Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 44

**KACIA**

The warm, floaty, slightly dazed glow I was basking in, because Oz finally kissed me! Well, it doesn’t last long. It shatters the second I pick up my phone and see all the missed calls and messages. The number isn’t saved, but the texts come in a rush, one after the other, and my heart starts pounding before I’ve even finished reading the first one.

Unknown – Dave said I should contact you if anything happens. He needs help. Someone took him.

Unknown – Someone who was definitely not human…

Unknown – Please, come quickly. I REALLY hope you get these messages. I’m texting your cop friend too, just in case.

Amy. It has to be Amy. I don’t know how she got my number, but I know Dave would have found a way to get it to her. The panic in her words is obvious, and justified. Someone took Dave. Someone not human. Every other thought evaporates. I sprint for my room and yank on the first clean set of clothes I find, my hands shaking with adrenaline. My boots take longer than usual to get on because I keep missing the damn zip. My mind is racing. Where was he taken? Why? Who would even go after him? I bolt back into the kitchen, all trace of dreamy post kiss bliss gone. Oz starts to say something, but I talk over him. 

“Later. Grab your shoes, we’re heading out.”  I tell Oz, sharp and firm. There’s no room for argument. He tries to say something again, but I don’t give him the chance.

“We have to go NOW. Something’s happened to Dave.” I tell him, hoping to hurry him along. I can’t help but notice the shift in him. He looks… Off. Like something’s weighing on him. At any other moment, I might’ve asked what was wrong. I’d probably be worrying about it already. But right now? Right now Dave is in trouble, and that comes first. I think maybe Oz is bothered by something, he looks like he wants to stop me, or maybe explain something, but the second I tell him Dave’s in danger, the hesitation disappears from his face. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t ask questions. Just pulls on his boots and follows me out the front door without hesitation. And for a second, I’m grateful. Because despite whatever’s going on with him, whatever’s bothering him, I don’t have to drag him into this. He’s already all in. 

We drive to Amy’s place like the car is on fire. I barely register the fact that I blow through one red light and break at least three speed limits. My hands are clenched so tightly on the steering wheel that my knuckles ache. The only thing keeping me from completely spiraling is Oz, silent beside me, eyes scanning every street like he’s preparing for something to leap out at us. I can feel eyes on me again, but I don’t know if they’re real or it’s just paranoia at this point. I guess it doesn’t matter. I don’t have time to care about that. When we pull into the driveway, I see Mikey’s car already there. He must have gotten Amy’s messages before we did. Damn technology. His phone actually works most of the time. Amy is waiting inside. She’s sitting stiffly at the kitchen table, pale and tear streaked, clutching a mug of tea like it’s the only thing anchoring her to the room. She doesn’t look up when we enter, just stares blankly into the cup like she’s hoping it’ll explain what the hell just happened. Mikey’s the one who greets us. He looks tired, tense. His tie is crooked, and he’s holding a notepad that he immediately hands over to me. His voice is low, calm, but I can hear the strain under it, the tightness in his jaw that tells me he’s barely keeping it together.

“This is definitely one of yours, Kaci. I am well and truly out of my depth here.” He confesses. I nod and glance through the notes. My stomach sinks with every line.

\-Very tall, towered over the doorway and had to duck to get inside.

\-Stocky, heavy build – Not muscular like a gym rat, more like a construction worker who bulked up from years of heavy lifting. Barrel chest. Thick arms. 

\-Skin tone – Brown, but with an unnatural greenish undertone that made him look almost sickly. 

\-Hair – Sparse, coarse, and dark. Balding? 

\-Teeth – Large, crooked, and yellowed. Some looked too big for his mouth.

\-Eyes – Small and sunken, very dark.

\-Tattoos – Black or dark green markings on both arms. She couldn’t see them properly.

\-Clothing – Filthy, torn in places.

\-Smell – Awful. Horrible BO. Like rotting meat mixed with sweat and garbage juice. 

There’s more scribbled further down, but I stop reading. I don’t need to. I know what this is. Oz leans over my shoulder, frowning as he reads.

“A troll?” He asks, voice low and unsure. I nod slowly. 

“Looks like it.” I agree. Mikey straightens up, visibly trying to keep his cool.

“Okay, so we’re looking for a troll. Why the hell would a troll take Dave?” He asks. 

“That’s the part I can’t figure out.” I admit, frustration curling in my chest. 

“Trolls are territorial and unpredictable, sure, but this? This doesn’t make sense. They don’t usually kidnap people. They have no reason to. This has to be about something else.” I explain.

That sits in the pit of my stomach like a rock. I look over at Amy, whose hands are trembling around the cup now. Her eyes flick up toward me.

“Amy? Is there something else?” I ask gently. She hesitates, like she’s not sure whether to say it. Then she gives a tiny shrug.

“Maybe? The… Troll, he said something before he took Dave. Something about wanting ‘the hunter.’ I wasn’t sure what he meant. Dave told him the hunter was a friend, and he should back off. Then the troll just… Took him. Like he was bait or something.” She explains. The room goes still. Mikey’s head snaps toward me. Oz does the same. Amy blinks at us, clearly confused.

“What?” She asks, her voice tight. 

“What is it?” She demands. I exhale slowly, already feeling the weight of the guilt pressing down.

“My last name is Hunter.  I’m Kacia Hunter.” I say, voice low. Amy’s eyes widen. Her grip tightens on the mug.

“Oh shit. So it was you he was after.” She blurts out. I fight the urge to flinch. 

“Yeah, looks like it.”  I whisper. I crouch beside her, taking her free hand gently.

“I’m so sorry, Amy. I promise, I’ll figure this out. I’ll get him back.” I promise. But I have no idea how. All I know is that Dave, loyal, steady, protective Dave, is missing. Because of me.

We head outside to see if we can track the troll. They’re generally not all that subtle, usually leave broken branches and… Well… Everything else. We can probably find some footprints, or at least some disturbed ground. But we don’t make it more than a few steps past the driveway before everything hits me at once. I stop dead. The world tilts sideways. My chest tightens like I’ve been punched by something invisible and cruel. I can’t breathe. I can’t, my throat won’t open, my lungs won’t fill. My heart is hammering like it’s trying to escape my ribcage, but I’m not moving. I can’t move. My vision pulses at the edges, narrowing, tunnelling. My hands go clammy, and for a terrifying second, I think I’m going to pass out right there on the sidewalk. Oz is immediately at my side.

“Kaci? Kacia, sweetheart, are you okay?” His voice is soft, steady, but laced with concern. I shake my head once, small, sharp, and he reads me instantly. His eyes widen, then soften with understanding.

“You’re having a panic attack.” He says gently, like it’s a fact, not a flaw. No judgment, just recognition. Then he’s pulling me in, wrapping me up in his arms like I’m something breakable and important. I collapse against his chest without thinking, without fighting it. His warmth surrounds me. One of his hands comes up to stroke slow, soothing lines down my back. The other finds my hair, messy, unbraided, barely tamed under a beanie that I pulled on to hide my ears as we rushed out the house. He gently untangles a few strands with his fingers, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He doesn’t rush me. Doesn’t tell me to calm down. He just holds me like the world isn’t on fire and murmurs words I can barely hear over the chaos in my own body. 

“Shh. This is not your fault. You couldn’t have known this would happen.”

“We will find him. He’ll be okay.”

“You are not alone in this. I’ve got you.” He repeats it all over and over, grounding me, anchoring me. His voice is low and rhythmic and I cling to his words. I try to focus on the feel of his hand on my back. The steady rhythm of his heart under my cheek. The warmth of him cutting through the panic just enough to remind me I’m safe. That I’m not spiraling alone in a void. That he’s here. He’s here.