Epilogue #2
“Business from home?” Finn asks, using our private euphemism for Hell.
“Just the quarterly report from my territories,” I explain, scanning the contents. “Everything remains in order, though apparently there’s been another attempt to breach the eastern boundaries of the Obsidian Plains.”
“Anything serious?”
“Nothing my lieutenant couldn’t handle.” I roll the scroll back up, setting it aside. “The bureaucracy of Hell continues unabated, with or without my physical presence.”
This is another aspect of our new normal—my occasional remote management of my hellish holdings, conducted primarily through messenger ravens and the small portal I maintain in what was once a storage closet but is now my office.
I return to Hell physically only when absolutely necessary, and always briefly.
Finn stretches, yawning widely. “Speaking of physical presence, I believe you promised me a massage tonight. These hellhound vaccinations were murder on my back.”
“Did I?” I ask with feigned innocence. “I don’t recall making such a promise.”
“It was strongly implied,” he insists, already heading toward the bedroom with expectant look.
“Well, if it was implied…” I follow, already planning to turn the massage into something considerably more interesting.
Later, as we lie tangled together in our custom bed, Finn’s breathing evening out as he drifts toward sleep, I find myself reflecting on the strange path that brought us here.
A curse meant to humiliate me instead led me to the one being in all the universes who sees me—truly sees me—not as a fearsome Duke of Hell, but simply as Morax.
Who loves me not despite what I am but inclusive of all that I am.
Who has shown me that power can take forms I never considered, that strength exists in gentleness, that a small veterinary clinic can be more fulfilling than commanding legions.
“What are you thinking about?” Finn mumbles sleepily against my chest. “You’ve got that intense staring-into-the-void expression.”
“I’m contemplating the ineffable mysteries of existence and the curious workings of fate,” I reply solemnly.
He snorts. “So, the usual light bedtime thoughts.”
“Indeed.”
He props himself up on one elbow, suddenly more awake. “You know what I was thinking about earlier, while vaccinating hellhounds?”
“How fortunate you are to have me in your life?” I suggest.
“Besides that,” he grins. “I was thinking about how, if Valefar hadn’t cursed you, if I hadn’t found you in that alley… we never would have met. Our worlds never would have collided.”
“An unsettling thought,” I agree.
“So in a weird way… we kind of owe him?”
I growl reflexively at the suggestion. “We owe Valefar nothing. His intentions were malicious. Any positive outcome was entirely accidental.”
“Yeah, but still,” Finn persists, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Maybe we should send him a thank-you card. ‘Thanks for the curse that led to true love. Best wishes, Morax and Finn.’”
“I will throw you off this bed,” I threaten without heat.
He laughs, settling back against my chest. “Fine, no thank-you card. But I’m still grateful it happened. Even the part where you got stuck in the tissue box and ran around the apartment in a panic.”
“We agreed never to speak of that incident,” I remind him stiffly.
“No, YOU decided that. I never agreed to anything,” he counters, echoing our conversation from months ago.
I silence him with a kiss, which proves an effective strategy as always.
When we separate, his expression turns more serious again. “I love you, you know. Demonic attitude, intimidation tactics, tissue box incidents, and all.”
“And I love you,” I reply softly, the words coming easily now after months of practice. “Ridiculous compassion, reckless bravery, inappropriate thank-you card suggestions, and all.”
He smiles, nestling closer. “We make a good team.”
“The best,” I agree, wrapping my wings around him in our private gesture of intimacy. “Now sleep. The chaos sprites are coming for their annual checkups tomorrow, and you’ll need your energy.”
“Mmm, joy,” he mumbles, already drifting off again. “Wake me if any interdimensional emergencies come up.”
“I always do.”
As he falls asleep in my arms, I allow myself to imagine our future—centuries of this, of him, of us. Of building something unique and unprecedented across dimensions. Of redefining what it means to be demonic, to be human, to be together.
From cursed cat to veterinary clinic partner, from Duke of Hell to devoted lover—my existence has transformed in ways I never could have predicted.
And though I would never admit it aloud (especially to Finn, who would be insufferably smug), perhaps there is something to be said for fate, for curses that become blessings, for finding love in the most unlikely of places.
Who would have thought that the greatest adventure of my immortal existence would begin with being rescued by a kind-hearted veterinarian who saw something worth saving in a hissing, fluffy demon cat?
Purr-haps the universe has a sense of humor after all.
I smile at my own terrible pun, an unfortunate habit I’ve acquired from Finn, and allow myself to drift into contented slumber, secure in the knowledge that whatever comes next—be it hellhound escapes, interdimensional parasites, or the occasional demonic power struggle—we’ll face it together.
And really, what more could any demon ask for?