Genre: Urban Fantasy

Summary: Before the Demon King took his crown, he was just a teenage boy. A teenage boy who’s soul is slowly devoured the demons that haunt him. Cavan and Daniel’s first meeting.

(Part of the Demon King vignettes)

Photo by Aimanness Photography

Cavan kneeled next to the flowerbed, staring down at the hyacinth. His arm braced against the small fence kept him upright, and that was the only way.

The demons buzzed through him, thrashing their way through his nervous system. Boiling the blood in his veins. His skin looked untouched, and it shocked him.

Focus. Focus on the flower. Focus on that small innocent life. There was nothing good in himself to face.

Bit by bit, demons devoured his soul. He started laughing, even as the pain choked him. He had thought nothing could be worse than being followed by dark shadows that no one else could see.

Then he had died – and they had sacrificed his holy soul to bring him back to life.

Why? His father’s girlfriend shouldn’t care that much. It was like a disease with them – preserve life no matter what, no matter the consequences. A disease called the fear of death. The fear of losing. Isn’t that the way? Better to become a demon than to pass on as an innocent.

When the demons consumed everything he was, would she let him die then?

The pain subsided. The attacks happened more often now. At least once per week. How long could he hold out before they began to change him? Before his body stopped being human and became whatever they were? Would his mind survive that long? Would he resist? Would he welcome it with open arms?

He heard voices and footsteps, much sharper than normal. Was that thanks to adrenaline? Or had that last attack changed him that much?

He stood, pushing the echoes of pain to the back of his mind, inwardly screaming at his body to remain strong. Screaming at his body not to wince, or flinch, or tremble. To not show any sign of weakness. He was all right. He would survive another day.

“Ah, Cavan! There he is. Cavan!”

He looked up at the approaching men. Three shapeshifters – he could tell just by looking them – and a boy in school uniform, the same uniform that Cavan wore. The boy grinned, waving. Daniel, or Dan, as his classmates called him, attended three of the same classes he did at the private academy. He had only talked to him once. Not that any other person would claim it was talking.

Two weeks ago, after the clubs had finished, while his body boiled and the demons infesting it threatened to rip his soul apart, he’d made it to the shower room. Nude as the once frigid water steamed off his skin, his hands spread on the blue tiled wall, he looked over his shoulder to find a boy watching him. Just watching him, like he couldn’t tear his eyes off of him. That wasn’t how boys acted in the shower room. They looked at faces, never daring to let their eye sight drop lower. Mostly, they looked anywhere but at each other.

They never looked at him, clothed or not. They couldn’t figure out why. He seemed, to them, like a decent enough guy, if not secretive and withdrawn. Only primordial instincts drove them.

The boy, Daniel, noticed him looking. He straightened, but did not run away. Didn’t make some joke at Cavan’s expense. Cavan smirked at him, and turned back to the wall, letting the ice water spill over his back.

He didn’t like the name Dan. He didn’t want that name to pass his lips. So, even though they’d been to school with each other for four years, he never talked to him. He never talked to anyone. What was the point? Teenage boys stuck in a school yard fantasy, who could never possibly understand what Cavan had been through. Who never could understand what Cavan would become. Who would never understand why a subconscious voice told them to stay away from the evil one, the demonic one. The one who looked just like them.

Now, he grinned as the shapeshifters escorted him.

“Your friends were looking for you.”

Oh, Daniel.

As soon as the shapeshifters noticed Cavan’s understanding, the lack of confusion to cross his face, they pulled out their guns. When did shapeshifters feel the need to pick up guns? Daniel started, gawking. The realization and dread filled him.

“You’re coming with us,” the first shapeshifter told him. Tried to tell him.

A smile threatening to cross his lips, Cavan tilted his head to the side and drawled, “What for?”

“Because we’re pointing guns at you!”

“But if you’re just going to kill me, why should I bother? Can’t you just kill me here? It would save a lot of time and effort.”

“If you don’t come with us, we’ll fuck you up.”

He shrugged. The demons would heal him, and capture so much of his remaining soul in the process. “So?”

The second shapeshifter levelled his gun at Daniel’s head. “We’ll kill him.”

Daniel stiffened, panic running through his eyes. In situations like this, emotions run. He looked like he might have a heart attack. Poor, frail human boy.

“You’ll kill him anyway.”

“We won’t kill him, and we won’t kill you,” the third shapeshifter said. Finally, a reasonable voice among thugs.

“Tell me what you want with me, and I’ll come with you. Oh, and I guess let him go.”

“Our master wants the shapeshifters in this town.”

Ah, his father, the vampire lord. The only one, according to the preternatural community, with any real power in the region. The only one who could rally the troops. They hadn’t met his girlfriend then. “As a hostage, you mean.”

The shapeshifter nodded.

Cavan glanced at Daniel. “Don’t do it,” he whispered. He looked genuinely terrified. Cavan’s eyes widened slightly, before readjusting their usual boredom. “Just run. Run.”

How could he not be blathering to save his own self? He thought of Cavan’s safety before his own? Humans and preternaturals were all alike – they looked out for themselves first. They couldn’t possibly be this altruistic. Not when as scared as he was.

Cavan sighed.

“All right, let’s go.” He turned to lead on, but looked over his shoulder. “But let the kid go first.”

As they left his view, Daniel watched them, concerned. He bit back a call to tell him he’d be fine. Why would he be concerned? His father would either negotiate his release or storm the place to rescue him. His kidnappers may try to kill him, but the demons wouldn’t let him die. They didn’t that time. The demons might… the demons might… There were worse things than death. His kidnappers may even find that out.

He’d survive the kidnappers.

The demons?

His soul?

He didn’t know.

Fin

If you’d like to read more in this series, find more here: Demon King vignettes.