“Don’t get me wrong dude, your familiar is tough shit, but I doubt he’d be able to stop Renard if he was truly motivated.” There’s a beat of silence between I snap my fingers when genius strikes. “Oh! Maybe you can train him to shit in the house. Is he food motivated? What do hellhounds even eat anyways?”
“The souls of my enemies.”
“Strawberries,” Thane answers at the same time. Roth glares at him, but Thane shrugs. “What? They have antioxidants.”
“Demon hounds from Hell do not need antioxidants.”
“Do you have any idea how many free radicals are in Hell? Actually, he’ll probably need themmoresince he slips between realms so often. Who knows what kind of havoc that wreaks on his system. No, we need strawberries. Luther?—”
“Mm?”
“Add strawberries to the grocery list.” He grunts around another mouthful.
“You’re all idiots.”
“Well if we can pissyouoff this easily then your parents will be begging us to leave in no time. We’re coming.”
“Seconded,” Thane says.
“Thirded.” Luther adds.
“Motion carried.” I slap my hand against the coffee table, but Roth just sighs. He loves us.
We make quite the sight: the savage wolf, the only demon topside who can summon Hellfire, the last World Snake in desperate need of anger management, and the jolly gray giant. Well, grumpy gray giant. Seriously, he’s such a broody dick.
It’s nearly midnight by the time the liquor and food are gone, and sleep beckons. But I don’t bother going to my room. My demon’s been quietly pacing in the back of my mind, salivating over the lingering traces of the perfect prey. Like an itch undermy skin, it teases my senses and draws me into the frigid black night until it rips through the confines of my skin.
We’re going hunting.
16
NYX
Honestly, I’ve had worse. On the spectrum of shitty days, yesterday barely breaks top five. There was that time when my foster brother locked me out one night and I slept in a literal dog house. And the time I’d gotten off work late and one of the truckers who’d played grabass earlier in my shift had waited for me behind the bar until Carlos scared him off. Or when I’d gotten the final college rejection letter after spending the last of my grocery money on application fees, and my last avenue for escaping Lynden evaporated into thin air.
I’ve never been mistaken for an optimist, but ending up in the safety of my locked dorm with fresh food last night is something worth celebrating. If someone had told me earlier this week that Killian Hastings, fuckboy extraordinaire, would come to my rescue andalmostbe a gentleman about it, I’d have asked them for a hit of whatever they’re smoking. And yet here I am. Staring at my backpack propped against my door, with a series of texts on my phone from an unknown number.
Unknown
Call me next time you’re undressed. I mean in distress. Promise I’ll come
Sincerely, your knight in sweaty armor
This is Killian btw
My stomach does this weird little flip that I shut down an instant later, because I’m an intelligent sort of woman who knows better. Everything’s accounted for when I rifle through my backpack. Except for?—
Nyx Byrke
Did my knight in sweaty armor happen to locate my underwear?
His reply comes moments later as I’m typing an email to Professor Brandt explaining why I was a no-show for our mentoring session after class yesterday, minus the more lurid details.
Killian Hastings
Nowhere to be found, I’m afraid. Must have walked away with the towels
God damn it. Why’d he have to be funny too? After dashing in and out of the Great Hall for whatever food I can grab before anyone tries to stop me, I spend the next two hours in Creative Design. It makes sense, I guess, that with things like runes and sigils and spells and shit, one really should know how to draw a straight line. It’s the one class this week where no one seems to give a shit about me one way or another—just the way I like it.
