Page 10 of His Infernal Purr
“Right.” He takes another bite of pizza, studying me. “You know, it’s okay if you just want to stay for a while. You don’t need an excuse.”
I bristle at the suggestion. “I don’t make excuses. I am Morax, Duke of—”
“—Hell, Commander of Thirty Legions, yeah, I know.” Finn finishes with a grin. “You mention it approximately twelve times a day.”
“I do not—” I start to protest, then catch the teasing look in his eyes. “You’re mocking me.”
“Just a little.” His smile softens. “Look, I’m just saying… you can stay. If you want to. No demon politics required.”
Something warm unfurls in my chest at his words. Stay. He wants me to stay.
This is dangerous. Attachment to a mortal is beneath me.
And yet…
“I’ll consider it,” I reply, striving for indifference despite the strange flutter in my chest.
Finn seems satisfied with that response, turning the conversation to plans for the raccoon’s recovery. But later that night, as he sleeps peacefully in his bed (I’ve taken to sleeping on the couch, despite his offers to “figure out sleeping arrangements”), I find myself watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest, listening to his soft breathing.
This is not what I expected when I was cursed.
I expected to break free, exact revenge, and return triumphantly to Hell. Instead, I’m contemplating extended time on Earth, working in an animal clinic, all because of one unusually kind human with laughing eyes and gentle hands.
I need to do something about these… feelings.
The next morning, I make a decision. If I’m experiencing this unprecedented attraction to Finn, I should approach it as I would any other conquest. Strategically. Deliberately.
I need to court him. Properly. As befits a Duke of Hell.
Chapter 4
My first attempt at demonic courtship occurs the following day. In Hell, courtship typically involves presenting potential mates with impressive gifts—traditionally the heads of enemies or rare treasures stolen from other realms.
Since I doubt Finn would appreciate severed heads (he gets queasy when patients need stitches), I opt for treasure. While he’s busy with morning appointments, I use a small portion of my restored powers to conjure an appropriate gift—a solid gold caduceus encrusted with rubies and black diamonds, roughly three feet tall and impressively heavy.
I place it prominently in the center of the living room, eagerly awaiting his reaction when he comes upstairs for lunch.
“WHAT THE—” Finn stops dead in the doorway, staring at the gleaming monstrosity. “Morax, what is THAT?”
“A gift,” I announce proudly. “A symbol of healing and medicine, crafted from the finest gold and gemstones. Worthy of your skills as a healer.”
He approaches it cautiously, as though it might bite. “It’s… very shiny.”
“The rubies represent the blood you’ve saved, and the diamonds the darkness you’ve pulled patients back from,” I explain, pleased with my symbolic choices.
Finn runs a hand through his hair—that gesture I’ve come to recognize as a sign of distress rather than contemplation. “Morax, this is… wow. It’s certainly… something.”
“You don’t like it,” I state flatly, disappointment flooding me.
“No! I mean, it’s beautiful, really. It’s just… where would I put it? It’s bigger than my coffee table. And, um, where did it come from exactly?”
“I created it,” I say with pride.
“Created it? Like, magically?”
“Of course.”
“Out of what?” he asks suspiciously.
