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One of the men, the one with long black hair, was yelling, “Let’s hug it out, bro!”
The other, who wore white underpants, was chugging Damien’s favorite whisky straight from the bottle.
Maxton stood at the center of the room, a predatory look in his dark eyes. His new suit was smoldering and in tatters.
MF tried to focus on the rage demon, but it kept darting side to side like a big bouncing fireball.
“Come on. Stop being such a coward. Fight me, beast!” Maxton yelled.
Oh crap! That’s Damien’s beast!MF recognized that smell anywhere.
A few weeks ago, she’d “met” the beast when he took over Damien’s body during a dinner party. MF had been speechless and frozen in the middle of the slaughter, as guests attempted to run. She would’ve run, too, except that she’d been a predator herself once. She knew not to flee. It only provoked an attack.
When it was all over, everyone was dead, and Damien just…snapped back. That night, MF tried to wash the smell of bloodshed from her hair, but the scent stuck for days.
Sulphur.
Rotting flesh.
Almonds.
The scent of hell.It was the same smell in the air right now. That moving fireball had to be the beast.
A rage demon, huh?She’d never heard of them, but it totally made sense.
The beast launched a fireball at Maxton, who barely got out of the way in time. The ball exploded on the wall. MF used her arms to shield her head from the sparks.
I have to help take this thing down.“Maxton!” MF yelled.
Maxton’s head swiveled in her direction. His green eyes lit up. “Wow. Just…wow.”
“What?” she snapped.
“I never imagined how hot you’d look undead.”
MF bowed her head. “Thank you, sir. And ditto.”
“What is a ditto?” Maxton asked.
“Never mind. Let’s cage this fucker.” She paused. “How do we cage it?”
The man with long black hair stepped forward, fists clenched. “You must look into its heart and find love.” He shook his head. “Fuck. I hate this power. It’s bullshit!” He looked at Maxton and MF. “You squeeze it until its heart pops out. And do it fast. Because if it escapes, itwillmultiply or, worse, reopen the portals to the demon world.”
“You go left,” Maxton said to MF, “and I’ll go right.”
“I will block the door,” said the black-haired man.
The guy in his underwear was still working on the scotch.
Cimil appeared out of nowhere, waving her arms in the air. “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa! Hold up, Votan.” She was addressing the guy with black hair.
MF and Maxton exchanged confused glances.
“Cimil,” snarled Votan, “move. I will deal with you later. In a loving way,” he added. “Dammit! That is not what I meant.”
“I can subdue the beast,” Cimil said, “but want something in return.”
“Here we go again,” Votan said. “You always create the crisis and then come in to save the day, but only if you get something in return.”
