Unlike the other Heirs, my demon doesn’t whisper in my mind. Azrael’s bloodline is older than any language long-since erased by time and memory. Instead, it speaks the only way a monster of the depths can: alien warbling loud enough to shatter bone. Ear drum-rupturing whistles and shrieks. Unending, crushingpressurethat traps the breath in my lungs until I’m drowning from lack of oxygen.
The temptation of relief from the agony of keeping it contained is almost enough to convince me that the swath of destruction following his awakening is worth it.
“Yo Thane! You in here? Open up!” A voice shouts as the stall door rattles on its shitty hinges. “Saw you come in man, you good? You need something to take the edge off?” Those magic words are the only things that give me enough strength to wrench open the door.
“Who the fuck are you?” I grit out as my eyes try to focus.
“Pax, man. Pax Whitman,” the rat-faced weakling backs away with his hands up. “I hooked you up with Apex last year, remember?”
No.
“The fuck you want, Whitman?”
“Got some Apex—you look like you could use it.” He offers, pulling out a thin metal case and opening it to reveal several full vials. “Fresh batch, too.”
God,yes.
“How much?”
“Take as much as you need man, I’ll hit you up later to settle up.” I swipe the entire case, groaning as my demon rages in my head at the prospect of being drugged into submission once more.
“Out,” I growl, the timber of my power bleeding into my voice.
“Anytime man, you know you can always?—”
“OUT.”
“Shit—” he scrambles backwards like his ass is on fire, door crashing closed behind him. I don’t even blink before unstoppering half of the little glass tubes and pouring the burning liquid down my throat.
The effect is immediate. Heat courses through my chest as the drug seeps into my bloodstream, and when I open my eyes again I’m looking in the mirror, watching as my demon’s presence retreats from my blue eye, brightness dimming until I recognize myself once more.
The first breath after the magical concoction drowns him is bone-deep relief. The absence of pain and pressure in my head is its own kind of ache, and the delirium that follows is a rare taste of freedom.
It won’t last.
I can only hope it lasts long enough.
Light begins to waver and blur.
Sound floats through the air.
And the scent of ambrosia beckons me from beyond this piss-soaked bathroom. It bores into my brain, invading my blood. I can’t tell if it’s the drugs or the promise of absolution that propels me through the door in search of paradise. Without the threat of my demon bursting through my skin and flattening the town, I’m merely a man, desperate to find my way home.
I’ve never had a home.
I’ve never been safe.
I don’t know what that feels like.
But I know I miss it.
How can you miss something you’ve never had?
I want to go home.
She smelled like home.
She tasted like I’d never starve again.
