Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 71

**KACIA**

When I wake, it feels like I’ve been hit by a truck. My whole body is heavy and aching, my limbs uncooperative as I drag myself upright. I’m not just tired, I’m exhausted. My muscles throb like I’ve run a marathon, and my ribs twinge when I move too fast. Which… Tracks, honestly. My sleep was restless at best, haunted by shadowy fragments of panic I don’t fully remember, and before that, my body was riding an adrenaline high so intense it left me completely wrung out. Everything feels frayed. Like my nervous system’s still catching up to the fact that I’m no longer in danger. That I wasn’t in danger in the first place. And that’s the most frustrating part of all of this. Last night was… Jarring. Whiplash level emotional chaos. One second, I was kissing Oz and feeling safe and warm and wanted. The next, I was drowning in fear so intense it felt like my heart might tear itself apart. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t pull myself out of it. Couldn’t make my brain believe what I knew was true, that Oz would never hurt me. 

Because I KNOW that. I KNOW him. He’s protective and thoughtful and way too emotionally soft under all that demonic snark. He didn’t do anything wrong. But damn, the fear was real. All consuming. And now that I’m looking back on it with a clearer head, the guilt hits me like a brick to the chest. I know that kind of thing would hurt him. Even if he understands it wasn’t my fault. Even if he pretends he’s fine. Oz might be made big and scary on the outside, but emotionally? He’s a total cinnamon roll. A tired, sarcastic, secretly melodramatic cinnamon roll. And I freaked out. At him. My stomach twists. Speaking of Oz… Where is he? He’s not in bed with me. I glance around groggily, trying to shake the sleep from my eyes. And then I see him. Still sitting exactly where he was last night. On the floor, spine pressed against the far wall, legs stretched out in front of him like he never moved. My eyes go wide.

“Oz?” My voice comes out hoarse, scratchy from disuse. 

“Have you… Have you been there all night?” I ask. He looks up. Blinks slowly. Nods. And my heart plummets. He looks like hell. There are shadows under his eyes, his skin slightly duller than usual, and he’s watching me like I might bolt any second. Like I’m still a cornered animal. Wow, I feel awful.

“I didn’t want to move, In case you woke up again and weren’t feeling better…”  He says quietly, his voice rough with exhaustion.  His words trail off awkwardly, like he’s not sure if he’s said too much or not enough. 

“You could’ve gone to bed… I murmur, sitting up fully and wincing as my ribs protest. 

“The floor can’t be comfortable. Did you get any sleep at all?” I ask. He shrugs, the motion stiff. 

“Doesn’t matter.” He responds. It does, but I know better than to argue that right now.

“How are you feeling?” He asks instead, eyes scanning my face like he’s searching for signs of lingering panic. I answer honestly. 

“I’m not scared of you anymore, if that’s what you’re asking. The magic wore off.” I tell him bluntly. Something in him sags at that. His whole body deflates in a visible wave of relief, like he’s been holding his breath for hours and only now lets it go. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and slowly stand, making my way toward him. Every step aches, but I don’t care.

“I’m really sorry, Oz, I feel awful about how I reacted.” I say softly. He immediately shakes his head. 

“You responded better than most. You have nothing to be sorry for.” He insists. He means it, I can tell. But that doesn’t make the guilt go away. I reach down and gently tug at his hand, coaxing him upward. 

“Come lie down, you need rest. We both do.” I say. He hesitates, just for a second, but then lets me guide him to the bed. I pull the covers back and nudge him into the space I just vacated, tucking the blanket around him like I’m not entirely sure he won’t vanish the moment I look away. He lies down with that same stiff caution, like he's trying not to disturb the air between us. I climb in beside him and curl into his side, careful not to press too close. I expect him to pull me in, to wrap an arm around me like before, to hold me tightly like I’m something precious. But he doesn’t. He just lies there, tense, motionless. Maybe he’s still hurt. Maybe he doesn’t know if it’s okay to touch me again. Maybe he’s just tired. I let out a slow breath and rest my head against his shoulder anyway, hoping he can feel how sincere I am. That I trust him. That I’m here. And then, just as I’m starting to drift again, I feel it. His tail. It slides over lazily, almost absent mindedly, and drapes across my waist like a weighted blanket. Protective. Possessive. Comforting. I don’t think he even realises he’s doing it. But I do. And it’s enough. I close my eyes and let myself drift back into sleep, finally feeling safe in his arms again.

The next time I wake, it’s not to panic or pain, it’s to eyes on me. That prickling sensation, the feeling of being watched, sinks into my skin before I even open my eyes. I crack one lid open, blinking against the soft daylight streaming in through the blinds. Someone’s standing at the foot of the bed. For one disorienting second, I brace myself for something worse, but then the figure resolves into familiar shapes.

“…Mikey?” My voice is thick with sleep and confusion. He raises an eyebrow at the sight of me tangled in blankets beside a very much unconscious Oz. His expression is equal parts smug and unbothered, and I know that look. That’s the ‘you’re going to regret me having seen this’ look.

“Your new friend let me in.” Mikey says, far too cheerfully for someone who just walked in on this level of awkward. 

“Tell me, do you invite all your rescues to move in? Because if so, we might need to get you a bigger place. With bunk beds.” He jokes. I groan and roll my eyes. 

“Har har. Hilarious.” I say flatly.  

“You’re injured again, Kaci.” He says, and suddenly the teasing softens into something more serious. 

“You have to stop doing that. It’s kind of terrifying.” He adds. I wince. Partially because he’s not wrong. And partially because the movement pulls at the sore muscles in my ribs. 

“Sorry, Mikey.” I mutter, voice quieter now. He glances over at Oz, who hasn’t stirred. His breathing is slow and steady, and he looks like he’s dead to the world. I follow Mikey’s gaze and shoot him a look. 

“Don’t you dare wake him.” I warn.  Mikey gives me a look of exaggerated innocence. 

“Wasn’t gonna.” He insists. 

“He was up all night.” I add, then narrow my eyes at him when I see the slow, knowing smile curl on his face.

“Oh, was he? Up all night, huh?” He says, oozing innuendo.  I slip out of bed carefully, wincing as I move. Every muscle complains, but I push through it.

“Come on, let’s grab some food before I faint or stab you with a spoon.”  I say quietly. Mikey grins, holding the door open for me like he’s the picture of gentlemanly grace. 

“You wound me.” He says dramatically. 

“I might.” I say under my breath, and he laughs. I glance back once before leaving the room, catching the faint rise and fall of Oz’s chest. Still sound asleep. Still wrapped in blankets like I left him, his tail twitching slightly like it’s dreaming of movement. Let him rest. He earned it.