Chapter 6 – Alastor (Stiles) POV**
The lobby still smelled of ozone and shark-demon ash, a delightful bouquet that almost masked the lingering scent of Charlie on my skin. I kept my hand at the small of her back as we descended the last steps, feeling the faint tremor in her posture. She walked with that careful, mincing gait—thighs pressed together just a little too tightly—and it sent fresh static crackling along my nerves. *Discomfort,* I decided, smile stretching wider to hide the knife-twist in my chest. Even after I had fucked her through climax after climax, filled her until she overflowed, she still carried herself like someone enduring a chore. The deal weighed on her. Vaggie's glare from across the room only confirmed it.
Angel Dust leaned against the bar, smirking like he knew every filthy detail. "Damn, Smiles, you really went full static on those chumps. And Charlie looks like she got the deluxe radio treatment upstairs. Respect."
I ignored him, tuning the radio filter to a jaunty swing number that drowned out the pounding in my borrowed ears. My power hummed unchecked—no cold chains yanking me back, no invisible master pulling strings. The freedom was intoxicating. When I had shattered those bindings the moment Stiles Stilinski woke inside this body, everything amplified. Static bursts came easier, shadows responded like eager puppies, and my Spark— that chaotic spark from Beacon Hills—let me mimic sounds with perfect, terrifying fidelity. I was stronger. Meaner. More *me*.
A new group of sinners shuffled in through the repaired doors, drawn by the noise of the turf war outside. Sir Pentious slithered forward, top hat askew, already monologuing about conquering the hotel. Husk grumbled behind the bar, pouring drinks with mechanical indifference. Niffty darted between legs, stabbing at invisible bugs with manic glee. This was the dream Charlie had sold me in our original bargain. Protect it. Staff it. Help redeem the irredeemable.
And in return, she let me have her body while her heart stayed locked behind guilt.
The thought fueled the anger still simmering from our time in bed. I had felt her come apart—walls fluttering, slick gushing, voice cracking on my name—but those tears, that distant look… all for Vaggie. All tolerance wrapped in princessly duty. My claws flexed inside my gloves. *Fine. If she insists on performing, I'll conduct the orchestra.*
I snapped my fingers. Green sigils flared across the lobby ceiling, stronger than anything the old Alastor could have managed. Radio waves pulsed outward, broadcasting my voice to every corner of the block. "Welcome, dear listeners, to the Hazbin Hotel! A place for wayward souls to find redemption… or a swift end if they disrupt the broadcast." The words carried a new static edge, my enhanced power making the air itself vibrate. Two more turf-war stragglers foolish enough to charge the entrance were yanked inside by shadow tentacles and disintegrated into green-flamed ash before they could speak. The display drew applause from a few newcomers and a wide-eyed stare from Charlie.
She looked up at me, lips parted, cheeks still flushed from earlier. For a moment I let myself imagine that flush was from genuine want rather than embarrassment. My mind supplied the memory unbidden: her on all fours, ass rippling under my palm, cunt clenching as she squirted around me for the fourth time. The flashback mixed with an older one—dying in the Beacon Hills preserve, alpha claws buried in my chest while I whispered final instructions to Scott through bloodied teeth. *Pack's safe. Tell Dad…* Then darkness, then knocking on her door wearing this smile.
The power surge from the memory made my antlers crackle and grow. I channeled it into a clever shield around the hotel exterior—mimicking the mountain ash barriers from my old life but woven from demonic static. No one would breach it tonight.
"Alastor," Charlie said softly, her hand brushing my sleeve. The touch was hesitant, almost tender. "That power… it's different. Stronger. Are you okay?"
I laughed, the sound warping into distorted trumpets. "Okay? My dear, I am *magnificent*. Though one does wonder if your concern is truly for me or simply fear that I might demand more of our arrangement later." I leaned closer, voice dropping so only she could hear beneath the broadcast hum. "Your little performance upstairs was adequate, but we both know you were counting the minutes until it ended. Perhaps tonight, after the guests are settled, I'll remind you exactly what 'anything I want' entails. Rougher this time. No more pretty lies about it being real."
Her breath hitched. I watched her thighs press together again and interpreted it as dread rather than renewed arousal. The misunderstanding burned like wolfsbane in my veins. I loved her—loved the unbreakable optimism, the way she believed in redemption even for a dead boy from Beacon Hills wearing a demon's corpse. But love didn't blind me to the pity in her eyes.
Vaggie approached, spear tip dragging sparks across the floor. "We need to talk, Charlie. Alone."
Before Charlie could answer, another explosion rocked the street outside. My enhanced senses picked up a larger gang forming—perhaps twenty strong, armed with angelic steel fragments. A real threat. Perfect.
I stepped forward, coat flaring dramatically. "Stay inside, ladies. The Radio Demon will handle the evening entertainment." Tentacles erupted from my shadow, thicker and faster than before, crackling with violet electricity. I walked out into the chaos alone, smile razor-sharp, already planning seven moves ahead like the Stiles I used to be—traps, misdirection, overwhelming force.
As the first screams began and green static lit up the night, I glanced back once. Charlie stood in the doorway, watching me with an expression I couldn't parse. Guilt? Desire? It didn't matter. The deal was ironclad, my chains were gone, and I would protect her dream until she either admitted the truth or I burned Hell itself trying to earn it.
The radio played on, louder than ever, broadcasting my fury and devotion in equal measure across Pentagram City.