Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
KAY
I’m not sure what I expected after spilling my guts to a demon prince. A follow-up conversation? A lingering glance? A tension-relieving fuck? Maybe a signed emotional support dagger? Instead, I got a note.
Tidy handwriting. Formal as ever.
You will train with Captain Iskar. I am unavailable this morning. —C
No “Thank you for your traumatic monologue.” No “Nice breakdown, I’ll add it to your file.” No “Sorry I emotionally gutted you and then ghosted.”
I clutch the note in my hand as I head back toward my room, boots scuffing over cool stone.
I should be grateful. The captain was professional.
Gruff but not cruel. She didn’t go easy on me, and I didn’t want her to.
But still. It felt… wrong. Empty. Like she was patching a hole that wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place.
I turn the note over again, hoping there’s something on the back.
A second message. Even just a dumb doodle.
Nothing. Of course not. I hate how easily this place gets under my skin.
How fast I’ve started to need things I didn’t ask for.
His voice. His steadiness. The strange way he listens like my thoughts are worth archiving.
I told him too much last night. Maybe this is my punishment for forgetting who I am.
The door closes behind me with a soft thud.
The room is quiet. Too quiet. George would be losing his mind right now.
Sprinting from wall to wall, screaming at invisible ghosts, shredding an entire woven rug just because he could.
The silence stretches like skin over bone.
I peel off my outer layer, let the tunic hit the floor, and flop face-first onto the bed.
I lie there for maybe thirty seconds, face buried in the blanket, breathing in the scent of smoke and something faintly floral.
Probably Caziel. Of course.
Now even the air mocks me.
I exhale through my nose. The silence presses closer. Then—CRASH.
I bolt upright so fast I almost roll off the bed. Another sound—a thud, followed by a screech. Sharp. Familiar. Yowling. It’s wild. Feral. Offended. I freeze.
That can’t be—
Another shriek. The unmistakable sound of claws meeting furniture.
“MrrreeEOOOOOw!”
My brain short-circuits.
No.
No way.
I stumble into the main room, barefoot and wide-eyed.
Sure I’m hallucinatin, but there he is. George.
Pacing the length of the sofa like he owns it, tail bottle-brushed, eyes wide, yowling like a banshee.
His orange fur’s a mess. One ear—the one missing a chunk out of the tip—is sideways.
He’s already knocked over a decorative bowl of what might be magically polished stones. He turns. Sees me. And screams louder.
“GEORGE?!
He leaps off the couch. Straight into my arms. Claws extended, limbs splayed, vibrating with outrage. He bites my shoulder and purrs at the same time. I collapse to my knees on the rug, cradling his drama-queen body against my chest, tears spilling freely down my cheeks.
“I thought—oh my god—I thought you were gone.”
He headbutts my chin and grumbles at me while I laugh. Messy, hiccuping, ridiculous laughter. He’s here. He’s real.
Behind me, the door shifts. I glance up.
Caziel stands in the archway, cloak half-unfastened, expression unreadable.
He looks like he’s been run through the dryer a few times.
Deliciously rumpled. His hair sticks up at odd angles like he’s been running a sweaty hand through it.
A hand that is… bandaged? I blink, still on the floor, George climbing up my shoulder like a tree.
“You?”
Caziel nods once.
I don’t have words. Just a heartbeat loud in my chest and the feeling of something I didn’t know I needed until this exact second: Someone showing up for me. Not with promises. With proof.
George is purring and growling at the same time.
His tail whips my cheek as he rearranges himself on my lap like royalty returning to his throne.
He smells like dust and bad decisions. I’m still kneeling on the floor, too overwhelmed to move.
The weight of him—the realness—makes my chest ache.
Caziel stands a few feet away, watching us both like we’re some volatile magical experiment.
“You really brought him back,” I say again.
He nods once. “Yes.”
I wait for more. A how. A why. A something. It doesn’t come.
“Seriously?” I prod. “You’re just going to leave it at that?”
He doesn’t blink. “Yes.
I narrow my eyes. “You’re not going to tell me how.”
“I am not.”
“And I’m just supposed to be okay with that.”
“You’re not injured. Neither is the cat. That is enough.”
“Could I—?” Go back the same way?
Caz shakes his head no, and I refuse to let my disappointment ruin this moment. George lifts his head to yowl directly into my face. Caziel’s mouth twitches, but not in a smile.
“The Beast,” he says, with the kind of solemnity most people reserve for natural disasters, “bit me twice. He knocked over three ritual bowls and attempted to kill a broom.” I snort.
“He also defiled a ceremonial robe and screamed at an orb of scrying light for twenty minutes without pause.” I’m fully laughing now. “Then he ate part of a book.”
“Of course he did.”
Caziel exhales like this whole thing personally offended him on a metaphysical level.
“I was prepared for resistance,” he says. “I was not prepared for a creature that hisses mid-air and refuses to be bribed.”
I grin so hard my face hurts. “And yet… you still brought him.
He says nothing. But his gaze softens just enough to give him away. I stroke George’s fur, still trying to process. “You even grabbed his food?”
“It was under the sink. Blue bag. Like you said.”
“I didn’t know it was a list.” My chest feels tight. My throat blocked. The corners of my eyes burn as I hold back tears.
“I left the box,” he says flatly. “It was full of feces. The beast and I have come to an understanding.”
George lets out a burbling grumble from my lap. I raise my eyebrows.
“He agreed not to shit in a sacred hallway?”
Caziel inclines his head, dead serious. “That was the bargain.”
God, I can’t believe this is happening.
“I thought he was gone,” I whisper. “I thought I’d never see him again.”
“You said he was important.”
My throat tightens.
He doesn’t say it with fanfare or flourish. Just fact. Like the act of honoring that importance was obvious. Caziel steps forward, setting a small satchel on the table beside me. I glance at it, brows drawing together.
“What’s this?”
“Your medication. The one in the orange bottle. It was unopened.”
I open the flap slowly, half afraid I’ll wake up from this whole thing and….what? Find myself at home? Sure enough—there it is. My name. The white label. My meds. I blink furiously. Willing the tears to stay back.
He continues, “And, as you noted, you were likely low on… supplies.”
I pause.
“…You mean tampons?”
“I asked your neighbor,” he says without a flicker of shame, “but she didn’t have any. She directed me to a place called Target.”
Oh no.
No no no.
I’m already choking on laughter as I picture him—this tall, sharp-jawed hell-prince—standing under a fluorescent light in the feminine care aisle, surrounded by pastel packaging and glittery signage. We fall into silence for a moment.
I run my fingers through George’s fur. He stretches, fangs peeking out in a dramatic yawn, then settles again like he’s always belonged here.
I lift my eyes to Caziel.
“You didn’t have to do this.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t even tell me you were going to try.”
“I wasn’t sure I could.
I swallow. “You still haven’t told me how you managed it.”
“No,” he agrees. “And I don’t intend to.”
“Why not?”
It’s a battle of wills I don’t intend to lose, staring him down as I wait for his answer.
That should bother me. And maybe it does, a little, but more than that, it stuns me. Because whatever it took—whatever cost he’s not naming—he paid it. Not for power. Not for duty. For me.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” I say.
Caziel just watches me.
“You don’t have to. I rescued your beast of my own volition. You did not ask and therefore it is not something that requires repayment”
I don’t know what to say to that. Instead I clutch George to my chest as he grumbles.
Some time later, George is finally eating.
His food is in a small ceramic bowl Caziel must’ve conjured—or stolen—because I don’t remember seeing it before.
I sit cross-legged on the floor nearby, running my fingers through his orange fluff and trying not to cry again.
Caziel stands near the hearth, arms folded, gaze flicking between me and The Beast like he’s still expecting another act of violence.
He’s not wrong.
“Okay,” I say eventually. “I have to ask.” Caziel looks over. “Did you dress like that to go to Earth?”
He raises a brow. “No. I wore traditional Earth attire.”
I blink. “You what?”
He exhales. “I acquired garments appropriate to the local climate and customs.”
“You went shopping?”
“I am not entirely useless. I have bartered at the Ember Market.”
The snort that escapes me is rude and sudden and deeply satisfying.
“I need pictures.”
“There are none.”
“A crime.”
“I did not wish to draw attention.”
“Oh yeah, nothing draws attention like a 6’5” grim reaper in jeans.”
He sighs. “I followed visual patterns from your memories. I chose denim pants. And a dark jacket.”
“Denim,” I repeat, wiping my eyes. “Caziel. You went to Target in dad jeans.”
He doesn’t respond which means I’m right, and that knowledge will sustain me for years.
“Let’s circle back to that, though,” I say. “So you went to Target.”
“I did.”
“And?” He doesn’t answer me and I can’t help jutting out my lower lip in a pout to put any spoiled prince to shame. “Oh come on. I’ve been here in a foreign land learning about you and your customs. At least give me something to imagine.”
“It was overwhelming.”
I grin, “Accurate.”
“There were people everywhere. So many noises. Displays. Colors. And a bullseye painted on the front.”
I blink.
“…Yes?”
Caziel stares at me, baffled. “Why use a target if the store sells no weapons?”
I choke on my own laughter. George startles and bats at my chin.
“Wait, wait—you thought it was an armory?!”
“It was a reasonable assumption. The symbol indicated combat.”
“Oh my god.”
“And yet they offered soap. Tinsel. Inflatable furniture.”
“And tampons.”
“Eventually. Yes.”
He sounds… offended. Personally affronted by the bait-and-switch of American retail.
“You know what’s worse?” I say, grinning. “You can get weapons. Just not there.”
He frowns. “You mean in a separate shop?”
“No, I mean like. Walmart. A pawn shop. Online. In your neighbor’s sock drawer.”
Caziel goes very still.
“You allow untrained civilians access to weapons?”
“Yes.”
“Freely?”
“Yes.”
“For what purpose?”
“I assume because humans have terrible judgment and no ability to self-regulate.”
He stares at me, something new flickering behind his eyes. Horror, I think. Or revulsion. Or maybe it’s just the bone-deep disappointment of a logical creature in a lawless world.
“That is deeply irresponsible,” he says flatly.
“I’m aware.”
“You have no required combat training.”
“Nope.”
“No registration systems.”
“Some places do,” I offer weakly.
“But not all?”
“Nope.”
He shakes his head slowly. “You live in chaos.”
“Now you see why I needed antidepressants.”
George worms his way into of my arms, yelling at absolutely nothing. Caziel watches him. Then me. There’s something quieter now between us—beneath the laughter, under the sarcasm. Something closer to understanding.
“I didn’t expect any of this,” I say softly. “Not the cat. Not the meds. Definitely not your Earth fashion.”
“You needed grounding.”
“And you needed a blood pact with a four-legged menace.”
“Apparently.”
We sit with that for a moment. The fireplace crackles. George eats like he’s making a point. I brush his tail and murmur, “You’re full of surprises, you know.”
“So are you.”
I glance up. Caziel is watching me. Still.
Quiet. Present. George is asleep on my legs, a heavy, judgmental heater.
The room is warm now. Not just temperature—warm.
Like it’s mine. Like I belong in it. There’s a cat hair on my pillow and a satchel of tampons on the table, and somehow those two things make this whole place feel less like a nightmare. More real. More mine. My life.
Or something trying to become it.
Caziel hasn’t moved from his place by the hearth. He’s still watching the flames like they’re telling him secrets. He hasn’t said much since the Target discussion, but he hasn’t left either. Somehow that means more than words.
“I don’t know what you paid to do this,” I murmur. His gaze lifts. “But I know it wasn’t nothing.”
He says nothing. Which tells me enough. I smooth a hand down George’s back. He flattens his ears, but doesn’t move. Lazy tyrant.
“When I woke up here,” I continue, “I didn’t feel like me.
Everything was off. Not just the danger or the rules or the whole trial-by-fire nonsense.
” I pause. “I felt like a cardboard cutout of myself. Hollow.” Caziel shifts slightly.
Not interrupting. Not comforting. Witnessing.
“But this?” I say softly. “This feels real.”
George. The meds. The small, ridiculous human pieces of me. The parts that got lost somewhere in the panic. He brought them back.
“You didn’t just retrieve my cat,” I say. “You brought me back to myself.” Still no answer, but something flickers in his eyes. “You knew,” I whisper. “You knew that would matter.”
Caziel nods once. Then, quietly, “I hoped.”
I brush hair off my face. The fire crackles. George snores.
“I’m still scared,” I admit. “Still confused. Still very much a human girl who might actually die in a gladiator arena full of magical assholes.” Caziel huffs softly at that. “But right now,” I say, “for the first time since I got here… I feel like I’m not disappearing.”
He watches me, unmoving.
“You are not fading,” he says, voice low. “You are becoming.”
The words hit something soft in me. Becoming. It doesn’t promise safety. Or answers. Or survival. But it sees me, and maybe that’s enough.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He doesn’t respond, but he stays, and that says everything.