To the ...like two... of you who lasted this journey with me, thank you for your loyalty. While we await what else the Hazbin Hotel brings us--and the next installment of Grace's and Alastor's story--I hope you will join me in my other realms of enchantment (all my books are available for free for Kindle Unlimited subscribers).

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If you've enjoyed the magical/paranormal aspects of Fifty Shades of Grace, you should enjoy Alight. If you've enjoyed the modern components of Fifty Shades of Grace, you should enjoy Rays of Sunshine.

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In my household, we celebrated the start of this journey with a special meal. We are ending it the same way:

PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD don’t try at home what Grace does in this chapter. Unless you're into pain, in which case, don't say I didn't warn you.

Whatever floats your kinky little boat. 😊

PS: This fic was a "there was only one bed!" trope all along! HA!

In the weeks following Kofax’s cyberattack on VoxTek Industries, afterlife returned to normal—mostly. Velvette’s social media empire returned with a vengeance. Valentino’s porn studios resumed porning, and Vox went back to influencing the masses with his hypnotic eye and his mind-numbing, inane television content.

Yet there was still the occasional billboard in Pentagram City that seemed to have an identity crisis and would flash something at random that Grace was certain Vox wished it wouldn’t.

Grace tried not to let the complete and total lack of retaliation from the Vees worry her. After all: she now had her scary dog privilege. And her scary dog privilege had his Grace—just in case he was attacked and injured.

Every now and then, one of the other hotel residents would inquire about the exact nature of her association with Alastor, thus reassuring her that of everyone here, Kofax was the only one who’d heard Grace giving Alastor a blowjob in what had to be Hell’s hottest hot mic moment. And that was perfectly fine by Grace—although there was a not-so-small part of her that enjoyed the exhibitionism in retrospect.

She wouldn’t object, she supposed, if Alastor were to take her up against one of those massive windows in his radio tower. The probability of that happening was none to none; with only a few sexual encounters behind them, Alastor had not made any further moves on her.

Grace was afraid to instigate; she didn’t want to pressure him into doing something that didn’t appeal to him, nor did she want to endure the physical pain of rejection in the highly likely event he refused her overtures.

Even if sex was off the table for them, at least the Radio Demon seemed to favor Grace’s touch. She often woke to find him curled up around her in the middle of the night. He’d always be gone by the time her morning alarm chimed.

If this was to be her afterlife now, Grace wasn’t mad about it. 

She participated in almost all of Charlie’s hotel activities as she’d promised she would, sneaked a few copies of Angel Dust’s porn videos into her room to enjoy. She watched Niffty’s roach puppet shows, and joined Cherri, Angel Dust, and Kofax for nights out on the town. She even began venturing outside the hotel on her own to explore, to mingle. To shop.

That particular Saturday morning, while Hell weather alerts blew up Grace’s phone, she randomly decided to scour the internet for recipes with the intent of one-upping Charlie and that stupid, spicy popcorn treat she’d made Alastor for movie night that Grace and her overwhelming jealousy had yet to forget.

Once she found a dish that looked like it would be perfect for him—she gauged her opinion by how much the mere thought of it turned her stomach—she saved the list of ingredients, threw on a comfortable outfit, and went to market.

Clouds were amassing to the east; Grace ignored them, figuring she would find what she was looking for quickly and be back at the hotel long before any inclement weather broke.

Much to her dismay, peppers high in capsaicin either rarely made it to that ring of Hell or they were a hot commodity and sold out. Whatever the case, the end result was the same: Grace couldn’t find any Carolina Reapers. The hottest she found were ghost peppers, and she located them only after over an hour of going shop to shop.

Grace smirked at herself for her reply:

That made Grace’s heart skip a beat or three.

Grace ruminated over a display of red ghost peppers before sending her reply to Kofax.

As if punctuating Kofax’s text, there was a peal of thunder loud enough to rattle the windows in the building behind this vendor’s displays.

Nonetheless, with how loud that thunderclap was, Grace thought it might be prudent to wrap up her shopping trip sooner rather than later. She still needed to pay a visit to the butcher.

Grace rooted through the bucket of ghost peppers until she found one she thought somehow looked most potent.

The sky grew dark.

The air grew dark.

Everything went dark.

Grace blinked and her whole existence was nothing but darkness. This would have been like fainting except she was keenly aware of her consciousness. 

The very breath whooshed from her lungs, the ground disappearing from beneath her feet. She flailed, searching for anything tactile. Anything real.

All she found, instead, was nothingness.

“There’s my little fawn.”

When Grace opened her eyes next, tendrils of black falling away from her body and leaving a wake of chills, she couldn’t believe what she saw.

She had literally just been standing in an outdoor market in the streets of Hell and now she stood in a bayou, a breathtaking setting populated by Broadleaf Cattails, Pampas Grass, and trees draped in Spanish Moss. Off in the distance, she could see the tapered trunks and buttressed roots of Bald Cypress trees. Fireflies dotted the sky around her.

Her knees trembled, stomach tumbling from the sensations she’d experienced moments ago. “What just happened? Where am I?” Probably the more important question was, Will I ever regain my sanity?!

Grace’s skin went electric with Alastor’s presence.

“I summoned you,” he said simply, as if the answer had been obvious.

She turned toward his voice.

He stood, arms tucked behind his back, in one of the Hazbin Hotel’s bedrooms.

Grace whipped back around. Bayou. She looked over her shoulder. Bedroom.

Thunder shook the walls of the hotel; judging by the volume of that peal, the storm must have been overhead. 

Alastor continued, as cool as before, “You weren’t safe out there so I brought you back here.”

Grace turned a circle in her spot. Half of this room was a magical bayou. The other half was a cozy—if somewhat morbidly decorated—study, complete with fire crackling away in a hearth.

And she realized, lamely, that she still had the ghost pepper in her hand. Well, shit. I was gonna pay for this! She shoved it into her pocket before Alastor noticed; she didn’t want him inquiring what it was or why she had it.

“Holy shit,” she breathed, looking around once more. He’d brought her into an absolute fantasy world. “This is your room.”

“It is.”

Grace faced the bayou, absolutely rapt. “Alastor … this is beautiful.”

“I’m fond of it,” he said. “It’s my favorite place.”

She took a stab in the dark as to why that was: “It reminds you of home.”

“It does.”

“Thank you,” Grace whispered.

Alastor sounded genuinely baffled when he replied, “For what?”

“For bringing me here.” Here, to the hotel. Here, to your room. Here, into your afterlife. “For sharing this with me. This could easily be my favorite place, too.”

The storm raged all day long, lashing Pentagram City relentlessly. Grace resigned herself to being unable to cook that ghost pepper venison chili for Alastor, at least not today.

The silver lining to this awful weather, however, was being stuck inside.

In Alastor’s beautiful, enchanted bedroom.

Alone. With him.

And whether it was the atmosphere of his own magical creation or the squall beating against the hotel, all he seemed to want to do was be close to Grace. He selected a book from one of his shelves and sat in the chair nearest the fireplace before beckoning for her to join him. 

Despite the fact the chair was scarcely big enough for him on his own, Grace followed his wordless command and squeezed herself in beside him.

Alastor wrapped his arms around her, opening the book to read over her shoulder.

She snuggled in, making herself as tiny as she could. Left with no other options for entertainment, Grace pulled out her phone and drained its battery sending memes and videos to her friends. Angel Dust got all the messages with the filthy jokes. Kofax got all the nerd content. She sent videos of cute animals to Charlie and a pomegranate cocktail recipe to Husk that she was hoping he might make her sometime soon.

When her phone battery finally gave out on her, Grace turned her attention to the fireplace. “I always liked rainy days … but I think I might love them now.”

“They can certainly get entertaining down here.”

“When it’s acid rain?” Grace guessed.

“When it’s acid rain,” he confirmed with an adorable chuckle.

“Hey, I think I'm gonna go to bed.” She unfolded herself, luxuriating in a big stretch against him, moaning quietly in the process.

“Grace …”

The way he’d said her name seemed so strange. Strained. Desperate, maybe confused? She glanced back at him.

He pressed his lips to hers softly.

She drew in a sharp breath, her hand clutching his thigh.

He’d been affectionate with her in private; hugs, snuggles, holding her hand. Kissing? Not quite so much although he did give her smooches atop her head and on her cheeks from time to time.

Alastor pulled away—inasmuch as he could on the seat they shared—and murmured, “Maybe … don't leave me just yet.”

“My phone battery died and there’s nothing to do here. I’ll get bored. You wouldn’t like me when I’m bored; I get needy and obnoxious.”

He put his hand on her waist just beneath the hem of her top, brushing her midriff lightly with the pad of his thumb. “I’ve told you before, Little Fawn, I’m good at entertaining.”

She exhaled, blushing from horns to hooves. “Is it …” Grace stuttered, “Is it hot in here?”

Alastor’s smile widened but he didn’t answer either way.

Grace lifted her top off over her head, tossing it onto the vacant seat across from them.

When he didn’t object, she removed her bra as well.

His gaze dropped but his expression remained largely unchanged.

Undeterred, Grace took his hand in hers, placing it on her breast. “You like this, don't you?”

Alastor swallowed loudly enough for Grace to hear it over the crackling fire. “Yes.”

“And I—” She pulled her hand from over his and paused with it at the waistband of his trousers, glancing up to meet his gaze. “May I?”

He blinked. Nodded. Ran the pad of his thumb across her nipple.

She dipped her hand into his pants, greeting his cock with a long caress followed by a gentle squeeze. It swelled against her palm. “I like this, too,” she whispered, maintaining eye contact.

He responded much the same way as he had previously: “Yes.” As if he didn’t fully realize what he was saying or why he was saying it. Just a word to fill the silence.

Grace chewed the inside of her lip gently before asking softly, “What is it you like about me, Alastor?”

She didn’t expect he’d say anything about her appearance and couldn’t imagine what he’d say about her personality. As far as Grace was concerned, she couldn’t figure out why he wanted to be with her at all.

He seemed to struggle in finding the words. Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe he was at a disadvantage while Grace feathered her fingertip back and forth across his frenulum.

Finally, he replied, falling back on a previous observation he’d made of her: “You're … soft. And … I think I need more soft things in this afterlife.”

“You know …” This was a risk, but one she had to take: “I’m soft other places, too.”

Alastor permitted her to guide his hand down the front of her shorts.

His breath hitched. “You are.”

And yet when she pulled her hand away from his, he didn’t follow. Instead, he kept his hand where she’d placed it and mimicked the motion she’d been making on his cock with her fingers.

Grace swallowed a whimper, barely managed a whisper. “I like how you touch me.”

He shifted his hand, the tip of a claw grazing the inside of her thigh. Her head fell back with a loud moan.

Alastor took advantage of her exposed neck and leaned in, nibbling up along the side of it, dragging his long tongue over the tiny puncture wounds he’d left in his wake.

She trembled, her mind reeling with thoughts of what else that tongue could accomplish on her body. “Would you lick me elsewhere?”

He met her gaze, his smile widening in silent affirmation.

But then she glanced purposefully to his hand, still tucked into the front of her shorts. “I mean down there.”

The smile didn’t vanish but his expression looked positively scandalized. “I don’t want to taste that!”

Grace thought for a moment before she realized she had the solution to her challenge burning a hole in her pocket. “Oh, don’t worry about it.” She grinned wickedly as she pulled the three-inch-long, brilliant red ghost pepper from her pocket, dangling it tantalizingly by its stem. “You won’t be able to taste me at all.”

His eyes widened.

“Enjoy the pepper and then use your mouth and tongue to spread the capsaicin across my delicate skin.”

To her surprise, he didn’t say no. Instead, his eyes flashed and he scowled, “Ask me, Grace. Nicely.”

She ran the pepper across his mouth and replied, “Please, Alastor? Just think about the heat from this fruit on your lips scorching me everywhere you touch. Don’t you want that?”

Alastor’s breathing quickened, his eyes lighting up.

Grace could practically see the possibilities materializing and churning like cogs in his head.

He guided her to stand at his feet, then hooked his nails into the waistband of her shorts and drew them down her legs, taking her underwear along with them and leaving little scratch trails as he went.

She took a steadying breath as she offered the pepper to him. Rather than taking it from her, he simply bit into it where she held it, eating the thing—seeds and all.

He rose—revealing a spectacular erection straining against the fabric of his trousers—and kissed her.

She yelped at his blazing lips, the fire practically leaping off the tip of his tongue when he sneaked it into her mouth and brushed it along hers.

There was a moment, a pounded heartbeat, sweat beading along her skin, that Grace had thought maybe her masochism had written a check that her pain tolerance would be unable to cash.

Alastor kissed his way down her neck, past her collarbone. He sucked her nipple into his mouth, nibbling on it, tugging. Grace’s knees nearly buckled beneath her. All she could do was gasp and whimper.

The way she writhed, whined, and moaned with his touch only seemed to incite his enthusiasm.

Each brush of Alastor’s sizzling lips was a brand sparking wildfires that roared across her skin, as if she stood amidst the flames in his fireplace.

Down, down, down he went until he kneeled before her. Where his fingertips had been earlier, now his mouth was, his scorching tongue snaking between her delicate flesh.

“It hurts so—so—much—” The tip of his tongue dipped inward. Grace smacked her hands over her mouth to muffle a scream. “Tell me I’m good!”

He retreated only enough to be able to reply, “You didn’t ask.”

“Alastor,” she rasped. Holy shit that burns! “Please tell me I’m good!”

Rather than saying anything, he covered her pussy with his mouth, the spice raging. It was unbearable and intoxicating all at once; she tried to recoil but he grabbed her ass with both hands, his nails sinking in to keep her where he wanted her.

Blood trickled down the backs of her thighs while he lapped at her pussy, nipping at her clit with his fangs.

The pain of his touch was so exquisite it stole her very breath away. When she could scrape together any cogent thought, Grace wondered if any flavor from the ghost pepper remained on his tongue. It had to have faded for him by now, yet why did he keep eating her out with the famishment of a starved man?

Finally he praised her between sweeps of his tongue: “Mmm. Yes you are. Such a good, obedient little fawn. Your subservience intoxicates me.”

Grace was certain he was going to completely knock her unconscious between his touch and his words.

She clawed for the nearest thing to keep her upright, intending on grabbing and pulling his hair; it surprised her when fingers met bone. She hadn’t noticed at what point his cute little crescents had transformed into the wide rack of antlers. In desperation to ground herself, Grace gripped them.

"Grace!" He yanked away from her, his expression wholly predatory. “Those are sensitive!” he growled.

Grateful for the accidental reprieve Grace had given herself—her skin still aflame, nonetheless—she grazed the top of his antlers with the pads of her fingers. “Sensitive bad?” She took a moment to try catching her breath. “Or sensitive good?”

The next thing Grace knew, she was flat on her back on the rug before the fireplace and Alastor was atop her, screwing her without mercy. Grace assumed that meant ‘sensitive good.’

Shadows cast from the fireplace danced along the far wall; she watched the pitch reflection of their carnal dance, captivated when she could even make out the silhouette of his tail in motion.

When had he removed his pants? That was a musing for future Grace.

“Alastor—” she managed a gasp between his thrusts.

Her plea was just enough to divert his attention and he paused while still inside her, meeting her gaze in silent anticipation.

Grace pulled him down so that his chest rested against hers and she whispered in his ear. “I have the most wicked idea to retaliate for all those times you had to hear everyone else going at it.”

His hair puffed up; she’d given him goosebumps. His breathing labored, Alastor replied, “I’m listening.”

For a day that had seen some of the worst weather Hell had to offer, it had actually been really pleasant. Charlie had pulled out their collection of board games and Lucifer had implemented some creative house rules to keep the board games from turning into bored games.

Toward the evening, everyone gathered in the common area with Husk’s drinks accompanying games that required more strategy than luck; chess—because this was Hell, after all—checkers, Othello, and backgammon. Because, again: Hell.

It was a nice, quiet end to the day.

That is, up until Grace’s voice carried down the hall.

“Oh, my demon Overlord! You’re learning all the right ways to touch me — just like that! Oh, yes, more! More!”

Alastor’s immediately followed: “C’est si bon!”

Lucifer promptly fumbled his rook and dropped it on the chess board nowhere near its intended destination; he’d almost had Charlie’s king in check. “That was undoubtedly the worst thing I’ve ever heard.” His eyes started watering. “What a dreadful day to be a polyglot.”

“Dad—your rook can’t move there,” Charlie said gently, clearly making her best attempt at ignoring the voices moaning down the hall.

Lucifer swiped the tears from his eyes. “So … are you all still wondering what's going on between those two?”

“Not gonna lie, but I kinda wish I could go back in time to when I didn't know the nature of their relationship,” Angel Dust replied as he mulled over his next move against Husk in their game of Othello. “That’s gross, even by my standards!”

Cherri laughed, flipping one of Vaggie’s recently claimed men like a coin. “You so sure you're not just jealous Grace scored someone you couldn't, Angie?”

Angel Dust bristled but didn’t dignify that with a response.

“I can't imagine trying to have any kind of relationship with the Radio Demon,” Cherri added thoughtfully. She cringed as another noise of escalating godawfulness reached them from Alastor’s room. “It's gotta be as bad as being tethered to Valentino.”

“Well sure, Val’s horrible, but at least he's dumb as shit. That helps.” Angel Dust shrugged. “Sometimes. A little.”

“I’m coming on your monster cock—don’t stop! Ohhhhhhh—”

“Does anyone have a pair of scissors?” Husk asked loudly. “I wish to cut off my ears.”

“Husk, no!” Vaggie cried. “Cut mine off, first!”

Kofax snapped her laptop shut from her spot on one of the couches. “Oh come on, grow up, you guys! I can’t seriously be the only one who thinks this is crazy hot!”

Husk, Charlie, Vaggie, Angel Dust, and Cherri replied in unison: “Yes!”

“You’re definitely the only one thinks that!” Husk added.

Kofax shook her head in disdain at the group. “Never thought I’d be the least prudish soul here. Whatever; this is fantastic! You all can’t appreciate what a significant development this is for the both of them.”

“Oh, I can appreciate it,” Charlie said. “I just don’t wanna hear it.”

“Think he’s ever wanted to hear you?” Kofax asked.

Charlie blinked, leaning back in surprise. “Since when are you defending him, Kofax? I was under the impression you thought him obsolete and gross.”

“Since when?” Kofax smiled. “Since he’s making my bestie that happy.”

Grace and Alastor were laughing so hard, they could barely catch their breath. They continued trying to gross out the other hotel residents with the fake sex noises and the horrible dirty talk while they got dressed.

“I appear to be stricken with a very localized case of rigor mortis!”

She lowered her voice and pressed a hand over his mouth. “Okay, swear to me you’ll never say that again!” She raised her voice to follow his awful comment with, “Oh you’re just a dirty old man, aren’t you!”

Alastor pulled her hand from his mouth and put his back to her, stooping to put his shoes back on. “I will devour each and every inch of you!”

“Holy fuck, I wish you would! Deeper, deeper, harder!” Grace could barely even wheeze the next demand: “Pound me into the lowest ring of hell, Radio Daddy!”

He shot upright with a static noise louder than her request, his hair fluffing up.

She watched his body language in horror and sobered instantly. Ohhhhhhh shit. I crossed a line with that one. I fucked up. I fucked up bad!

Before Grace could apologize, Alastor whipped back around, his eyes black. He shoved her back down to the rug and pinned her there beneath himself, trapping her wrists in a death grip. With a wicked grin, he told her, “And now I’m going to make you scream that!”

It had fallen silent once more.

Blissful, lovely, merciful silence.

Blessed silence.

“Oh, thank every deity there is, I think it's over,” said Angel Dust with a sigh of relief. “That was the longest half hour of my afterlife. How can someone with so little experience last that long?”

And then Grace’s voice in an absolute shriek broke the silence: “Pound me into a lower ring of hell, Radio Daddy!"

Lucifer clenched his eyes shut. “Y’know, I’ve been in hell a long time and yet that is that is the unholiest thing I've ever heard.”

Husk stood abruptly from his spot. “I can’t stand it anymore. If you’re not gonna let me cut off my own ears, I'm gonna go take my chances with the acid rain.”

Grace couldn’t wrap her brain around how Alastor could go from being completely and totally uninterested in sex one minute, and then do all that. How he could look at her undressed and have not so much as a twinge of interest, yet ravish her like he thought she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on.

This would just be part of the rollercoaster of their situationship, she supposed.

She rested her head on his chest, listening to his racing heartbeat as it began to slow.

Wondering how many hearts he’d caused to stop beating during his lifetime.

How many souls he’d stolen away after.

And how, as a former nurse, she could reconcile her feelings for him when he’d done such things. The cognitive dissonance was fierce; undoubtedly another rise-and-dip for her on this rollercoaster.

Perhaps Grace was losing herself to him, allowing his influence to change her for the worse. I have to trust that’s not what’s happening. Yet she didn’t dare hope she was having some sort of positive effect on him, in turn. She knew he was too far gone to his madness even before she’d met him.

She gazed around his room from where she rested against him. The study with its variety of skulls on display and giant, full alligator skeleton mounted above the fireplace. The bayou that was something out of a Disney fairytale, fireflies blinking off into the distance as if that portion of Alastor’s room existed in perpetual dusk.

There was no bed in here. “Alastor … why don’t you have a bed? Don’t you sleep?”

“I didn’t need one before you,” he answered. “And now, with you, I still don’t need one. I’m perfectly content to borrow yours with you in it.”

Electric shock zipped through Grace’s body. “… Why, though?” She didn’t know what kind of answer she was hunting for. She didn’t expect anything from Alastor.

“Being near you brings me pleasant dreams.”

She wouldn’t allow herself to dwell on all the implications of what he’d just admitted. “Wait a minute.” She uprighted herself, leaning with her hand on the rug. “If we actually had sex that night in my bed … what happened to the torn, bloody sheets? The holes in the headboard from my horns?”

Alastor shrugged, drawing Grace back down to resting against his chest. “I gave Niffty some busywork that morning before everyone else woke.”

“Which would explain why she was so concerned about me afterward! Did … did she know what caused all that mess?”

Grace felt him shake his head. “I didn’t tell her anything but knowing her twisted little mind, she likely figured it out.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Not in the slightest. Should it?”

She didn’t have the heart to suggest it should. Knowing the era in which he originated, knowing his general feelings toward sex, if he gave it any consideration, it would certainly have bothered him.

Then again, he was pretty enthusiastic about her suggestion of grossing out the other hotel residents with all the needlessly loud dirty talk and sex noises.

So Grace selected a topic, adjacent. “I don’t understand why you like hurting me.”

He didn’t skip a beat in responding, “I don’t understand why you enjoy it when I hurt you.”

Surprising nobody more than herself, Grace explained, “I was an unfeeling ghost for almost a decade and a half, Alastor. And then I met you and … I started feeling. Everything! Fear and hatred. Pain and excitement. Adoration and adulation. I didn’t care what I was feeling. The particular emotions didn’t matter to me at all. What mattered was that you made me feel again for the first time since I died.” Well, she could have done without the agony of unrequited lust. But even that experience made her afterlife now that much sweeter.

Alastor, on the other hand, remained silent for a while. Then he brought his arms around her, rubbing her back gently. “You … bring me comfort and confound me. You are, at once, the bane of my very existence and the best thing to happen to me in the whole of my afterlife. The thing I most loathe and the object of desires I've never before experienced.”

“You challenge me, push me, and excite me in ways I’ve never experienced before.” Despite herself, Grace smiled. “You think you’ve trapped me, don’t you?”

“Oh, I have trapped you, my dear.”

“No, Smiles. In reality, you’ve saved me.”

She repositioned herself against him so that she could massage his ears, nuzzling against his neck as he drifted off to sleep. She waited for his breathing to slow and deepen. A long, drawn-out quaver that reminded Grace of a cat’s purr escaped his lips. It eventually faded into quiet, steady breaths.

Holy shit … Niffty was right. I am a Demon-Tamer!

“Alastor is the most handsome demon Overlord,” she whispered to him. “Alastor is the most devious demon Overlord. Alastor is the most cunning demon Overlord. I know I’m nothing more than a commodity to you but do you even know,” she continued to whisper as she ran her fingers through the hair along the side of his face, “how much I love you?”

His breathing remained unchanged. He didn’t move.

Nonetheless, Alastor’s perpetual smile grew.

Fin.

My deer friends, thank you again for making this journey with me!

*** Stay tuned for the next installment, coming as soon as I can finish it. ***