambili, and Inaia all had the same incredulous look on their faces. He was really fucking asking them to pick out a birthday for him. Inaia’s mind was already firing. Eotigan had bent his head back, propped on her thigh. She viewed his resting face in pure admiration, and when she shifted her eyes to Thyra and Kambili they were also both staring in a silent but unified admission: they would burn the world for him.

Two minutes passed with the group simply enjoying one another’s company. Eotigan being the love interest of many women was not new to him. But being the love interest of THESE women was.

Inaia caressed his ginger locks fondly. "How do you think the good people of Colony would react to finding out the Master of Coin is a two hundred year old nosferatu?"

Eotigan’s eyes remained closed this time. He enjoyed so much Inaia’s massages, and her divine fingers now against his scalp was absolute peace. He growled low at the mention of that sissy’s name. But the girls were allowed to have their discussion. Thyra voiced, "two hundred years?"

"Yeah." Inaia returned.

"Then probably like hot shit."

Thyra added, "what," when Inaia sent her a look. "Wouldn’t you feel like shit if you discovered the face on your money was that of a corpse? Worse, if that same face were had been around for two centuries and neither your parents nor you could figure out the bull-cockery...now you’d feel like stupid shit."

Thyra looked immensely satisfied in her answer, and stuck on playing with how giant Eotigan’s hand was against her own. The man could swallow her fist in his palm. Inaia sighed and Eotigan did smile—eyes still closed, but he knew what was coming. As much as Inaia could see and read his damn head because of the [psyche bridge], he could also see in hers. And Inaia was about to render the other girls a spectacular lecture.

To be of a genius intellect as Inaia, one could stand idle while another misrepresented ’facts’.

"First off, vampires are more than just CORPSES!" Inaia began.

Thyra threw in, "I know. It was a hyperbo—"

Inaia cut off her defense. "SECOND OFF, bull-cockery ain’t a word. I think what you’re looking for is beguilement."

"I said I know, BITCH."

Eotigan was smiling so hard, seriously praying for his twitching mouth not to betray him and let go in a roaring guffaw. He knew their opposing views only brought them closer, unlike poles and whatnot.

Inaia wasn’t done yet. "Hmm...didn’t seem like you did fifteen seconds ago. All the people on an island can’t be dumb, or stupid shit, as you so eloquently put it. Some will have seen through the veil of the Maester’s pale, forever-young fuckin’ face. But what’d they do about it? Huh?" Thyra’s mouth was opening. Inaia cut in, again, "—nada, my dear. NA DA. They’d be able to do zilch, why you might ask, well ’cuz the fucker got money and working fuckin’ fangs."

Ding!

This was not Eotigan’s system. But the elevators. The mirrored cubicle suddenly opened and in came May the Eighth, pushing in a bucket of cold cream packs so cold the bucket itself was ice. Real ice.

"You’re late, May." Thyra said first. The girls forgot their split opinions of a while ago and instead ganged up on the poor concierge. May had admittedly had a crazy, weird nightshift starting with Ichabod Crane the hotel vampire, but she was still here, wheeling up their order. She could have sent in a maid, but as much as this mysterious group scared the bollocks out of her aging knees, she still admired some valiant quality which she saw in them when they’d brought down Ichabod.

Kambili was reaching for a cold cream tub. "Let’s hope da Governor ain’t a fucking fag none, eh."

May picked up more ice packs, offering as she said, "no. She isn’t a fag. But she is g—"

Eotigan’s eyes shot open, looking more of pools of magma now—fueled by the deft shift in his faculties, "hold up, May. The Governor is a woman?"

May the Eighth was already nodding.