Page 17 of How Not to Charm Your Human Colleague (Falling for Demons #2)

FIRE STARTER

Kizros

O ne night.

Kizros had promised himself one night to have her, but then he’d gone and blurted that she had an open invitation to his room. Then he’d touched her, seen her bare skin underneath his body, felt her come around his cock, knotted her—it was every fantasy shattered for a new realization.

He wanted Aofe. More than just a fantasy, but a reality.

And wasn’t he just the worst for it? Maybe she wanted more of him too, but did she not understand she’d seen nothing of Heck? Of her other options? At the end of the day, she’d still not left the shop, and he still wanted to keep her to himself.

He’d selfishly clawed for those extra hours, minutes, seconds with her the other night.

When his knot had finally slipped free, he’d had to fight every instinct to shove his release back inside her.

And to prove he wasn’t some feral monster who wanted to keep her stuffed permanently when she was so clearly tired, he’d run a bath for them and kept his hands off.

Mostly off.

Not off at all, but that was also the fault of those gold piercings through her nipples driving him mad.

She’d then shown him exactly how she liked to touch that exterior pleasure point humans had, and now there were two places in his suite he’d never be able to look at again without thinking of her sounds and how soft her body was when she came on his fingers and cock.

Then he’d slept next to her, felt her curl against his body in sleep as she sought his warmth, and it was somehow better than fucking her.

Holding her, watching her chest rise and fall with each breath, knowing she felt safe enough to be vulnerable with him to ask for more pillows?

It was a smugness he’d never thought he was capable of.

Kizros had worn that smugness all through the next day, finding every opportunity to watch her as she worked or sneak kisses in between errands. He’d discovered yet another flower bush had bloomed blue, and at this rate, the entire greenhouse would be that color by fall. Damn psychic plants.

Obsessed was probably not a strong enough term for how he felt about Aofe, which was a problem .

Because now what was he doing?

Going to Ragnar’s to get her a fucking pet.

At least this wasn’t entirely for selfish reasons.

Demons weren’t unfamiliar with the concept of pets, and after seeing someone walk by the shop yesterday with their leashed aegian—a spindly hairless creature—the idea had struck him.

For something like Kizros’s specific request, Ragnar would have gone out to the Dreadmoor with just rope and a determination to help.

Thankfully, the demon already had something in mind and was amenable to a visit, especially considering it had been over two weeks since he’d visited his friend, despite the letters they’d exchanged over that time.

After checking the outskirts of the property and around the stables with no luck—and maybe feeding a beast or two—Kizros climbed the steps to Ragnar’s home.

Kiz was so lost in his thoughts he almost didn’t notice the door ajar.

Ragnar was a self-described hermit—he never left his door open.

“Uh, hello?” Kizros called, rapping his knuckles against the wood.

He pushed it open a little more, belatedly thinking that now might be a good time to have a weapon or some form of defense in case of an intruder—okay, no demon was stupid enough to do that, so whatever had made its way inside would be a beast. And if it was strong enough to take out Ragnar, no object Kizros wielded would be effective.

He was proven right the moment he stepped over the threshold, a flash of silver making him yelp.

“Fuck!” Kizros froze, every thought scrambling from his brain as he stared down at the atteapir.

Well, staring down was relative, because the beast’s ears came up to his chest and the lithe but solid body still reached hip height.

Silver fur glinted in the moonlight, its six red eyes on a long snout unblinking as it stared back, and Kizros forgot everything he was supposed to do when faced with one of these beasts.

It wasn’t the claws—dull—or the teeth—only sharp enough to do damage if it had hours to gnaw on your skin—that he had to worry about with this creature.

It was the fluffy tail. Whip-fast, ignitable fluffy tail. Fire-so-hot-it-sliced fluffy tail.

And it was currently in Ragnar’s living room.

Kizros watched the atteapir’s tail sweep lazily behind it, no flickers of flame yet.

With neither of them reacting, he at least managed to breathe out a silent sigh of relief that this was only a kit.

Which he then remembered wasn’t actually a relief because the youngest didn’t have control over their fire.

“Hey!” came a voice deeper inside the home, and Kizros wasn’t sure how much more relief and panic swings his heart could take now that he knew Ragnar wasn’t dead by atteapir fire. “Sit.”

Kizros bent his knees.

“Not you, Kizros,” Ragnar huffed, half-leaned out of the kitchen.

Kizros watched as the atteapir lowered its hind legs, curling its tail at a calm pace until it was sitting patiently at his feet.

“Wow,” he hummed, chuckling as the creature blinked all six of its eyes at different intervals. “You really are the best tamer if you got an atteapir to follow directions before it’s fully grown.”

“She’ll remain that size.”

Kizros choked on a breath, wondering how the typically six-foot-tall beast could be… at best four feet tall and full grown.

“I brought her up to meet you,” Ragnar continued, waving Kizros toward the kitchen. “Since you’re taking her home.”

There were many arguments on Kizros’s tongue about taking a living flame into his home of very flammable plants who would not appreciate being turned into crisps, but he also trusted his friend.

Maybe slightly less now.

He kept an eye on the atteapir as he stepped into the house, closing the door behind him. On his way past the couch, he scratched Moar behind the ears, the human-world dog wagging its tail but respecting Kizros’s preference for not being tackled.

Kizros sat at one of the table’s two chairs, watching Ragnar at the stovetop as he fiddled with the teakettle.

The gray demon’s linen shirt was slightly wrinkled, untucked at the belt, but even under the loose fabric, Kiz could tell his friend was tense.

Well, tenser than normal. His movements were less smooth—not clumsy, per se, but disjointed as if he kept forgetting what he was doing.

And his thick tail kept throwing him off balance, swinging one way when Ragnar attempted to go the other.

The atteapir joined him, sitting by the counter watching the room instead of either of them and occasionally flicking her ear against Ragnar when he got too close.

“You’re quiet,” Ragnar called over his shoulder. “Is, uh, is something going on between you and your human?”

“What? No, everything’s fine,” Kizros blurted, leaning back in an attempt to appear casual. “Why would something be going on?”

The atteapir made a little chirrup noise then huffed through her nose.

“Shush,” Kizros said to the beast.

“She senses your distress,” Ragnar pointed out.

Kizros wanted to point out that the atteapir had chosen to sit next to Ragnar, not him, but he also didn’t want to lose the open invite to visit his friend. He was pretty sure he was the only one allowed in Ragnar’s home besides the animals.

“I’m not distressed,” Kizros argued, ignoring the atteapir’s second huff. But then Ragnar turned with the tea tray, unamused, and Kizros groaned. He slumped, pressing his forehead into the table as he muttered, “I’m a horrible demon.”

Ragnar didn’t say anything, only set the tray on the table away from Kizros’s horns and pulled out his own chair. This time, when the atteapir joined them, she wiggled her giant head and ears between the table and into Kiz’s lap, nuzzling as deep as she could.

“I’m the worst, Ragnar,” Kizros mumbled into the table. “I took advantage of the human program, and now I’m suffering the consequences of my actions. Why in the blazes did I say yes to taking one back with me?”

There was a shuffling from Ragnar’s side of the table before he said, “I was under the impression things were going well with the human.”

“They are.”

Another shuffle. “But you regret taking one in.”

“No. Yes? I don’t know.”

“Kizros.”

“You have to promise not to judge me,” Kizros groaned, peeking up off the table. At Ragnar’s patient expression, Kizros mumbled, “We kissed… a lot… and then slept together.”

The giant demon’s eyes widened, mouth parting?—

“You said you wouldn’t judge me!” Kizros shouted, pushing himself off the table. The atteapir grumbled at losing her lap, ears flicking in agitation, but at least her tail didn’t burst into flames.

Ragnar shook his head, wiping a hand down his face. “I didn’t say anything, but… that’s not judgement.” He groaned, shaking his head. “Maybe actually tell me what’s going on and why this is bothering you so much instead of speaking in cryptic sentences. Start from the beginning.”

Kizros blew out a long breath but finally relented. “Well, you know how I was called in to deliver the rune cuffs and make sure the humans weren’t carrying any diseases? Well, that’s all I was going to do, but then Argeth had one more human that he couldn’t find a sponsor for…”

Once he started, he couldn’t stop. He told Ragnar about how pretty he thought Aofe was at first glance, even though she didn’t have a tail, because she had these fascinating things called freckles and dyed her hair blue.

But she was also brilliant and worked so hard—sometimes to her own detriment, which was why he’d come here today.

He told Ragnar about the sunshine and the smiles and the way his parents had treated her the other night which made him want to do something with his anger.

But he also explained why all of that was a problem.

How Aofe never left the shop except to go into the greenhouse.

How she hadn’t seen any of Heck beyond their little bubble, and that, selfishly, Kizros felt glad he had her to himself.

Except that meant she couldn’t truly know if she liked Kizros or not, or if it was just because he was always there.

If her limited ability to go out on her own, or the fact that she needed the sunshine to live, was the only reason she was staying.

If the stupid work program that had initially tied them together was also a weight dragging her down and shackling her once more.

Throughout the entire information dump, Ragnar watched with perhaps more focus than Kizros had ever seen. Once, he thought Ragnar bounced his knee nervously—when he was explaining how Aofe had called him out for avoiding her after she was sick—but the atteapir hadn’t flinched.

Out of breath, Kizros finally reached a point where he was mostly just repeating himself. He hung his head in defeat. “I don’t know what to do.”

Ragnar sipped from his teacup—comically small in his hands, despite still being standard demon make—before gently setting it back on the table. He seemed both lost in thought and patiently waiting for Kizros to finish before he spoke, which was something only Ragnar could do.

“What I think…” he began, and Kizros leaned forward in his seat, anxiously waiting for the advice his friend would give. Ragnar paused, not dramatically, but because Kizros was so antsy, it felt as such. “I think I do not understand humans.”

Kizros’s shoulders deflated.

“But,” he continued, “this human has put her trust in the kindest, most honorable demon I know, so she obviously has a good head on her shoulders. If she is as smart as you say she is?—”

“She is.”

“—then I do believe she has already given you an answer that should assuage your guilt.”

It’s not because of the sunshine.

Aofe had given him an answer, and Kizros had still doubted it. Which meant he was doubting her , and… well, shouldn’t he believe her? Shouldn’t he trust her ju st as much as she was trusting him? Hadn’t she told him, to his face without any shame whatsoever, that she wanted him?

The atteapir nuzzled into Kizros’s lap again, and he found himself scratching the enormous ears as they flattened in contentment. “I like Aofe. A lot.”

Ragnar nodded. “Then stop wasting your time here. Take the runt and go.”

Runt. That explained the size. Except… “I’m not taking a fire starter into my home, Ragnar.”

“She can’t create flame,” the gray demon explained, eyes downcast, and Kizros wondered if it was in empathy for his own inability to use magic.

“I believe her skulk abandoned her, but perhaps they were victims of the latest monster attacks in the Dreadmoor. She’s been perceptive around the stables, and I do believe will be of service to Aofe, as well as a good companion to you both. ”

As if in agreement, the atteapir chirped and managed to blink all of her eyes in sync.