Page 102 of Demon Food

“Or,” the king said, stepping into my view of Landry, “I can make his life so fucking painful that he’ll wish he was dead. A wish I will not grant.”

When I found my voice, it was little more than a hiss, “You’re a monster.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I am a father doing what needs to be done.”

“Alek doesn’t want me,” I shouted. “He’s fucking told you that.”

“I’m aware of what he’s said⁠—”

“But you don’t listen! If you would fucking listen to him⁠—”

Landry gasped.

My gaze darted to him. He did it again, choking, like he was struggling for air.

“He can’t breathe,” I said, rushing for him, but the king stopped me with a single hand against my chest that might as well have been a stone wall. “I said he can’t breathe! Let go. Something’s wrong⁠—”

“I know,” he said calmly.

My eyes widened. “It’s you.”

Landry choked again, his body writhing in his sleep.

“Stop it,” I screamed. “Please stop. Please. I’m begging.”

That was when Landry gasped. After a moment, his inhales and exhales subtly returned to a gentle rise and fall, and I wanted to crumble to my knees.

My breath was uneven and my lips trembled as I stared at his body.

“Look at me, my sweet,” said the king, lifting my chin with a gentle graze of his fingers. “I think you know what needs to be done.”

I was vibrating out of my skin.

“Do not give him a choice. Make him take you.”

I hated to let him see me cry, but I couldn’t stop the tears from welling.

“Feed mine,” he said, cupping my face in his warm hands, “and I promise, I will feed yours.”

He’d won. With this, he’d won. And I didn’t even need to say anything for him to know it.

My muscles gradually surrendered, loosening one by one until I nearly slumped where I stood.

The king smiled at me, but there was no warmth in it. He couldn’t pretend to care. And there was no comfort in his tone as he said, his voice so sickly sweet, “Would you like a few minutes with him? I would be happy to grant you that.”

I blinked at Landry’s sleeping body.

I didn’t feel myself nod, but I must have because he followed up with, “Absolutely. Take all the time you need.”

The room was colder with him gone. And heavy with silence.

How many times had I lived this scene? How many times had I walked toward the boy with the broken legs with determination in my heart to keep him safe while he slept so soundly?

I’d done it my whole life, such that when I took his cool palm in mine, pressing a kiss against his knuckles, it felt like returning home.

The little bed groaned under my weight as I sat upon it, but he didn’t stir. His sandy brown curls had gotten darker over time and his face more masculine, but so much of him had remained the same. Like the way his long eyelashes curled at the tips. I brushed a finger over them, smiling a little when they sprang back.

“Landry,” I said. “It’s good to see you, brother.”