Page 93 of Gift for a Demon

The crown he’d had crafted was perfect for his gift. Having noticed his Dove’s predilection for flower crowns, he’d tasked his best team of minions to weld the perfect one. At first, he’d considered getting it done in mostly rubies and quartzes to match his own the way Dove would’ve wanted.

It wouldn’t have been his, though. His Dove was colorful, exuberant, unpredictable. So he got each flower designed with different patterns and jewels until the light reflected the entire color spectrum wherever he moved.

Dove’s hands shook as he covered his mouth with them. “It’s… It’s mine?”

Melchom grabbed it from its velvet seat. It was lighter than it looked, but not so light his gift wouldn’t feel it whenever he had it on.

“Now it is,” Melchom said as he lowered the jewels onto Dove’s head, careful not to dishevel the honey locks his human had forced him to style to perfection for the past hour.

He should’ve never showed him that trick where he could curl his hair and mold it however the human wanted. Then again, he probably would’ve done anything to keep that wobbling smile on Dove’s face. Melchom just had to figure out how to keep it from the other demons—how whipped he was for his gift, and how far he’d fallen.

There would be no way to recover from it, and Melchom was already standing on thin ice with them.

“Princes.” He stood tall as he allowed his voice to expand across the room. “After two millennia of usurpation, Hell finally has a King again. Bow before him and his Consort.”

The four demons did. To be fair, it was all theatrics for his Dove. Melchom would’ve still severed anyone who dared defy him.

“We will move out of the castle so all the minions and lower demons can meet their new Royals now.”

The Princes left the room first. Dove was heading toward the door too, but Melchom grabbed his wrist, bringing him to a halt.

“What is it?”

“There’s something else.” Melchom winced. He felt the tremor in his voice, the nerves he never allowed himself to feel. It was unbecoming. “Touch my horns, Dove.”

“W-what?” Melchom saw the metaphorical wheels turning in Dove’s head. “But you said that was a no.”

“It was.” He closed his eyes. He should’ve known his gift wouldn’t just accept a change of heart. “But I want you bonded with me.”

“B-bonded?” His feisty but sweet Dove almost stammered his way through the word.

“When we’re bonded, you can get inside my head. You have power over me.” Melchom went down on one knee, lifting his head to watch his human. “You’ll see everything.”

“What’s the catch?”

Melchom frowned. “There’s no catch.”

It made his stomach clench—the fact that Dove would think it a possibility. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea, or too rushed. Melchom was an idiot, really. Just because he’d been having nightmares about what went down with his first human lover didn’t mean Melchom had to do anything. Definitely not the same things that had led him to his demise.

He wanted to think his Dove was different; he was a gift. But maybe…

“You’re anxious about this.” Dove seemed transfixed by the fact. “Am I gonna feel it when you get hurt? If we bond, I mean? That’s a thing in some movies with bonded mates and stuff, I think.”

“I’m not getting hurt.” Melchom scoffed. There was a hint of fear coming off the human, though, one he needed to get rid of. “You can feel anything I’m feeling if you follow the bond connecting us.”

“Okay.” His Dove took a deep breath. “Okay, so… Why? Why now? Why do you…?”

Melchom sighed. He hadn’t wanted to do it, but he figured his gift would find out one way or another. “I’m going to show you something.”

Projecting didn’t come easily to him—or most demons, really. Because they were used to the exact opposite—guarding every memory and piece of information in an environment where trust couldn’t be freely given—projecting felt unnatural. Wrong.

Dove let Melchom sit him down on his thigh, and shift them so their foreheads were touching.

Melchom’s eyes didn’t waver as he showed Dove everything, watching every single reaction. The day he met a kind-looking human named David. The way he helped him defeat Goliath and tended to his wounds. The ongoing visits and the arrangements they made. David’s fascination with his horns, with bonding to him. The last time he’d seen him. The hellhound who’d created the scar on his face because actions had consequences and his failure needed to be publicly shown and punished.

His Dove had tears pooling up in his eyes by the time Melchom stopped the stream of images.

“I couldn’t let myself make the same mistakes.”

---