Free A Demon And His Witch by Eve Langlais Page A

the minx added a little extra wiggle to her walk. Like he said before, his Lord knew how to torture, even his favored soldiers.
    They visited five solitary cells – stone walls, no window, seamless rock for the floor, thick metal bars for a door – bare of everything, even a blanket.
    “There’s nothing here,” Remy growled as he paced the last one. Not even a misplaced scent.
    “No magic,” she mused running her fingers over the stone blocks. “No carved messages. Nothing. How did they escape again?”
    Crax shrugged. “We’ve yet to figure that one out. One moment, they was all in their cells crying for the abyss, the next time we checked, they was gone. The doors still locked, not a single alarm tripped.”
    “What about the video footage?”
    A glob of spittle hit the floor and sizzled before Crax answered. “Fucking wiped. The whole lot of them. And before you ask, no, we have no idea how the fuck it happened. Bloody imps most likely, though. The pesky buggers get into everything.”
    “So let me get this straight,” Ysabel asked. “You lost five prisoners, have no idea how or when, have no video footage due to some malfunction, and you can’t even make one chained up soul talk?”
    “When you put it that way, it sounds bad.”
    Ysabel stepped up to the warden and although she remained shorter than him by almost a foot, she seemed to grow somehow in presence. “What’s bad is if you let any more prisoners escape, the Devil won’t have to fire you because I’ll come down here myself, carve your body parts off one at a time and feed them to the hounds. Incompetence is unacceptable and I will not tolerate it.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    Remy laughed as Crax reeled back from her, a dazed look on his face. He was still chuckling as they exited the rusted gates.
    “What is so damned funny?” she asked through gritted teeth.
    “You. I mean, you couldn’t even hold your own against Pedro last night and yet you’re threatening the warden of Hell’s Prison. That takes balls.”
    He received no warning, just a flick of her hand and he went flying, his impromptu airborne status halted by a crag of rock. And not a smooth one. Ouch.
    Ysabel stalked toward him, hips undulating, power weaving around her frame lifting her curls in a wild dance. Stuck like a bug, her magic binding him in place, he enjoyed the view of his witch having a tantrum. Talk about hot.
    “First off, demon, let’s get one thing straight. I. Am. Not. Weak. What you saw last night was another fucking subclause of Lucifer’s that makes me of the same strength physically and magically as when I died, but only when on the mortal plane in the presence of the souls I damned. Any other time, I am not to be messed with.”
    “If you’re so bad ass, how come I never heard of you?”
    “I prefer to stay out of the spotlight, unlike some sorceress’s I know,” she said with a smile as she came to stop in front of him. “But I do have a nickname.”
    “Hot on a stick?”
    “No.”
    “Spanks with magic?”
    “Most definitely not.”
    “I know, you must be the famous BJ Swallows.”
    “I am going to hurt you.”
    “I was right?”
    “No. And your made up names are just pissing me off.”
    “Made up? I’ll have you know those monikers are just a few of the more famous witch ones I know. Of course, I don’t know if their magical abilities extend beyond the pole they dance on, but still, they’re very well known in my circles.”
    “Why am I not surprised?”
    “Are you going to tell what your name is then? ‘Cause I’m gonna wager it isn’t Magical Pie.”
    He really needed to learn how to keep certain thoughts to himself, an easy thing to promise with the iron grip she had on his balls. Not exactly how he pictured their first time touching.
    She twisted. He winced. “Let this be a reminder not to fuck with me. And just so you know, while my nickname is the Blood Witch, my true title is Satan’s Assistant.”
    She was the one who