Page 6 of The Demon Who Loved Me

Together, we slip out into the bustling Tangian streets, my senses on high alert for any sign of our demonic pursuers. I may be stuck in this wretched mortal realm, but I'll be damned if I let any harm come to Evelyn.

After all, she's my ticket out of this mess. And if I'm being honest with myself, maybe there's a small part of me that's starting to enjoy her company. Just a little.

But I'll never admit that to her. I have a reputation to uphold, after all. And besides, it's much more fun to keep her guessing.

5

EVELYN

As we navigate the narrow, winding streets of Tangier's medina, I can't help but steal glances at Malakai. His gruff, commanding nature both annoys and intrigues me. One moment, he's barking orders and insisting on taking the lead, and the next, he's praising my quick thinking and resourcefulness. It's enough to give a girl whiplash.

"Keep up, little human, move those short legs," he growls, his tall frame easily weaving through the bustling crowd of locals and tourists. "We don't have time for dawdling and shopping."

I roll my eyes, adjusting my grip on the ancient texts I managed to snag from the library, their worn leather covers warm against my skin. "I'm going as fast as I can, Your Highness. Not all of us have your inhuman agility, you know."

He shoots me a smirk, his eyes glinting with amusement in the dappled sunlight that filters through the medina's canopy. "I didn't realize you'd been paying such close attention to my movements. You like what you see. Why wouldn't you? But what I need for you to do is focus. Focus now and perhaps I will reward you with more later."

I feel my cheeks heat up, and I quickly look away, focusing on the colorful stalls and intricate mosaic tiles that adorn the walls. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm just stating a fact."

As we make our way through the medina, the sights, sounds, and smells of Tangier assault my senses. Vendors hawk their wares from every corner, their voices rising above the din of the crowd. The aroma of spices, grilled meats, and sweet mint tea fills the air, making my stomach growl with hunger.

"Fresh fish! Straight from the Mediterranean!" a weathered fishmonger calls out, his stall overflowing with glistening sardines, plump shrimp, and ruby-red snappers.

"Handmade carpets, fit for a palace!" another vendor shouts, his colorful rugs and tapestries fluttering in the breeze like the wings of exotic birds.

The medina is a riot of color and texture, from the rich, earthy hues of the spices piled high in woven baskets to the intricate geometric patterns of the tiles that adorn every surface. The people, too, are a vibrant tapestry, with locals in traditional djellabas and kaftans mingling with tourists in bright sundresses and floppy hats.

As we pass a stall selling ornate brass lamps and intricately carved wooden boxes, I can't resist running my fingers over the smooth, polished surfaces. The craftsmanship is exquisite, a testament to the skill and artistry of the Moroccan people.

"See something you like?" Malakai murmurs, his breath hot against my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

I jerk my hand away, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Just admiring the handiwork," I mutter, quickening my pace to put some distance between us.

As we continue our journey, a sudden growl emanates from Malakai's stomach, breaking the tension between us. He looks down at his abdomen, a wry smile on his face. "It seems even demons need sustenance from time to time." He chuckles, his eyes scanning the bustling market stalls. "And I must admit, the scent of those spices has been driving me to distraction."

I can't help but smile, my own stomach rumbling in response. "I guess even inter-dimensional beings aren't immune to the allure of Moroccan street food."

Malakai's gaze lands on a nearby stall, where a wizened old man is grilling skewers of heavily spiced meat over a bed of glowing coals. The aroma is intoxicating, a blend of cumin, coriander, and saffron that makes my mouth water.

"Two, please," Malakai says, holding up his fingers to the vendor. He produces a heavy purse that thuds heavily on the counter, pulling out two solid gold pieces and passing them to the wide-eyed and surprised vendor. After insisting he cannot, he settles for one of the smaller silver coins and deftly plucks two skewers from the grill and wraps them in a piece of wax paper.

Malakai hands one to me, our fingers brushing briefly in the exchange. I feel a jolt of electricity at the contact, as if the spices on the meat have somehow made their way into my bloodstream.

We find a quiet spot near the edge of the medina, a low stone wall overlooking the city's rooftops. The sun is just beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of orange, pink, and gold that seem to glow from within.

I take a bite of the meat, the flavors exploding on my tongue in a burst of heat and spice. Beside me, Malakai does the same, his eyes closing briefly in pleasure.

"I have to admit," he says, licking a stray drop of sauce from his lip, "you humans do have a way with food. This is almost as satisfying as a good battle."

I raise an eyebrow, taking another bite of my skewer. "I never thought I'd hear a demon compare cuisine to combat."

Malakai shrugs, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "What can I say? I'm full of surprises."

We eat in companionable silence for a few moments, watching as the sun sinks lower on the horizon. The light is fading fast now, the shadows lengthening and blurring together like spilled ink.

"I could almost forget why we're here," I murmur, my gaze fixed on the distant mountains. "Sitting here, eating this food, watching the sunset... It feels so normal."

Malakai nods, his expression unreadable. "But we can't forget, Evelyn. The fate of the world hangs in the balance. We have a job to do."

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