Page 67 of Gift for a Demon

“I don’t know the answer to your question. Jordan is just another boring human who believes in demonic favors and rituals. I’m almost done with him.”

Melchom squinted his eyes. Astaroth was lying, and they both knew it. Melchom didn’t have a leg to stand on, though. Not without evidence, and not without starting a war he couldn’t win. It would be the word of a Prince of Hell against his.

“Well played.”

“Oh, come on, Mel… Don’t be a spoilsport. You like the game as much as I do.”

“You’re too old for games.” Melchom didn’t stay around for more banter.

He forced Dove to go with him. Gaz would of course follow.

* * *

“What was that?” Dove lunged at him the second they were in the chambers.

There were more pressing matters at hand, though, things he’d started to plan ahead for the second they’d been out of reach of Astaroth’s minions.

Things they probably didn’t have a lot of time for.

“Gaz,” he used his outside voice on purpose to address the hellhound this time, “bleed.”

“What?” his Dove—predictably—shrieked, immediately turning around to shield the hound with his body. It didn’t quite work. “No, don’t listen to him.”

“She’ll heal right away, and you need to drink her blood so she can talk to you.”

“Talk. To me.”

Melchom didn’t need to get inside Dove’s head to see that the human didn’t believe him. Dumbfounded would be an apt adjective for what Dove was feeling. Ninety percent dumbfounded, ten percent horrified at the idea of his little puppy getting hurt.

“Yes.” He sighed. “You need her protection, and she can protect you best if she can tell you what to do.”

“That makes no sense.” Dove still tightened his arms around Gaz. The hellhound was playing her role, trying to lick as much of his face as she could reach. Melchom would have to shove him into the bathtub. Later. “Protect me from what? The guy upstairs? The Prince?”

“Maybe.” For once, Melchom wasn’t holding information back from his human, but of course Dove was already growing irritated with his knack for secrecy. “I thought you’d be more excited about getting to understand her.”

“I…”

That was it.

His human was terrified. The whiff of pheromones hit him before he could reach into his deeper thoughts. Dove had just started to grow used to Hell, to develop a routine, to start feeling better. That part was too jumbled to decipher. Now, this threat, this new voice… Terror didn’t get to properly describe it.

Melchom acted without thinking. One second, Melchom was half there, half trying to be ten steps ahead of whatever was cooking in Hell. The next, he’d pulled the human back into his arms.

Dove was still giving off bucketloads of fear as he clutched his limb fingers against Melchom’s roughened skin. The emotion filled him, but Melchom wasn’t focused on it. It wasn’t what drove him to shield Dove.

“I need you to be safe, little Dove.”

The human’s eyes welled up as he pushed so he could meet his gaze. Not many humans dared to do that. “W-why?”

“Because,” Melchom grunted.

Hadn’t they just agreed they weren’t ready to talk about those things? Anger fueled Melchom, blocking him from saying what was on his mind. The idea that his Dove could get hurt, though…

Melchom saw red, literally and figuratively. He shouldn’t have given him so many liberties just because Dove was going to be protected and Melchom was dealing with all those feelings and all that uncertainty. Maybe then Astaroth—or any of the minions who might’ve brought the intel to him—would’ve missed him.

It was on him.

“That’s not an answer,” his Dove grumbled, punching his chest. It was a cute gesture. “I want to know.”

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