Page 14 of Gift for a Demon

It would be great if they could hold a conversation without thoughts of the demon’s attractiveness assaulting him.

He didn’t see that happening anytime soon, as infuriating as it was.

Dave practically leaped out of the bed. The distance was good; it let him breathe easier.

“What am I even doing here?” He paced as he posed the question. He didn’t think he should be too concerned about keeping up appearances after his breakdown. “You can’t play me, you know. I know what you’re doing.”

“You do?” The demon had left the bed too, but he wasn’t moving to crowd him. Instead, he stood too casually still. He wasn’t even trying to flex all those damned muscles. “Enlighten me.”

“You’re…” Dave dug his nails into his palms before he could form a response. “You want me helpless, depending on you for every little thing.”

Dave’s eyes widened. He’d started unsure, shocked that the demon had seen through his bluff, but… He realized it made sense. It was sickening, but…

His throat constricted, bile coming up from his stomach. His hands flew to his mouth, but he knew he wouldn’t hold it in.

Melchom didn’t seem to like the idea of a vomit projectile, because he all but flew him to the bathroom. Being moved without feeling arms around him only pushed him further. He was retching into the toilet before anything could really register—the fact that he was in the room he’d tried to avoid, for one thing.

Is he really not going to last a full day?

Tears fell down his cheeks as he kept emptying his stomach. He didn’t even care.

I told you he looked too pathetic.

Melchom should just chop him up and be done with him.

Whoever offered him didn’t really do him a favor.

Yeah, what were they thinking?

STOP.

Dave’s body went rigid. He recognized the last voice as Melchom, but its booming quality was new.

And effective.

Wiping his cheeks, he turned around, expecting to see Melchom beside him. It was stupid, of course.

And a quick way to be disappointed.

At least he was in sight, but Melchom kept his distance, nostrils flaring as he leaned against the doorway. Dave didn’t fail to notice how the demon looked perfectly composed—if a little angry—whereas Dave looked like a fucking mess of vomit, snot, and tears.

“I don’t wanna be here,” he murmured, voice impossibly raspy.

A sob broke down his throat again, the truth in his words feeling like he imagined one of the daggers in the room would feel through his heart.

“You’re terrified.”

What kind of answer was that?

Dave wiped his cheeks again, and used the sleeve of his dress to clean his nose. He didn’t know if demons had tissue paper, but he didn’t feel in the mood to be denied or toyed with. His dress was destroyed, anyway, and it wasn’t like anyone other than Melchom would be seeing him.

“Fuck you!” he roared after composing himself.

He tried storming past Melchom, but that was obviously not going to happen. The demon only needed one hand wrapped around his arm to keep him in place.

At least this time he was actually touching him, Dave noted. He’d figure out how he felt about it later.

Not so surprisingly, it turned out that demons ran hot. Fleetingly, Dave wondered if the touch would burn his skin if he held him long enough. Wondering made him remember about his hands again. The skin was bright red, pulsing. He was amazed his brain had managed to keep the pain in the background. He couldn’t really trust the organ for much these days.

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