Page 17 of My Demon Neighbor
Pythor: One step at a time
"Okay, okay," I murmured as I ignored the mad racing of my heart and reached for the first lock.
By the time all three locks were unlocked, my hands were shaking, and it took me three tries to remove the chain.
Hella whined at my side, pressing her body into me, and she gave me the strength I needed to pull the door open.
Pythor was already sitting on his porch, his feet on the second step. He grinned when he spotted me, and Hella wriggled in place, like she wanted to go to him but didn't want to leave me alone.
Slowly, I walked the three steps to the edge of the porch, pulling courage from Hella's warmth at my side and the soft look on Pythor's face.
Once I was seated, I gave Hella a grateful scratch behind her ear, then patted her side. "Go on. Say hi to him."
She barked, then raced over to him, attacking his face with licks as he laughed. I smiled as I watched them, wrapping my arms around my legs as I curled up tight. While I didn't instantly want to rush back inside, my skin still prickled with unease, as if danger was lurking close and would be on me the moment I let my guard down.
"Codie, catch!" Pythor said, and I scrambled to catch the tennis ball he threw at me as Hella raced after it, her tail wagging hard as she stared at it in my hand.
"You want this?" I asked her with a smile, then threw it to Pythor as she raced back after it.
Pythor threw it into the air, and she leaped, catching it expertly before running over to me and placing it in my hand. I made a face at the now-wet ball, but threw it to Pythor anyway, laughing when she snatched it midway and carried it over to him.
We played like that for a while, with the sun warming my face, and their presence making me feel safe.
By the time I returned inside and hopped into the shower—the hoodiehadmade me sweaty, it turned out—I couldn't quite erase the smile on my face. Maybe I could actually do this. With Pythor, Hella, and Nessa's support, I might actually be able to get my life back.
Pythor
There was no sight more beautiful than that of a smiling Codie, and I wanted to make sure he never had a reason to stop.
It was so tempting to use my magic to find out what had happened to him and do whatever I could to punish the people who had harmed him, but I was afraid, which was an unfamiliar feeling for me.
It wasn't like there weren't things that scared me. I was terrified of going dark the way Mammon had. Once upon a time, I had reveled in my job as a torturer of the Underworld, and I was so frightened I'd go down the same dark path as Mammon. He'd been a good demon once, a friend, and look at him now. I didn't want to end up like him.
But that was a different kind of fear.
If I looked into Codie's past without his knowledge or permission, I feared I would lose the trust we'd built so far, and nothing could be worse than that.
I didn't want to give Codie any reason to doubt me, or worse, fear me, so I couldn't investigate what had happened. I had to wait for him to tell me, no matter how much I wanted to hunt down the bastard responsible.
There was also the small matter of me not being allowed to hurt humans. Since it was a command by the man who summoned me—all of us demons, except Azazel, had been summoned by one of the three rulers of Otherworld, and given that single command—I couldn't ignore it. I could get past it if I was determined enough, but it would be painful, and I could risk breaking our contract. That wasn't a risk I could take, because a broken contract would mean I wouldn't be able to exist in the human realm, not in a visible form at least.
I couldn't leave Codie, not now that I'd found him. Whatever I did, I had to make sure it wouldn't separate us.
For now, my main focus was helping Codie get his life back. If he ever felt comfortable enough to share his past with me, I'd listen and take whatever action I needed to, but until then all I was going to concern myself with was helping him.
"Pie, you're losing," a nine-year-old named Peter said, and I blinked back to the present, raising my brow at the black-haired, blue-eyed kid.
"Am I?" I asked, glancing at my arm that was almost ready to touch the desk. I straightened up quickly, making Jonah grunt. He was another of the volunteers, and the kids had pushed us into an arm-wrestling match to see who was stronger.
While I taught self-defense, Jonah was responsible for the food, snacks, and some activities the center hosted. The kids loved him—and me, if I was being honest—and this 'competition' seemed to be their way to decide who they loved more.
While Jonah was strong by human standards with a height matching mine and muscles that told me he took good care of his body, I could easily defeat him, but that wasn't the point. The point was entertaining these kids for as long as we could while they waited for their parents to come pick them up. Most of the younger kids here came to the center because their parents couldn't afford daycare or a babysitter, while the older ones came to escape their bad home situations.
Either way, it was our responsibility to keep them safe—and entertained—while they were here, and Jonah seemed to be in full agreement because while both of us kept 'almost' losing, neither of us was winning.
"Are you both equally strong?" a seven-year-old named Katie asked, and I grinned at her, liking the way her brown eyes shone with awe and glee.
"It looks like it. What do we do now?"
