"Ugh. I swear on my horns, there's nothing worse than a lovesick demon," Melchom grumbles, taking another drag of his cigar.
"You're lovesick for my aunt," I point out dryly.
"Nah," he grins immediately. "I'm just puresickfor her, and the only cure for me is her skanky, slutty, wet little?—"
I smack him hard upside the head as I sit beside him, grabbing yesterday's newspaper off the armrest of the couch as he swears. Eisha likes collecting human newspapers because she says it's nostalgic to comb back through the years and read about their miserable history.
"Don't make my ears bleed, asshole," I mutter.
Melchom snickers, rubbing his sore head. I skim through the newspaper, bored as I sip the beer and wait for Eisha to wake up. Good fucking thing I can read English now, because the headlines in this are much more interesting than whatever the idiot on the screen is going on about.
Cult of the Demigoddess Relocates to the Nether
No More Fiends On A Bright Horizon
Netherborn: Refugees or Legacy Leeches?
What a dumbassed question. They'rehumans,not legacies. Whoever wrote that line is a fucking idiot. I read the next few.
A World Without Curses: With Taboo Lifted, Legacies Share Past Afflictions
RLHNA - How the First Legacy-Human Government Entity is Functioning
Six Months After Ban on Demon Hunting, Demons Nowhere to Be Found
I snort at the irony of the last one.
It's true that demon hunting's been banned, which is great for the demons who'd have to worry about it. I was never in much danger, since I easily pass for a human. Pretty sure I have my elemental father to thank for that, not that I know what the poor sap looked like.
I wonder if my shifter would like the way I look. She never saw me, and I never got to see her entire face thanks to the blindfold those motherfucking necromancers kept on her all the time, even when they had her chained up for me to get her through that heat.
I bet she's gorgeous.
Infernal hells,I just want my mouth all over her again. There has to be a way I can find her.
As always, when I’m losing patience and feeling like something is out of my control, my fingers slide over my right forearm to feel the raised bumps of the infernal symbols there—a credo for me to survive by.
Sett fatos imprare.
I think in English it would be:"Let fate guide."
Or maybe it's better translated as:"Let khaos reign."
Either way, I've followed it since the day it was carved into my skin by my mother, and I have no reason to stop believing it now. It tells me that whatever's meant to happen, it's going to happen—which means that sooner or later, if I trust in the khaos that fate cannot exist without, I'll wind up finding her again.
Because khaos knows I got a taste of something precious.
And sooner or later, she'll be mine again.
I just have to keep being patient.
Melchom makes a sound of surprise at whatever the deafeningly loud news report just said. "Well, twist my tail and call me an angel! Had no idea that frigid bastard had a sister. Huh. She's a pretty, juicy little thing, but she doesn't look much like the Frost prick—and I'd know, because your whore of an aunt was drooling all over that pretty boy fucker the last time we bumped into?—"
My eyes snag on the image he's babbling about on the news, and I shoot to my feet. My soul does the same kind of shiver it usually does when someone starts using demonology around me.
Khaotic hells below.
That's her.
