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I woke to find the maniac twin grinning and flying above my head as I slept on the couch. His tail whipped around, and the flat, slightly pointy leather-like flap on the very tip of it covered my mouth to muffle my scream.
“Hello, consort, my consort,” he said.
I immediately leaped off the couch, crouching low and drawing my daggers, which only seemed to delight him. He, too, came to his feet, though his wings still flared out wide behind him. I was ready to scream again to alert my blue protector when he whispered low, as if very aware of his brother outside the door. “This is what I mean.” He grinned. “We are perfect for one another.”
Maybe I didn’t scream then because I hated the idea of anyone protecting me when I’d been protecting myself for a long while now. I just narrowed my eyes at him and brought my blades up.
“I know who you are,” Remus hissed.
That got my attention. He did? Then why hadn’t he said anything before now?
He must have seen my surprise because he continued, “You’re a killer. Thing is too soft-hearted to see it.” Then he grinned even wider. “But like recognizes like. You were made for me. So stay. Be with me. Together, we could be great.”
Everything inside me tightened at his words.
Because though he was obviously a psychopath, what he said was also uncomfortably true. This was who I was beneath the mask.
A killer. Someone who couldn’t wait to get home and paint my uncle’s walls red with his blood.
This creature knew nothing about me, not even my name, but could sense it all the same.
I looked down at the knives held so comfortably—so expertly—in my hands and was hit with a flash of a memory. There was blood, but it wasn’t because I’d just sliced a knife across the throat of some asshole who deserved it.
No, it was my mother’s blood covering her chest and pooling beneath her body as I sat beside her for hours, wailing and begging for her to wake up.
I was four. She’d hidden me in the cabinet and made me promise not to make a sound when she heard the men breaking in.
With a small cry, I dropped the gutting knife, where it clattered onto the rug that covered the stone floor.
Remus chuckled softly.
“See, you know it’s true. It’s okay to be bad. In reality, there’s no such thing as good and evil. Only power. And now you won’t have to be alone.”
Furious at myself, I snatched my knife off the ground and ran for the door, ready to tear the heavy wooden chest of drawers I’d slid in front of it the night before away. Wait, if the chest was still there, how did he even get in— My gaze flew to the open window. Dammit, we were up so many stories I didn’t think to lock it, but duh, he could fly.
“Let me,” Remus whispered, chuckling. He lifted the entire chest as if it weighed nothing, flying the heavy furniture where it originally was and popping back out the window as I tore open the door to find Thing waiting on the other side.
I think if I was someone who liked touch, I would have thrown myself in his arms.
As it was, I stared at the floor and hurried into the hallway, glad when the door shut behind me. The demon’s words rang in my ears: You’re a killer.
I dug the toe of my boot into the stone floor of the kitchen and frowned, wanting to deny it. I’m not a—
But my eyes clench shut at the memory of another one of my kills. My hand was clenched around my precious knife handle as it met flesh. Then twisting the handle. Hot, thick blood spurting out and covering my hand. There was so much detached horror but also relief in that moment.
This has got to mean, considering what happened to me as a kid, that I’m really fucked up, right? Because every time I kill, I’m taking back power.
And that’s been working out so well for you.
I shake my head and open my eyes again, frustrated and disturbed. My hands immediately smooth down my thighs, my heartbeat calming only when I feel the familiar weight of my knives. It disturbs me even as I take comfort in the familiar motion.
I jerk away from the door when I hear footsteps pounding down the stairs behind me. Just in time, too, because the big one with horns comes through the door.
“Abaddon,” Hannah sing-songs. “I’m glad you’re up. You’ll be able to see Thing and our guest off.”
Abaddon lets out a low growl. “You can’t seriously be thinking about going with her. You’ll be walking right into their trap.”
“Whose trap?” Hannah asks.
Abaddon throws his hands in the air like it’s obvious. “The angel’s! It’s obviously to separate you from the herd so it can pick us off one by one.”
