Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 15

**KACIA**

Oz is a drama queen. Like, full scale, gold medal, spotlight stealing drama queen. The man just went through what is arguably a deeply traumatic experience, kidnapped, drained, nearly killed, and here he is, spinning it into a one man play. I swear I’m waiting for him to cue some kind of dramatic background music for his tale. And I’m the hero in this version, apparently. Which would almost be flattering if I didn’t know exactly what kind of trouble that invites. Every time he tosses out another ridiculous compliment, I can see the wheels turning in Mikey’s head. He’s not even trying to hide it anymore. He’s grinning like he just unlocked a secret romance side quest and he’s already halfway to writing fanfiction about it. And THAT is the problem. Because ever since Mikey met Sarah, fell in love, got married, and went full hearts and flowers domestic, he’s been obsessed with the idea of me ‘finding someone.’ He’s tried to set me up more times than I care to count. Always with some guy who was, on paper, nice enough. Human, safe and totally clueless. I turned every offer down. I told him, repeatedly, that hiding half of who I am from someone I’m supposed to date doesn’t exactly build a strong foundation. That secrecy isn’t sexy. That being half fae makes dating... Complicated. And now? Oz knows. He knows what I am. Which means that argument is officially dead in the water. And Mikey KNOWS that Oz knows. Which means he’s now operating with absolutely no restraints. At this rate, if Oz doesn’t shut up soon, Mikey is going to start planning the wedding. He’s probably already picked a venue. Knowing him, it’ll be a rooftop at sunset with enchanted fairy lights and handmade centerpieces. And the worst part is? I can’t even say I don’t like Oz. Because I do. Sort of. He’s infuriating. Loud and dramatic in the way that makes me want to throw a pillow at his face. But he’s also… Not awful. He’s funny, weirdly charming when he’s not being a menace. And, unfortunately, he looks really, really good. Which means if I argue too much, Mikey will just give me that look. The one that says, ‘You’re protesting a lot for someone who keeps letting him sit that close.’ Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. So the only real solution here is simple. Just don’t date Oz. Period. Ever. I just need to stay distant. Uninterested and unflustered. Keep my cool and never, EVER give Mikey the satisfaction of being right. That should be easy enough… Right?

I’m halfway through aggressively stabbing a piece of bacon when Mikey clears his throat in that deliberate way that means trouble’s coming. 

“Alright, now that we’ve heard Oz’s... Dramatic reenactment of his rescue-” He starts. 

“Which was entirely accurate.” Oz interrupts smoothly, not even glancing up from his toast. Mikey ignores him. 

“I’d actually like to know what we’re dealing with. These blood drainers, how organised are they? Did you see anything that could help us track them down?” He asks. My fork pauses halfway to my mouth. There it is. The pivot. From teasing to cop mode. His shoulders stay relaxed, the smile still lingers, but his eyes sharpen in that annoyingly effective way of his. He might need my help with the supernatural, magic stuff. But Mikey is legitimately good at his job. I straighten a bit in my seat. 

“Honestly? Looked like a basic stash house setup. Grimy basement, no real security. Temporary location. There were signs they’d been moving people through there for a while, old bloodstains, chains bolted to the floor. But nothing permanent.” I sum up.

“Which means they’ll have another spot ready.” Mikey mutters.

“Probably.” I agree.

“So? What’s the plan?” He prompts. I glance up mid chew. 

“For...?” I drag the word out. 

“The drainers.” He says, clearly trying to stay patient. 

“Are you planning to do anything besides dramatic storytelling and hoping they trip over something sharp?” He demands. Clearly this case is stressing him out. Understandable I guess. I DID find the guys for him. But I probably scared them off. Across from me, Oz places a hand dramatically over his heart. 

“I’m deeply offended. That was art.” He says with a pout. I kick him lightly under the table. He doesn’t even flinch. I roll my eyes. 

“Yes, an actual plan. I was thinking of heading back to the building where I found Oz. It was definitely temporary, but they might’ve left something behind. They didn’t strike me as criminal masterminds.” I add dryly. Mikey nods. 

“When?” He questions. I shrug. 

“Well, I need to take Oz shopping first. He desperately needs shoes and clothes that don’t have holes in them. We still have his blood to sell, but I can spot him cash for some basics if we don’t get around to it. I figured I’d check the site after that. Before it gets dark.” I explain. 

“It should be fine, I’m expecting the place to be empty by now.” I add. Beside me, Oz goes still. Only for a second. But it’s enough. His posture tightens. His attention sharpens. I feel it more than see it.

“I’m coming with you.” He says, a little too quickly. I raise an eyebrow. 

“I can handle it.” I insist. I’m not sure taking the guy back to the place he was traumatised is a good idea. 

“That’s not the point. You shouldn’t go alone.” Oz says evenly. It’s not demanding, not aggressive. But it’s firm. Which is weird, considering he’s known me for all of what, twenty four hours? I open my mouth to argue, and hesitate. Mikey is watching him now. Really watching.

“Let him go. Extra pair of eyes. Extra pair of fists. Two people are better than one.” Mikey says, and he sounds infuriatingly reasonable. 

“Plus beautiful, I owe you.” Oz adds.

“See? It’s teamwork.” Mikey says.

“This sounds like a great opportunity to build trust with your…” He pauses, eyes gleaming.

“Partner in crime fighting.” He finishes with a smirk. I glare at him. Oz, meanwhile, sips his coffee like he’s just been promoted and knows exactly how smug that makes him look. I exhale slowly. 

“Fine. We’ll check it out. But if I end up babysitting a barefoot demon again, I’m demanding hazard pay.” I grumble. Mikey’s grin explodes across his face. This is what I get for saving a demon, apparently. Mockery. 

After lunch, Mikey heads off to do actual law enforcement things, like paperwork and making sure nobody explodes. (Clearly I have a very good understanding of what he does all day.) And I’m left with the world’s most smug demon and a to do list I didn’t ask for. First stop, shopping. Because despite all his dramatic speeches and relentless confidence, Oz is still barefoot, still wearing the torn, bloodstained shirt he was rescued in, and still very much not blending in with the general public. Additionally, Oz, for reasons I can’t begin to understand, is ridiculously excited about shopping. Not because he’s never done it before, he has, apparently, but his experiences have mostly been in the demon realm, where practicality rules and options are... Limited. According to him, most shopping trips involve haggling with someone over a pair of charmed gauntlets or a heat resistant cloak. You pick what fits and hope it doesn’t curse you. So stepping into a human store, with fluorescent lights, colour coded racks, and entire shelves dedicated to socks, is like unleashing a very curious hellhound into a department store. Keeping him on task is... A challenge. A chaotic, exhausting, demon shaped challenge. Eventually, after steering him away from four entirely unnecessary jackets and a t shirt that said ‘Hotter Than Hell’ in red, glittery writing, I manage to wrestle him into a pair of dark jeans, a couple of fitted t shirts, and a simple black hoodie. He disappears into the change room with a grin. A few minutes later, he emerges, and it’s honestly unfair. 

“Thoughts?” He asks, doing a slow turn like he’s auditioning for some fashion show.

“It fits. Congratulations. You now blend into society.” I say tightly.

“Pity, I was hoping to stand out.” Oz answers with a grin. He already does. But I am NOT giving him that win.

“You’ll need shoes, something you can move in. Preferably something that won’t get you kicked out of cafes again.” I add. To my surprise, Oz is very serious about the shoes. He tests the weight, the ankle support, even flexes the soles. Apparently he’s picky about his choice. Eventually, we settle on a pair of dark combat style boots. Practical, sturdy and just dramatic enough to suit the rest of his aesthetic. He tosses his old shirt into a nearby bin with zero ceremony. Then he turns to me, hands tucked casually into his new jacket pockets, fully dressed, fully functional, and looking like an inconveniently sexy poster child for magical reformation.

“Am I now sufficiently human coded for public appearances?” He asks. I sigh. 

“Barely.” I mutter, trying not to stare. Because the worst part is… He looks good. Too good. Now that he’s not half dead and barefoot, it’s painfully obvious how much charisma he hides under all that sarcasm. And I HATE that it’s working on me. But I can’t let Mikey be right. I won’t. This is NOT a date. This is clothing acquisition. For functional purposes. That is ALL. I lead the way out of the store, vowing to keep a very firm grip on my composure for the rest of the afternoon. We still have to go back to the place I found him. Still have to poke around, see what we missed, see what they left behind. And the last thing I need is to be distracted by my demon shaped problem looking intentionally hot while we investigate a crime scene.