Lahash run back to Hell with his tail between his demon legs until he regrew his testicles. Jashire had work to do here, lots and lots of work, and she was going to have a damned fun time with it.
Take this human, for instance.
Lahash had used a human for several months, playing with him until a cop had taken him permanently out of the picture. What had he called the man? A puppet. Jashire circled the guy on the chair again, studying him. “Puppet” didn’t fit this one; he was more of a pawn. No, that wasn’t quite it, either . . .
A knight. That might be it—silent and unobserved, her stealthy, unwilling warrior in a tricky little game of human chess. Jashire moved him two steps forward and one to the side, and then all sorts of marvelously twisted shit happened.
She buried one hand in his hair and pulled his head back so she could see his face. Not a bad-looking man, and given a shower and a shave—she’d always preferred the male face to be hair-free—he was probably handsome by human standards. His hair was dark and thick, and his eyes—before the infection in his fragile human body had raised his temperature and turned them into swollen slits—had been a warm beguiling brown. She could see why women would find him attractive. His wife was certainly enamored of him, but Jashire would never understand the monogamous thing that so much of mankind had going on. Even so, it had certainly worked to her advantage over many thousands of years. Through no fault of his own, monogamy and its nasty little by-product, guilt, had played this one, her little silent knight, right into her hands.
The man moaned and Jashire pulled his head back farther and let her gaze go up and down his form. She’d had him here for a week and he was a mess. He smelled of vomit and waste—maybe she should clean him up, untie him and throw him in the shower. Humans used to be so fragile but she thought they’d gotten pretty hardy over the centuries; still, this one did have that little problem with his left hand, something which had turned out to be more of an issue than she’d thought it would be. She probably should have held him still and seared his wound shut before he’d writhed around on the filthy floor, but she’d been so delighted with the smell of blood and with his screams that she hadn’t thought about it. Now his hand and wrist had red lines of infection spiraling up from where she’d cut off his finger, and the blackened perforation was oozing smelly green pus. She thought the streaks under his skin were pretty, but from a medical standpoint, she knew they were bad news. Ah, hindsight. Demons wished for it as much as humans.
“Okay, Vance,” she said. “How would you like to get cleaned up? Maybe even indulge in some food and water. What do you say?” He didn’t respond and she scowled. Ungrateful human. Maybe she ought to leave him right here, let him just tough it out. But . . . no. He just didn’t look very strong and Jashire thought he still had plenty of potential left, provided he stuck around. “Poor baby.” She tried to make her tone sympathetic, but knew it probably wasn’t working. No matter how hard she’d tried to understand God’s plan, she’d just never been able to think of these creatures as much more than primates with overdeveloped brains. Yeah, they might’ve been made in the Creator’s image, but they had no powers, they were short-lived, and they broke too easily.
“I’m not overly endowed in the patience department,” she finally told him. “So let’s just get this over with.”
“Water,” he suddenly croaked. “Please . . .”
Jashire tried to recall the last time she’d given the guy something to drink and couldn’t. Had it been the day before yesterday? She wasn’t sure. Aw, maybe she did feel a little twinge of pity for him.
“Absolutely,” she said cheerfully. “Ask and you shall receive and all that happy crappy.” Without wasting any more words, she tilted
Take this human, for instance.
Lahash had used a human for several months, playing with him until a cop had taken him permanently out of the picture. What had he called the man? A puppet. Jashire circled the guy on the chair again, studying him. “Puppet” didn’t fit this one; he was more of a pawn. No, that wasn’t quite it, either . . .
A knight. That might be it—silent and unobserved, her stealthy, unwilling warrior in a tricky little game of human chess. Jashire moved him two steps forward and one to the side, and then all sorts of marvelously twisted shit happened.
She buried one hand in his hair and pulled his head back so she could see his face. Not a bad-looking man, and given a shower and a shave—she’d always preferred the male face to be hair-free—he was probably handsome by human standards. His hair was dark and thick, and his eyes—before the infection in his fragile human body had raised his temperature and turned them into swollen slits—had been a warm beguiling brown. She could see why women would find him attractive. His wife was certainly enamored of him, but Jashire would never understand the monogamous thing that so much of mankind had going on. Even so, it had certainly worked to her advantage over many thousands of years. Through no fault of his own, monogamy and its nasty little by-product, guilt, had played this one, her little silent knight, right into her hands.
The man moaned and Jashire pulled his head back farther and let her gaze go up and down his form. She’d had him here for a week and he was a mess. He smelled of vomit and waste—maybe she should clean him up, untie him and throw him in the shower. Humans used to be so fragile but she thought they’d gotten pretty hardy over the centuries; still, this one did have that little problem with his left hand, something which had turned out to be more of an issue than she’d thought it would be. She probably should have held him still and seared his wound shut before he’d writhed around on the filthy floor, but she’d been so delighted with the smell of blood and with his screams that she hadn’t thought about it. Now his hand and wrist had red lines of infection spiraling up from where she’d cut off his finger, and the blackened perforation was oozing smelly green pus. She thought the streaks under his skin were pretty, but from a medical standpoint, she knew they were bad news. Ah, hindsight. Demons wished for it as much as humans.
“Okay, Vance,” she said. “How would you like to get cleaned up? Maybe even indulge in some food and water. What do you say?” He didn’t respond and she scowled. Ungrateful human. Maybe she ought to leave him right here, let him just tough it out. But . . . no. He just didn’t look very strong and Jashire thought he still had plenty of potential left, provided he stuck around. “Poor baby.” She tried to make her tone sympathetic, but knew it probably wasn’t working. No matter how hard she’d tried to understand God’s plan, she’d just never been able to think of these creatures as much more than primates with overdeveloped brains. Yeah, they might’ve been made in the Creator’s image, but they had no powers, they were short-lived, and they broke too easily.
“I’m not overly endowed in the patience department,” she finally told him. “So let’s just get this over with.”
“Water,” he suddenly croaked. “Please . . .”
Jashire tried to recall the last time she’d given the guy something to drink and couldn’t. Had it been the day before yesterday? She wasn’t sure. Aw, maybe she did feel a little twinge of pity for him.
“Absolutely,” she said cheerfully. “Ask and you shall receive and all that happy crappy.” Without wasting any more words, she tilted
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