Page 53 of Demon Food

“I need you to find Amara, and tell her⁠—”

“Oh, gods.”

“—that I will come see her as soon as I can, and to be ready. She’ll know what it means.”

He bounced a little, mewing. “You know I’ll do it, Prince. I’ll do anything for you, but Amara hates me. It’s really difficult to interact with someone who hates you so terribly.”

“She doesn’t hate you, Lucc,” I scoffed, but it quickly transformed into a sober nod. “No, she does. She definitely does.”

He groaned.

“But you shouldn’t take it personally. She hates everybody, and…” I trailed off as I thought about it. “Well, I suppose she does hate you a little more than everyone else, doesn’t she?”

“I’m pretty sure she smells my fear,” he said, gazing into the distance. “The way a piranha smells blood.”

He wasn’t wrong. She was delightfully scary. It was how she’d landed her position as my right-hand.

Female vultae were highly incentivized to bear children. They were given high-powered positions, allowed to hoard as many humans as they wished, and encouraged to marry as many times as they wanted which often generated wealth for them. Not that they wanted husbands.

Something was so backward about our species such that sex between us was anything but pleasurable. I’d heard tales from many vultae that fucking another one was excruciatingly painful, like it was too much of the same blistering energy at once. That it stung and burned, and you were lucky if you walked straight for a week. Which made procreation difficult, to say the least.

Our pleasure was eating. Our pleasure was humans.

Amara had turned down all the high-powered positions that came with childbearing in order to join the royal infantry. I’d known she and I were destined for greater things when I caught her stealing a frying pan from the kitchen to melt down and forge into weaponry. She was a brilliant ironsmith and smart as a whip. She also had a fun little anarchy streak that I rather enjoyed, but more importantly, I trusted her.

She was how I’d discovered my very unorthodox medicine man—the one who formulated me the herbs to prevent me from twitching. The one who was going to transform my body. We were on the cusp of a breakthrough. I could fucking feel it.

“Tell her to be ready,” I said, swallowing the water pooled in my mouth as I eyed Feloré. “We ride the minute I’m free of this dilemma.”

Of this torture.

“At once, my prince.” He bowed. “Anything else I can do for you?”

“Yes.” I flashed a smile. “You can mind your balls when you speak to her.”

He glanced at my gory side then tipped his chin to Feloré. “Looks like you can do the same.”

16

FELORÉ

Alek’s desk had been transformed into a formal dining table. I’d yet to approach it. Perhaps because it was unlike anything I’d ever seen and there was no way it was for me. A trick. A cruel trick was what it was.

In the center sat an entire egg quiche on a fancy lace potholder. Beside it was a wooden slab stacked with two baked rusks, three sugared cakes, and a dish of whipped cheese with a spoon jutting out. Then there was another bowl, and it was filled to the brim with black currants beneath a dollop of beaten cream. They’d even brought a ceramic pot of fragrant herbal tea that still steamed from the delicate spout.

“Well?” Alek asked.

I cut my eyes to him where he sat with his back against the wall in the nook of the window to watch me from a vantage point like some kind of predatory bird. He’d been shuffling a deck of playing cards in his nimble hands, an ever-present cigarette hanging from his lips.

“Well what?”

“Well, are you going to eat anything, beloved?” Alek squinted at the smoke curling into his eyes as he tipped his chin toward the table. “Or do you just plan to scowl at it all evening like it murdered your uncle?”

I rolled my eyes, my volume too loud as I said, “Shall I scowl at you instead, Prince?”

“Maybe. Try it, let’s see.” After a moment, he winced through his pretty white teeth. “Ooh. Icy.”

This fucking demon.