Chapter 8
Eight
AMAZRA
Demons have considerably better hearing than mortals. From my place at the edge of the town square, over ten meters from Lilah and Holly, every word spoken between them is audible.
Lilah is unaware of this and has her back to me while using a quiet voice. I am infringing on her privacy. It is disrespectful. Perhaps immoral. Yet I continue to actively listen as she pleads with her friend.
“Please, Holly? I know he doesn’t care about that whole…
fiasco, but I can’t face him right now. Just tell him your plans have changed and you’re walking home with me so he feels relieved of the duty you imposed on him.
Then, once he leaves, you can go meet Max at the waterfall for your moonlight skinny dip.
I’m okay to walk alone. I won’t go near the woods, and the road from here to home is perfectly safe. ”
“Fine,” Holly says while looking in my direction.
Having lived here her entire life, she has robust knowledge of many nonhuman species, including mine.
She knows I can hear them, yet she has not shared this information.
Her behavior this evening does not align with the kindness and friendship she has shown Lilah.
The ensouled have always acted illogically.
Emotionally. I have witnessed it for millennia, in the hell realm and here in the earthly realm.
But the manner in which Holly and the other females treated Lilah tonight confounds me more than any other time in my existence.
Why have they manipulated circumstances to aggrieve someone they seem to care for?
Lilah exhales. I hear it as clearly as if she were standing directly in front of me. The subdued lighting does not diminish my ability to see the tension leave her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she says, then raises one hand to point at Holly. “And we’re going to talk about that stunt tomorrow. You—all of you—have a lot of explaining to do.” The volume of her voice remains low, but its tone has changed. No trace of the previous quavering. While still soft, it is also strong.
In our private conversations, Lilah has shared information about her old life.
She endured much distress while with an unworthy man.
Witnessing her confidence grow each day here has introduced me to a new sensation I have grown to crave—joy.
It pleases me that she is rebounding quickly from the unexpected cruelty of females in whom she has placed trust.
“Yes, hon, that’s better,” Holly says with a brief, warm laugh. “Okay, let’s go talk to your demon.”
Warmth spreads from my core, and without conscious effort, my mouth contorts into the smile I have spent many hours practicing. For her, my Lilah.
“He’s not my demon.”
Tightness grips my midsection. My chest. Physical sensations I should not experience and cannot reconcile with logic. Emotional reactions elicited in response to Lilah. Unpredictable and beyond my control.
Turmoil runs rampant inside me as Lilah and Holly join me at the edge of the town square.
“Are you okay?” Lilah asks, head tilting as she looks up at my face. Into my eyes.
I do not require a mirror to know that the state of my features is no different from usual. Stationary. Neutral. Yet she is aware of the chaos beneath the surface.
“Demons are not susceptible to any manner of unwellness.” The accurate response elicits a small downward turn in her full lips. “I am fine.”
“Look at you, getting comfy with the lingo,” Holly says, then nudges Lilah with her elbow. “You’re rubbing off on him.”
Lilah turns her head, delivering a stern gaze to Holly, who simply laughs in return.
“Thank you for making sure Lilah gets home safely.”
The inhalation of breath Lilah takes is audible.
“See you tomorrow,” Holly says, waving as she walks in the opposite direction.
Lilah remains speechless. Blinking rapidly, she meets my gaze. Her pulse has increased to a speed indicative of physical exertion. “I don’t need you to walk home with me. I’m sure you have work to catch up on at Just Baked after sitting at the bingo event for three hours.”
“I will complete my tasks later, as demons do not require rest. I committed to ensuring you reach your cabin without issue, and I do not break a vow made. If you prefer, I will follow at a distance rather than walk with you.”
“Why in the world would I want that?” Her dark hair shimmers in the moonlight as she shakes her head, raising one hand as I open my mouth to answer. “That was a rhetorical question; a question not intended to require an answer.”
“Why ask a question if you do not wish to hear an answer? This is not rhetorical.”
She laughs, a brief sound that renews the warmth in my core. “That was funny. And cute.” A fresh wave of color rises in her cheeks, and for the first time since calling bingo, she smiles genuinely.
“I did not intend to amuse you, but it pleases me to have done so. I enjoy viewing your smile.” As it always does in her presence, the urge to inhale demands I draw breath. I should resist. I do not.
“Your eyes are glowing like flames again. What causes that?”
“Is that another rhetorical question, or do you wish an answer?”
“Haha, funny guy,” she says, regathering the straps of a large tote bag onto her shoulder. “Should we walk so that you can make good on your promise, and then get back to the work you had planned for tonight, before I guilted you into playing bingo?”
“Demons do not experience guilt. I participated in your event because you wanted me to attend.”
“Exactly. I guilted you into it.”
“There was no guilt, Lilah. Only my desire to please you.”
“Oh,” she says softly. “Well, consider me pleased. And thank you. I’m still getting used to people caring about my happiness. It means a lot to me. You do.”
I offer my hand when she once again shifts the bag as it slips off her shoulder. “Allow me to carry that.”
“That’d be great, thank you.”
Careful not to touch her, I relieve her of the burden, then we fall into step on the sidewalk.
Silence does not bother me; it is a welcome respite after millennia of endless screaming in the hell realm.
Lilah often initiates conversation, seeming to prefer it to the lack thereof, but as we walk through town and its outskirts, she does not engage in dialogue.
Each time I look at her, she appears consumed by thoughts.
If she wished to share them, she would do so without prompting, as is her way.
Her silence continues for the duration, concluding as we reach the edge of the fox shifter enclave.
“I can take it from here,” she says, gesturing to her bag.
“About the, um, prizes at bingo. This is going to sound suspicious, but I wasn’t supposed to win what I won.
The last prize was supposed to be a pretty notebook from Flora’s store, not a—not what it was. My friends pranked me.”
“That does not seem like a kind thing to do to a friend, especially one as gentle and giving as you.”
Fiddling with the wide straps as she adjusts them on her shoulder, she looks up, pink splashed across her cheeks when she meets my gaze.
“I know they meant well. Some things just don’t work out the way we hope.
Anyway, I just wanted you to know that when I told you I’ve had my eye on the prize for a while, I was talking about the prize it was supposed to be.
The notebook from Fae-vorite Things. Not the… ”
“Deluxe demon dildo,” I say, when she does not complete the statement.
A high-pitched squeak leaves her lips as she squeezes her eyes shut. “Yes, that. That’s not what I wanted.”
Again, the tightening sensation grips my midsection.
“You need not be embarrassed, Lilah. Nobody in attendance will think the actions of your friends are indicative of your personal desires. Perhaps this will distract and please you,” I say, removing the paper from my pocket and offering it when she opens her eyes.
“This is your prize. Dinner for two at Charming Bites.”
“And I would like you to enjoy it.”
“You would? Really?” Wide-eyed now, dark eyelashes fluttering against rosy cheeks, she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth while looking up at me, awaiting my answer to what must not be a rhetorical question.
“Yes. It is an impractical prize for a demon, as we do not require sustenance. I am sure that you and another mortal will enjoy it, as I have heard many in town discussing the favorable quality of the food.”
“You… you’re just giving it to me? To use with someone else?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” she says, shoulders drooping as she takes possession of the certificate. “Thank you.” Though polite, her words are devoid of emotion. “Good night, Amazra.”
Giving her the prize was supposed to bring her joy, yet her posture as she walks away and the sound of muffled sniffling indicate I have done the opposite.