A Demon's Guide to Wooing a Witch (Glimmer Falls #2)

by Sarah Hawley

For all the angry girls who were told they were too much.

quickly this time—and concluded she was correct. She had muscular calves, strong thighs, and the general build of someone who could do real damage, despite her lean frame. A tingle of appreciation raced down his spine.

Why had his past self chosen to make an enemy of her rather than seizing the opportunity to use those thighs as earmuffs?

assembled the simple furniture herself after buying it from the werewolf-run furniture and home accessory store LYKEA.

Lykea 😅

exercise was a helpful coping tool to survive life’s stresses—not

Helping other people feel strong and confident was a reward beyond the paycheck.

Too loud, too messy, too angry, too coarse, too unambitious . . . Calladia had been too much of all the things her mother despised and not enough of everything else.

Cynthia laughed scornfully. “And how is that? Lifting weights until you look like a man, wasting your talents on a menial job, living like you have no responsibilities to the family?”

“Your idea of what’s best and mine don’t match, Mom.” Calladia’s voice sounded as tired as her mother looked. “I just wish you could understand that.”

“Why’d you break it off?” he asked, undeterred. “Did you castrate and disembowel him and then have to make up a story to explain his absence?” “I wish.” Calladia grimaced. “He tried to make me small.”

“As your sworn enemy, I can reliably inform you he did not succeed. It would take magic beyond the most powerful witch’s abilities to turn you into anyone but exactly who you are.”

Sure, she was a bitch—and he meant that as a compliment of the highest order, just as he was a proud bastard—but

“Well, enemies base their actions on how they perceive you, so you can dress and accessorize to intimidate them or make them underestimate you. Or you can craft a persona that’s wealthy or chaotic or violent.” He shrugged. “Simple tactics, but so few people think of a personal brand as a weapon.”

“People have always respected wealth, so I made sure to portray myself as a society elite whenever possible. They also respect violence, so visible weaponry and a few displays of murderous temper made people not want to cross me. And they admire and are intimidated by beauty, so I’ve always maintained excellent hygiene and accessorized to accentuate my best features.” He shrugged. “Shag a few society influencers and add in a good skincare routine, and you’re already at an advantage.”

“Of course you do. No makeup, workout clothes that show off your muscles, a few well-placed conversational barbs, and a general combative air. You want everyone to know you’re strong, don’t care how they expect you to act or look, and won’t suffer fools.”

“It’s not fear,” he said. “I just have a healthy respect for your anger and your right hook. Would you rather I pretend you’re some delicate flower?”

“Mum sent me there. She said I needed to see what humans were capable of, and the Church was the best place to see the absolute worst behavior.”

She never felt better than when larger, stronger beings treated her like an equal and, most importantly, a threat.

“You’re a good person, even if you don’t always believe it, but I’m not. Say the word, and I’ll punish him in the vilest ways you can imagine.”

Calladia didn’t try at all. She wore no makeup and didn’t care about fashion. She sang off-key and was more likely to punch someone than engage in polite conversation with them.

“My friends don’t get it. They all want kids someday. Not that there’s anything wrong with that; it just isn’t for me.”

Calladia had been waiting for some kind of biological clock to kick in and make the thought of being a parent more palatable. Sure, she had plenty of childbearing years left, but by their late twenties, most of her friends had already started speculating about when they’d have kids. They’d all seemed excited about it, too.

She did a set of push-ups, crunches, squats, and lunges before rinsing the sweat off in a quick shower. She missed her morning workout routine at the gym. Her brain was restless even at the best of times, and tiring herself out first thing in the morning was the best way to maintain an even keel the rest of the day. Not that her version of an even keel was particularly balanced, but at least the exercise took the edge off her temper and anxieties.

All right, maybe she wasn’t the best at relaxing. But by the time she was done, her skin was squeaky clean, her hair was wound in a wet bun on top of her head, and she smelled like sweet orange and lavender essential oils. Her self-care techniques might be aggressive, but the results were what mattered.

His witch was a powerhouse, a warrior queen, but even warriors had to rest between battles. It was who they let themselves rest around that mattered. Calladia shifted. “Freaking bulldozer,” she muttered.

“I’m not afflicted by madness.” Lilith winked. “Madness is afflicted by me.”

“I thought commissioning bounty hunters was her love language,” Calladia muttered. “And kidnapping.” Lilith turned her icy blue eyes on Calladia. “Love can be expressed in any number of ways,” she said solemnly.

The woman was mad as a hatter, but Calladia felt a twinge of jealousy. How was it possible the legendarily deadly Lilith was a better mother than Cynthia Cunnington? Lilith might stalk Astaroth, but she clearly loved and supported him, up to and including drinking blood from the skulls of his enemies.

Being in nature made her feel small, but in a good way. Maybe that was part of being human. In the long stretch of time, she was just a blip. And when you were a blip, you didn’t have to worry about the weight of eons. You could live as loudly as you wanted in the space allotted to you.

“It’s because I’m human,” she said in a teasing tone. “Small life, big dreams, zero fucks to give.” Like a corgi in the universe’s dog park. He lifted her hand to his mouth. “Your life is many things,” he said, lips pressed to her skin, “but it’s far from small.”

You’re just not used to people who admire strength.”

“So I stopped working out, stopped speaking up, stopped swearing. Then he wanted me to lose weight. I made myself small and quiet and biddable, and it was never enough.” The critiques had grown crueler, until she’d dreaded the sound of his footsteps outside the apartment in the evening.

“Being strong doesn’t mean winning every battle. Sometimes it means surviving to fight again.”

She’d survive. And not just survive, but thrive. Calladia was done letting other people try to diminish or reshape her. Sam hadn’t broken her; if it came down to it, Astaroth wouldn’t either.

Astaroth’s mother looked furious. Bones were woven into her red braids, and she wore an iron breastplate and greaves over a black catsuit. She was holding a sword with a wickedly barbed end. “Who’s ready to bleed?” she called out. “Mama’s thirsty.”

Was Astaroth truly different? No and yes, in the way all things were after enough time had passed. When the plank of a ship rotted and was replaced by fresh wood, that ship might bear the same name, but its composition had shifted.

Anger problems, trust issues, and a relationship

that had stagnated in its awfulness. She’d gotten stuck in self-destructive habits, never shaking off the weight of her trauma.

Love wasn’t trying to force someone to be who you thought they should be. It was loving them as they were while supporting them on their journey toward becoming their best self. Astaroth liked her temper and attitude.

“I’ll never get enough of you,” he said against her lips. “The sun could die and the stars could fall and the earth could rip itself apart, and none of that would matter, so long as you were in my arms.”

“This is the problem,” Astaroth shouted over the din. “We are no longer a council comprised of multiple viewpoints, and we’ve been prioritizing our own power ahead of the well-being of the plane. We have effectively adopted a two-party system, which anyone on Earth can tell you is a recipe for disaster.”

done letting other people live boldly while he tried to diminish his emotions.