Page 6 of Eat, Slay, Love

He looks…

…Anticlimactic.

He looks like a normal man.

I take him in while I sneak towards the edge of my circle—really trying to get a good look at him in the warm autumn light, since the darkness last night shrouded everything but a nice suit and a carved face.

Jonah doesn’t have that gliding, floating gait demons tend to have. He ambles up to the service entrance as if he’s walking up to a bar to order his next drink—a human swagger with a touch of supernatural grace. He’s dressed in well-worn jeans and sneakers and a faded black hoodie with fraying sleeves draped over his hulking form. His hair, while slicked back last night to match the formality of his suit, is now a riot of dark curls spilling over his forehead.

Jonah looks like an abnormally handsome, normal man.

I sprinkle the salt to close the circle and feel the pop in my ears.

His eyes find mine immediately, and I take a step back as if I’ve been hit in the chest. Jesus. His eyes are a shocking ice-blue, framed by the darkest of eyelashes, even further highlighted by the paleness of his skin.

“Nightmare,” he murmurs, with a gentle, surprised smile.

I gawk at the dimple that’s appeared on his right cheek. “Jonah,” I manage.

We stare at one another.

“Well, give it to me,” he finally says.

“Give you…?”

“Another awful one-liner,” he says with a chuckle. His voice is deep and seductive like that of all demons, except there’s a gravel-rough edge around the words that leave his throat. A throat that works when he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing⁠—

“Nightmare,” he prods, reminding me that I am, in fact, here to kill him, and not stare at the flawless expanse of skin on his neck while wondering when the last time I had sex was. Has it already been a week?

“It’s Mayari,” I blurt out. Is this some sort of new demon magic? Is this a thrall? Have I been captured in a thrall? Am I being thralled?

He looks surprised, then pleased. “Mayari.”

My name in his mouth snaps me out of it. We start to circle one another. I slide my silver dagger out of its holster, and it immediately starts to glow.

He frowns at the sight of it. “Really? This again? You really fucked up my arm last night, Mayari.”

“No hard feelings,” I assure him. “It’s my job. All in a day’s work.”

The fluorescent blue of Jonah’s eyes brazenly drag up and down the length of my body, and I ignore the way it blooms under his scrutiny. “And is this the required uniform?”

I scowl. “I slay in this uniform.”

“Well,” he says, “obviously.”

I suddenly remember that this demon is probably centuries-old and unacquainted with Gen Z (or is it Y? What letter are we at now?) internet slang. “I look incredible in this uniform,” I explain begrudgingly, sounding significantly less cool.

“Well, obviously,” he reiterates, nodding slowly, eyes fixed somewhere around the curve of my waist. “I’ve never been more grateful for mandatory leather.”

“Enough,” I growl, lifting my dagger.

His eyes snap up and bore into mine. “I am not your enemy.”

I scoff. “I literally saw you feeding on someone’s soul last night.”

“Are you sure that’s what you saw?”

“Yes!” This is getting ridiculous. “My magic felt it, too!”