Page 39 of Thane's Demon
I lifted my gaze to the tall face of glass and steel before me. I already knew which windows belonged to her family.
‘Go to her.
Find her.
Seek her out.
Find the father and destroy him.’
The demon urged, and for once its desire was not wrapped in blood or violence, but in something far more dangerous.
Need and protection.
The distinction soothed it differently. A new game. A new hunt. It stretched inside me with a dark, eager ripple. I crossed the street, my steps eating up the space and doing so with more ease now that I didn’t have to slow my natural stride. Alora was a lot smaller than I was, so it became apparent quite quickly that she would struggle to keep up. So, I had slowed to a more leisurely pace and found myself, for once, at ease with it. But now, I had no such reason to go slow, the opposite in fact, as I was eager to discover exactly how her family treated her. Especially her father.
If I witnessed any physical abuse, then nothing would stop me from turning murderous.
I soon stood on the rooftop, the hum of machinery vibrating through the concrete under my boots, the faint buzz of city life now a distant murmur below. The sky above Shanghai was never truly dark at night, the light pollution turning it into a dim bruise of color. But up here, it felt quieter, cleaner somehow, with something peaceful in the sun setting on the horizon.
‘Let me out.’
My demon growled softly, pressing against my skin.
I closed my eyes for a moment and allowed it, just enough. Bones shifted, muscles thickened, power flared through me in a tidal surge that would have flattened a lesser creature. It didn’t hurt. It never did anymore. It was simply a return to what I trulywas. The weight of wings unfurled from my back in a rush, each movement sending a sharp, accusing ache through memories I kept buried. Feathers and darkness, flesh and shadow. A monstrosity by human standards.
A weapon by my father’s kind.
A fall would have killed any mortal man from this height. As for me, I stepped off the edge without hesitation. For a heartbeat, gravity claimed me, the city rushing up, a blur of the building in my vision. Then my wings snapped out, the force of their spread dragging at my shoulders as air caught beneath them.
The drop turned into a glide, my body angling toward the familiar section of the building. The one that faced the quieter side street. I kept to the shadows cast by the structure itself, my movements precise, practiced. I had done this a thousand times in other cities, for other reasons. To hunt. To kill. But tonight, I did it for a girl who liked poetry and egg drop soup and who spoke about books like they were both sanctuary and rebellion.
“Ridiculous,”I muttered again, yet I slowed as I reached her level, my wings folding close to my body as my boots found purchase on the metal ledge beside the balcony. The ornate railings were flattering attempts at luxury, polished and cold. I crouched low, my wings folding tighter and then pulling inward, disappearing into nothing, as I let the human shell fall back into place.
It was always jarring, that sudden compression of power, the way it all tried to fit inside something human, this vessel I had been born with. My demon was too big, too strong, too unstable to merge fully with my life. It had never allowed me complete control, fighting me for years, but right now, we felt more like one than ever before.
Before, I had only focused on her room, but as I moved around to take in the rest of the apartment, I found it was exactlywhat I had expected. Large. Expensive. Clinical. Beautiful in a way that felt lifeless. Everything was sharp edges and polished surfaces, as if the air itself had been ironed flat.
Clean lines. Neutral tones. No clutter. No softness. Everything felt like it was purchased for one purpose and one purpose only… expense under the veil of function. A stage set not to be truly lived in but chosen to portray wealth to others in their social circles, no doubt.
I searched instinctively for signs of her… A misplaced book, a blanket thrown over the back of a sofa, or a mug left on a table. Even a stack of worn paperbacks half hidden beside a plant. Little rebellions. Little pieces of Alora, trying to exist in a space that had not been designed with her in mind. But there were none. It was like she didn’t exist in this world at all.
Speaking of my girl, she walked into view and, like always, my heart raced at the sight of her. She had changed out of her clothes from the day, slipping into something comfier, an oversized top that fell off one shoulder, loose shorts, bare feet. She carried her bag clipped against her side like a shield, her fingers tight around the strap. Her hair was slightly mussed from the day, fluffing around her face in a way that made my demon rumble in approval.
‘Our little fluff.’
It crooned, then corrected itself with a possessive growl.
‘No… our little dreamer.’
Her body language shifted the moment she stepped fully into the open space of the living room. The easy looseness she had carried with me, the hesitant smiles, the small bursts of laughter, all of it dimmed. Like someone had turned the brightness down on her soul. Her shoulders drew inward, her head dipped slightly, her movements more careful as she crossed the room.
Someone else entered from the opposite side. A man. Mid-fifties. Neatly pressed shirt, expensive watch, a phone in hishand that he did not look up from at first. Everything about him screamed control. His posture. His clothes. Even the way he stood, back straight, his chin lifted, as if he expected the world to bend around him.
I instantly despised him.
And now it felt like my demon had a new target…
To eradicate.
