Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 42

**OZ**

I’ve spent the last two days in what I can only describe as the most perfect kind of agony. Every waking moment has been beside Kacia, technically because I’m supposed to be protecting her, but let’s not kid ourselves. It’s also because I can’t stay away. Even when I try to give her space, my feet betray me. My attention drifts back. I keep ending up in her orbit like she’s gravity and I’m too damn weak to resist. And it’s excruciating. Because I can’t have her. Not really. Not when I’m lying through omission, not when I’m carrying this many secrets. I try to justify it, I have to pretend everything’s fine so she doesn’t figure it out. But sometimes, when the guilt crawls up too fast or the loneliness cuts too deep, it slips through the cracks. I get quiet. Short tempered. She probably thinks I’m just brooding or annoyed. I wish that’s all it was. Truth is, I miss home. I miss my siblings more than I’ll ever admit out loud. They’re probably climbing the walls right now. My sister definitely cried. She always does when I’m away for too long. My brother… Well he won’t cry. He’ll pretend it’s fine and carry on like a soldier. But he’ll be snappish, reckless. He gets mean when he’s worried, but underneath it all he’s just stupidly loyal. Just like me. They’re both adults. Smart. Capable. They’ll be okay. But still… It gnaws at me, not knowing how to reach them. Not being able to tell them I’m alive. Kacia might have ideas, she knows all sorts of ways to track magical energy, open messages through strange little loopholes. I bet she’d help. If I told her. If I told her anything. But I haven’t. Because I’m a coward. Because I LIKE this little bubble we’ve found. I like making breakfast in her kitchen and teasing her about the way she folds her socks and pretending that we’re just two people with a normal kind of almost relationship. I like the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention, soft and curious, like she’s trying to figure me out but not afraid of what she might find. And I know, I KNOW, the second I tell her the truth, that look will change. Because how do you tell someone that you were sent to kill them? How do you explain that the only reason you’re here at all is because of a command you never wanted to follow? How do you explain that the thing she is most afraid of, the fae finding out that she exists, has happened? She’d understand, eventually. I believe that. She’s compassionate. Fierce. Forgiving in ways I don’t deserve. But she’ll be furious first. And disappointed. And she’ll stop trusting me. She might still care, but she won’t look at me like this anymore. And I don’t think I’m strong enough to survive that shift. So I say nothing. I cook. I clean. I make dumb jokes and flirt with her like I’m not spiraling slowly into hell. And I pretend. Because as long as I don’t speak, this moment doesn’t have to end. As long as I lie by omission, I can still be the version of myself she doesn’t have a reason to hate. And heaven help me… I like being that version of myself. 

I have to admit. sleeping on the couch is definitely one of the lesser perks of this entire living arrangement. It’s not just uncomfortable, it’s practically torture at this point. It’s short. It squeaks. And for someone my size, it’s about as dignified as curling up in a shoebox. I’ve been telling myself it’s punishment. Consequences of my actions. If I told Kacia the truth then maybe it would be reasonable for me to request better sleeping arrangements. Hell, if I had told her when we first met, at this point I might even be able to be sleeping in HER bed. Now THAT’S a dangerous thought. The nagging guilt I feel is a firm reminder that I haven’t earned anything more comfortable, let alone a spot in her bed. Which, of course, is the exact moment my brain decides to picture that scenario in vivid, cinematic detail. Damn it. I shove myself upright and drag a hand over my face, tail flicking as I stretch. Breakfast. Yes. Distraction via pancakes. I start mixing batter and focusing very hard on the task at hand. Which is when she appears. Kacia walks down the hallway looking like she stepped out of a dream I’m definitely not supposed to be having. Barefoot, grey pyjama pants low on her hips, a little black tank top clinging to her like it was made for her alone. Her hair is down for once, clean and soft from last night’s wash, not yet twisted into her usual braids. The tips of her ears peek through loose strands, a flicker of something she normally keeps so hidden and private. Her roots are growing out too. Just enough to show a glimmer of that natural, otherworldly purple. Her contacts are off so I can see her striking eyes which are heavy with sleep. She’s beautiful. Too much so. I’m staring. And if I hadn’t been staring, I wouldn’t have noticed her shiver.

“Good morning, my vision.” I say smoothly, flipping a pancake before it burns. 

“As much as I’m enjoying this look, you might want to pull on something warmer. It’s chilly this morning.” I suggest. She blinks at me, still half asleep, and nods. 

“You’re probably right.” She agrees. Her eyes scan the room and land on a black hoodie draped over one of the chairs. Mine. With a casual shrug, she grabs it and pulls it on. I stop breathing. It swallows her whole. The hem reaches her knees. The sleeves cover her hands entirely. She has to push them up to use her fingers. She looks like she just wandered out of a romantic comedy and into my actual nightmares because I can’t handle this. 

“Oh… Oops.” She says, catching on. She glances up at me with an amused smile.

“You don’t mind, do you?” She asks sweetly. I don’t answer immediately. Because my brain has taken a short leave of absence. Words? Speech? Not currently available.

“No. I don’t mind.” I eventually answer. The response comes out strangled. Embarrassingly so. She catches it. Of course she does. One delicate eyebrow arches. And then, slowly, her mouth curves into a smirk that should be illegal this early in the morning. 

“Are you sure?” She asks, voice all faux innocence. 

“You don’t SOUND sure. I could take it off.” She suggests. Then Kacia takes a half step closer, her fingers slide down to the hem as if to pull it up again. And I move on instinct. I reach out and tug the hoodie down firmly. 

“Don’t you dare.” I growl, the words rougher than I intend for them to be. She laughs. Then she keeps pulling anyway. What the hell is wrong with me? The woman I like is trying to REMOVE clothes and I’m trying to stop her! This whole thing is ridiculous! But I know that if she pulls the damn hoodie off, I am going to lose any semblance of self control that I have remaining.

“Behave.” I snap, trying to hold onto the last thread of control I have. She lifts an eyebrow. 

“Behave? Or what? Are you going to send me to my room?” She teases. That’s it. I step forward, loop my arms around her, and lift her clean off the ground. Her arms are pinned against her sides as I trap her against my chest. She lets out a squeak of surprise, then starts wriggling like she thinks she’s going to get free. She gets one arm loose. I’m not concerned. She’s not going anywhere. But then she stops struggling. Her fingers brush lightly over my shoulder. Her cheeks are flushed from the effort, and she’s smiling. Bright. Breathless. A little mischievous. Since she’s not fighting, I loosen my grip, just a little. Her other arm frees itself and rests on my opposite shoulder. Then, slowly, she leans in. It takes me a full second to realise what she’s doing. She’s going to kiss me. And I have just enough time to stop her. I SHOULD stop her. But I don’t.