The Demon King Davian

“Try to keep your bodily fluids to yourself, Jade. Now,” he said as he lifted the lid from the crate and the chicken scrambled frantically about inside—as though sensing the jeopardy it was in. “Palm on chest, fingers like this…” Toran demonstrated his cupped-hand technique. “And go for it.”

“You’re an asshole, Toran.”

His grin was an impudent one. “And you call yourself a slayer.”

The prodding pushed her buttons. To hell with her reservations, she settled the chicken on its back and held the squirming creature down, though it fought valiantly. Toran had picked a feisty one, probably as payback for making him travel this path with her.

She swallowed hard, shoving all the apprehension and disgust into that abyss inside her where the majority of her feelings resided. She wasn’t even sure she could bring herself to kill a chicken. Yes, the butcher did it on a daily basis. Lopped their little heads right off and plucked their feathers. His wife did it as well. Plenty of others were in on the act, since many of the villagers raised the poultry for eggs and meat.

As she hesitated, Toran cajoled her. “Jade, if you can’t do this, how will you save yourself or someone else when a shifter pounces? You don’t want to end up like your parents or—”

“Shut up, Toran!” Fury instantly rose within her and before it even registered in her mind, Jade mimicked his gripping technique and her fingers closed around the throat of the animal. She yanked back almost immediately and blood splattered everywhere. “Oh, my God!” she shrieked.

She dropped the flesh from her hands and raced to the bathroom as her entire body began to convulse. Plunging her hands in the clean water in the basin, she scrubbed them with a washcloth and soap. The bile rose in her throat as it had done at the clinic and she heaved into the toilet. Repeatedly.

Jade had no idea how much time passed as her vomiting turned into little more than gagging motions when there was nothing left in her stomach to expel.

Toran came into the room with a fresh bowl of water and another towel. Squatting next to her, he asked, “You okay?”

“Sure,” she sneered at him. “Just sorry I missed your boots.”

He chuckled, admiration in his eyes. “I would’ve let it slide. That was pretty incredible for a first try. Next time, we’ll use a raccoon.”

Her stomach lurched again. “Please stop talking.”

He handed her the damp towel and then stood. “Come see me when you’re ready to do it again.”

Again?

Impossible. Impossible. Impossible.

Yet necessary.

Ugh!

In the back of her head, she knew she had to get over her repugnance. But she wondered if she could. What she’d done hadn’t been particularly humane, though obviously the animal hadn’t suffered.

She’d once heard the larger suppliers of chickens put them head first into a metal cone and slit their jugulars to bleed them out, which apparently made the plucking easier. That couldn’t be a pleasant way to go, either. At least her chicken had died quickly—and had given his life for a cause. The greater good, as it were.

She spent the majority of the evening sitting on the bathroom floor, trying to block from her mind the image of what she’d done. With her back against the wall and her knees drawn up to her chest, she closed her eyes and considered the position she’d put herself in by becoming a slayer.

But she didn’t have much chance to reconcile her feelings and actions. She heard boots on the floor and her eyelids flew open.

“Jade, what’s wrong?” Davian knelt beside her, alarm in his deep, sensuous voice.

Relief and emotion washed over her. She threw his arms around him and clung to him.

The sobbing started instantly. It wasn’t something she’d intended or anything she was proud of. She couldn’t help how she felt or stem the well as it erupted. He held her tightly as the pain of her parents’ deaths assaulted her, the memory raw because of Walker’s injuries and what she’d just done to

the poor, unsuspecting chicken. And, deep inside her, she knew she’d betrayed Davian, and that also devastated her.

He didn’t let her go or even make a move to release her. Though he had no idea what had brought on her crying jag, he didn’t question it or make light of it. He simply settled into a more comfortable position on the floor with her. He kept her gathered close, stroking her hair as he always did when she was in pain.

Time slid by and the flow of tears eventually ebbed, though she sniffled and hiccupped.

“Are you sick?” Davian quietly asked.

She stared into his glowing amber eyes and they soothed her heart and soul. “I threw up a few times.”