Chapter 8
Dying of Thirst
Grace
He’s gone.
Whatever my mom’s saying, I’m not hearing it as I stare at the large swathe of open floor where the merdemon was supposed to be. Except for the pink stain remaining where the circle had been, the room shows no sign of what happened.
Mom snaps her fingers. “Grace! Earth to Grace, what happened?”
I shake my head, glancing around the room and taking several steps toward the bathroom to peer inside.
“They left a summoning circle behind,” I answer automatically.
Mom could compel me to speak to her, but she didn’t have to.
“There was nothing left inside it, so I was just steaming it,” I say, lifting my hand and indicating the steam cleaning machine.
Checking inside the bathroom, I find it empty and spotless and some of the tension leaves my shoulders.
He’s not here.
“Well, why didn’t you say that before? Did you think I’d be mad at you?”
“Uh. No.” I try to focus on her and not my missing merdemon. Did he go back to where he came from? “I just didn’t think it mattered.”
Mom scrutinizes my face, her brows deep as her eyes peer into my soul. “You’re keeping something from me.”
I throw up my arms dramatically. “It was unexpected, okay?”
“Is this about Zack?”
“No!” I throw up my arms again and walk to the steam cleaner, grabbing the bucket to refill it. “Not everything has to do with my ex. Can we just drop it?”
If thinking this is about Zack stops her questioning, then so be it.
The last thing I want is her knowing I accidentally summoned a demon.
She’ll force me to join the coven to try and protect me, control me.
She means well and she does it out of love, but it’s out of fear as well.
She doesn’t want me to get hurt, or—worse, according to her—manipulated.
If she thought I had enough magic to summon demons, she’d demand I put the power to good use.
“Fine, but don’t lie to me again,” she warns, walking into the closet and leaving me in the room alone.
I love my parents more than I can quantify, and if I’d let them, they would run my entire life from sunup to sundown.
Their kindness and generosity are a slippery slope I try to avoid as much as possible, especially since I returned from college.
Their caretaking equates to my self-esteem being lower.
I didn’t realize how much I needed to grow until I was finally away from them, and how much I could accomplish on my own.
I sigh again, not wanting to dwell on something I’ve dwelled on long enough.
All I know is that I’m more confident when I’m independent than when I’m relying on my parents for everything.
Zack was my first attempt at breaking away from them, and that failed epically, so now that I’m living back in my hometown, I’m trying not to repeat the mistakes I made in the past, whether or not I was a dumb kid when I made them.
After Mom collects Dad’s suit and a few other belongings, she heads home to cook dinner, leaving me to finish the cleaning. I watch her drive away from the hallway window.
Even after she’s gone, Sepher doesn’t reappear, and as I drain the last of the dirty water from the steam cleaner away in the bath, I’m hit with a tug of wistful loss.
I’d just seen something no one else ever has before. I spoke to a demon—kissed him even…
I rub my lips with my fingertips. His touch was thrilling. It’s made me long for something I’ve refused to let myself have for fear of the consequences.
Sitting down on the edge of the tub, I curl my arms over my stomach and hug myself.
I haven’t tried having sex since my first and last time, but that doesn't mean I haven’t wanted to. The problem is, although I still don’t know exactly what happened, I nearly killed Zack’s dad by doing it at all.
Pushing the thoughts out with a groan, I rub my face with my palms.
It doesn’t matter. That’s all in the past and everyone survived—thankfully—and has moved on. I need to join them and move on too.
Getting up from my spot at the tub, I take out my keys and head down the hall. As I go, I peek into each bedroom, double-checking one final time that everything is perfect. The last one, the one nearest the top of the staircase, is my room. Or what had been my room, years ago.
When I open the door, it bumps into something, and a soft groan comes from inside. Peering through the crack, I spy familiar sleek black scales and black tentacles shifting about, and my heart leaps.
Sepher. He’s still here?
I lean against the door, pushing it open wider, discovering it’s blocked by Sepher’s long tail.
“Help me,” he croaks under his breath as I stare down at him.
Lying with his eyes closed and his arms spread wide next to my childhood bed, he looks kind of pathetic. I duck into the room, crossing it to bend over him. “Are you okay?”
He’s drier than the last time I saw him. His skin, once firm, is beginning to roughen and turn gray. His lips are parted, but his breath seems weak and labored. Also, his cock is… limp.
“Heeelp me,” he repeats at my question.
“What can I do? What do you need? Water!” I shoot upright, turning for the bathroom and switching on the faucet. I gather water in my hands and quickly carry it back to him, splashing it onto his lips. “I’ll get more. I need to grab a cup.”
He snags my wrist with his hand. “More. I need more than that.” He releases me and I take a step back.
I frown and glance down at his body, splayed across the new stone gray rug my parents installed.
Gone are all the frilly teal and purple frolies I had everywhere, and the posters on the walls.
My old room has long since been transformed into another bland guest suite.
One designed for singles or children due to the smaller size, only spacious enough for a double bed.
“I have an idea,” I say, reminded of a scene I saw in a movie once.
Sprinting back to the adjoining bathroom—that used to be decorated with purple, plush towels—I twist on the water for the tub. After making it comfortably warm, I return to Sepher and kneel at his side, pouring another handful over his mouth. “Do you think you can make it to the bathroom?”
He cracks his eyes open. His irises are glazed, the beautiful green in them almost completely gone, replaced by a shallow, milky white. “You will have to drag me,” he moans, and closes his eyes again.
I stare at him hard.
Sitting back with a blasted sigh of annoyance, I slide my gaze over the distance between him and the bathroom.
“You’d better not be playing with me,” I warn.
“Water,” he wheezes again, sounding even more pathetic.
Chastising myself for ever regretting that he might have left, I return to the bathtub and turn off the water. Afterward, I move between him and the new gray glass dresser and hook my arms under his shoulders.
“Ready?” I announce, keeping my chin lifted so as not to get stabbed by his horns. “One, two, three—”
I haul him up only to crash down to the floor. He lands partially on top of me, and I have to pull my legs out from under his heavy torso.
“Oww,” he moans.
“Shut up,” I groan, repositioning and trying again at a different angle, using the balls of my heels for momentum.
Bent over like a one-hundred-year-old crone, I’m able to drag him one step at a time to the right, turning him around.
His tail strains with muscle as he shifts it with my movements.
By the time he’s facing the direction that will allow me to drag him to the bathroom, I’m panting, out of breath.
“Fuck this. Just go back to where you came from.” I drop him and place my hands on my knees. “You’re out of the damn circle!”
He coughs. “I can’t. Too weak. I need water.”
This time, when I rise to go and collect that cup, he grabs my skirt to stop me. Looking down at him, I realize his eyes are open and on my face. “Kiss me and I will leave. It will be enough.”
I start to say no, then hesitate.
My gaze drops to his lips, which are parted enough to see his fangs between them. I recall his mouth, his demanding tongue, taking every ounce of moisture from me. Trying to stay cognizant enough to stop my body from reacting, I whisper, “Can’t you just go? Now that the circle is gone?”
He gives me a slight smile and although it’s feeble, it charms me with its wicked edge, and my body reacts despite my determination to remain unaffected. He’s just too handsome.
“What would be the fun in that?” he asks gleefully.
My mouth opens and closes as I yank my dress from his hand. “That wasn’t the deal.” I turn to leave.
“Wait!”
There’s a hint of desperation in his voice I didn’t expect; I pause. “What now?”
“I really do need water to leave,” he says, letting his head drop back and his eyes sink closed. “I’ve never lied about that.”
I sigh. “But then you’ll leave?”
One eye squints open to glare at me. “Yes,” he says with all seriousness. “If you get me to… to where you’re taking me, to the water—” his eyes drift to the bathroom “—I promise I will leave.”
I choose to believe him. I have no other choice, honestly. And we’re close enough already that he could potentially be gone in the next couple of minutes.
Bending down, I pick him back up, hauling him one inch at a time the rest of the way to the tub.