Page 40 of Demon Loved
“Where’s Katrina?” I demand, pushing myself off the wall and stalking towards him. His large muscles flex as he uncrosses them, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Well, where the fuck is she?”
He begins to sign to me rapidly in demonic sign language.
Don’t be an asshole. Where is she?he asks, confusing the ever-loving shit out of me.
“She has decathlon after school! With you!” I roar, resisting the urge to strangle him. It might actually be difficult, considering he’s built like a fucking tree trunk. I’m not even sure if both of my hands could fit around his thick neck, but I’ll sure as fuck try.
I sent her to your office about fifteen minutes ago,Kastros signs, and this time, there’s the distinct glaze of panic in his dark eyes.She wanted you to ride home with us, but she was worried it would cause suspicion if you showed up here.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!
We’ve been on high alert since the confrontation with the angels and then with her parents. We haven’t heard from either group in about a week, but instead of lulling me into a false sense of security, I’m becoming restless. Antsy. The need to do something,anything, is riding me hard.
Did something happen? A vision of Katrina being captured by the angel fuckers plays on a loop in my head, and I feel physically nauseous. My heart threatens to drop through my stomach like a heavy rock and smash to the ground, leaving nothing but a paint-like splatter of blood. If something happened to her…
I can’t think like that. I would quite literally go insane.
“Come on,” I hiss, turning on my heel and walking the familiar pathway between the decathlon classroom and my office. Surely, if she was coming to see me, I would’ve seen her. So something, or someone, must’ve derailed her.
Another image pops to the forefront of my mind, this one depicting a lifeless Katrina lying on the ground with blood pooling around her. Mother fuck. My own mind is filling me up with nightmares. I can feel the tenuous grip I have on my sanity snapping as my claws push through my fingers. My wings rustle in my back, threatening to break free, but I reel them in. The last thing I need is to demon-out right here in the middle of the fucking school.
Kastros isn’t faring much better. His eyes are red-rimmed as his entire body oozes vengeance and pain. Lots of fucking pain. If I didn’t know any better, I would almost say he’s a pain demon like Akor.
A low noise emits from the center of my chest, and it takes me a moment to realize I’m growling like a feral animal.
“Katrina!” My voice is more beast than human, more monster than man. I can barely speak through my sharpening canines as I glance in both directions, half expecting an angelic asshole to leap around a corner with a blade pressed to Katrina’s throat.
What I see is ten times worse.
It’s Katrina…with a high school boy.
He says something to her too softly for me to hear, and she releases a genuine laugh, a wide smile blossoming on her beautiful face. Anger thrums through my body as I stare at the unfamiliar man with narrowed-eye suspicion. Who the fuck is he? And why is he talking to Katrina?
And why the fuck is she laughing?
The relief I felt at seeing her alive and unharmed begins to abate as jealousy takes its place.
Kastros releases a low, inhumane growl from behind me, and I know his thoughts are on the same wavelength as mine. Demons are naturally possessive of things they think belong to them, but that possessiveness is nothing compared to what they feel for their Centers, for their mates, when they claim them as their own—and not kill them. I want to lunge across the hallway and tear the boy limb from limb, cackling maniacally as I feast on his blood.
But that’s not me. I’m not as impulsive in my decisions as Akor or as passionate as Van. As the leader, it’s my job to think things through and reach a rational decision—
Why the fuck is he touching her arm?!?
This punk is fortunate that I have Kastros with me and not one of the other demons. Since he used to be leader, he knows just as well as I do that we can’t always act recklessly. We have to think through every decision. Killing this guy would mean a body. A body would mean cops, unless we could make him into a zombie like we did with Jason. And then there are the security cameras to think about…
No, we can’t murder this kid. Which is quite a shame, if you ask me.
“Is this guy bothering you?” I ask roughly as I race forward, barely wrangling the growl that threatens to escape. I’m pretty sure my lips are vibrating, though, so I can only pray that any sound I make is soft enough that he doesn’t hear. I move to stand protectively beside Katrina. Then I turn towards the asswad with narrowed eyes.
Katrina merely rolls her eyes, as if we’re normal, jealous boyfriends instead of bloodthirsty demons from Hell. She’s lucky she’s so damn cute.
“Guys, this is David. Stacy’sboyfriend.” She stresses the word “boyfriend” with a pointed look first at me and then at Kastros. I guess we didn’t hide our reactions as well as I hoped.
Kastros merely grunts in greeting, hands shoved into his pockets to obscure his claws, but I shift to stand slightly in front of Katrina. I’m sure my reaction is raising a billion red flags, but I don’t give a damn. This kid is standing way too close to her.
“And where is Stacy?” I bite out, thinking about how satisfying it would be to claw off his face. They do that in Hell, actually. It’s sort of like an arts-and-crafts station for human souls—you claw off the human’s face, and then it’s your choice what you do with the skin. There are a lot of fucked-up masks down there. I’m pretty sure someone even made one into a basketball.
As if my scathing words called her, the girl in question appears around the corner of the hall, juggling a huge ass painting she must’ve made for art class.
