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Melchom couldn’t wait to head back to his chambers. The only issue now was that he couldn’t be certain if his human would be there or playing fetch with his deadly pet outside. It was a struggle between wanting to order him inside the room, and being wary of making the human hate him.

Even if hatred could taste delicious—under the right circumstances.

Melchom closed his eyes, tuning in to the activity around him. Minions passed him by, gossiping among themselves. He felt humans being punished, but didn’t care enough to follow the trail. None of them were his human.

Melchom felt him then.

He must’ve just come back from walking the hound. Gaz was going to be so spoiled if Dove got more power, it would be ridiculous. Melchom didn’t want to get in the middle of that, though.

He’d rather not add any more scars to his body, and he knew the hound would go feral against anyone and anything if given the chance. It was in all the looks she saved for him when his—their—human was not looking. She really had Dove wrapped around her talon, and Dove had no idea. Melchom just found it too cruel to destroy that utopia the human had built for himself. It worked for Melchom, too. His Dove thought he had a life in Hell better than his life on Earth, and that meant him lasting here.

* * *

“How the Heavens did you summon me again?” Melchom sprung up.

One blink, and he’d been pulled to the east entrance of the castle, a wide-eyed Dove surging toward him. Dove tried to jump up, but while the effort was cute, it didn’t help him much. Melchom hoisted him up until those soothing fingers wrapped around his neck. He wondered how he could get the human to do his hair again without showing all his cards.

It had been too nice not to take advantage.

“I heard a voice.” Dove mumbled.

Gaz was there, on her hind legs.

Why scared Master?

Melchom shook his head. He guessed he’d have to figure it out.

“That can’t be anything new,” he said before he got into Dove’s head to prod around.

“There had been no voices since you got me Gaz.”

Melchom smirked. He liked the sound of that—Melchom had gotten him the stupid hellhound. He focused on the other thing his Dove said a second later. Prodding, it was. He didn’t have to go too deep. Dove’s mirrors kept replaying the moment he’d heard the voice.

It was one of the minions Astaroth had hired as his personal assistant, saying something about how Astaroth’s new human kept asking about Dove.

That had to be the friend who’d betrayed his Dove. Melchom’s blood boiled with anger. Maybe Melchom should’ve kept him for himself so he could make him really suffer.

“Let’s go talk to my dear brother.”

So that Melchom could clock him for letting a human use his minion as a carrier pigeon.

He didn’t say that.

“Brother?”

“Astaroth, Prince of Hell with a taste for betrayal and dramatics.”

Dove followed him quietly for all of two minutes before he was talking again. “Isn’t that the one… the one who said I was special?”

Melchom’s voice came out clipped, “He’s aware of the scriptures, yes.”

It was hard to tell how much he should tell him or not. If his Dove was meant to be King, he should get a crash course on demonic politics, but… He was still Melchom’s gift, his property. Not giving out intel was second nature for Melchom.

Gifts—humans—didn’t get to know anything. The less they knew, the easier they were to break. The easier they were to keep scared, fearing every little movement in their periphery.

Kill? We kill Astaroth?

No! The last thing Melchom would need was to stand court because a hellhound in his care hurt a Prince of Hell. Stand guard, that’s all you have to do.