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Severath was fairly certain humans weren’t meant to be that color, and though he had dismissed the theory that demonic hues leeched off and infected her kind, perhaps there was some blue demon she’d been rubbing the top of her head against as only her hair was affected.

But then a demon was hurrying behind her—green, familiar—and the way his eyes were fixed on her form suggested this human had not been rubbing against anyone else.

Ember’s scent cut through the strange thought before Severath could have it in its entirety, and he stuttered out a question about the atteapir’s ability to attack.

He half listened to the human’s answer as he recognized it was Kizros the alchemist who was joining them.

Severath had been to the green demon on Balran’s orders a number of times for tinctures to heal Veilwood maladies and even once of his own accord for a vitality tonic when a past relationship had gone somewhat stale.

He set his jaw hard and hoped Kizros wouldn’t remember that particular transaction even as he was greeted by name.

“You were one of the warriors who saved us?”

Severath nodded as he looked back down at the blue-haired human who had called herself Aofe, almost as small as Ember but with much more brightness to her face despite her injuries.

His gaze flicked to Ember, the memory of her limp in his arms suddenly piercing his chest and urging him to once again scoop her up.

“Thank you.” Aofe smiled, and that was much better than how any of the humans had looked that day in the Dreadmoor. “I didn’t get a chance to say it when I woke, but you should know I’m very grateful for you and your entire patrol.”

Severath hadn’t thought much about the other humans since he’d been put on leave, instead bemoaning his own situation.

“Of course,” he said feeling the corner of his mouth twitch upward.

When that red-headed, boisterous human had come into his home, he hadn’t thought much of it, but now meeting a third solidified the fact these women were alive and well…

despite being small and tailless. And this blue one, she appeared as if she belonged somehow, perhaps because the flowers that adorned her crutches were a perfect match to her hair.

That made another thought blossom in his mind, but the atteapir shifted itself through Severath’s legs so that it could return to its human keeper and jostled the thought away.

Kizros’s gaze was boring into him. When Severath visited his shop, it had taken him too long to admit things were not working downstairs as well as they should with his former mate, which, in hindsight, probably made the interaction even stickier.

Severath commented on the human woman’s battle injuries, hoping to distract the alchemist from the memory.

Aofe corrected him, though, clarifying she had not sustained her injuries in any battle.

Severath narrowed his gaze at the decorated crutches and insisted she not be so humble.

It was perhaps rude to tell Aofe she was incorrect about herself, but for a third time, his thoughts were wandering.

Kizros stood very close to her, his tail curled just inches from the human’s ankle, and those flowers were definitely enchanted…

His gaze shot back up to Kizros’s face, and he knew then where the human’s adornments had come from.

Perhaps it was not in the exact way demons courted each other, but there was no mistaking what the green demon had done with his power over the earth.

Words fell out of his mouth without permission.

“The flowers are pretty. They match your hair.”

The green demon’s face went from sage to emerald, and something inside Severath felt like it was battling to be released—a fluttery, wild something that had never once made itself known in such a way before, a primal something that had reared its head only to be rejected many years ago and hidden away ever since.

And then he watched Kizros touch his human right there in the midst of so many of his own kind. It was a chaste arm over her shoulder and a slightly less chaste tail around her hips, but it was more than enough to make clear his intentions.

The humans traded words obliviously, but Severath kept his eyes locked on Kizros despite the warning in the other demon’s glare—he had stared down plenty of threatening creatures, and he would not be defeated by an alchemist who relied on pacifism above all else.

That was until he heard the word vefuricot.

Severath choked on his next breath, but the women simply traded more pleasantries and then they were parting ways.

“I believe she is intending to play a trick on you,” said Severath when the pair had wandered off .

“What, why?” Ember’s eyes went wide, and the smile that had worked so hard to adorn her face that day sank away.

“Demons do not eat vefuricot. It tastes like…” He swallowed, unable to say it. “It is simply not eaten.”

Ember clicked her tongue. “Yeah, well you also eat those purple peppers with the white stems completely raw, and they set my mouth on fire, so there are probably loads of things humans like that demons don’t.”

Severath let a vision cloud his mind of Ember biting into a vefuricot. The fruit was plump and ripe, and she wore nothing but its sticky juices as they dripped down from her mouth and coated every ridge and dip of her body. Tastes good , fantasy Ember whispered, but not as good as you…

He shook his head. “We should hurry if we intend to watch the fire breathers’ show.”

One thing was for certain—he would not have to request any kind of tincture from Kizros again so long as he had memories of Ember tucked carefully away in his mind.