Curse of the Fae (PA #3)

Chapter Twelve

Galileo (Courage)

The day drags like a human's knuckles on the ground as they attempt to walk. Willow assures me that her people don't actually descend from apes—we share a common ancestor, Galileo—but it's easy enough to picture them hunched over and drooling from their stupid mouths.

It's possible that boredom and prolonged separation from Willow are making me cranky.

God, cranky? What am I, some whiny baby?

"Galileo, you gotta protect me from Kian! He's a fucking lunatic!"

Roman has impeccable comedic timing, however unintentional.

The Lust demon's hair is disheveled, and he bats dark strands away from wide eyes. Other than the wild hair and the sweat dotting his forehead, he looks fine. He's not even bleeding, for Christ's sake.

"Is there a reason you're screaming in my face?"

"I'm not in your face," he denies, grabbing my biceps and leaning forward until our noses are nearly touching. "Now, I'm in your face but not screaming. Should we try both at once?"

"Do you value your life?"

He squints, considering the question. "Depends on the currency, I guess."

Rolling my eyes, I shove him away from me. He falls backward with a dramatic grunt, his body smacking the concrete.

"I did not push you that hard, Roman."

If this is some ploy to gain sympathy points with Willow, I'll use more force next time. Willow's still upset about the hands-eating incident, and I'm willing to milk that if it means alone time with her.

But I will baby her, not the other way around.

"I think you broke my ass," the demon complains.

"I'm sure I'm not the first."

He laughs, rising to his feet with a slight wobble. Then, he seems to remember what he originally bothered me for and the mirth disappears.

"Kian's trying to kill me. You gotta help me hide."

"Who's Kian?"

"Stop pretending you don't know our names, G-man."

I'm not pretending shit. The number of people I care to know can be counted on two fingers, and Roman and this Kian individual aren't either of them.

I refuse to say anything to his stupid comment, and he sighs at my silence. "Kian's the dragon shifter. You know, the one who ate your hands?"

That rings a bell. I still need to get my Willow-sanctioned revenge on the overgrown lizard.

"Okay, and why are you talking about him?"

"Do you even listen to me at all?"

"No," I state derisively. "When I want to lose brain cells, I ram my skull into a wall. Not as effective, but it's still preferable to being around you."

"I've licked cum off your fingers, man. Just admit we're besties."

I do the breathing exercises that Willow insisted on teaching me—and the other "hotheaded" ones, but they're irrelevant—and work to cool my anger. It's not difficult—I'm more annoyed than anything.

But that beats being bored, so I might as well entertain this conversation further.

"It wasn't my cum and it wasn't yours, so I don't see how that correlates to friendship."