Page 82 of The Devil May Care

“I can make inquiries.”

That pulls me up short.

“You… what?”

“I’ve studied transmutation and binding rituals. Certain symptoms might be eased. It depends on what your body lacks.”

I stare at him. “You’re serious.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.”

The knot in my chest tightens. It’s not just that he offered—it’s that he asked. That he listened. That he’s trying to understand, even if everything about me should be foreign and beneath him. He doesn’t fill the silence. He lets me sit in it, but not alone. Maybe that’s what makes it easier to say—

“I didn’t think I’d miss any of it,” I murmur. “But I do.”

He says nothing. Just waits.

“I miss the smell of rain on hot pavement,” I say. “I miss shitty TV reruns, especially reality dating shows like First Lady—Will and Jane are my all-time faves—and cheap candles that smell like baked goods and the sound George makes when he’s hungry but too lazy to stand.” A breath. “I miss being able to fix my bad days with a heating pad and a cinnamon roll and some Arctic hockey games” I look up at him. “I miss being able to say I was okay, and actually almost believe it.”

Caziel’s expression doesn’t shift much, but something in his stance—his stillness—feels heavier. I laugh. Wobbly and bitter and exhausted.

“You know,” I say, wiping at my eyes, “in some ways, this is exactly what I asked for.” He lifts an eyebrow. “A new world. A break from everything. An escape hatch. I just didn’t expect the hatch to drop me in demon country.”

“Is it truly so terrible?” he asks, voice neutral.

“I’ve met some decent people.” I smile at him, but he doesn’t return it, “Plus I happen to be a fantasy girlie and have read quite a few books where the heroine is dropped into an unforgiving magical world.”

“No wonder you believed Crimson a dream, a nightmare..”

“Well,” I smirk, “actually, the newer stories about demons and lost human heroines?” He glances up, dark eyes meeting mine. “They’re mostly smut.”

“They’re what?”

“Smut,” I repeat. “Sex. Usually with tails or tentacles or screaming orgasms.”

“With—?”

“Yes.”

The look on his face makes me laugh until tears slide down my cheeks and blur my vision.

CHAPTER TWENTY

KAY

I’m not sure what I expected after spilling my guts to a demon prince. A follow-up conversation? A lingering glance? A tension-relieving fuck? Maybe a signed emotional support dagger? Instead, I got a note.

Tidy handwriting. Formal as ever.

You will train with Captain Iskar. I am unavailable this morning. —C

No “Thank you for your traumatic monologue.” No “Nice breakdown, I’ll add it to your file.” No “Sorry I emotionally gutted you and then ghosted.”

I clutch the note in my hand as I head back toward my room, boots scuffing over cool stone. I should be grateful. The captain was professional. Gruff but not cruel. She didn’t go easy on me, and I didn’t want her to. But still. It felt… wrong. Empty. Like she was patching a hole that wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place.

I turn the note over again, hoping there’s something on the back. A second message. Even just a dumb doodle. Nothing. Of course not. I hate how easily this place gets under my skin. How fast I’ve started to need things I didn’t ask for. His voice. His steadiness. The strange way he listens like my thoughts are worth archiving. I told him too much last night. Maybe this is my punishment for forgetting who I am.

The door closes behind me with a soft thud. The room is quiet. Too quiet. George would be losing his mind right now. Sprinting from wall to wall, screaming at invisible ghosts, shredding an entire woven rugjust because he could. The silence stretches like skin over bone. I peel off my outer layer, let the tunic hit the floor, and flop face-first onto the bed. I lie there for maybe thirty seconds, face buried in the blanket, breathing in the scent of smoke and something faintly floral.