CHAPTER 89: MORTALS AND THEIR SCHEDULES

Chapter 89 – Mortals and Their Schedules

He walked toward his suite.

His boots barely made a sound against the plush carpet. The door recognized the keycard—clicked open with a quiet ding.

He stepped inside, and—

The scent hit him first.

Not perfume. Not sex.

Soap. Shampoo. Clean towels. A faint trace of honey-scented body lotion mixed with sea-salt musk that could only belong to one person.

He grinned before even seeing her.

The breakfast trays had been raided. One silver dome was off and lying sideways like it had died heroically in battle. Croissant crumbs scattered across the table like a pastry massacre. Half a cup of orange juice sat forgotten next to an open sachet of jam.

Then he heard the whooshing sound of a hair dryer behind the bathroom door.

Rava stepped out just as he tossed his keycard on the marble counter with a flick of his fingers.

She was wrapped in the hotel bathrobe—plush, white, cinched tight at the waist, sleeves rolled up. Her long dark-blue hair was damp. The robe clung to her just enough to keep things dangerously innocent.

She smelled fresh. Like soap and heat and clean skin still kissed by steam.

Lux didn’t stand a chance.

He crossed the room in three long strides and wrapped his arms around her from behind before she could even dodge, pulling her into his chest like he’d just returned from war.

"Well, well, look who’s clean and ready to get ruined again," he murmured into her damp shoulder, hands already sliding down the curve of her waist like a man reacquainting himself with a prized possession.

Rava huffed. "I just got out of the shower."

"And I just got out of the elevator."

"That doesn’t make this fair."

"You smell like soap. That’s illegal."

She elbowed him lightly in the ribs, then—when he didn’t move—slapped one of his wandering hands and twisted slightly away. "Lux," she warned, the tone dangerously close to a moan. "I have to go."

He froze. "Go?"

She resumed towel-drying her hair, back turned to him again like she didn’t just ruin his day. "I’ve got a meeting."

Lux blinked. "Wait—what? A meeting?"

"Yes. A meeting." She glanced at him over her shoulder with a look that said don’t start. "Some of us still have to work."

Lux groaned. "Ugh. That word again. You said it like it was some kind of crime."

"It is when you’re the one dragging people into sin," she shot back, smirking. "I have responsibilities. You might be a demon on holiday, but I’m not."

He wanted to argue. He really did. The words were on the tip of his tongue—something sarcastic, dramatic, probably involving a mini-monologue and a complaint about timing.

But then he stopped.

Because he remembered.

Naomi.

The way her back straightened when she pulled her soul back into modern armor, the heiress, her work mode.

And now Rava—same energy, different flavor. Both strong. Both driven.

And really... wasn’t that what he loved?

He dropped onto the edge of the bathroom counter with a sigh. "So I’m gonna be alone again?"

Rava paused. Then turned, holding the towel in one hand, the dryer in the other. "You can come with me tonight."

His head perked. "To the meeting?"

She gave him a flat look. "To the auction."

Lux brightened like someone just offered him stock in a cursed gem mine. "An auction? With overpriced trinkets and rich people pretending to be classy?"

"Exactly."

"I’m in."

She chuckled and tossed the towel into the laundry bin. "Thought that might interest you."

He stood again, walked toward her slowly, deliberately. "So... does that mean I get to pick your dress?"

She raised a brow. "Absolutely not."

"Shoes?"

"Still no."

"I will be your driver, though," he said, poking her shoulder. "So cancel whoever was gonna take you. You’re riding with me after this. I will take you to the meeting."

"You sure?" she asked, eyebrow arching. "Think you can keep up?"

He smirked. "Bet I’ll be faster."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. But now—" she pulled back slightly, "let me finish getting ready."

"Do I have to let go?" he asked, arms still loosely wrapped around her middle.

"Yes."

"But your tentacles..." he trailed off, smirking as he felt them still coiled faintly around his legs, his lower back, his wrist. "...they’re saying something else."

Rava blinked. Froze.

Then looked down.

Several of her tentacles were still clinging to him like affection-starved sea snakes. One of them was curled tightly around his thigh. Another around his waist like a belt.

A beat of silence.

Her cheeks flushed red.

"Traitors," she muttered, tugging them all back with a slap of wet suction and embarrassment.

Lux laughed and let go, raising both hands like he was innocent.

"Fine, fine. I’ll be good."

"For the next five minutes," she said, moving to her makeup pouch on the table. "No touching. No distracting. No seduction. I’m serious."

He flopped back on the couch with a sigh that could’ve been recorded for dramatic effect. "Ugh. Mortals and their schedules."

"You’re in the mortal realm," she said, pulling out a slim eyeliner pen and flipping open a compact mirror. "This is what normal people do."

He watched her for a moment—quietly, eyes trailing along her profile as she carefully painted precise lines along her eyes, turning war paint into art.

Yeah.

He could get used to this.

Normal wasn’t so bad.

As long as she kept looking at him like that when she was done.

As long as she came back after.

As long as he got to ride that motorcycle with her again—speeding through the city like sinners on borrowed time.

As long as she was part of it.

He leaned back, kicked his feet up, and closed his eyes.

"I’ll behave," he said, mostly to himself.

[Bluff Check: Failed]

[Self-Control: 2/100]

[Warning: You will absolutely not behave.]

Lux cracked one eye open. "Tch. Traitor."

But the System stayed quiet after that.

And so did he. For now.