Page 272 of Castings & Curses

She nearly jumps five feet off the sandy ground.

I’m not obtuse, I know my appearance is quite menacing, and I’ve taken many measures to ensure it stays that way. I prefer to be left alone, lest I am engaging in satisfying my desires. Life is better lived alone, there are far less disappointments and casualties that way. With my goals of leaving this Hellhole in which I’ve been enslaved, it is best I have no attachments, no matter how trivial they may be. For when I finally get my position as a Contractor Demon, I won’t need the company of demons like Roche to satisfy me.

The fragile balance of holding life in my hands will be enough.

“And if I don’t?” she asks, her voice clear as a bell, void of all fear despite her body language.

“You are a lost soul, Mercy, something we don’t see much of in these parts. Your light will appeal to others who may not be quite as… chaste or honorable in aiding you.”

She turns to me, her eyes glistening with concern. “A lost soul?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper.

“I suspect so, yes.”

“B-but… you don’t know for sure?” She swallows nervously as we pass a band of young demons, and I don’t miss the flicker of interest in their eyes as they rake over her appearance, forked tongues licking their lips.

“That is what I intend to find out when we arrive home.” I slide my hand around her waist, careful not to give too much sensation as I do so. The movement makes her shift, but she doesn’t fight it, though I can see the heat in her cheeks rise as I do.

“What are we going to do exactly?” she asks as she swallows nervously.

I fix my gaze on her for a moment, thinking about how to answer her. My cock twitches—only minimally—at her suggestion. No doubt a leftover longing from what had almost transpired in my office with Roche. Thank God we’d been interrupted. That would have been quite a blunder.

Though Mercy is quite attractive, I prefer my sexual trysts to be a bit more seasoned. Teenagers don’t have a handle on their pleasure yet, many are just dipping their toes in the water of desire. Such things make them pliable, amenable to making contracts, to selling their souls. There is no challenge, they are simply too emotional and uneducated in all matters to make informed decisions and reap the consequences.

But a woman who has experimented, who has spent ample time discovering her body, what pleases her, a woman whose boundaries need to be pushed, challenged, whose pleasure is in dire need of expansion, in need of someone to help them flourish and discover their lustful power… Well, that is more my speed.

Sadly, good girls do not exist down here, and even though demons and succubi are more than capable of channeling innocence, they lack the realness. The true ability to understand what it means to be tainted with darkness—they have been bred in darkness, after all.

“We are going to have dinner, and then I am going to investigate your claim and we will assess you to find out if you are indeed what I think you are.”

“And then what? If I am a lost soul, what happens then?” she asks as she leans into my side just as we pass a hellhound who looks to be dining on the carcass of an animal that I can’t quite distinguish from the mangled mass of blood, bone, and muscle. Saliva drips from the large beast’s fangs, and I feel Mercy tremble.

I run my hand against the small of her back, hoping to quell her fear at the moment. Hellhounds can smell fear.

“We will find where it is you belong, Mercy. That I can promise you.”

* * *

Mercy sitsdown in one of my dining room chairs, looking quite small against the high, ornate backing.

“You’ve got some serious style, Mr. Endor,” she says as she gapes at the ceiling, her gaze fixed on the black chandelier.

Amber light fills the already dark room, and I have to fight a smile. I don’t bring many people back to my home, therefore compliments on my Gothic decor is quite an anomaly, but for some reason her words make me feel a slight twinge of pride.

“I am glad my home amuses you so.” I grab the tray of chicken and potatoes from the oven, my mouth watering at the sight. I could cook if I really wanted to, but I don’t particularly see the point. I live alone and have very few demons I actually consider friends, and going to the grocery store down here means having to socialize, something I see no need for.

Which is why I opt for pre-prepared meals delivered by the Imps.

While on earth one might pay money for such a service, but currency is different down here. Hawthorne and his family are indebted to me. I’d freed one of their own after buying them out from the battlegrounds they were forced to serve.

While Imp battles are a frequent form of entertainment around here, this particular Imp was not the best of the bunch, and I did not see it pertinent to keep them on the roster if they did not add any value. I purchased the Imp’s freedom, an act for which his family kindly repays me with whatever I need.

Fortunately, all I need is a home-cooked meal, a hot shower, and clean sheets. I am a simple man.

I don’t waste time as I prepare our plates, and Mercy quiets down. When I set the dish in front of her, her eyebrows furrow and she looks pained.

Maybe a little sick.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

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