Page 8 of Demon Food

Contracts were the best-case scenario. They typically lasted a month. A whole month where you got to live in a vultus’s home, eating full meals, sleeping in a real bed. All you had to do was keep them fed.

“They’re not going to pick me, Feloré, I’m telling you,” Lennox said, a little weak on his knees as he stood. “They never pick me. I don’t know how to get noticed, let alone score a contract.”

“When he walks in, you march right up to him and introduce yourself. Tell him you’re horny as hell and that he has a nice face. You want to sit on it.”

He blinked, eyes wide. “You want me to say that to them?”

I shrugged, considering it. “Well, it doesn’t have to be exactly that. Make it your own.”

“But that’s not submissive. I thought they liked submissiveness.”

“You can’t submissively sit on his face?”

“Well.” He scratched his temple like he was thinking about it. “But I thought it was against the rules to talk to them first. I thought we were supposed to let them choose us.”

“What did I say about the rules?”

He studied the walls like he was thinking about it. “That I won’t⁠—”

“Survive if you follow them,” I finished. “Learn how to break them gracefully, and don’t get caught.”

He chewed his lower lip, brown eyes scanning my face. Then he sighed, almost in defeat. “But that’s easy for you to say. Oh, just tell them you’re horny. Sit on their face. But I look like this, and you look like that.”

“It’s not about how you look. They find attraction in all kinds of things.”

It was true. They could barely even distinguish the difference between a human man and woman. Sexuality was as flexible as a contortionist for them.

Lennox gave me a placating smile. “And that is what people who look like you say to people who look like me.”

In all fairness, it wasn’t without warrant. I had an unusual appearance for a human, and most demons seemed intrigued by it, but likely just because it was so different from them.

My hair was a jarring crimson red with an even more jarring single white streak in the front that I’d been born with. My mother used to say it was as if the gods striped it with a paintbrush. Then, as if that wasn’t enough to make blending in impossible, the irises of my eyes were so pale blue that when the sun hit them, they looked more silver than anything. Almost like they were made of pearl.

But it really wasn’t about that. They saw profound beauty in every body type, every walk of life, and every supposed ‘flaw’. It was one of their few redeeming qualities.

The brass bell on the front door jingled, and the door opened, inviting in a wet breeze, a few scattered leaves, and two vultae.

They must’ve been passing through town as they wore riding leathers, and their long coats were wet and soiled from the rain. They exchanged eager glances between each other as they warmed their hands, surveying the buffet of bodies before them, all half-naked and ready.

Jaxlyn manifested from his study to greet them, his smile forced as he shot a warning side-eye toward all the concubines to sit up taller and try to look sexy. That was the ongoing direction. At any point, someone was saying: Sit up. Sit the fuck up, come on. Try to look sexy.

“There’s two, even better,” I said, swatting Lennox’s chest. “Tell them you’ll take them both at once.”

His eyes rounded. “What⁠—?”

“It’s the best of both worlds. It’ll help your numbers for your quota, and it’ll save them money, which they’ll love.”

“Feloré,” he said, gaping like I was mad. “Two at once will kill me.”

“Oh, please, you’ll be fine. You’ll sleep it off in eight hours. Drink lots of water. Some wake-berry juice. Now go before they choose someone else.”

He stared at them for a beat, as if in contemplation, then back at me.

“You won’t know if you don’t try,” I said, nudging him forward. “Look how hungry they are. They’re already twitching.”

Both of them shuddered as they made their way through the lounge chairs decorated with humans, nodding as they pretended to listen to Jaxlyn drone on about whatever nonsense he was spewing. They didn’t care about the history of the brothel as they dragged their fingertips over the upholstery of the lounge chairs, smiling down at the humans, twitching even more when the humans smiled back.

I squeezed his bony shoulders from behind, and I could feel it. His fear. His scarce confidence from a lifetime of oppression.