I looked away, chewing my lip. I didn’t want to believe that. I didn’t want to believe someone could become that twisted without something breaking them first.
“You want the truth?” His tone sharpened. “That boy was born hollow. Nothing in him stirred when he hurt others. No love. No guilt. No pain. Just hunger.”
My throat tightened. “Hunger for what?”
The Devil leaned in, his voice like a blade slipping through flesh. “Control. Fear. Blood. It varies. But once it starts, it never ends. You of all people should know that.”
I didn’t answer. Because I did know. In my own way, I knew exactly what it meant to hunger for something deeper than food.
He sat back again, his voice returning to that maddening calm. “Enjoy your meal, Kitten. It might be the last peace you get for a while.”
A silver goblet appeared before the Devil. He picked it up and took a long drink.
“Eat,” he barked as he slammed the goblet down hard enough to make the table tremble. He scowled, as if the drink had offended him.
I stabbed my fork into a pile of meat and vegetables, shoving the whole thing into my mouth. The flavor was divine, and I couldn’t help the low moan that escaped me. Even with my curse muted in his presence, I still enjoyed food like the glutton I was.
“Is it to your liking?” he asked after my fourth—or fifth bite.
A softswoosh-swooshsound tugged my attention. His tail was dragging slowly across the floor behind him, moving in slow arcs. Almost like a dog wagging its tail.
If he was happy, I suddenly feared what I might actually be eating.
“Did you make it?” I asked, wary.
“I can create any type of food at will,” he replied. “And before you ask—I create. Reaperstakefrom elsewhere when you materialize food or objects. That’s why you can eat here. Otherwise, there’s nothing.”
I glanced around, but the darkened corners gave away no secrets. There was no point in trying to familiarize myself with this place. He could shift reality at will. It was his world, not mine.
“So, you don’t eat?” I asked.
“There’s no point. I don’t need food to survive.”
“Still,” I said with a shrug, “food is good.”
His red eyes drifted lazily over me. “Because you’re a little glutton.”
“Your fault,” I muttered around a mouthful of roasted carrot.
He bared his sharp fangs in a grin. The expression wasn’t quite amusement—it was too sharp, too unreadable. For a fleeting second, I wondered if he had vampire tendencies.
Demons were just fallen angels, after all. Vampires, werewolves, ogres, witches—every cursed being came from the same cloth he did. But he was the head honcho, the root of it all. Could he be become whatever he wanted?
“I told you already. My sense of touch is gone. That includes taste.”
“I thought you meant, like, inside.” I tapped my chest.
He looked at me like I’d grown a second head.
“I guess you feel nothing in there, too, huh?”
The swoosh of his tail stilled mid-motion. He didn’t answer, but his jaw tightened as he looked away.
Okaaay.
I pressed my finger into his arm, watching closely to see if he reacted.
“Don’t test me,” he muttered, voice low and dark, but he still didn’t look at me.
