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Which only meant it had been purposeful when the giant had stood by the doorway earlier.

Dave shook his head. He needed time to think, to put all the pieces together and strategize, to come up with something. But he couldn’t. Not when he couldn’t be alone with nothing to distract him or force him to remain vigilant.

“Okay.”

He didn’t have much of a choice, but he kept the snark to himself.

Not that it made a big difference.

“Look at you,” Melchom teased. “Learning already.”

“I’m pretty sure getting inside people’s heads without their permission is rude.”

Did demons even understand the notion of consent?

“Why would I need permission?” Melchom stalked closer, forcing his eyes up if he didn’t want to be staring at a ridiculously toned set of pecs. “You’re my gift. My property.”

“Because a bunch of idiots wanted to play pretend at a seance? That hardly seems fair.”

Melchom cocked his head to the side. He did that.

“The magick to deliver a gift to a demon is intentional. Whoever set the spell knew what they were doing.”

“The fuck?” he blurted out.

He’d meant to use his inner voice, but oh well.

For a minute or two, Melchom didn’t answer. He didn’t seem to care that Dave’s heart kept picking up speed, his breathing becoming more rapid, more irregular. He’d tried to block out how he’d ended up there, or assumed it was a stupid college party gone wrong. But…

They’d done this to him?

Jordan’s boyfriend?

…Jordan?

His fucking best friend?

Fury sneaked into his system, merging with the fear and the helplessness and every other emotion that had taken up residence within him ever since he’d woken up surrounded by putrid smells and flames and fucking demons.

“Heal me.” The strength in his words shocked him, but he didn’t care. He was going to need to be at his best if he was going to take his revenge.

And he was going to.

“That’s my tiny human.” Melchom smirked.

There was no warning after that. Dave’s body convulsed, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. It felt like a zap of electricity seeping through, seeming to catalog every inch of him.

It stopped in a matter of seconds.

Dave blinked as he gazed down at his body. There were no scratches on his legs. When he turned his hands, his palms looked perfect—soft and smooth, without a trace of a scorch.

He felt stronger, too, his muscles holding him up easier.

Melchom gave him a look meant to make him shiver. It was followed by a signal pointing to the floor. Maybe another day Dave would’ve been—rightfully—indignant, but he had more important things to focus on. Fighting over whether or not he’d grab a tiara from the floor wasn’t one of them, so he did it, squatting down because it felt safer than bending down.

After it was carefully placed on the shelf he’d taken it from, Dave turned around.

“You’re full of it now, aren’t you, Dove?” Melchom noted.