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Amused, Lauren?iu asks him, “Oh, does that go too far for you?”
Before Paimon can respond, Adrian answers, “I like it. It tastes more...robust.”
The demon king waves. “See? Cannibalism with benefits.” To Adrian, he says, “If you need fresh clothes, I can conjure you some. The water works in the washroom.” Paimon saying words like “washroom” always makes Lauren?iu feel like he’s in a pulp Victorian novella. “We had to restart the pump, but the well’s not dried up yet. You can wash your face, if you need.” It’s good of Paimon to clarify, should Adrian prefer to walk around with dried gore on their face.
Adrian looks between them with those shrewd hawk-eyes, which strike gold in the lamplight. For all the two men know, they’ll sneak out the bathroom window when they aren’t looking.
Yet, they followed the two of them all this way.
Once Adrian is in the bathroom, Paimon fully faces Lauren?iu, who reciprocates the motion. “You felt them? This whole time?”
“Since we left Terminus, yes.”
They are closer than Lauren?iu realized; maybe they always had been. He has the image of two parents finding their rebellious child outside after curfew.
Paimon leans forward, and Lauren?iu has the errant, strange thought that Paimon might try to kiss him.
He has to keep himself standing in place, rather than also leaning in.
Then, Paimon looks off in the distance, over Lauren?iu’s shoulder. “I don’t need you to tell me everything. I understand why you wouldn’t. Truly. I know more than anyone that living in a place full of traitors and constant whispering and backstabbing doesn’t exactly engender trust. But youcanbe honest with me. I’m with you in this journey, until the end.”
It’s such a strong admission, even when their eyes aren’t meeting.
Hell doesn’t engender love and trust, after all.
No tricks.
Lauren?iu’s throat constricts. “I...I’m sorry.”
Paimon focuses on him again. He blinks, as if distracted. “There’s nothing to apologize for. I wanted you to know, that’s all.”
Obnoxiously bright lights, large haloes, flood the room.
Headlights.
“Looks like the welcome wagon is here,” Lauren?iu says.
Paimon rolls his shoulders. “I suppose it’s time we let Devil’s Holler live up to its name.”
Chapter 12
Paimon
About six people, four men and two women, enter the cabin, guns ready. They are dressed in a mix of camo and body armor. Paimon resists the urge to roll his eyes.
Lauren?iu stands to the side, near a rotted fireplace full of stagnant rain water, and looks at Paimon. Given his recent feeding, He doesn’t want to ask his dear vampire to do too much. An overly full stomach can be a terrible feeling.
Despite the tension in the air, thick as red clay, Paimon doesn’t mind having six guns trained on him.
He examines his nails before lightly dusting his right shoulder. “Mind the fangs, and mind the Armani, rabble.” He throws his hair over his shoulder. “If you could afford fillings, this suit would cost two-thousand times as much as those, at least.”
Paimon’s ears ring, and he stumbles back when a bullet pierces his right chest. Annoyed at his ruined vest, he fishes out the bloodless piece of metal and rubber and regards the wide-eyed man. “Really?”
Rather than taking the hint, the others begin unloading into him. Just as well. A waste on their part.
Despite his recent meal, Lauren?iu leaps on one of the people, a man with a salt-and-pepper beard, and rips out his jugular with his teeth. Whoa, that’s hot.
Jumping off the couch, Daisy releases a raucous, unholy bark that must rake chills down everyone’s spines.
