Caz shakes his head no, and I refuse to let my disappointment ruin this moment. George lifts his head to yowl directly into my face. Caziel’s mouth twitches, but not in a smile.
“The Beast,” he says, with the kind of solemnity most people reserve for natural disasters, “bit me twice. He knocked over three ritual bowls and attempted to kill a broom.” I snort. “He also defiled a ceremonial robe and screamed at an orb of scrying light for twenty minutes without pause.” I’m fully laughing now. “Then he ate part of a book.”
“Of course he did.”
Caziel exhales like this whole thing personally offended him on a metaphysical level.
“I was prepared for resistance,” he says. “I was not prepared for a creature that hisses mid-air and refuses to be bribed.”
I grin so hard my face hurts. “And yet… you still brought him.
He says nothing. But his gaze softens just enough to give him away. I stroke George’s fur, still trying to process. “You even grabbed his food?”
“It was under the sink. Blue bag. Like you said.”
“I didn’t know it was a list.” My chest feels tight. My throat blocked. The corners of my eyes burn as I hold back tears.
“I left the box,” he says flatly. “It was full of feces. The beast and I have come to an understanding.”
George lets out a burbling grumble from my lap. I raise my eyebrows.
“He agreed not to shit in a sacred hallway?”
Caziel inclines his head, dead serious. “That was the bargain.”
God, I can’t believe this is happening.
“I thought he was gone,” I whisper. “I thought I’d never see him again.”
“You said he was important.”
My throat tightens.
He doesn’t say it with fanfare or flourish. Just fact. Like the act of honoring that importance was obvious. Caziel steps forward, setting a small satchel on the table beside me. I glance at it, brows drawing together.
“What’s this?”
“Your medication. The one in the orange bottle. It was unopened.”
I open the flap slowly, half afraid I’ll wake up from this whole thing and….what? Find myself at home? Sure enough—there it is. My name. The white label. My meds. I blink furiously. Willing the tears to stay back.
He continues, “And, as you noted, you were likely low on… supplies.”
I pause.
“…You mean tampons?”
“I asked your neighbor,” he says without a flicker of shame, “but she didn’t have any. She directed me to a place called Target.”
Oh no.
No no no.
I’m already choking on laughter as I picture him—this tall, sharp-jawed hell-prince—standing under a fluorescent light in the feminine care aisle, surrounded by pastel packaging and glittery signage. We fall into silence for a moment.
I run my fingers through George’s fur. He stretches, fangs peeking out in a dramatic yawn, then settles again like he’s always belonged here.
I lift my eyes to Caziel.
