Page 3 of Demon Loved
I look towards the emergency exit and see Zolroth to my left, his short cropped hair and dark skin lit eerily by the light shining from the foyer and refracting off the molten glass. His hand is raised, and I hear glass shattering somewhere. A ripping sound starts, and one of the wall pads underneath the basketball goal shreds to bits before an axe with a bright red handle flies through it. The axe zings through the air and lands in Zolroth’s hand. I realize with a start that he’s holding the emergency fire axe, the one that our school should have gotten rid of ages ago, but hid behind some wall pads instead.
It takes another second for my shocked brain to process the fact that he literally just lifted his hand and something flew to him.
What the fuck?
The angel isn’t as slow on the uptake as I am. None of this shit is brand new to him. His damn mates didn’t keep their magical powers a secret like mine did, so he’s not in shock and he doesn’t hesitate. The white-winged fury swings his scythe in a deadly arc toward Zolroth, who turns the axe sideways and throws it with a flick of his wrist, like it’s a frisbee.
Watching that scythe swing down makes my stomach roil in agony, and I lurch towards Zolroth on instinct.
Kastros yanks me back, and Van hits me with a bolt of lust that dazes me enough to stop my feet, but not enough to stop my eyes from watching that scythe slice through the front of Zolroth’s abdomen like it’s butter.
1
Van
I lingerin the halls of Lakewood Prep like a pervert, my eyes searching the sea of short blue uniform skirts for a girl with pink curls and a smile so lush, it makes my fiery heart freeze up. Underage girls bat their eyes, but I look right past them, searching for my mate, my beautiful Center, Katrina.
When she first summoned us, I thought that her summons would be like any other human spell—a selfish wish cast by some lazy human too entitled to work for what they actually want in life. But when we popped into this realm at the address we were given for the soul in question, I was shocked.
We saw Adam, Katrina’s four-year-old little brother, a little tike with a mop of sloppy brown hair that nearly stood up as straight as Akor’s mohawk, playing in the early morning light in his living room, holding a train while he sat on the leather couch in a fancy-ass room all alone. At the time, I thought that there was some angel flock snickering in the bushes, pointing at us as their shoulders shook with silent laughter because they’d somehow managed to teach an infant how to conduct a summoning spell.
We’d responded anyway—part of the pact demons make when they join a murder is to answer summons and try to convert souls to Hell—but this summons wasn’t a prank. And it wasn’t a spell by some entitled nitwit.
When I’d seen Katrina at the base of the stairs that led from her living room, my mouth had gone dry and my dick had perked up (not that unusual of an occurrence for a lust demon), but whatwasunusual was the way that my heart had gonethu-thud.
Just like it does when I spot her now, head down, books clutched tightly to her chest, those luminous blue eyes glued firmly to the speckled tile floor as she tries to dart from class to class unseen. As if she could ever be invisible.
My Katrina is just precious, and I both love and curse the fact that we got her a new set of uniforms that stretch in a delicious way across her breasts. I both appreciate and hate how she’s covering them from view so that no one else can see, because I can’t see either. I both adore and despise how she’s trying so damn hard to protect us because she cares. I love that she cares that damn much. It’s the most selfless thing any being has ever done for me. But I hate that she believes that being our Center leaves us too vulnerable, and that we should turn our backs and act like she doesn’t exist.
It leaves us vulnerable, yes, but sometimes, the risk is worth it.
She’s worth it.
I dart forward into the crowd, sliding down the beige hallway between students, using the taller football players to block her view of me in case she dares to look up from her adorable pink Keds.
I just have to get close enough to convince her that what happened the night of the dance was an accident. A fluke. No big deal.
She hasn’t listened to reason since that night, when a fucking angel attacked and nearly gutted Zolroth, the British material demon in our murder.
We’d fought the bastard halo humpers off, and we’re fine, despite what she thinks. But Katrina’s been stonewalling all of us—me and my murder. Not one of the five of us has been able to get through to her.
Back in Hell, there’s a saying, ‘Human will can be one of three things—hard as a blade, soft as a cloud, or as changeable as the wind.’ We have to focus on the souls who fall into the last two categories. Katrina is a bit like the wind, blowing hot and cold.
I think the wind is about to change.
Because I’m going to make it change.
Sometimes, when someone you love is too stuck in their own head to see the good, you have to give them hard love. You have to push them over a cliff and then catch them when they fall.
Katrina’s one good, heartfelt shove from taking us back.
I’m ready to grab her andthrusther over that edge,ramher,pokeher,prodher,bangher with my reasons,jamall my points into her so hard she’ll be unable to speak, take thatplunge… Dammit. My dick gets hard thinking of all the ways I want to convince her to listen.
I haven’t cared to convince anyone in centuries. But she’s not just anyone.
I lose sight of her for a second, then realize she’s pushed open the door to the girls’ bathroom. I hurry forward so that I can catch up with her, weaving around a scrawny senior who just went through a growth spurt and looks like a bean sprout.
A hint of her kiwi shampoo floats back to me on the air as I get closer. I inhale and resolve myself to make this happen. I shove open the door to the girls’ bathroom, letting it smack the wall. This particular bathroom is exclusive to the senior girls, if I recall correctly. Not officially, of course, but I’ve had girls in my office complaining that Janie St. James and her crew attacked them for using this bathroom. Apparently, it’s the best place to smoke on campus without getting caught.
