Fucking empathy. It’ll be the goddamn death of me.
I roll my eyes and flop down into one of the chairs, pulling out my phone and opening the browser. My last search from this morning is still displayed:how to reduce stress in humans. I spent an embarrassing amount of time perusing internet results, trying to figure out how I could help her, before I gave up researching and decided to bring her to her hotel room.
Should I have? Probably not. This isn’t my job.
But the way she sobbed into my chest…
Demons have standards. We also have empathy, apparently. If forcing Joseline back to her room for a bit is what I have to do to make her feel better, then that’s what I’ll do.
Even if it makes her angry.
Even if she hates me.
Especially because things are only going to get moredifficult from now on. We all know it, even if we don’t say it out loud.
Niki will either have a half-demon baby or die. There’s also the chance that she dies and the baby lives.
Joseline needs her energy, and not just some that I harvest for her. She needs to find the fire that thrums through her veins. Her passion, her strength. I can’t do that for her, but I can help. Hopefully.
The room service arrives before she’s out of the shower, so I pull my mask back on and bring in the massive tray of food. I move her laptop off the small table in the corner and set up the tray, snagging a piece of bacon off the plate and shoving it into my mouth. I would have ordered for myself, but I don’t need much human food to survive. The energy I harvest keeps me alive, but it’s a nice treat every now and then.
I toss my mask aside again and pace the room, overwhelmed by unsettled energy. Why? I’m not sure. I’m not even the one that’s stressed. But I can’t just sit still and wait for Joseline.
After what feels like forever, the water shuts off. I hurry to the sitting area and plop down in one of the seats, trying to get comfortable. I shift, then shift again, not sure what the hell has gotten into me.
It’s just Joseline.
And it’s just breakfast.
Nothing overly-complicated, nothing romantic.
Then why do I somehow still want her approval?
I scrunch my nose. I don’t need anyone’s approval, least of all a human female’s. I’m not here to impress her, I’m here to comfort her.
The door pops open and steam spills into the room.
“Who was at the door?” she asks as she turns the corner. Her wet hair hangs in waves around her, the dampness soaking into the shoulders of her pale blue T-shirt. Her bottoms are short and cling to her round ass like they’re painted on.
I jerk my eyes away and glance at the table.
“Room service.”
She takes a seat across from me and stares at the spread before her.
“I don’t know what you like, so I got some of everything.” I shrug and lean back in the chair, trying to look casual. I wish I’d left my mask on, because I suddenly feel way too vulnerable. “Or if you aren’t a breakfast person, we can order food from somewhere else.”
She just stares, working her jaw before reaching for the fork.
“You know, I don't cry in front of people, and you've already managed it once,” she says, violently stabbing a bit of egg. “It won't happen again.”
“You cried?” I cock my head to the side. “I didn't even notice.”
She glares and reaches for a sausage link.
“Like I said, you can hate me if you want,” I say. “I'm only trying to help.”
“Which I still don't get. Why bother? You've hardly looked in my direction since…” Her words trail off, and she reaches for the bottle of water that came with her breakfast.
