Page 1 of His Infernal Purr
Prologue
I am Morax, Duke of Hell, Commander of thirty legions, Master of the Seventh Circle, and I am going to disembowel Valefar with his own spine.
The indignity of my current situation cannot be overstated. I am—was—seven feet of terrifying demonic majesty with horns that could gore a rhinoceros. Now? I’m a… a…fluffy cat.
I will rend his flesh from bone for this humiliation.
Rain pelts my fur as I huddle in this disgusting human alleyway, trying to make sense of my new form. My once magnificent wings are now useless appendages flopping pathetically against my back. My imposing horns have been reduced to ridiculous nubs between my ears. And my fur—BY THE NINE HELLS—it’s so FLUFFY I can barely move with dignity.
Valefar’s words echo in my mind: “Only an act of genuine, selfless mortal kindness can break this curse.” He knew exactly what he was doing. Mortals are selfish, corrupt creatures. I could be trapped for centuries.
A sudden light cuts through the darkness, momentarily blinding me.
“Oh my god… what ARE you?”
I summon my most fearsome growl, preparing to strike terror into this human’s heart. “I AM MORAX, DUKE OF HELL, AND YOU WILL COWER BEFORE ME, MORTAL!”
But what emerges is a pathetic “Mrrrrowwwl!”
The human crouches down, and I get my first good look at him. Male, young by human standards, with kind eyes and a gentle expression that immediately irritates me. His clothes are rumpled, spotted with various stains that suggest he works with animals.
I will shred his face for looking at me with such pity.
“Hey there, little buddy,” he coos, extending his hand slowly. “You’re a strange one, aren’t you? Are those… horns? And wings? What happened to you?”
I lunge, intending to take several of his fingers as souvenirs. My deadly attack is somehow interpreted as me headbutting his palm affectionately.
“Aww, you’re friendly! Look at you, all soaking wet. Someone experimented on you, didn’t they? Poor thing.”
I will feast on your entrails for this patronizing tone, human.
He shrugs off his jacket—a soft, worn thing that smells of antiseptic and animal fur—and before I can escape, I’m wrapped up like some kind of infernal burrito.
“I’m Finn. I run the animal rescue clinic two blocks from here. Let’s get you dried off and checked out.”
I struggle mightily, but my new form is pathetically weak, and his hands are surprisingly strong and sure. He tucks me against his chest, and I’m momentarily distracted by the steady beat of his heart and the warmth radiating through his thin shirt.
I am NOT enjoying this. This is DEGRADING. I am a FEARSOME DEMON LORD.
And yet, as he carries me through the rain, whispering reassurances in a low, soothing voice, I find myself… relaxing? No. Impossible. I’m simply conserving my energy for when I destroy him later.
“I’ve never seen anything like you,” he muses as we enter a small building that smells overwhelmingly of animals andcleaning products. “Someone must have been breeding exotic pets. The horns and wings look surgically attached, poor thing. Don’t worry, you’re safe now.”
I am NOT poor. I am NOT a thing. And I certainly don’t need YOUR protection.
But as his fingers gently scratch behind my ears, sending an embarrassingly pleasant sensation down my spine, I decide that perhaps I can tolerate this human’s care… temporarily. Just until I figure out how to break this ridiculous curse.
After all, what better way to study the weakness of mortals than from inside their homes?
It has nothing to do with how unexpectedly nice those ear scratches feel. Nothing at all.
Chapter 1
Living with Finn Hughes is a study in contradictions. On one hand, I am a prisoner in this ridiculous feline form, subjected daily to the indignities of being treated like a common house pet. On the other hand…
I’m not entirely miserable.
Not that I’d ever admit that aloud, even if I could speak properly.
