Rolling out of bed, he dragged his claws through his tangled hair. Strands hung in his face and stuck up every which way, but it didn’t bother him. He’d never cared much for his appearance the way other demons did. He spent a great deal of time invisibly stalking prey or moving as particles of vapor. It didn’t matter what he looked like.
Yet, for reasons unknown, this morning he found himself stopping in front of the mirror on his way past and regarding his reflection. Familiar yellow eyes stared back at him, but it felt like he was looking at a stranger. The neck brand blended against his dark gray skin, though by the way it burned, he half expected it to be red and swollen.
He shifted into human form. As he stared at this weaker, more vulnerable version of himself, for the first time, he felt something other than mild revulsion.
He looked like someone else. Someone who wasn’t the Hunter. Someone whose existence wasn’t controlled by another and who had a choice in their future.
This was why he had begun this experience living on Earth. He had sought an escape, however temporary, because he wanted a break from being what he was.
But, judging by that brand on his neck, that respite was at its end. Not for the first time, he wondered if death was preferable to an eternity of servitude. And not for the first time, he couldn’t decide.
Belial’s booming voice thundered from the kitchen. “Come eat breakfast while it’s hot or I’ll beat your skulls in with this frying pan!”
Mist snapped to attention, shifting back to demon form as soon as his focus lapsed. One did not disobey a command from Belial. Especially when that command contained the promise of his cooking.
Stalking into the kitchen, he perched on one of the barstools at the island where they gathered for meals.
“You’re the first one here,” Belial said, “so you get a reward.” A steaming espresso shot was deposited in front of him. “First coffee of the day. And”—he piled the contents of the frying pan onto Mist’s plate—“extra food.”
Mist stared at the coffee and food and felt a warm sensation he couldn’t name. He glanced at Belial, who met his gaze briefly before turning back to the stove.
Meph and Raum breezed into the kitchen a moment later. “Ooh, coffee.” Meph stretched out a tattooed hand to steal his espresso shot.
Mist didn’t have a lot of things that belonged to him, so when he acquired something, he became extremely possessive of it. He snatched the shot away and hissed in Meph’s face with bared teeth.
Meph just laughed. “Come on, be a nice demon and share.”
“Touch his coffee, I’ll rip your fingers off,” Belial snapped. “Sit the fuck down and eat.”
It was hardly a difficult command to obey. The four of them dug into their meals with gusto.
When they finished, Mist stayed to help clean up after Meph and Raum disappeared. He enjoyed having something to do with his hands that didn’t result in violence, even indirectly. Washing dishes was about as harmless a task as there was, and he found it soothing.
He was just hanging the dishtowel off the stove handle when Belial spoke.
“Were you planning to say anything about that brand on your neck?”
Mist’s head swung around. Belial was leaning against the island counter with arms crossed. Even in human form, he was enormous, nearly as tall as Mist’s demon form, with shoulders twice the width of a normal man’s.
“She’s summoning you, isn’t she?”
Mist glanced away. “How did you know?”
“I just know.” One of the original fallen angels from the dawn of creation and, consequently, one of the greatest powers in Hell, there wasn’t a lot Belial didn’t know.
“So?”
Mist glanced back at him in question.
“Are you going back?”
“I have to.”
“What happens if you ignore the brand?”
He plucked at the fraying edge of the dishtowel with his foreclaw. Everything in him rebelled at responding—his brands were his greatest weakness, and a smart demon knew never to reveal such information. But there was no denying Belial when he wanted something, and Mist didn’t view him as an enemy anyway.
Which was yet another thing wrong with him. A demon viewed everyone as an enemy.
