Saints - Take 3

"Okay." Abbadon couldn't help the crooked smile that broke through his usually solemn expression and pressed his lips to Peyton's forehead with a tender kiss.

The antebellum home was quiet, empty of the ambient noise surrounding the estate, as if it was silencing secrets before they could dig their way out. Moonlight fluttered in through the old glass panes - time had warped them in a way that was only noticeable in the way light was cast through - illuminating the specks of dust that floated through the hallways.

Abbadon's gaze shifted awkwardly from Peyton's eyes to the hard plastic handle on her suitcase, lingering for a moment too long. He swallowed hard, contemplating the turmoil that had pushed both of them away from the home.

"So, I suppose we should get these things put away?" Abbadon cleared his throat before he spoke, attempting the lift the heavy atmosphere that seemed to always hang between the two when they stepped over the threshold.

Peyton sighed quietly as Abbadon forced his gaze away from her and onto her vividly unamusing suitcases. They had finally broken some ground while in Chicago and managed to get along without any awkward silences and breaks in conversation. She had hoped it would carry over into their trip back to Louisiana, but alas she was finding it wasn't her lucky day.

Nodding, she grabbed her purse as well as the small duffle bag that had been sitting nearby her feet. She didn't quite feel like prying conversation out of him, especially since it tended to backfire and evoke heated debates.

Upon reaching the top of the stairs, Peyton hesitated, unsure of where she should put her things. While she had been mostly staying in his room before her departure, that invitation could cease to exist and her welcome there be labeled as overstaying.

Things weren't exactly so cut and dry anymore. They were on good terms yet again, but being as it was their first trip back since the 'Stella incident,' she wasn't quite sure how comfortable she should be in the home. Afraid she would be barging in, she decided upon turning to Abbadon for guidance.

"Where should I put everything?" She questioned, chewing on her bottom lip.

Peyton's question was one that had lingered in his mind for a while but still managed to catch him off guard. It seemed odd for the things in his room to be moved around when they had sat for the better part of several centuries, but it seemed equally misfitting that Peyton kept her things in another room when they shared one.

"I think it would work best if some of it was stored in one of the spare bedrooms until we can move things around. My room is not the epitome of neat, so we'll have to make some space tomorrow, but keep what you need there." Abbadon said after taking a moment to think out his wording. The last thing he wanted to do was touch a sore spot when he had just managed to talk Peyton into returning.

Peyton nodded and continued toward the old familiar bedroom she had claimed as hers for several months. Everything looked the same, exactly the way she had left it. She noticed a few of her things that she had left behind collecting dust on the floor or on the nightstand beside the bed. It was a little bittersweet, knowing that her departure had affected him so greatly to seal off the room from Ms.Abbott and, it seemed, himself.

Setting her things onto the bed, Peyton smiled knowingly to herself. It was quite obvious now that Abbadon had in fact cared more so than he seemed to care to say. Ms.Abbott was indeed accurate in her assessment. At last her mind was put at ease, and the small, nagging doubts in her mind pertaining to Stella vanished.

"You really want me to be here, don't you? Moving your things around to make room for me, that's not something you'd do for just anyone. It makes me feel.. appreciated." She admitted, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Tell me something? You've told me that I'm the first woman you've brought here. Why me? What makes me so special that you're willing to let me in? It's not exactly like you're an open person, now are you?" Peyton smiled shyly, something she found herself doing lately.

She became self-conscious, but not necessarily in a bad way. She was much more aware of their relationship since his trip up to Chicago to see her, and noticed little things he would say, and more often do, going out of his way to make her comfortable, to reassure her. There were times where neither of them knew quite how to behave around the other, so they tread lightly in the other's presence, but the dynamic of their relationship had changed as well.

Abbadon stepped carefully over the well worn rug that covered the aged floorboards. The path had become so familiar that he managed to walk the length of the room, until he found himself at the foot of the bed, without a single board creaking under his weight. His eyes glanced around the room, assuring that everything had remained in the same position it was in on his departure.

"Of course I want you to be here, Peyton. If I lacked the desire to have you here, I would not have flown halfway around the world and back on a flimsy excuse in an attempt to coerce you back." Abbadon left himself surprisingly vulnerable. His words were clear cut and clearly directed even if his attention was not. His hands ran over the the assortment of trinkets, books, and curiosities that seemed to be stacked to the ceiling in the the cluttered room.

"Moving a few things around will be the easiest part." He flashed her a confident smile while striding back over to her. 'Easiest part' may have been an exaggeration as Abbadon was well aware of the internal battle he'd have with it in the morning.

"Why you?" Abbadon repeated the question, raising his hand to her chin and tilting her head up.

"I have no idea, no leads, no answers. I know that I find you absolutely endearing and enticing, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen and that I never want you to stray away from me. I also know that I'm a very off-putting man who is hard to work with, I try to change that for you - but just for you - and all I can hope for is that the small gestures I am able to muster will make up for the rest of me."

Abbadon enjoyed the moments with Peyton that weren't filled with turmoil and strife. He felt almost human, or at least not like a monster. It wasn't as though he could confide in Peyton that she calmed the murderous being that lay sleeping beneath the thing she had come to love though, so he settled for a more romanticized version of the story.

Peyton wrapped her arms around his waist, listening carefully as Abbadon poured his heart out, or at least the equivalent, to her. She knew she was wanted, at least by now, but those reasons had always remained unknown. The uncertainty of why her placement in the home was longed for pestered her until she finally had courage enough to inquire why.

She snorted quietly as he referred to himself as an "off putting" man. The wording was, in her opinion, put mildly to the man she seemed to put up with.

"Tenacious, moody, secretive, critical..." Peyton smirked, pinching side lightly.

"Sometimes you drive me up the wall, and I want nothing more than to smack you. But you also make me happier than I can ever remember being. I'm not the easiest person to get on with, I suppose that's a big reason our fights seemed to be doused with gasoline. Neither of us are willing to budge." She grinned, hopping onto the edge of the bed.

Lying back, she stared up at the ceiling, comforted in the familiar sight of the wooden rafters running adjacent to one another. Dust lightly settled on the beams, along with the hanging light fixture that had become tarnished with its old age. The character of his "off limits" room ranged from floor to ceiling, all of the weathered items giving the room a most cohesive look as the timeless relics stood stationary gathering dust.

"You're a good man, you just refuse to see it." Peyton murmured, tilting her head so she could catch a glimpse of the expression he wore.

"Lay with me?"

Abbadon couldn't help the smile that curved the corners of his lips as Peyton continued to list his less than stellar qualities.

"We fight with fire." Abbadon concluded without giving it much thought. They were both aggressors who wouldn't back away until things had reached a breaking point - hardly a healthy relationship.

"God forbid the house ever catches fire, we'd be too busy dousing it in kerosene to call for help." Abbadon added, his voice fading off as he noticed one of the books was suspiciously free of dust unlike the ones it sat with.

His attention drew in on the evidence his lack of housekeeping had left of someone rummaging through things. They had been awfully careful to put everything back where they had found it. He quietly reminded himself that tonight was not the night to indulge in trivial matters. The thread that held Peyton and himself together was thin enough as it was, he didn't need to pick away at the fibers by shutting himself off to his thoughts.

"I think I'm just good at keeping the less palatable parts away from you. Either way, I'm happy you think so." Abbadon whispered before pressing his lips to Peyton's forehead.

Grinning, Peyton pulled him down onto the bed with her. It was certainly a toxic relationship when the two butted heads, unhealthy and something all the books would refer to as co-dependence, but she had never felt more secure, safe, with anyone prior to Abbadon. Safety, comfort, it was something she had always sought out, and she refused to give it up. Especially since she loved him. Ah the forbidden "L" word.

"Mm.. Well, I certainly won't deny that you're good at hiding things, spectacular really, but you also try to bury those good qualities. I think Abbadon Solace, conceited and full of himself as he is, may just be a little uncomfortable having any kind of attention directed toward him, hmm?" She murmured, tapping her finger lightly on the tip of his nose in a most childlike manner.

"You're far too critical on yourself and others. That and you don't talk to me. In response to that I pry, and thus starts the pouring of kerosene on our relationship. Let's not do that anymore, shall we? Open up to me a little, in which I won't keep poking at you for some kind of answers. Compromise. I'm nosy and you're bottled up. It'll be work on both our parts, but.. I'm tired of fighting."  She admitted, casting a sincere smile down at him.

Lying back down onto the bed, Peyton rested her head against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat beneath her ear soothing and rhythmic. The most awkward phase of their relationship rekindling had passed, but there were still instances where both were at a loss of how to act around the other.

Often she was afraid to say too much, or not enough, in which she would find some way to reciprocate physically instead of verbally. At least it didn't leave awkward silences hanging in the air.

"Soo.. seeing as I'll be living here a while, as long as you'll have me of course, I had a question." Peyton inquired, a quirky smile dancing upon her lips.

"I'm not too critical of myself, I just know myself better than others do. I assure you that there is much judgement to be passed." Abbadon replied in his ever arrogant tone as he fell to the bed. He couldn't help the part of himself that shut Peyton out. As much as he wanted to keep her close, a more reasonable part of him saw the danger and tried to keep her far enough away for her to run.

Abbadon shifted his weight to his hands and pushed himself up until his back rested against the bony ridges that were carved from the headboard.

"I'm happy you're here, though. It felt wrong to be here without you - that's the only reason I had it listed." His rough hands reached out trace Peyton's jawline. His gentleness surprised even him at times. He felt at ease when he felt Peyton's soft skin under his calloused palms and finger tips. It would be a lie to say that he didn't enjoy her touch just as much. He had lived witihout any kind of truly intinmate contact for years and it had worn on him. As much as the demon did not care to admit it - he enjoyed Peyton's love.

"Hmm?" Abbadon purred, his eyes closed while his hand wrapped around Peyton's back and kneaded the muscles along her spine.

Peyton slowly crawled up the bed and into Abbadon's lap, reluctantly leaving the comfort of his hand which lightly massaging her back. She enjoyed his touch, craved it even, especially as of late. It was a safety net, to have him nearby and at her disposal for physical intimacy. Ironically enough, she wasn't referring to sexual relations at all.

Twirling the hair at the nape of his neck between two of her fingers, she offered him a small smile, uncertain of how to proceed.

"Can we get a cat? You work weird hours and are gone most of the night whenever work comes up. I'd like something to keep me company. You know yourself it's incredibly lonely in this house." She pointed out, wrinkling her nose at the thought of many nights she spent alone in the home.

While he had Lucinda, a bird was a lot less interactive and time consuming than the four legged creatures she had frequently growing up. She missed having an animal to cuddle with on lazy days while reading or sketching to pass away the time. It was his home however, and she didn't want to push too much on him at once.

Moving in was a big enough step as it was, especially since it was on a more permanent basis, so throwing a pet into the mix may not go over smoothly at the moment. Besides, she didn't have any plans of going out that night to rescue or adopt one, but was more interested in seeing how he would feel about an animal living in the home sometime in the near future.

"I don't want a cat, the one that roams around here does enough damage as it is." He had a gnawing suspicion that the orange tabby was responsible for the misplaced items. Scratched doors and shredded furniture were just a few casualties the house had suffered at the paws of a cat.

Abbadon had never taken well to four legged creatures, or any creature for that matter, animals seemed to have an innate instinct to stay away from him. Dogs would whimper away, horses shy'd, and cats scampered off when his feet hit the floor. The estate had been home to many creatures over the past few centuries but not one had taken up with their master. The horses seemed to tolerate him after an inordinate amount of time, but even then they remained wary.

Wrinkling her nose, Peyton poked his shoulder lightly. "How do you propose I pass my time while you're away then? As much as I love the place and all the trinkets it houses, it can be beyond boring after a while. I'd like some company. I can't work all the time." She teased, but knew not to push her luck when they had just found some level footing in their relationship again.

"Speaking of work... I was thinking of maybe opening a second studio here in New Orleans. The one in Chicago is doing well, so I can afford a second location, and it only makes sense to have something within reach since I'll be here a while. I can't just let everything gather dust here and then ship it up to Chicago. It wouldn't be practical. What do you think?" Peyton inquired, raising an eyebrow.

If anything, she knew he was skilled with money and had a head for business. She wasn't too shabby herself, seeing as she had no debts at twenty five, but he worked solely as a business man with stocks, so there was much more to be said for his success than her own.

Abbadon had impatiently waited for the opening of Peyton's gallery. The details had been tightly locked away from him under her insistence that it was a 'surprise' and he would enjoy it. Although patience was not something he came across easily, the man had decided that few things left in the world could be considered surprising and could allow himself the small pleasure of anticipation at Peyton's hands.

The gallery was already filled with sightseeing tourists and curious locals. A mix of a well known artist and a long locked up estate had caused more than a stir on the block. Abbadon towered over the groups who had gathered around the photos that lined the walls while he walked through the crowd until he saw Peyton's curly, blonde hair bouncing along as she babbled on about her artwork, clearly well past her first glass of wine, to an admirer.

He couldn't remember the last time he had so willingly packed himself into a room full of humans without the end result being nothing short of a massacre. He inhaled sharply and wrinkled his nose as he chided himself for the thoughts that raced through his head.

"Love." Abbadon reached for Peyton's free arm and placing an affectionate kiss on her cheekbone as she turned to face him.

"I'm astounded that you were able to pull all of this together on such short notice - and so well." He could feel the all too familiar craving to protect Peyton creep under his skin that always managed to arise when he surrendered any amount of control - although he knew her distaste for his overly protective instincts.

Peyton turned at the familiar voice beckoning for her attention, quickly locking onto the gentlemen who towered over the various guests packed into the moderately sized gallery. Excusing herself from the middle-aged woman who she had been chatting away with, she handed her nearly empty glass of wine to a waiter and made her way toward her significant other.

"Mr.Solace, don't you look dapper?" She noted, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Do you like it? Quite honestly I'm surprised we had such a turn out. I didn't think it would be empty, but a line outside in the street wasn't expected." She admitted, not bothering to hide her surprise thanks to the copious amount of alcohol she had consumed that evening.

It had taken many hours laboring to get the gallery set up and finding enough people to employ for the evening, but luckily she managed to pull it off. There was a large turnout and several inquiries as to whether or not she would be selling prints of some of the photographs she had taken. With an assistant managing transactions, she had sold fifteen photographs over the duration of the evening, as well as set up a few private showings for other high-paying clientele.

As the last few visitors were ushered out the door, Peyton kicked off her heels before sighing in relief. After several hours of talking up customers and sipping wine, she was tired and ready to fall into bed. Unfortunately, she had a few more things to settle before she was able to convince Abbadon to whisk her away to the comfort of their home.


"Mm.. How much would it cost me for a massage?" Peyton teased, fanning herself with a handful of cash before dropping it into her lock box.

"You chose some rather interesting subject matter. Our home has quite the reputation and I've never allowed nosy tourists to poke around it." Abbadon watched the last few visitors hail a cab while Peyton fiddled with the finky brass locks on the front door.

The gallery felt desolate in the absence of heels clicking along the hardwood and wine-fueled conversations. Peyton's photos were placed along the walls of the room with nothing to fill the space in between.

Abbadon's hands folded behind his back, just below his belt, as he stepped across the room to examine a photo Peyton had taken in the garden behind their home.

"I do not know how you manage to enhance beauty through nothing but a lens, but you do." His eyes narrowed as he looked at the details Peyton had managed to amplify in her work - details he had not noticed in over a century of passing by the scene almost daily.

Peyton made her way twoard Abbadon, noticing he had taken particular interest in a photograph of the gardens in bloom. It was one she had promised Ms.Abbott when the viewings for this particular set of photos was resolved and another one was brought in to take its place.

"Our home is beautiful. Everything has a story; it's touched by time and history, and yearning for attention - I merely capture it in a photograph. I'm no magician, I work with what is given to me. Though, I'm glad you think so highly of me." She thanked, offering him a tentative smile.

She had poured several hours into making certain she pulled the right photographs for a cohesive gallery, but while she was confident that spectators would enjoy the subject matter, her main concern was whether or not Abbadon would applaud or frown upon her including so many photographs from their home.

"I am relieved you like it.  Quite honestly, I was worried you would be upset with me that I incorporated pictures I took at home." Peyton admitted, leaning against him lightly for support as she gazed at the row of pictures lining the wall.

They were far too beautiful to pass up for the evening, and while she had presented several images from their home, she would be limiting any more being produces for viewing purposes later, out of her own desire for privacy.

"Honestly, I feel very odd having bits and pieces of what I have long kept private exposed to the public but I enjoy seeing you in your element. You're at ease when you work with any medium and their is no doubt you're a natural artist, it's quite the opposite when it comes to work with me." Abbadon's armed wrapped around the small of Peyton's back, his thumb running over the taunt fabric of her dress while he thought out his word choice. He had a way of ensnaring himself when it came to Peyton.

Abbadon's hand pressed against Peyton's back, beckoning her to walk with him as he toured the rest of the gallery without comment. Occasionally a piece would catch his attention and he would stop to study whatever element caught his eye.

"I think your display selection is tastefully done." He pursed his lips in thought before finally making his admission. "The only reason I find it exposing is my knowledge - I know the stories and the pieces while to everyone else it is simply a marvelous display of talent by a young, beautiful woman."

"You are a very private person." Peyton mused, slipping her hand into the back pocket of his trousers. "Thank you though, for being so supportive of this endeavor. It means a lot to not only allow me to give glimpses of our private lives to the public for the sake of artistic value, but also grow as an artist as well as a person." She admitted, offering him a sincere smile.

The fact that Abbadon Solace had allowed some of the barricades he called walls come down enough to grant her permission to use their home for the sake of her happiness, one he had kept tucked away under lock and key for several years, was beyond her. Though she knew he always intended to keep her content, there were several things he was unwilling to compromise on. Strangely enough, the one thing she had assumed would be off limits had been an opportunity he gave fairly freely.

"What do you say we get out of here, hmm? I want nothing more than to eat dinner and crawl into bed. Socializing is exhausting. I really should hire someone to work here so all I am required to do are opening nights for different sets." Peyton muttered, covering her mouth to stifle a yawn.

"I would do anything to ensure your happiness Peyton. " Abbadon's voice lowered as he lifted a hand to Peyton's cheek, running a finger under her cheekbone before tucking her hair behind her ear. It was an oddly selfless thing for a demon to admit and the feeling resonated on an uneasy note with him as he realized the truth or what he hoped would be the truth.

It was easily argued that his priorities were skewed by him simply occupying the same space as her. He couldn't keep himself away from Peyton - he knew that. He was uncertain of whether or not it was out of selfishness or the inability to do the right thing that was hardwired into him.

"Home does sound enticing right now, doesn't it?" Abbadon said through a sigh, allowing his eyes to close for a moment. The day had worn on him, or rather the lack of control had.

Abbadon's left hand tilted Peyton's chin up while his right one settled on her midback and pushed her close to him as he leaned in for a kiss.

Tap, tap

Abbadon's advances were interrupted by fingers drumming against the glass doors of the gallery. His gaze shifted away from Peyton momentarily but quickly returned. The lights of the gallery were off and the doors locked - he didn't see a reason to entertain guests after the event was clearly over.

Tap, tap

The noise repeated - this time louder as the sound echoed through the empty gallery. Abbadon looked towards the door again, this time making out the familiar shape of a tall, well dressed man with blonde hair - Valafar. Abbadon groaned, furrowing his brow at the thoughts of what Valafar had come to wreck havoc on.

Peyton had already removed Abbadon's well-tailored jacket and pushed him down onto a supple leather couch nestled in the corner of the gallery when the tapping at her door became too much to ignore. Lacing her fingers together behind his neck, she groaned and hung her head in anguish, frustrated by their uninvited guest not taking a hint.

"We'll pick this up later." She pressed, climbing out of his lap and back to her feet. Very begrudgingly she fiddled with the locks on the french doors to her gallery, irritable that she had to plaster on a faux smile and socialize with whoever so rudely interrupted her advances, seeing that she had locked up nearly an hour earlier.

Hitting the light switch, Peyton noticed an additional figure hovering next to a very familiar blonde man. Raising an eyebrow, she pulled the doors open and motioned for the pair to enter. Almost immediately, she regretted her decision as she noticed the eye-candy Valafar had brought to show off, no doubt trying to get a rise out of her.

"Well, if it isn't the infamous whore. Please, do come in." Peyton muttered sarcastically, turning on her heel and going straight for the bottle of merlot that was sitting unopened atop her desk.

"What brings the two of you here so late?" She questioned a bit more lightly, bringing a full glass of wine to her lips before shooting an exasperated glance toward Abbadon.

"Good evening, Ms. Sawyer. My apologies for the late arrival, I entirely intended to make it while the gallery was open but I figured you wouldn't mind a private showing for a friend and his companion. We were out and about and the time got away from us but I wanted to show my support none the less. " Valafar strided into the room, a crooked smirk pulling at one side of his mouth.

"Peyton, this is Stella - I'm sure you're somewhat familiar with name even if not the face." His attention was diverted from his words as he focused on the garden photo that Abbadon had previously been admiring while Stella's well manicured hand grasped the upper sleeve of Valafar's shirt.

"Stella, this is Peyton. She is Abbaddon's......?" Valafar straightened his shoulders and folded his arms across his chest, looking to Abbadon to fill in the blank.

"Significant other?" Stella's soft voice perked up for the first time since their arrival as her gaze flickered up to Valafar seeking conformation.

"Girlfriend." Abbadon corrected, his hand reaching out to wrap around Peyton's waist and pulling her close. He hated the word - it seemed so juvenile for anyone past their teenage years to openly call such a large part of their life their 'girlfriend'. He had struggled to find an adequate replacement for the word though it wasn't high on his priority list until recently.

"Girlfriend? Well then - she has more patience and ambition than I thought." Valafar voiced his surprise while reaching for the bottle of merlot Peyton had just opened and pouring himself a glass.

"I'm well aware of who she is, Valafar." Petyon muttered curtly, drumming her nails rhythmically on the walnut desk she now sat perched upon. It wasn't exactly rocket science that Valafar, a master manipulator who sought the thrill of a good fight, would parade around the root of Peyton's anger and trust issues.

"If it is my patience you are testing, I dare say that I possess none. Perhaps you may want to go about testing yet another theory, preferably one that does not involve the bane of my existence." She insisted, raising her glass in the general vicinity of Stella's direction.

She finished her glass of wine briskly before leaning into Abbadon for comfort. While she had the authority to throw out whoever she saw fit, she preferred not to act out irrationally in Stella's company: a few jabs here and there, simply to express her distaste for the woman and not instill a sense of false affection, but nothing to rash.

There was also the notion that Peyton would have to reel Abbadon in. He was never particularly comfortable in Valafar's company, but the handsome blonde had never ventured so far into murky waters before tonight. Valavar had really outdone himself.

It was a huge surprise, hearing the word "girlfriend" escape from Abbadon's lips, but she made a point not to bring it up. They weren't in the right company, nor would it do anything other than make him uncomfortable and likely play on her emotions if she dare tread into the depths of the unknown. Instead, she pursued the nagging pain in her side.

"So, Stella. What is it you do exactly? Besides prey on men who are unavailable to you, that is?" Peyton chirped, casting the brunette a complacent smile as she laced her fingers through Abbadon's.

"Oh? Are you? Well I'm glad we're all so well acquainted now." Valafar chirped, leaning his weight against a pillar positioned in the middle of the room with Stella not far from his side.

Abbadon's grip tightened around Peyton's hand - though her's may have tighter. His eyes narrowed in scrutiny as he tried to figure out what game the two were playing - it was one that ran much deeper than a superficial irritant. He hated to admit his level of affection for Peyton to either of them as he knew it would turn around and bite him but the repercussions of denying his feelings for Peyton in front of Stella would be much worse.

"Prey? You make it sound like I'm not successful." Stella's eyes focused on the red varnish lacquered across her nails. "I have been fortunate enough to have been taken into a very wealthy family - I pick up my projects at leisure and never stick to one for long." She turned her attention back to Peyton.

"Stella, Valafar - Peyton and I were just about to take our leave from the gallery for the evening and head to our home - I would suggest that you and your company make your way out." Abbadon lurched himself up from the couch, stepping towards Valafar. The blonde man did not bat so much as an eye in the taller man's shadow.

"Heading home? The night is just beginning - you're not scared of ghosts and goblins are you? Nothing worse than you is out there." Valafar spat. "You mistake my intentions, Abbadon. I simply wanted the artists commentary on her artwork. I didn't come here to pick petty fights."

Peyton tugged on Abbadon's hand, attempting to draw him closer to her. While she may not physically have been capable of moving the dominating man, he listened to her signals quite well, even in such a hostile environment. Perhaps more so due to the nature of this tense atmosphere.

"Now, as Abbadon mentioned earlier, we were just about to head home when the two of you dropped by. If you do not mind, I would still appreciate taking leave. Valafar, you are welcome to come by another time. I would be happy to give you more in-depth information on the work at a later date. However, I strongly advise you make your second appearance without Stella." She hinted, striding toward the leather couch where both hers and Abbadon's jackets were thrown on earlier.

"Stella, I'm afraid you are not welcome here. It truly was a displeasure to finally meet you." Peyton insisted as she donned on her coat.

She grabbed the keys from her coat pocket and made her way toward the door. "Babe, hit the lights behind us, won't you?" She questioned, not giving enough time for their guests to depart before locking up.

Peyton wasted no time with small talk, nor with subtlety. The fuse she had for Stella was nonexistent and her patience with Valafar was growing shorter with every impromptu meeting. She had no desire to dabble in the fine arts of tormenting another, nor was she willing to subject herself to it for the pleasure of her enemy.

The promise of returning home never seemed so favourable.

Abbadon breathed a heavy sigh of relief as the heavy front door of their home swung close with a loud thud and echoed through the quiet home. The estate was the only place he felt at ease anymore and even that was debatable at times. The evening's turn of events had set him on edege.

"I'm sorry they had to ruin your evening like that, you put so much work into it - you were so happy." Abbadon apologized, gaze shifting towards his feet. He was certain he would be spending the night apologizing for Stella's actions over and over again. Peyton had a a habit of allowing her insecurities to get the best of her.

Worry had creased into the lines of Abbadon's forehead as he stepped into the parlor and reached for an amber bottle of bourbon that decorated the antique buffet sitting beneath a painting of him some centuries prior. Valafar wasn't interested in petty games, nothing was ever simple with him and his goals were often obscure. Though Abbadon knew it best to stay on his good side lest he wanted to draw more unwanted attention to his and Peyton's relationship.