Page 4 of A Date With Demons

I feel for the guy. The only thing worse than the physical anguish of this place is the feeling of being lost and confused.

Why does he exist? That’s not as easy to answer, but I’ll give it a go.

“It can’t help itself. The abyss. It grows and expands with no discernible pattern.” The demon’s brows knit together. He’s listening, taking in the information.

“It is chaos,” I continue. “Evil begets evil because it simply must. So…I guess…happy birthday?”

Chapter

Three

Rewd

The demonunder me makes a strange face, like it’s attempting to disarm me.

He is charming and handsome, with a smooth snout and a ready smile. I do not trust him. He reeks of manipulation.

The more minutes I’m alive, the more awareness comes to me. My brain is made from a template shared by millions of others. Maybe billions. My mind races with the thoughts and memories of millennia of wars and conflict. It is too much to contain. I’m nothing but a weapon for killing. Destroying.

I’ve been built to be used and thrown away.

My body is thick and solid, with no finesse. I have been pounded together from a hunk of clay. This demon underneath me, however, was sculpted out of stone by a master carver.

“I’m Bragg, by the way. And you are?”

He thrusts his clawed hand at my chest. I roar at the assault and without thinking, pin that hand to the ashy, hot floor above his head. Everything burns here. The air in my lungs. The floor.My own skin feels like it’s on fire. Everything hurts — not enough to kill me, but only enough to make me very, very angry.

“So, you don’t like small talk. I can respect that,” Bragg says. “Sorry if I startled you.”

This one talks a lot. How does he find words with a million memories screaming through his head?

“You are puny and thin and do not startle me,” I say.

Bragg cackles. “Rude!”

I think he may be mocking me, but I do not care.

Much to my surprise, Bragg’s voice is having a settling effect on me.

More than his incessant talking, I enjoy how he trembles underneath me. The throb between my legs intensifies when he speaks to me, even when he’s trying to hide that he is afraid.

“Very well. You can call me R-ew-d.”

His cocky laughter abates. “Rewd. That’s a good name. Shit, I wish I’d thought of it.”

I study Bragg’s sloping nose, his angled jaw, and corded neck. He is small compared to me. His horns curl upward from where they grow at the crown—unlike my massive horns meant to gore and maim. He is more…domestic somehow.

Out of pure curiosity, I lean down and smell him, running my snout over the smooth flesh of his throat.

I wish to understand what he is and why he’s so different from me.

I let go of my hold on his wrists and run my talons over my face: a ridged snout, prominent brow, and longer fangs. Then I touch his face. My throat bobs. I am fascinated and jealous. He is beautiful. I am so ugly. Why?

“Why do you look so different? You smell like demon,” I ask. My swirling memories and centuries of knowledge spin so fast that I can’t grasp the facts I know are there.

He seems unconcerned that he’s still pinned under me. Bragg shrugs. “I engage with humans more than other types of demons do. This shape makes shifting to a more…palatable…human-ish form much easier. I guess evolution saw to it.”

His voice causes the speeding thoughts to begin to slow down.

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