Dashing Devil Omnibus 2: Books 4-6, page 74
“You have a deal, Darling!” Silvie sang.
But then Raev one-upped her. With a flick of her wrist, the foxy woman conjured a cookie from thin air and tossed it at him.
He caught it reflexively, then stared at it, his expression equal parts bemused and resigned.
“That’s cheating,” he muttered, but he was already smiling when he tossed it aside.
They all laughed when it dissolved into flickering green motes.
“I’ll let you know when we are finishing up,” he promised.
As the big demon walked toward the elevators, the four women let out a collective, muffled cheer. The minute the elevator doors closed behind Boyd, Raev’s tails snapped-to-attention. “Ladies, we don’t get many opportunities like this, so we have to make it count.” She pointed at the tall goth. “Mindy, let me know if he starts coming back.” Turning to the angel, she said, “Hope, prep your best puppy-dog look—because we’re going to need it.”
She was already moving, a blur of orange and green, with Silvie and Hope hot on her heels. Mindy trotted along behind them after gathering the final member of the Devoted who was slumped in an overstuffed leather chair poking at a tablet. Tinker hustled to catch up, her feet making tiny, determined tapping on the linoleum as she trailed the taller women down the corridor.
Raev spotted Royce as he tried to cut a stealthy retreat toward his office. She didn’t slow down. “Royce!” she called out, all sultry innocence. “Come hang with us for a second?”
The exasperated groan their handler gave her accompanied a look that could have curdled milk when he noticed it was just the five women. “What trouble are ya tryin’ to get me into without the kid being around?”
Silvie sidled in to block his escape. “Trouble? Us? No way! We just want to be your friend. Friendship is good for the soul, and you’re the best at story-time.”
“Story-time?” Royce echoed, arching a single skeptical eyebrow. “What are you all… twelve?”
“Emotionally?” Hope asked, blinking her most angelic blues. “Sometimes. But today is special.”
“What she means…” Raev blinked her emerald orbs at the angel. “Well, I don’t actually know what that meant.” The redhead gave one of her velvet chuckles. “What Silvie means, is that we want to hear the story you almost told about Boyd tripping over himself around her—before the meeting with Davis interrupted what you were about to say.”
He tried to escape, claiming he had way too much paperwork to catch up on, but Raev and Silvie joined forces. Each took an arm and steered him down the hall and into a conveniently placed lounge. The room was set up in the Tower’s preferred Scandinavian-corporate style: plush white couches, polished light wood, big picture windows with a view of the city, and a coffee bar in one corner.
Grinning ear-to-ear, they escorted Royce to the middle couch and deposited him on it with a gentle shove. He landed with a grunt, but didn’t get up.
Hope went straight to the coffee station and poured him a cup of black gold, then set it on the table in front of him. The angel folded her hands in her lap and smiled at the man with so much genuine affection that even Royce’s battle-hardened heart couldn’t resist.
“Thank you for putting up with us,” Hope said softly. “We know how much you care about Boyd. And those of us who weren’t there want to gain your perspective on the times in his life that we missed out on.”
Royce softened. Not a lot, but enough. He picked up the mug, sat back, and let the aroma of quality bean juice work on him.
The girls took up positions surrounding their Handler: Silvie to his right, Raev to his left, with Mindy and Tinker on a loveseat across the table, and Hope perching on the armrest beside Silvie.
There was a beat of silence while Royce considered his options, then he gave a resigned sigh. “Fine. You want the story, you get the story.”
He made a show of clearing his throat, like a town crier about to address the masses. “It was, let’s see… what two, three years ago now? Kid was nineteen or twenty, fresh out of the PAC and the testing, which he didn’t remember much about. So he was still pure soldier when they told him he was in a relationship with Silvie, and his new role was to serve as her base support. His one real job was having sex with the bubbly girl he’d always had a crush on, but never let himself acknowledge.”
Royce paused, having set the stage, and looked at his attentive audience. “The kid had no idea what to do with himself. I mentioned it earlier, but it really showed in more than a few meetings with higher-ups—especially the early meetings.”
Silvie grinned, remembering the times she’d seen the uncertainty in her Darling’s eyes and hesitant mannerism. It had hurt, at the time, seeing her strong man so uncomfortable with himself. But many of those times were heart-melting, which became evident when Royce continued.
Royce’s lip curled into a grin. “The kid was a mess. His obsession with doing everything by the book extended to his efforts at romance. Which meant he’d spend days rehearsing exactly what to say to Silvie during their first meeting once he was back to himself, all so he wouldn’t come off like an idiot.”
Silvie squirmed with glee. “He rehearsed?!”
Royce snorted. “More than once… in front of a mirror. I’ll never forget when I caught him practicing compliments to his own reflection in the gym mirror.”
Royce dropped his voice in a surprisingly good imitation of Boyd: ‘Hello, Silver, you look radiant today.’ Or, ‘Your Powers are very impressive and so is your sense of teamwork’…” The Handler chuckled. “Kid sounded like a malfunctioning AI assistant.”
Royce’s gravelly imitation of Boyd’s voice had all of them doubling over in laughter.
Raev wiped her eyes. “You’re killing me. Please tell me you got video.”
“I wish,” Royce said, shaking his head. “But it was totally worth it, just to see the kid lose his nerve when the time came. The first time he and Silvie actually met was in a courtyard. He’d gotten himself all psyched up, and then the second she looked at him, he locked up like all stiff like a statue. Kid didn’t say a word. He just stared.”
Silvie clapped her hands in delight. “That was so precious! Did he ever tell you why he locked up like that?”
Royce shrugged. “Honestly, I think it was the eyes.” He pointed to his own eyes, then to Silvie’s.
“He mentioned something about it feeling like Silvie could look straight through a person…” He turned to the silver-haired bombshell. “Like you could see all their secrets. At least that’s what the kid said when we talked afterwards.”
He grinned and turned back to Raev. “When Boyd finally managed to open his mouth, all he got out was, ‘Uh… nice weather.’ And then he tripped over his own feet and nearly faceplanted.”
Even Mindy was smiling, her typical public stoic mask melting away.
“But the best part,” Royce said, leaning in, “was that later that day he asked me how to buy flowers. Kid said he’d never gotten flowers for a girl before and didn’t want to screw up. He gave me this long speech about symbolism and respect and what kind of message he wanted to send. Finally, after two hours at my desk surfing my tablet on an online market, he picked a bouquet of wildflowers. Only problem is, the kid’s hands are so big and he was so nervous, that he crushed half the stems before he could give them to Silvie.”
He pantomimed Boyd’s giant hands strangling a helpless bouquet, and the room erupted in helpless giggles.
Silvie curled onto the couch, wrapping her arms around her knees. “I don’t even remember getting wildflowers.”
“You didn’t. He put them in a vase on the kitchen table… without a note. You assumed it was the staff that had left them there.” Royce’s gaze flicked to Silvie, and for a second, there was real warmth behind his usual gruffness. “You commented on them being nice, which was a huge boost to the kid’s confidence. That’s when he went out and got you the pink peonies and lilies.”
Silvie felt warmth bloom in her chest at the memory. She remembered the peonies and lilies. The poor flowers had looked like they’d barely survived a windstorm, but she’d loved them because she thought they were her first bouquet from her Darling.
Hope, visibly moved, took Royce’s arm and squeezed it. “That’s really sweet. Even if he was a bit of a dork.”
“The big guy’s always been a dork,” Raev said, her voice soft but affectionate. “That’s why we love him.”
Mindy nodded. “It’s why he gets away with so much. He’s all heart.”
Royce finished his coffee and set it down, clearly enjoying his moment in the spotlight—despite how much he pretended otherwise. “Well, you asked for a story, girlies, you got it.”
“Got any more?” Tinker piped up, eyes wide as she soaked up this tidbit of Boyd history.
Royce pretended to think as he stood. “Maybe. But next time, you’re buying better coffee than this.”
“Deal,” Hope said, radiant.
As their gruff Handler walked away, they settled deeper into the couches, the sunlight painting their faces in shifting bands of gold and cream. Silvie hugged her knees as she watched the others, Raev’s tails fanned out across the back of the couch, Hope perched near Silvie’s shoulder, while Mindy and Tinker shared a companionable silence.
Silvie thought of Boyd—her Darling, her idiot, her Hero—and knew with an almost electric certainty that there was nothing in the world she wouldn’t do for him. Even if it meant embarrassing herself, or him, or both… especially both.
Eventually, Raev broke the silence. “You know, now I can’t wait for the gala. World Hero or not, we are going to make him dance.”
Silvie nodded, her mouth stretching in a wide, mischievous grin. “Darling will hate every second he is the focus of attention, but he’ll do it… for us. Which is why we’ll love it.”
Raev chuckled. Hope and Tinker both giggled. Even Mindy let out a quiet, “Kuh-he!”
And as her best friends’ laughter echoed off the glass and wood, Silvie thought that maybe—just maybe—things were exactly as they should be.
* Chapter 19
For all the Authority’s claims about discipline and city-spanning order, the Tower’s shopping levels ran on pure, barely contained capitalistic chaos. Between the fountains, the crowd’s echoing footfalls on marble, and neon advertisements, it was a sensory puzzle designed to scramble even the most focused mind.
It all had a singular purpose, of course—to separate people from their credits.
Boyd kept his head down as he stepped off the elevator, ducking past a pair of over-dressed influencers live-streaming their hunt for the next ‘Power-boosted skincare miracle’. His tail flicked with a nervous tic as he slipped away from them as quickly as possible.
The plan was simple: get in, find Laura and Daisy, pretend to be just barely acquainted enough with them to do a little shopping, and to get back out. His secondary objective was not getting so mobbed with fans that he wasn’t able to find his support staff or spend time with them once he did.
The big demon had perfected the ‘yes I’m famous, but I’m doing my own thing and don’t want to be bothered’ posture and stride, but it only went so far. It wasn’t like a ball cap and sunglasses could help him to go incognito—not with his stature, wings, and even more attention-grabbing horns.
He was used to stares. Boyd was used to them, but not fond of them.
Civilians gave him a wide berth at first, but he knew word of his presence would travel quickly. The first to spot him often looked at their tablets to avoid eye contact, but many were surreptitiously snapping photos. He’d expected that to happen, but counted on the AI-driven privacy filters to blur Daisy’s and Laura’s faces out of any pictures that were posted on the net.
There was no reasonable way to get people to stop. Well, other than deploying an EMP or something… but that would get him in trouble.
Fortunately, it was the middle of a working day during the school year. This meant the shopping levels were less occupied than they might been. Thank the Authority Davis hadn’t asked them to come in to have Daisy give her testimony on a Saturday.
The scent he smelled was a mix of cinnamon pretzel and ozone from the climate controls. Rows of synthetic trees lined the promenade, their leaves so perfectly waxy that even the colorful birds perched in them looked confused. Boyd quickly strode past a gourmet pet treat bakery and a VR karaoke lounge.
He knew his window to ghost through the mall was closing rapidly as first two, then four college aged girls began trailing behind him. He’d just made it within sight of the ‘Civilian Comforts’ corridor when the first shriek pierced the mall’s normal buzz of activity.
“IT’S HIM! IT’S REALLY HIM! EXCEPT… HE SOMEHOW GOT EVEN HOTTER!”
The sound ricocheted off the glass storefronts and hit Boyd right in the back of the head. A herd of young women roughly his age appeared ahead of him. Six more college girls, all dangerously over-caffeinated, headed straight at him like guided missiles.
Well… shit.
He had allowed himself to be flanked. And, unfortunately, making use of his wings to avail himself of the third dimension would be seen as uncouth. With the shrieker behind and the pack of women in front of him, he had no way out of this.
The woman at the front of the pack running at him waved a magazine, its glossy cover gleaming in the artificial sunlight. “Dashing Devil! You signed my sister’s cast a few months back!” she shouted, stopping within arm’s reach.
Her friends flanked her with the practiced efficiency of a strike team. At least two of them had their tablets out and pointed at him, recording what was sure to be a viral clip.
Boyd forced a smile on his face—the one he’d drilled into himself through grueling hours in front of a mirror. “Hi there! I hope her arm healed up properly,” Boyd said. “It’s a shame Hopewing wasn’t with us on that patrol, or I could have ripped the cast off her healed arm.”
Instinct drove him and made the mistake of extending his hand. Three of the women latched onto it in a very unusual and eager handshake.
“I’m sorry,” Boyd tried to say, “but I’m on—”
Another shriek cut him off. “Oh my stars! We weren’t expecting you to talk to us. Your voice is even sexier in person!” The group burst into overlapping giggles.
Boyd suddenly regretted every second of the PR training that prevented him from simply barging forward and brushing past them.
From the side, another girl edged closer, magazine held out like a peace offering. He recognized the cover instantly. It was CosmoHeroic, the infamous Devil’s Duel edition. It had a holographic shift cover. If you tilted it one way, he was in his armor… but tilted the other way he appeared in a simple but immaculately cut three-piece suit. She flipped it open to the centerfold, revealing an underwear shot Boyd had once let Silvie talk him into letting her take.
The big demon had granted final approval rights for the magazine’s use of the picture, so while he wasn’t the happiest about it being out in the world like this, he also couldn’t complain.
“Would you mind—?” the young woman pleaded, eyes wide, and felt-tip marker already uncapped.
She was pretty enough that he suspected she was used to getting her way with that look alone. Of course, it didn’t hold a candle to the women he had surrounded himself with. Boyd obliged, because it was the quickest way to rid himself of the group. He took the magazine, scribbled a signature with a flourish, and handed it back.
The girl took it, looked down at the signature, and then up at him again. “Could you… make it out to ‘future Mrs. Dashing Devil’?”
There was a ripple of laughter behind her. Someone from the back shouted, “See if you can’t get him to sign the contract instead!”
Before Boyd could move, a neatly folded document was produced from a clutch and held up to his face.
“It’s just a symbolic marriage agreement. You don’t have to read the whole thing, it’s not legally binding or anything—”
The demon was a quick reader and skimmed enough to know that it was, in fact, legally binding, though in a very limited fashion. It was a custom job that would give the young woman the rights to say they were married and address herself as ‘Mrs. Dashing Devil’ without legal recompense from him or the Authority.
Boyd blinked. She just happened to have this on her in case she ran into him?
‘Kuh-he! Her dad is a lawyer who dotes on his little princess a bit too much,’ Mindy said in his thoughts. ‘Despite that, she isn’t so spoiled that she actually expects to sign it. She has enough self-esteem issues that she wouldn’t dare to try and compete with us, but is confident enough to want her friends to believe otherwise.’
The demon sent back a sigh of relief, thankful that he had some backup in this situation.
“Apologies, Miss… but most of my team would take issue with me signing something like this.” Boyd switched over to his charmingly chagrined smile, using his women as a shield after having Mindy confirm it would be an effective excuse.
“We’ll just take a picture then!” the girl chirped with a wide smile. Her arm slid around his waist with the precision of a grappling hook.
The crowd tightened, pressing in.
The group of college girls ended up taking several photos before they were satisfied, but the moment they moved away, they were replaced by others. Boyd felt his tail snagged by a toddler whose mother looked on with unrepentant glee. A guy in a fan made jacket, showing him in dramatic airborne combat with the Last Dragon, made finger guns at him. More handheld tablets appeared, some in selfie mode, some hovering like tiny surveillance drones.
Voices rose in a rolling wave.
“Smile!”
“Is it true you can bench press a car?”
“Do you actually eat fire?”
“Why haven’t you done a swimsuit spread?”
Boyd tried to keep his cool, but the wall of noise and faces closed in until he could hardly move without risking hurting someone. He wasn’t entirely certain being hated would be worse than being loved like this.
