Chapter 2 #2
“Your intervention was… unexpected,” I admit, my voice softer than I intended. “Those were Valefar’s minions, sent to ensure I remained trapped. You could have been killed.”
Finn slowly lowers his hands, studying me with newfound curiosity. “So that weird cat really was you? With the tiny horns and the wings that didn’t work?”
“A humiliating approximation of my true form, yes.”
“And those men were… demons?”
I nod. “Lesser ones. Barely worth acknowledging.”
Finn takes another deep breath, then does something I don’t expect. He starts to laugh. It begins as a chuckle, then grows until he’s doubled over, gasping for air.
“I’ve lost my mind,” he wheezes. “Completely lost it. I’ve been working too hard. This is a stress hallucination.”
“I assure you, I’m quite real,” I reply, mildly offended.
“I fed you premium cat food! I bought you a cat bed shaped like a PUMPKIN!”
“Which was DEEPLY undignified,” I growl.
“I took you to work every day! I gave you BELLY RUBS!”
At this, I feel my face grow warm—an unusual sensation for a being of my infernal nature. “Yes, well… I allowed those indignities only to maintain my cover.”
Finn wipes tears of laughter from his eyes. “You PURRED!”
“I did NO such thing!” I protest, perhaps too forcefully. “That was… strategic noise-making to lower your guard.”
His laughter subsides as a new thought seems to occur to him. “Wait, are you… the cat is… did I just lose my pet?”
The plaintive note in his voice catches me off guard. Is he actually… sad about this development?
“You never had a pet,” I clarify. “You had a Duke of Hell temporarily inconvenienced by a curse, which you just broke through your ridiculous, reckless act of selfless protection.”
Finn slowly gets to his feet, keeping the coffee table between us. “So those men—demons—whatever they were… they’re gone?”
“For now. Valefar won’t be pleased they failed.”
“And you’re… free now? The curse is broken?”
I stretch my wings to their full impressive span, nearly touching both walls of his modest living room. “Indeed. Thanks to you.”
“So you’ll… go back to Hell now?” There’s that same note in his voice again, almost like… disappointment?
I open my mouth to confirm that yes, obviously I’ll return to my rightful place, to my thirty legions and my position of power.
But something stops me. Perhaps it’s the memory of Finn facing down demons for me.
Or the way he’d carefully tended my injured wing just moments ago, not knowing I was about to transform.
Or maybe it’s the memory of falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat for fourteen nights in a row.
“I…” For the first time in several millennia, I find myself uncertain. “I should express my… gratitude before departing.”
Finn runs a hand through his already messy hair. “I mean, you could just say thank you. No need to make it weird.”
“Demons don’t say ‘thank you,’” I inform him haughtily. “We repay debts.”
“Well, consider any debt repaid by not eating my soul or whatever it is you usually do.”
I study him more carefully. Despite his obvious shock and confusion, there’s a remarkable lack of fear in his eyes. Caution, yes. Disbelief, certainly. But not terror.
“You’re not afraid of me,” I observe.
He shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Hard to be terrified of someone after you’ve seen them get stuck in an empty tissue box and run around the apartment with it on their head.”
My eyes narrow. “We agreed never to speak of that incident.”
“No, YOU decided that. I never agreed to anything.” His smile widens. “Plus, you’re still wrapped in my Star Wars blanket.”
I glance down at the fabric around my waist, noticing for the first time the tiny spaceships printed on it. How undignified.
With a gesture, I transform the blanket into a more appropriate garment—flowing black robes embroidered with ancient demonic symbols, befitting my station.
“Impressive,” Finn acknowledges. “Can you do that with anything? Because my coffee table could really use an upgrade.”
And just like that, the tension in the room shifts. This ridiculous human is… bantering with me? After discovering I’m a demon lord?
“Your furniture is the least of your concerns,” I point out. “Valefar now knows where I am, and he won’t be pleased that his curse was broken.”
“So these demons might come back? With this Vale-whatever?”
“Valefar. And yes, it’s possible.”
Finn sighs, dropping onto the couch. “Great. Demon home invasion. Just what my week needed.”
I find myself strangely reluctant to leave him in potential danger. After all, he did protect me at great risk to himself. There’s a debt to be paid.
That’s the only reason I’m hesitating. Professional integrity. Nothing more.
“I could…” I begin, then pause, considering my words carefully. “I could offer you protection. Temporarily. Until Valefar loses interest.”
Finn looks up at me, surprise evident in his features. “You’d do that? Why?”
“As I said, demons repay debts. You broke my curse. I ensure your safety.” I say this with appropriate haughtiness, as befits my station.
“Huh.” He studies me with those penetrating hazel eyes, and I have the uncomfortable feeling he’s seeing more than I intend to reveal. “So you’d… what? Hang around like some kind of demonic bodyguard?”
“I would maintain a protective presence, yes.”
“Where would you even stay? You’re seven feet tall with huge wings. My apartment isn’t exactly built for that.”
I glance around the modest space. “I could alter my appearance to something more… compatible with human dwellings. Not the cat form,” I add hastily, seeing his expression. “Something humanoid but less conspicuous than my true form.”
Finn leans back, running a hand through his hair again—a gesture I’ve noticed he makes when thinking. “This is insane. I’m considering having a demon roommate.”
“Duke of Hell,” I correct automatically. “And it would be a temporary arrangement.”
He laughs again, shaking his head. “You know what? Why not. My life was getting too predictable anyway.”
Before I can respond, he stands and approaches me—slowly, but without hesitation. I watch, curious, as he stops directly in front of me, looking up to meet my gaze.
“But if we’re doing this, we need some ground rules. One, no demonic stuff around my patients. Two, no threatening my friends or clients. Three…” He pauses, then offers his hand. “I want to know your actual name. Not your title—your name.”
I stare at his extended hand, this peculiar human gesture. In all my millennia, no mortal has ever asked for my name this way—as an equal, offering connection rather than seeking to command or control.
“Morax,” I reply, slowly extending my clawed hand to carefully grasp his. “My name is Morax.”
His hand is warm in mine, so small compared to my massive claws, yet he doesn’t flinch at the contact. “Nice to officially meet you, Morax. I’m Finn Hughes.”
Our hands remain connected perhaps a moment longer than necessary. When we finally separate, there’s a strange tension in the air between us—not unpleasant, but charged with something I can’t immediately identify.
“So,” Finn says, breaking the silence with forced cheerfulness. “Hungry? I mean, do demons eat? Wait, you’ve been eating cat food for two weeks. That must have been awful.”
“Beyond description,” I agree solemnly. “And yes, in this form, I can consume human food.”
“Great! I make a mean grilled cheese sandwich.” He heads toward the kitchen, then pauses, looking back over his shoulder. “Oh, and Morax? If you’re staying here, you’re helping with the clinic. Consider it rent.”
I open my mouth to protest such an undignified arrangement, but he’s already in the kitchen, humming one of those ridiculous songs he plays when he thinks no one is listening.
This is merely a temporary arrangement, I remind myself. A strategic alliance until Valefar is dealt with.
Yet as I follow him into the kitchen, watching as he moves confidently around the small space, I’m struck by an unusual thought. For the first time in centuries, I’m actually… curious about what happens next.
And when he glances up at me with that warm smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes, I feel an unfamiliar warmth spreading through my chest that has nothing to do with hellfire.
Purely gratitude, I assure myself. Nothing more.
But even I don’t quite believe it.