Page 71 of Gift for a Demon

A tear slipped down Dave’s cheek before he could help it.

“David 2.0 here wanted to kill you, brother. You can’t tell me you missed that. He didn’t just think it once, either.”

“I don’t want to kill you.” Dave mumbled. He didn’t know if Melchom had actually heard those thoughts. Surely, though, Melchom would’ve done something about it. He wouldn’t have just let Dave be, knowing he was wondering about killing him. “I–I don’t.”

Dave loved him. But that was stupid, and not something he was going to say in front of an audience. Probably ever.

People in group therapy said acknowledging their true feelings was a great feeling. Dave felt sick to his stomach, so he wasn’t too sure that had been true.

“He was sent here without his consent.” Melchom sounded bored, even though those thunderous eyes of his told a different story. “I would’ve been disappointed if he didn’t have some kind of backbone.”

“Huh.” Astaroth kept circling around the bed Dave felt trapped in. It… It didn’t help keep his heartbeat at any regular pace. “How’s this for backbone?”

The slash across his back came without warning. Dave screamed. Gaz started whining, and Melchom had to keep her to his side. The demon didn’t visibly react, but Dave thought he was vibrating.

It didn’t matter.

Dave was too busy catching his breath, feeling beads of blood sliding down his back. The sting was sharp enough he almost didn’t feel it when the demon grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked until it was torn straight from his scalp. Blood flow ran to the area, pounding against it.

Dave didn’t bother hiding the tears anymore, pain flaying and piercing through him everywhere he looked. His body trembled. He apparently had more movement now, but he didn’t care. What was he supposed to do? Melchom had said only hellhounds could kill demons, but the demon in question had a gargoyle that could kill hellhounds. Even if Dave tried, the weapons Melchom treasured were too far away. He would never be fast enough. Not with all the blood he must be losing, getting him dizzier by the minute.

“This will do,” Astaroth spoke.

A part of Dave wished he could lose consciousness and wake up… wherever, whenever. He forced his eyes open, though. Blurry vision showed the smaller—but more sadistic—demon walking up to an angry Melchom. Astaroth waved the lock of hair in the air with one hand while he grabbed Melchom’s wrist with the other.

“You know sometimes the scriptures are quite literal.” He was… He was wrapping Dave’s hair around Melchom’s wrists, cuffing him. For some reason. “This is for your own good.”

“Your gargoyle is not going to be protection enough for what’s coming for you.”

“Pfft.” Astaroth clicked his tongue. “You’d never risk your human’s beloved pet. He’d never forgive you.”

Threads of… something—anger?—traveled up and down Melchom’s biceps, making him look wider, bigger. Dave didn’t understand why he wasn’t fighting. He groaned, nearly convulsing when a conveniently placed draft hit his open wounds.

“Tell me, David.” Astaroth was back by his side, forcing him up, one hand circled around his neck. “Don’t you wish him dead now? Wish you’d never met him? I can assure you, your stay down here would’ve been way less painful.”

Dave shook. He didn’t know exactly what he was feeling, what was coursing through his veins. The words barely registered, disdain toward the demon tainting them all.

“See the way my brother’s skin here is almost glowing?” Astaroth turned his head just right, forcing Dave to be eye to eye with the demon who owned him. Melchom was glowing, tendrils visible. “He’s feeding off you. I don’t think he likes it, granted, but while you’re here in immeasurable pain, suffering, terrified, he’s never been stronger or fuller. A big part of him is enjoying that I have you like this, David. You’ve certainly never tasted better in all the days you’ve spent in Hell.”

Dave didn’t have control anymore over the tears that spilled down his cheeks, or the choked breaths when Melchom didn’t deny it. Somehow, he could tell Astaroth wasn’t lying. Melchom had fed off him enough times already to where Dave just knew.

So he didn’t know what took over him when he forced himself to speak. “My name isn’t David.”

The words—or maybe the hatred imbued in them—shook Astaroth enough that he loosened his hold on Dave’s throat.

“Well,” the Prince recovered, “you mean because you go by Dave?” he tsked. “My apologies. I assumed our relationship wasn’t quite there yet.”

“No.” He coughed out a blood clot before he could continue. The world seemed to turn on its axis around him, and there was nowhere to grasp to stay upright. It didn’t matter. He had to do this, even when he wasn’t sure what this was. The air crackled around him, though, full of energy—energy he instinctively knew could belong to him. Perhaps he made use of it as he roared out his next words, “My name is Dove, and I belong to Melchom, King of Hell!”

“W-what?” Astaroth let go of him right away.

Dove caught his owner’s eyes widening, but there was too much going on as everything fell into place. That energy in the air started shaking everything, all the trinkets in the shelves falling, crashing against the stone. Dove closed his eyes. It was safe now. Things would be safe now.

Somehow.

Master.

“It’s okay, Gaz,” he still forced himself to say.

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