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With a sigh, Jag lifted his goblet and swallowed a mouthful of a tart liquid, the bite cutting into his jaw before softening into a sweet nectar. Jag narrowed his eyes at his goblet. “What is this strange concoction?” “Lemonade!”
What does a warrior do if there are no wars to fight? Maybe he needed a pet. A plated grizzly could be entertaining, or perhaps a feral goblin or a cat. All viable options.
But it was no warrior. No rival clan or sworn enemy ready to face him in a battle to the death. It was much worse. It was a human.
“None of that! No horrible torturing or ... bone extracting!” Ethan sounded panicked, his voice pitched higher than it was when the conversation began. “I don’t want him dead or hurt. I just want to make him jealous.” “Jealous ... that you have skin and he doesn’t?” Sami asked, confused. “No, I think he means jealous that Ethan still has eyes,” Jag corrected. “Oh my God.”
“Surely there are human suitors for you to choose from.” Jag motioned to Ethan with his hand. “You seem healthy. Are scholars not held in high regards on Earth?” He thought about what he knew about humans and bobbed his head in acknowledgment. “Maybe not, actually. You do seem to burn people alive for speaking about science.”
“You look ... less wormy than most humans! Mighty even! Right, Ethan?” Ethan made a squeaky noise that wasn’t helpful.
Jag shook his head but narrowed his eyes at the doll in the pink, frilly dress; it was staring at him. He hated that one the most.
Jag was able to learn a couple of things about Christmas. One, humans had a tendency to haul large trees into their homes and throw lights on them. This was never explained. Two, Santa is worshiped and given offerings of cookies in exchange for gifts. It was unclear what happens if cookies aren’t left, but there had been mention of coal. From what Jag could infer, Santa turned children into coal for misbehaving.
Sprinkles coated the workspace, mocking Jag with how badly they stuck to everything except his cookies. The audacity of the tiny sugar flakes made his blood boil.
“Those are ... unique,” Ethan offered carefully. “Are those Christmas trees bleeding?” “Trees?” Jag glanced between Ethan and his work. “Aren’t they spears?” “Sure. They can be spears.” Ethan nodded slowly. “Glittery, bloody spears. And that gingerbread man is …” “Decapitated.”
Jag scoffed, the snort of disgust loud in the tiny car. “Flowers? What kind of spineless sack of guts and piss brings flowers as an offering?”
“A demon doesn’t have room for nice in his life, Sami. I’m a Hell warrior charged with fighting for the right to rule over the human realm. What in Satan’s name would I do with nice?”
The idea of displaying hearts to declare one’s affection sounded correct, especially if those hearts were of rival lovers or great beasts. But Ethan was horrified by that notion.
Jag was still struggling with conflict resolution that didn’t end up with someone’s head on a spike, but had taken to human food, music, and art very well.
As it was, Ethan had nine skulls, one per month, that were placed with care on his dresser in the bedroom that ran the gamut of sizes. Jag was very proud of them. Ethan prayed no one ever saw in his bedroom.
Because Ethan was a master at flirting and dominating a sexy situation, he seductively said, “The eggs will get cold.” One of Jag’s large, predatory hands slipped under Ethan’s sweatpants to grab a palm full of his cheek. “I’ll take my nourishment elsewhere.”
“Did you plan another vacation to the beach so I can take my revenge against the seagulls?” “Nope.” Ethan hooked his arm around Jag’s. “How about I show you?” “I still wish to get my revenge, Ethan.” Jag followed as Ethan pulled him out of the kitchen. “They stole from me and insulted me with their cries and by shitting in my ice cream.”
