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“Not long now,” Malachi tried—and probably failed—to sound consoling.
Desmond had once demanded that since Malachi refused to heal him, then Malachi should end his suffering. Unfortunately, when Desmond had first made the contract, he’d made sure to add that Malachi could never, under any circumstances—be it physical or emotional—do anything toharmhim.
Apart from that, demons weren’t allowed to kill, not unless it was explicitly a part of a contract. The story Malachi had been toldwas that thosewho broke the rules were hunted down by what demons only referred to as “enigmas”. The enigmas were supposedly the Almighty Sovereign’s very ownsentries, demons older than time itself, sent to make sure the precarious balance between the mortal and astral realm wasn’t upended.
There were stories of demons who’d gotten greedy in the past, who wanted to take as many souls as possible in order to grow their power—only for the enigmas to find them, and rip them apart limb from limb.
Theymight havejust been tales told to scare Malachi into being a good little soldier, but Malachi wasn’t about to test its credibility.
“Will it—will it hurt?” Desmond coughed again.
And the empathy was back. “It will be like going to sleep,” Malachi said gently.
Desmond sighed, closing his eyes. In a moment, he was fast asleep. By the time he opened his eyes again, Malachi would be gone.
Malachi reached for the thin thread that bound them; Desmond’s contract, one out of two tethers now, keeping Malachi in the human world. It was so fragile he was almost afraid to tug at it, afraid that doing so would send it finally breaking apart.
Fear gripped him for a moment. What was Malachi going to do? Yes, he had his contract with Joy, but unlike Desmond’s, it was only for a brief period of time.
What if owning Desmond’s soul wasn’t enough? Demons weren’t meant to stay permanently in the human world, but could do so in one of two ways: using the bond formed from a contract as a tether, or owning a human’s soul. Contracts ended; owning a soul was forever.
But thePriest—thesentries, even—had lived for thousands, if notmillions, of years. Malachi hadn’t even yet crossed his first tricennial, and had spent more than half of that starved and abused; surely owning one measly soul couldn’t be enough?
He thought of long cold days and nights that bled into each other until time lost meaning. He thought of kneeling frozen on a stone slab, surrounded by four walls of concrete until thePriestneeded him. He thought of the warmth and love flowing through the rest of the sect, their hymns reaching him down in the depths despite the thick walls, how it had nearly made him weep with anguish at the cruel torture of it.
He took a deep breath and shoved the rising panic and memories aside. If owning Desmond’s soul wasn’t enough, he’dfigure out a plan later. He’ll find a way. And if he didn’t—if the sentries managed to find him first—
No.
Malachi would find a way. Hewouldsurvive. After all, since leaving his prison behind, surviving was all he did.
Malachi thought of going back to his empty house locateda bit deeper into the same forest, but the thought of it made him nearly physically ill. Almighty, he’d barely spent one day in Joy’s company and already felt reluctant to be on his own again.
Fuckingdangerous.
Joy seemed a little distracted when she finally came home from work that night. She didn’t even react to his presence dwarfing her sofa, not like she had that morning.
After her body had forced her to take a twenty-minute nap before the sun had risen, she had nearly screamed his eardrums off when she’d sleepily left her bed and spotted his dark form sitting silently in her darkened living room.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” she’d gasped after the ear-popping shout, clutching her chest, while Malachi had tried to keep the amusement off his face.
“Did you forget about me?” He couldn’t quite keep the amusement from his voice, though, which had made her glare. “Honestly, Joy, I am hurt.”
Saying her name had done something to her scent—made it go all bright and sweet. It was gone before he could properly taste what it was.
“I thought you had a house,” she snarled.
He shrugged. “I need to stay close until the contract is fulfilled.”
Joy’s eyes narrowed, suspecting the lie for what it was, but she let it go.
“Don’t touch anything while I’m gone,” had been her last words before she’d left the flat, slamming the door and locking it behind her.
Malachi hated to admit it, but he’d felt an indescribable pleasure rise in him that, despite her reaction at finding him still here, she hadn’t asked him to leave.
“Can demons eat food?” Joy asked distractedly as she made her way to the side of the room that held the kitchen. Her flat was a perfect square; from the front door, which was on the right corner of the south facing wall, was the sitting room; the kitchen was further in, on the left. The bedroom was directly behind the sitting room, with the bathroomopposite that, adjacent to the kitchen. “Doyou eat?”
“We can, and we do.”
