Page 52 of Demon’s Snack

“Excuse me for absorbing trash.”

“Later.”

Despite everything, a broken laugh scrapes through me.

The sound helps.

The surge drops a fraction.

Behind her, the remaining demons hesitate. I see them through the blur of rain and heat, both of them realizing the experiment has taken an unexpected turn. The one near the cracked wall tries to rise, shoulder knitting itself back together in jerking movements. The other watches Isolde with a new interest that turns my blood cold.

The hunger reacts to that interest.

Isolde’s thumb presses harder against my wrist.

“Stay with me,” she says.

“They’re looking at you.”

“I know.”

“They’ll come for you.”

“Then you need control more than rage.”

The words land where Rhazek’s training could not, because she is right in front of me and because rage wants to drag me away from her while control keeps me close.

I pull the stolen heat inward, not swallowing it deeper, but compressing it around the rhythm of her pulse. The movement hurts. Every muscle in my body locks. Rain steams from my shoulders, and the cracked stones under my knee glow faintly red.

Isolde’s hand remains on my face.

Her breathing stays even because she is either astonishingly brave or out of her entire mind.

Probably both.

“Corin,” she says, softer now. “The civilians.”

I follow her gaze.

The cart driver has crawled to the side of the lane. The girls are gone. A handful of others remain frozen near doorways, too frightened to move and too curious to survive if they stay. My hunger brushes against them again, but this time the bond catches the motion before it spreads.

I taste ink.

I taste rain.

I taste Isolde’s steady pulse under my skin like a metronome made of living fire.

“Leave,” I say to the civilians, and this time my voice carries enough command that they obey.

The cart driver scrambles up and runs. Doors slam. Curtains drop. The lane empties in a ragged wave, leaving only us, the cracked stones, and the two lesser demons who suddenly seem much less amused.

The demon with the torn shoulder hisses. “Anchor.”

Isolde’s grip changes slightly.

I feel the word hit her.

I feel her decide not to react.