Page 2 of Demonic Division

The demon barely acknowledges the pebble, though it does part its lips to showcase each one of its razor-sharp fangs and lets out a low, murderous growl. My body reacts, each muscle clenching in preparation for a counterattack, my eyes closing against my will like a child hiding from the monster beneath their bed.

When nothing happens, I crack my lids open a millimeter, expecting to find a set of salivating fangs about to close around my throat. But I couldn’t be farther from the truth.

The demon—or what my panic-stricken mindthoughtwas a demon—has been replaced by Bella’s familiar silver form. I’m about to let out a sigh of relief when I notice she’s holding something in her mouth. The shadows lengthen as the sun finally dips past the tree canopy, and I have to squint to make out the pale yellow fur of a bunny rabbit. It’s matted, spattered with mud and a familiar red-wine color, the sight of which causes bile to rise in my throat.

“Bella!!” My voice is strangled, all thoughts of thecreature from earlier dashed as I race toward the dog. “Bad girl! Very bad girl!”

Bella blinks, her stubbed tail taking off as she lowers her front paws in a play stance. Just before I reach her, she takes off, running in a circle around the clearing as the bunny flops limply in her jaws.

A shred of sense returns, and I stop. I point a finger to the ground next to my feet, pulling my shoulders back as I shout, “Bella, come!”

At my command, she ceases her bounding, her ears sticking straight up as she tilts her head. I repeat the order, and Bella strides happily to my side, plopping her rear in the dirt with that poor bunny still clenched tight between her teeth.

I hook a lead around Bella’s neck as crimson liquid drips down to the soil, mingling with the dirt and creating a gut-churning purple sludge. I hold my hand over my mouth as I reach forward with the other, attempting to carefully remove the poor bunny from Bella’s jaws. Instead of fighting me, she releases it, letting the limp body fall into my palm. It’s breathing—but just barely—and judging by the size and depth of its puncture wounds, it won’t last long if left out here alone.

Thunder rumbles overhead, and I glance up just as a light sprinkle of rain trickles through the canopy. It splashes into my eyes, onto the bunny’s fur, cold and wet and unrelenting.

And then, I make my third and final mistake.

I tuck the bunny into the crook of my arm and race out of the woods back to the animal clinic. And all the way, a pair of yellow eyes follow.

“Thanks for the ride, Dr. Marjorie.” I give my boss a warm smile as rain pelts the passenger window, reminding me of the hell I could have been experiencing if she hadn’t offered me a lift. The rabbit’s little yellow foot twitches gently as I run my index finger over the crown of his head, and despite everything that happened today, the sight has a smile tipping my lips. Regardless of how it first appeared, the rabbit was found to have only a few minor cuts and scrapes. With just a bath and some fluids, he looks like a brand-new animal.

“Oh, please. I should be thankingyoufor offering to take the little guy home with you tonight,” she says, gesturing to the cardboard box situated between my thighs and the tiny rabbit cowered within. “As much as my wife would have loved to cuddle with him, I’m not sure how the dogs would react to a wild animal in their domain...”

Dr. Marjorie's Southern drawl washes over me as I think of her household—the screaming toddler and the six goldendoodles her wife talked her into—and I’m even more relieved I volunteered to take the rabbit home to monitor overnight.

“It’s no problem. It’ll be good for me to have some company,” I say, regretting my words as soon as they come out. Luckily, Dr. Marjorie doesn’t comment on it.

“Well, you two should have an easy night. Just watch for bleeding, and make sure he’s eating and drinking every couple of hours. We’ll take him to the wildlife sanctuary first thing tomorrow when they open.”

“Sounds good.” I run a finger over the crest of the rabbit’s ears. “You ready to go home, buddy?”

The rabbit twitches—whether in agreement or ominous warning, I cannot tell. Shrugging, I turn toward the door, about to pull open the handle, when Dr. Marjorietaps me on the shoulder. I whip my head, surprise creasing my brow at the sight of a portable black umbrella sitting in the palm of her outstretched hand.

“Here. Take this.”

“Oh… thank you so much.”

“No need to thank me, dear. I can’t believe you were going to walk home in this rain without one!” She shakes her head, causing the ends of her sleek bob to brush her shoulders. “I can’t believe you were going to walk at all. You’re miles from the clinic.”

“Oh yeah… I don’t usually, but my car is in the shop,” I murmur, turning my head to the side so she doesn’t notice my cheeks heating with shame. It’s a bold lie—my car was repoed last month, and I’ve been walking the five miles to and from work ever since—but there’s no way I can tell Marjorie that. “I was hoping the rain would lighten.”

“Well, I’m glad I saw you before you headed out. You both would catch your death in this weather!” she admonishes, reaching over and placing a motherly hand on my shoulder. “If you need a ride in the future, you just let me know. And don’t worry about returning the umbrella, okay?”

“Okay.” I clench the box on my lap tightly as I give her a thin-lipped smile. “I really, really appreciate it.”

She nods, her mud-brown eyes scrutinizing me a little too closely. There’s too much sympathy in the set of her mouth, the slight crinkle at the corners of her eyes—even the way she squeezes my shoulder—like she’s trying to tell me with everything but her words that sheunderstands.That she feelssorryfor me.

And the worst part is that I’m starting to feel that way, too.

“Drive home safe, Dr. M.” I give her a strained smilebefore pushing open the passenger door, all but scrambling onto the pavement. She opens her mouth to say something more, but the slamming of the door cuts her off. Her fingers wave goodbye as she continues down the road, and I stand there holding the cardboard box, watching until her taillights disappear over the hill.

“Well, looks like it’s just you and me now, Mr. Bun,” I murmur, sneaking a glance into the contents of the box. The yellow rabbit is wide awake now, his big black eyes staring aimlessly into the sky as his stomach shrinks and distends with each rapid breath. Clutching the box with one arm, I reach inside and run my index finger over the soft tufts of fur protruding from his sides. Instead of shying away, the rabbit appears to lean into my touch, closing his eyes and letting his ears flop back against his head. A picture of contentment.

But when I pull away, all of that changes.

As soon as my finger leaves his side, the rabbit's eyes pop open, wide and searching as if in distress. His cute little cheeks pull back, revealing two sets of long, blunt, yellowed teeth.

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