Page 9 of Demon Stalked
“Kator?” Katrina quirks an eyebrow as he nods his head eagerly.
“It’s Katrina and Akor combined! Kator!”
“Kator,” I muse, trying to quell my growing smile. “I like it.”
Katrina gives the kitten another scratch, a delicate blush staining her cheeks, before she nods in agreement. “Kator it is.”
Katrina and Akor.
Kator.
I like it.
We’ll be like Brangelina…but without the breakup.
Because once I make her mine, I’m never letting her sexy ass go again.
4
VAN
Katrina’s ignoring me. Women never ignore me—it’s unheard of, unnatural. It’s infuriating.
I sit at my desk, my chin on my hand, dark red stubble poking at my palm because I haven’t shaved since Katrina walked out on us. What’s the point?
I show up at this ridiculously useless human job every day, only so that I can see her. But she has refused my summons.
Who refuses a summons? If we did that, we’d be flayed alive, literally.
I scratch at my starched shirt, annoyed that I have to dress up in order to play guidance counselor to these rich kids. I want to tell them all to go away. But they keep showing up because of my stupid fucking lust power.
Girl after girl comes into my office each day, and I hardly have a minute to think. I’ve taken to ignoring them, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference. I’m not even looking at the sobbing teenage girl in front of me right now—Janie, I think her name is. Whatever her problem, it’s nothing compared to mine.
Instead, I’m doodling Katrina’s name in a notebook and bemoaning the whole damn universe.
I’ve lost the one person who can eclipse lust with something better, something so much more powerful and meaningful—love. Katrina is the only woman who’s ever made my heart jump up and take notice.
If she thinks I’m giving that up just because being around her might get me beheaded, she’s got another think coming.
And yes, it’s think. Humans fucked that saying up over the years because they can’t fucking pronounce words that end in ‘k.’
I just need to win Katrina back.
I know Akor’s got this whole plan with a fucking menagerie of animals. Jason was wiggling around my room last night trying to tell me about it.
I need a plan like that. Some grand gesture.
Like in the movies.
I look up from my notebook at the sobbing girl in front of me. She’s semi-attractive. She must have had at least a boyfriend or two.
“Quick, what’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for you?” I ask her, interrupting whatever lame story she was telling.
She stops short, her big blue eyes sloppy with tears. “Um, I dunno.”
Fucking useless. I stand up and yank open the door to my office. I look out at Clara, an older lady with a bob cut that’s dyed to perfection and two arm braces. “Most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for you?” I ask her.
“My ex-husband wrote me a poem once.”
