Page 91 of Gift for a Demon

“Yes.” His Dove pretended to hit his chest.

He’d been full of questions the past couple of days. Melchom hadn’t anticipated that would be a side effect of settling down—Dove growing more and more curious about every single thing.

“Okay.”

Dove wasted no time, coming up to sit on the bed way too fast. Melchom took control of his body before dizziness could hit him. No one had warned him that taking care of a human—for real—was a 24/7 kind of job.

“What should I call you?” Dove bounced on the bed. “I want a nickname for you, but I can’t think of anything. Mel was good, but Astaroth called you that, so… Ew. But I don’t know… Chom? Melcky?” Dove’s nose wrinkled adorably as he rolled each suggestion over his tongue.

Melchom’s wrinkled for a different reason. “No.”

“No?” Dove’s eyes squinted. That was never a good thing. “You mean, no to a nickname, or no to those nicknames? The latter is fine, but I can’t just call you Melchom all the time. It’s not a cute look.”

How did the human have so much energy in the morning? Melchom groaned. “It’s my name. It doesn’t have to be cute.”

“But…” A finger rested against his bottom lip. “I mean, I sometimes think of you as my big bad demon, but that’s a bit of a mouthful.”

It was. Melchom preened at that compliment, though. He wanted to be the human’s big bad demon. He wanted the human to think of him as his, to feel that same possession toward him. It was a good feeling. Melchom didn’t think he’d ever experienced it before.

Definitely not with David.

Ever since his hunger strike and the nightmares that brought up, he’d been reminiscing about his relationship more and comparing it with his Dove.

David didn’t… Melchom thought he might’ve felt attracted to him at some point, but Melchom had been a commodity to the cowardly human—someone to please to get what he wanted, a task to do to stay alive or to gather more power or intel. David wouldn’t have cared if Melchom didn’t feed off him. He would’ve just nodded along and said whatever he thought Melchom wanted to hear.

David had never pushed him either. He wouldn’t have fought Melchom to keep a fucking hellhound. David wouldn’t have tried to bribe him because of a small thing that Melchom would’ve given him anyway.

He hadn’t been invested, not really.

His Dove was.

“You can always call me King.”

“And let it get to your head even more,” Dove scoffed. “I thought you were smarter than that.”

“Watch your tone.” It was a warning, but not really.

His Dove knew it. “I could call you Your Grace. It sounds more fun than King.”

“Sure.” Melchom highly doubted that would last, but he also saw beneath the ruse for a nickname. His Dove was anxious about the coronation ceremony. “Have you decided what clothes you’re gonna wear yet?”

It had been a challenge to narrow it down. His gift had an amazing imagination and could come up with all kinds of ensembles, but finding them on Earth wasn’t precisely easy. Melchom hated when his Dove fixated on it, too—it inevitably led to bouts of sadness and residual anger because he couldn’t join Melchom on Earth so he could find the outfit on his own. Melchom had even reached out to Beelzebub.

Not only because he was the only Prince of Hell that had been left standing but because Beelzebub had always been the most knowledgeable when it came to portals and magick in general.

This time, not even he had known of a solution.

“I was beginning to think you’d never ask,” Dove drawled. Right, Melchom had asked him. Melchom shook his head. “Ready?”

“Hit me with it.”

It was endearing, how he kept trying to send messages his way. Apart from succeeding at summoning him every time, however, the rest didn’t work. He just highlighted the image in his head, and Melchom sneaked in to see it.

“Really?” Melchom grinned. His cock was very much in like with the idea, but he hadn’t expected it. “Is this what my Dove wants?”

The human wiggled on the spot. “It’s hot, right? I’d considered a full on wedding gown, but it’s way too hot in here, and the ones with the short skirts are simply not as pretty.”

So he’d settled for the kind of lingerie humans wore for their wedding nights, covered by a sheer lace robe in white that did nothing to conceal any of his skin.

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