Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 51

**OZ**

So… Here's the problem. For all my grand speeches about making things right with Kacia, I have absolutely no idea how to actually accomplish that. None. Not even a hint. Which is why I find myself standing awkwardly in the patchy front yard of her house, half hidden behind a tree, debating life choices like some creepy demon stalker.

She told me to leave. But did she mean forever? Or was it more of a ‘leave me alone for ten minutes so I can calm down’ kind of leave? Because I’m pretty sure there’s a difference. Probably. Maybe.

My tail twitches around my ankles, restless with my thoughts. I shift from foot to foot, staring at her front door like it might sprout fangs and bite me if I approach. Technically, pretty much all of my earthly possessions are still inside, neatly stacked by the living room couch where I sleep. Unless she’s thrown them out by now… Which honestly, wouldn’t surprise me. She could have set them on fire too, and part of me wouldn’t even be mad. I’d just stand there, staring at the flames, thinking yeah, fair enough.

I COULD knock on the door. It’s been… What, three hours now? Maybe four? Maybe she’s cooled off a little. Maybe she’d let me explain. Maybe she’d look at me the way she used to, even just for a moment.

Or maybe… Maybe she’s still furious. Maybe she’d open the door just to slam it in my face. Maybe she’d tell me to get out of her life for good, and this time, she’d mean it with no flicker of doubt behind her eyes.

I hesitate, swallowing hard against the lump forming in my throat. For a demon, I’ve never felt less dangerous in my life.

I could go back to the library. It’s open all night. I can lurk in a corner somewhere, hidden behind shelves, and pretend I’m still useful to someone in this realm. Anything is better than standing here like this, like a kicked dog waiting for his master to whistle him home.

I sigh heavily, shoulders slumping as I turn away from her house. The cool evening air bites at my skin, rustling the trees overhead. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow I’ll figure out what to say to her. Maybe tomorrow she’ll forgive me. Or… Maybe she won’t.

But for tonight, all I have left is the library, and the hope that somehow, in the quiet hush of its ancient halls, I’ll find the strength to keep trying. Because no matter how many mistakes I’ve made, I know one thing for certain.

I’m not done fighting for her yet.

**KACIA**

I get in my car and drive straight down to that incredibly dodgy bar where Angelo is being kept. Because somewhere between washing the brown dye out of my hair and throwing away those stupid contact lenses, something in me shifted.

This sudden newfound freedom I’m embracing, it’s like a jolt of electricity through my veins. It makes me realise something important. I’ve been waiting. Waiting for information. Waiting for research about the bar, for Mikey to dig up the owner’s details, for the perfect plan to form in my head.

Waiting because that’s what humans do. They wait, they plan, they strategise, they tick all their boxes and cross all their t’s and dot every i. But I’m not human. Not completely, at least.

The supernatural community doesn’t run on human rules. It runs on politics, hierarchy, and power. If you have power, or someone powerful backing you, you can get away with whatever the hell you want. It’s stupid. It’s toxic. And it’s true.

I’ve spent my entire life trying to play by human rules while navigating supernatural ones, and what has it gotten me? Fear. Isolation. Always being on the run from something. Well, screw that.

I refuse to accept it anymore. I’m taking back my own damn power.

No, I might not have magic. I can’t charm someone into obedience or burn down the bar with a flick of my fingers. But there is something I can use to my advantage. Something I’ve ignored for too long because I’ve always hated it.

I LOOK like a fae. Tonight, I’ll show them exactly what happens when they underestimate me. I look like power. Like danger. Like something no one wants to cross.

And fae might be bound to their twisted truths, forced to dance around honesty like it would burn them, but me? I can do something no other fae can. I can lie. I can lie with a straight face, with conviction, with venom and honey rolled into one.

And if these assholes think they’re going to keep Angelo locked away just because they have the power to do so… Well. Let’s see how brave they are when faced with a half fae who has stopped pretending to be human.

I hesitate just outside the bar, my hand hovering near the door handle. What if this doesn’t work? What if I walk in there, bluff my way through half a threat, and they just… Laugh in my face?

I have no idea how many people are inside tonight. I have no idea how Angelo is even trapped here. He’s a brownie, bound by magic or contracts or oaths I don’t understand. And the thing is… I don’t understand. Not really. Not how fae magic works, not the rules they live by, nothing.

For a moment, the panic rises. What the hell am I even doing here? Then I take a slow breath. Fake it until you make it, right? That’s always been my strategy. What’s one more thing to fake?

I straighten my shoulders. I pull off the beanie I’d thrown on before leaving, just in case any humans saw me in the car park, and rake my fingers through my hair, fluffing out the purple strands at the roots before flicking it back behind my shoulders.

My pointed ears catch the cool air. Exposed. Raw. Honest. And vulnerable.

For a brief second, I wish Oz were here. He’s a demon, an actual force of nature. Having him at my back would make this so much easier. I could stand taller knowing he was watching, that if my bluff was called, he would step in with claws and shadows and terrifying growls to back me up.

But then I remember. I’m not sure I trust him at my back anymore. The ache in my chest tightens, but I push it away.

I can’t afford to think about him right now. I can’t afford to think about how he kissed me like I was something precious. Or how he betrayed me like I was nothing at all.

No. I have to focus.

With that thought burning in my chest, I push open the door and step inside.

The bar is dim and crowded with shadows. It’s busy tonight, dozens of supernatural patrons hunched over wooden tables, the thick scent of alcohol and sweat heavy in the air.

I scan quickly. No blood drainers in sight. Good. The bartender from last time is behind the counter, wiping down a glass with a rag that looks filthier than the cup itself. A few large, rough looking patrons sit near the bar, radiating boredom and mild menace.

And there, near the far corner, bent over a table, furiously wiping it down with a damp cloth, trying to look invisible, is Angelo.

I take a few confident steps inside, letting my boots echo across the wooden floor. I stop, planting myself firmly in the centre of the room. It takes a few moments for anyone to notice me, but once they do, silence ripples outward like a shockwave.

Whispers spark at the edges. A man elbows his friend. Another turns to stare, eyes wide and flicking immediately to my exposed ears and unnatural eyes.

The bartender clears his throat. It sounds strained, tight with nerves.

“Can I help you, miss?” he asks. His voice wavers. He looks terrified.

Is this what it’s like for Oz all the time? Having people automatically assume you’re dangerous just because of what you are? Ugh. I have GOT to stop thinking about him every other thought.

I tilt my head, letting my hair shift to reveal the points of my ears more clearly. Might as well make use of the drama.

“Yes, It has come to my attention that you have a brownie here. Goes by Angelo. I’m here to free him.” I say, my voice casual but firm.

The silence deepens.

“B-but you can’t just… Take him, that’s not how it works!” the bartender stammers, glancing nervously around the room for backup.

I raise an eyebrow, fixing him with a flat stare.

“Isn’t it?” I ask softly, letting each syllable drip with quiet, subtle threat.

I turn my gaze to Angelo. He’s staring at me like I’ve grown a second head. I suppose, to him, I probably have. Purple hair, pointed ears, and lilac eyes. This isn’t the Kacia he’s met before.

“Angelo, do you want to stay here, or would you rather leave with me?” I say calmly.

He glances around, wringing the cloth between his small hands. Fear wars with hope in his expression. I give him a tiny nod of encouragement.

“I… I would like to leave.” he says softly.

I turn back to the bartender, tilting my head just slightly, acting how I imagine a queen would look if she were dealing with a particularly lowly wretch.

“Well. You heard him, he wants to leave. And I intend to help him.” I say, my voice laced with steel.

The bartender’s hands shake where they grip the glass.

“But… There’s a spell… A binding contract—” he starts.

I step closer to the bar, leaning in slightly, lowering my voice so it’s just for him.

“I am aware, I suggest you find a way to break it before I have to do it myself.” I murmur, smiling sweetly.

His face drains of colour. Sweat beads at his hairline. I can feel every eye in the room pinned to me, the half blood girl with a predator’s smile. My heart is thundering so hard it feels like it might burst out of my chest.

Obviously I have no idea how to break any spell, but they don’t know that. I doubt anyone has even realised I’m not fully fae.

On the inside, I’m terrified. But outwardly, I don’t flinch. I just pick idly at one of my nails, raise an eyebrow, and wait.

Please let them see power. Even if it IS only an illusion. Please, please let this work.