Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 80

**OZ**

Ulric hesitates, and that’s all I need to see. His jaw shifts like he’s grinding gravel between his molars, eyes flicking toward the back room. There’s a war going on behind those thick brows. He might own a shop full of cursed junk and questionable relics, but anyone can see that he runs this place like a temple. For all its clutter, he’s damn proud of it. Reputation matters to him, even if the world sees this as a gremlin den for magic weirdos and opportunists. I also find it interesting how completely unsurprised he is by Kacia’s makeover. I suspect that there were several people who figured out her secret a long time ago, they just liked her enough that they never spoke up. Finally, he exhales through his nose, long and sharp. 

“He ordered a book that was out of stock.” He admits. 

“I told him I’d contact him when it came in. But he gave me a delivery address so I could mail it out instead.” He informs us, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t reach for the book. Doesn’t offer anything else. Kacia steps in gently, voice all soft edges and sincerity. 

“Ulric… I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Elias might be caught up in something serious. There’s illegal blood trafficking going on, and people are getting hurt.” She holds his gaze like she’s anchoring him with it. I don’t know how he’s holding out. Those eyes would work on me.

“If there’s even a chance we can stop it, we have to try. You did say that if I ever needed anything I should ask…” She trails. Off. That’s my cue. I drop the kids and go to properly join in the conversation. I fold my arms and let my tone drop a little lower, just enough weight to land the point. 

“His brothers were part of the group who stole my blood. The same blood I ended up selling to you. Remember?” I remind him. Ulric groans like we’ve physically injured him, muttering something under his breath. I catch enough to make out. 

“You’re too good at guilt-tripping people.” He grumbles. Then, he vanishes behind the counter like we’ve just kicked open the vault door. I glance sideways at Kacia. 

“That was smooth.” I compliment her, but my tone is a little teasing. I can’t help myself. She crosses her arms, raising a brow at me. 

“It’s not a guilt trip if it’s true. And I noticed you chiming in.” She says stubbornly. I give her a look. 

“Just backing up your masterclass in moral manipulation.” I joke. It earns me a smirk. Ulric returns with a leather-bound address book that’s seen better decades. The spine’s cracked, the pages are dog eared, and there’s a faint smell of incense clinging to it. He flips through with practiced fingers, lands on something, and tears a receipt from the till. A few scribbles later, he hands it to Kacia like it’s radioactive.

“This is probably two weeks out of date…” He says with a grimace. 

“Could be a friend’s couch, could be a dead end. Could be fake. But it’s the only thing I’ve got.” He adds. I have a feeling that he almost wants it to lead nowhere, so he doesn’t have to feel bad about handing it over. Kacia takes it with the kind of care you’d reserve for highly fragile objects. 

“Thank you, Ulric.” She says sincerely. 

“Keep my name out of it, I don’t need anyone thinking I’m tied up in blood-running or black-market crap.” He mutters.

“Always.” She replies without hesitation. Just then, chaos returns in the form of two tiny goblins hurtling toward me at full speed. I almost missed them, they were creeping around, stalking me like not-so-sneaking kittens. One grabs my tail… Again, and starts pulling like it’s some kind of toy. I sigh, Spin on the spot, then I scoop them both up, one under each arm like overgrown sacks of potatoes. They squeal, squirm, and laugh like I’ve just made their entire year.

“Victory is mine!” I declare as I march toward the door, triumphant. Ulric chuckles behind us. “He’s welcome back anytime.” He comments which makes me grin even harder. I glance at Kacia, and I can see that she’s smiling. No shields. No sharp edges. Just… Smiling. I wish it could be like this all the time. 

Kacia is practically skipping beside me. Or, well, as close to skipping as someone with cracked ribs and a patchwork of bruises can manage. She’s light on her feet, grinning like a kid on her birthday, and I can’t help noticing, again, that her bruises are healing faster than any human’s should. Fae blood must come with perks beyond her irritatingly pretty face. Alright, I don’t mind the face. I actually rather like it. Damn it. Bad Oz. Stop thinking things like that. 

“We have an address!” She announces, practically singing the words, and I chuckle.

“Sweetheart…” I say dryly. 

“We had an address this morning too.” I remind her. She makes a face at me, equal parts wounded and dramatic. 

“We had a suspected address. This one feels solid. I have a good feeling about it.” She insists. I raise an eyebrow. That earns me a light slap to the arm.

“Don’t ruin this for me.” She scolds, chin lifted like she’s daring me to try. I laugh again. I can’t help it. She’s ridiculous. Infuriating. Hopeful. Somehow still alive, still moving forward. It’s maddening and kind of... Contagious.

“So, are we heading there next?” I ask. She slows a little, sighs. 

“No. Damnit. We’re going to wait. I’m going to TRY to text this to Mikey so he can check it out first, make sure it’s not a wild goose chase. And we’ll wait until it’s dark before heading over. Do some recon first. Hopefully it won’t be as dramatic as last time. You know, then I ended up saving you and lost every single one of the guys involved even though they were all conveniently in once place…” She sighs again.

“I want to say I’m sorry, but I can’t quite bring myself to regret the part where you saved my life.” I offer. She snorts. 

“Saved your life, earned your eternal servitude, or some crap like that.” She grumbles. Then her tone shifts, still teasing, but there’s something sharper beneath it. 

“Hey, how exactly were you planning to walk out on me with that demon deal in place, anyway?” She asks. And just like that, the smile fades from my face.

“If I can help you deal with the fae who wants you dead, I’m fairly sure that’ll be enough to consider the debt paid.” I say evenly. It should be. It might be…  But there’s a knot in my chest that doesn’t agree. Because SHE saved a stranger that night, someone she had every reason to walk away from. Someone who turned out to be a demon. A risk. A threat. And she did it anyway. I’ve saved her a few times now, sure. But each time, I wasn’t doing it out of some noble sense of obligation. I was saving HER. Kacia. And that’s the problem. Helping her doesn’t feel like a burden. It doesn’t feel like sacrifice. Each time I’ve saved her, I’ve been saving someone I… Care about. A lot. And the more I care… The less likely my helping Kacia is likely to actually be enough to make up my side of the deal. Because demon law isn’t about what you do, it’s about what it costs. Because saving her isn’t a sacrifice for me. Damn it. I fight to keep my face straight. I don’t want her to know that there’s a chance it might not work. Then again, if it fails… I’ll have no choice but to stay with her. It might be nice for the decision to be out of my hands. Then I wouldn’t have to make myself suffer by doing the right thing. 

“Oh… I suppose that makes sense,” Kacia says, and her voice is quieter now, her mood dimming like someone’s just drawn a curtain over her sunlight. Shit. I didn’t mean to do that. I didn’t want to put that look on her face. This whole thing would be so much easier if she didn’t care whether I stayed or went. If she shrugged it off, rolled her eyes, moved on without a second thought. If I were just another random creature she’d helped out of a tight spot, charity work with horns. But she DOES care. And that’s the problem. Because every time she frowns at the idea of me leaving, every time she complains or pouts or tries to reason with me, or worse, flirts like she knows exactly what she’s doing… Every single time, it WORKS. It chips away at whatever pathetic shield I’ve managed to throw up. It makes me want to stay. Desperately. Because the idea of letting her down, of walking away and watching her pretend it doesn’t hurt, feels worse than anything I could have imagined.  She doesn’t even realise what she’s doing half the time. Or maybe she does, she’s clever like that. Seduction as strategy, affection as leverage. She weaponises every smile, every joke, every lingering look that makes me forget what kind of a danger I am to her. And I let her. Because I want to. I want her. And I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to walk away from that.