Page 9

The ache in his chest and the wrongness in his blood were something he was trying to ignore. But it was like home had been cut out of him. He blamed it on the missing magic. The magic was so absent he hadn’t even turned into a seal when he slipped on the coat. By rights, he should have. A selkie’s coat turned the wearer into a selkie.

Or maybe it hadn’t turned him because he was a god.

The last time he’d been in the human world, he’d had magic. It had been a rather glorious time. Opium, orgies, art, absinthe… He’d quite enjoyed Paris.

This was not Paris because every place had its own vibration.

It had been longer since he’d been in this place.

Had it been a thousand years?

Whenever it was, back then, there’d been people who still worshipped him, though not as Pan. Not that it mattered, as he had many names. All he needed was someone to worship him, and the magic would return. That thought kept him afloat.

But every time he breathed or tasted the air, it lacked a certain something. Was that the reason he was so hungry?

So thirsty?

He swallowed, his throat filled with dry rocks.

He didn’t even remember the last time he had been so inconvenienced and never for this amount of time. He stepped over cracks in the ground, cutting his feet on sharp stones and cursing everything and everyone.

It was probably a good thing he didn’t have magic; otherwise, he’d be the only one alive on this magic-forsaken world. No, there’d always been magic in the human world. There was just less of it and harder to find.

It had been more difficult to find every time he visited.

He swore again. What if there was no magic in the human world?

Had magic vanishing from the human world been the cause of this unprecedented disaster?

He ducked behind a fallen fence as another noisy human box sped past. As soon as he got his magic back, he was going to silence them. Well, as soon as he sated his thirst and hunger and got rid of the pounding in his skull.

His temples throbbed, and rubbing them only reminded him he currently had horns. Horns…but no hooves. Which was ridiculous.

And he couldn’t even change his form.

He must look like some kind of curly-horned incubus.

It was a good thing he wasn’t an incubus because he doubted anyone would want to fuck him while wearing a stolen fur coat and covered in blood, so he’d still be starving.

He walked past houses, tempted to bang on the door and demand food and praise. If he was on Tariko, he would have.

He was a god. He didn’t beg.

He stamped his foot and immediately regretted it as pain shot up his leg. This body was…it took a moment for him to realize what the sensation was. It wasn’t only the lack of magic in his veins or the loss of connection to magic and everything it touched.

His body was mortal.

It ached and bled and needed to be fed.

He stopped, staring up at a flickering light. Was he mortal without magic?

His stomach twisted as he remembered the beach. A selkie without magic had no skin. He was wearing one of their skins. He gagged but resisted the urge to tear off the coat and wander the streets naked. From what he remembered, humans did not like nudity on the street, and he didn’t want to be cold.

He had enough problems.

He kept walking until he smelled food.

The building was burning, and humans were trying to put out the flames. Other humans were watching. He slunk past, unable to offer assistance even if they’d asked him.