They weren’t used to my visits yet, but they would be.
I knelt down and dug into my bag, pulling out the fish in the bags I’d brought from the cafeteria. Carefully, I began to distribute pieces of fish onto flat stones near the entrance.
The scent of food must’ve convinced them because they started to emerge, their lithe forms scurrying for the fish in pairs.
One by one, the little furballs accepted my gifts—their sounds of content purring mingled with the chewing of the fish.
When we were kids, Katherine had first come into her gift of shifting into a cat when we were out playing. I’d come home with her curled in my arms, and Dad didn’t believe me that the cat was my sister. It took her two fucking days to shift back, and I’d hidden her in her room in the closet.
Dad apologized to both of us profusely after learning the truth.
I smiled at the memory.
About twenty minutes of bliss passed before the cats started to hiss at random spots around the area, and I realized that my fear magic was leaking and scaring the shit out of them. The majority of them tucked tail and ran to the safety of their home. A few brave cats swatted at the images of predators around them, illusions made by my magic.
Eventually, all the cats abandoned me out of fear—and it was my fault.
I brought the pipe to my lips and took hit after hit until I saw fucking stars and heard the cats come back and start talking back to me.
25
PANDORA
Hunter made my heart thump hard against my rib cage with a new flutter of safety every time I was alone with him. Safety wasn’t something I was used to, but he and Reed made me feel that way.
The scent of sweet chocolate soaked the air, wrapping around me like a blanket as I shifted back on the plush sofa.
“I just don’t understand it,” I rasped, clutching the enchanted crystal water bottle on my lap. “There isn’t any reason for her to act like this.”
Hunter leaned forward, fingers steepled, and his beautiful white eyes with gray rings filled with understanding. “Nobility among our kind isn’t just about bloodlines.” His voice was like honey as it washed over me. “It’s about power and influence. Dreadful may be...challenging...but her family connections make her untouchable to some extent for some other demons at the academy, but not you, obviously. She’s likely coming at you this way because you’re a threat to her.”
My gaze lingered on his strong jawline. I was so focused on the way his lips moved as he spoke. “I guess I'm just not used to dealing with that kind of pressure. Life’s too short to worry so much about what others are doing.”
“You have a valid point.” His lips twitched into a smile. “Unfortunately, most demons don’t share your sentiment.”
A flush of heat crept up my neck. “Most demons haven’t been locked in a cellar their entire life, either.”
He sucked in a sharp breath, and I felt vengeance magic crackling in the air. His hands curled around each other as he sighed and leaned back in his chair. “No, they haven’t.”
“Not all of the demons I’ve met follow that mindset.” I toyed with the ends of my hair.
“That’s too bad.” I unscrewed the bottle of water and took a sip. The ice water slid down my throat as I drank from it. My throat soothed instantly, and I put the cap back on, letting the bottle rest in my lap.
I knew my throat started to get sore after a lot of talking, but taking drinks had seemed to help with that. Hunter had mentioned that if I had keptmy magic reserves filled, then I would probably not have any issues with it being sore because my magic could heal the pain. It was just another reason I had to get a handle on feeding.
Hunter nodded, reaching for his tablet and typing something out on it. “And the others? Grimshaw, Hemlock, Shadowheart? Have they been leaving you alone?”
I lowered my head and twisted my ring on my finger. It was a brilliant white, just like I knew it would be. “Not exactly. They’re no better than Dreadful. They think I’m terrible because I’m a noble, and Skel had told me that I represent death.”
“What?” A growl rumbled in his chest. “That’s not true, starlight. You don’t represent death.”
“Don’t I?” I flicked my gaze to his, and a jolt of electricity shot through me. “I’m a soul eater.”
“Soul eaters don’t just consume souls and kill,” he insisted, sitting up straighter. “They can rip parts of a soul out that hurt. Fragments that agonize and torment them when a supernatural or even human feels like they’re drowning. It’s not a perfect technique by any means, and it’s not permanent since souls regenerate, but it helps. It gives the individual a chance to actually feel that relief and make changes to fight that weighing piece of themselves.”
“Really?” I tilted my head, hair spilling over my shoulder. “I didn’t know that.”
“Now you do,” he said, typing away on his tablet again. “You do not represent death. Don’t let Grimshaw’s fear of death label you.”
