**Chapter 11 – Charlie POV**
My knees nearly gave out the moment Alastor released me beside the piano. Thick warmth continued to slide down the inside of my thigh in slow, obscene trails, a constant wet reminder of the two loads he had pumped into me while the entire lobby watched what they thought was a musical demonstration. My walls still fluttered with aftershocks, clit throbbing from the merciless vibration of his tentacle. I had come twice on his cock in front of everyone—hard, messy, undeniable climaxes that left me dizzy and glowing—yet the look on his face as he adjusted his coat told me he had registered none of it as real. To him it was all reluctant performance. The anger rolling off him in crackling green waves made the air feel heavy.
I wanted to scream the truth at him. That every clench of my pussy around his thicker length had been pure bliss. That feeling him swell and flood me had triggered the strongest orgasms of my life. That even the guilt burning in my stomach about Vaggie only made the pleasure sharper, darker, more addictive. But the words stuck behind my teeth as the new guests clapped uncertainly, mistaking my flushed face and shaky legs for stage fright.
Vaggie reached me first. Her hand gripped my arm too tightly, eye flicking down to the glistening evidence on my skin before she looked away in pained disgust. "This has to stop, Charlie. He's using you. That thing isn't even the same demon who knocked on our door anymore."
Before I could answer, another tremor rocked the hotel. The protective dome Alastor had woven during the piano piece—those strange lattice patterns that looked borrowed from some other world—flickered under impact. A new wave of attackers had gathered faster than expected, drawn by the massive power signature. This group was smarter: hellhounds with exorcist-tipped harpoons and a floating warlock chanting binding spells.
Alastor's antlers snapped outward with an audible crack. "How tedious." His voice broadcast through the room, but I caught the brief amber flash in his eyes again and the faint, distorted sound of a baseball bat cracking against flesh before it vanished. He stepped toward the doors, shadows writhing like living wolves at his heels. The unleashed strength radiating from him pressed against my chest like a storm front. No chains. No limits. Whatever had happened when Stiles Stilinski died and woke inside that body had shattered something fundamental.
I moved without thinking, slipping past Vaggie and following him onto the street. "Alastor, wait—let me help. We can fight together. I know you're angry with me but—"
He spun, smile razor sharp, one tentacle gently yet firmly pushing me back inside the wards. "Angry? My dear, why would I be angry that the Princess of Hell must grit her teeth and spread her legs for the hotel's sake?" The radio filter warped the words into cheerful venom, but the hurt beneath it cut me deeper than any blade. He truly believed every moan, every orgasm had been faked. "Stay inside where it's safe. Your *tolerance* is noted."
The battle erupted before I could protest. Alastor became a green-and-violet nightmare. Static bursts stronger than anything I had witnessed exploded outward, mimicking the warlock's own chants back at him in perfect, mocking harmony until the spells backfired and incinerated three hellhounds. Shadow wolves—solidified by his boosted power—tore through the pack with coordinated tactics that felt too strategic, too modern for the Radio Demon. One hound lunged at him with a harpoon; Alastor caught it mid-air, twisted, and drove it through the creature's skull while laughing in a voice that glitched into something younger, almost frantic: "Come on, you overgrown mutts— I've fought worse alphas!"
The slip lasted less than a second before the broadcast filter returned, but it confirmed what I had suspected. Something—someone—else lived behind those crimson eyes. The soul chains were gone, and in their place was a mind that planned seventeen steps ahead while wearing a theatrical grin.
He ended the fight with a massive static dome that imploded inward, crushing the remaining attackers into ash. When he strode back inside, coat barely ruffled, the new guests stared in stunned silence. Sir Pentious fainted. Angel Dust whistled low. "Okay, that was fucking terrifying and kinda sexy at the same time."
Alastor's gaze found me immediately. I was still trembling, both from the orgasms and from the raw display of his unchained strength. My body reacted against my will—another pulse of arousal making fresh slick mix with his cum between my legs. He misread the way I squeezed my thighs together as revulsion. His antlers grew another inch as static flared.
"Orientation will continue after I've reminded our princess of her obligations," he announced lightly, but the anger was palpable. A tentacle wrapped my waist and lifted me off the ground, carrying me toward the stairs while the guests whispered excitedly. Vaggie shouted my name, but a wall of green sigils sealed the staircase behind us.
In the upstairs hallway he pressed me against the wall, dress shoved up again, and thrust inside me without preamble. I came instantly at the stretch, crying out in genuine ecstasy as my overstimulated walls spasmed around him. He growled, hips snapping harder, misreading my tears of overwhelming pleasure as misery.
"Still pretending?" he hissed, tentacles pinning me in place while he drove deeper. "Fine. Then I'll keep giving you reasons to act until the performance becomes reality."
My third orgasm of the hour crashed through me as he spilled again, hot and thick, filling me until it overflowed and splattered onto the carpet. I clung to him, panting, knowing I had to find a way to break through the misunderstanding before it destroyed us both. The hotel was alive with activity downstairs, but all I could focus on was the broken, powerful creature buried inside me who loved me enough to die and be reborn for my dream—and who still couldn't see how desperately I was starting to love him back.