Page 45 of Demon Sworn
I suppose you can deduce that Doth and I are a lot alike. We’re both pain demons, both obviously unhinged, both enticed by the kill—
And ohmygod. This demon attacking us isn’t Doth.
How embarrassing.
Honest to god, I’m blushing right now.
Raz steps up behind the stranger, appearing more like a vengeance demon than one constructed from nightmares, and raises his dagger. It’s simple, really. Easy. All he does is flick his wrist, and the demon’s blood cascades to the floor.
He won’t die, not without his Center being present, but he will be out of commission for a while.
And…
I don’t recognize him. At all. I don’t know if he’s someone the big bad paid to attack us or if he’s actually the fucker behind all this, but I have no idea who he is. Just a smarmy-looking man, approximately thirty years old, with greasy brown hair flopping in front of a skinny face, a large, proud nose, and muddy eyes, currently opened wide in terror. I know he’s a demon, but besides that? I got nothing.
We’ll have to interrogate him as well as my uncle, and I’m not gonna lie, I totally get butterflies in my stomach like a schoolgirl getting asked to prom. There’s nothing better than a good murder to brighten a Tuesday morning.
“Where’s Doth?” I ask Raz dispassionately, watching the demon fall to the ground. His blood looks quite pretty in the sunlight streaming through the window. Hmm. I wonder if I could make a painting—
“Akor, I think you need to see this,” Raz barks, pulling me from my reverie. I turn to see him standing in the doorway of what appears to be a bedroom—a twin-sized bed with thread-bare blankets, a rickety side table, the pungent scent of musk and sweat, and…
And two dead bodies.
One I recognize immediately as my Uncle Doth, his face haggard away with time and decay and his blond hair wispy. In his arms is an unfamiliar woman. A demon, more than likely, with a shock of orange hair and tan skin. Tan skin that’s currently covered in bruises and scars.
“What the fuck is this?” I demand, unable to tear my eyes away. My uncle appears to be holding the woman tenderly, even in death, as if he tried to protect her from this gruesome fate. I imagine it’s the same way I would hold Katrina if someone were stupid enough to go after us.
Which means…
“She’s his Center,” Raz muses, parroting my own thoughts. He has gone still, his face devoid of any expression. “She must’ve been with him when he was killed.”
“The rest of my uncles’ murder was killed when…” I allow my words to taper off, swallowing the bitter taste of acid that starts to rise.
When I killed them all.
Cal helped me differentiate the truths from the lies way back when, several centuries ago, and one thing was certain—Uncle Doth was the only demon in my entire family who was not a part of the scheme to overthrow our queen and take over Hell with the help of the angel fuckers. The rest of his murder was, though, and sentenced promptly to death by my hand. Well, by the bell, the bell that Lucillania keeps on hand in order to disintegrate demons who don’t have Centers. Hell is all about free will and all, unless that free will turns treasonous. Unless you choose to side with the pompous assholes of the “light.”
I didn’t know Doth found his Center, not that I’m surprised he kept it a secret. He and I…we’re not exactly on speaking terms. We’re more on “stab first and ask questions later” terms. He’s a little pissy that I murdered our entire family. Hence why we came to question him.
“There’s a note,” Raz continues, crouching down to grab a piece of parchment clutched in Doth’s decaying hand. I swear I can see a bit of yellow bone visible through his tattered, wrinkled skin.
When he frees the piece of paper—ohhh, it’s written on pretty parchment paper with hearts and roses. My bleeding heart is overjoyed—he hands it to me and watches my face carefully, gauging my reaction.
She’ll hate you when she learns the truth. She’ll leave you.
She? Katrina?
She’ll hate you.
She’ll hate you.
She’ll hate you.
She’ll leave you.
No.
No.
