Chapter 8

Zagan

BLOOMINGS WAS A SERIES OF connected brick buildings set on a sprawling field. Wild flowers grew along the outskirts of the parking lot and around the buildings. A playground of sorts sat out back, and there were different posters of kids with varying medical conditions hanging in the windows along the front of the place.

“So this is where your sister stays?” I asked as we approached the building after Iyla scanned us in through the front security gate. The guard gave me a skeptical look through the window of the car, but with Iyla signing me in as a visitor accompanying her, I was allowed clearance.

The entire car ride, Iyla had leaned as far away from me as possible, probably terrified I’d try to create another “accident.” The thought had definitely crossed my mind, but as my annoyance faded, so did that need. The moment my irritation returned, however, that might change once again.

Iyla nodded at my question, and there was no missing the touch of sadness that crept into the corners of her brown eyes as they traced the structure. “Yep. She needed constant supervision and medical professionals to monitor her, so she stays here in this long-term care facility.”

I frowned. From all Iyla had told me—which was very little but enough—her little sister didn’t seem to be doing well. I didn’t specialize in healing or restoring life. I was a sex demon for fucks sake. But I’d heard of other demons healing people with their blood, despite not being in a contract. It was worth a shot, and if the girl died, oh well. Wouldn’t be the first time a human died, nor would it be the last. As long as I got my meals without issue, I’d go along with this. But as soon as the sister died or Iyla made a fuss over the deal, I’d go back to my original plan—looking for a way to make sure Iyla wound up dead.

Just the thought made me grin.

The hallways weren’t that shitty, sterile white you’d find in most medical facilities. Nope. It was worse . Murals covered the walls, depicting kids and animals running through fields, rainbows and butterflies soaring through the air, or kids riding dinosaurs as if they were horses.

The bright colors and overly cheerful faces in the pictures had my skin crawling and my morning coffee wanting to come back up. How could anyone stand to look at this overly happy shit? It was an eyesore .

“Whoever did the decorating for this place needs to be fired,” I grumbled to Iyla.

She looked at the walls and actually made a soft sound that could almost be called a laugh. She glanced up at me and tucked some dark hair behind her ear. “It is a bit much, isn’t it? I think it’s meant to provide some semblance of positivity to the people that come here. The kids and their families.”

“Yeah, cause if I’m sick and dying, seeing a kid riding a dinosaur will remind me to keep pushing on,” I quipped.

Before she could respond, we rounded the corner into a much larger area. A circular desk stood in the center of the room, and branches of hallways fed off from the vast space. Nurses and staff bustled around the desk and swept down the different paths.

A nurse wearing teal scrubs and a sandy color hijab spotted us. Her face instantly broke into a smile as we approached. “Iyla! So good to see you.”

“Hey, Noya,” Iyla greeted, returning the warm welcome.

Noya’s attention found me, and I immediately knew what her wide eyes and slack jaw meant. Recognition.

Plastering on a charming smirk of my own, I waved. “Hey there.”

“You’re—You’re—” Her voice got higher and higher as she stammered her words.

“Holy cheese balls!” a sudden shrill voice squealed.

The three of us turned to find a group of teenage girls staring at us—or rather, me —like their savior had just appeared before them.

“You’re Zagan!” one cried. She wore a long blue flannel dress that practically swallowed her frame where she sat in her wheelchair.

Another, who clutched a walker with an IV bag holder, smiled so wide, I worried her chapped lips would split. “I can’t believe this. Is this really happening? The Zagan. We’re—We’re all huge fans.”

“Fans?” the older nurse standing with the group asked. Her wrinkly face gained a few more creases as she openly scrutinized me, and I knew all she saw was a man with tattoos and piercings. “What have you girls been doing when we haven’t been around?”

“Just listening to music, Mrs. Patrice,” one of the teens said. “He’s the lead singer in our favorite band!”

“Yes, he’s amazing!” came a decree.

“The absolute best!” another compliment came.

The five teens, all of whom were patients, nodded their heads furiously, in agreement with all the assessments thrown my way. The nurse didn’t look amused at all. Old, judgmental bat.

More times than not, I was a cold bastard. There wasn’t much I cared about, and even then, I wasn’t sure if cared was the right word. Rather, there were only a few things that made me truly happy. Well, as happy as a demon from Hell could be.

One of those things was music. Dancing to music, playing music, writing music. Writing songs was what I lived for these days. Taking absolutely nothing and turning it into this exciting, thought-provoking, heart-pounding string of sounds and words that reached deep inside people, calling to their inner selves. The things they cared about. The things they feared. The things they desired. It was what made this long existence of mine bearable.

Going hand-in-hand with that drive was meeting my fans and seeing those that my songs had touched and inspired. It was something that made my dark soul pulse with just a bit of something more. Something … lighter.

Walking over to them, I made sure to give the skeptical nurse a shit-eating grin before looking at the girls. I scanned their faces—some gaunt and pale, others red and splotchy, one girl even had thick scars from what looked like burns marring her face, though she tried to hide behind her hair while throwing quick glances at me.

“Wow,” I said, turning on the brightness in my voice that I reserved for fan interactions. “I’ve never had such beautiful girls praise me so much.”

That earned me a chorus of giggles from all of them. Except the girl with the burns. She tucked her head down even more.

“Thank you all,” I continued. “Really. I appreciate your support. What are your names?”

They went down the line, introducing themselves. We’d gathered some more people around us—a couple nurses who looked like they were about to cum just from looking at me, some more patients who lingered in doorways to watch, and some older staff who didn’t seem to get what all the fuss was about like Madam-Resting-Bitch-Face who still lingered protectively around the girls like she thought I might eat them.

When they were done introducing themselves, one of the girls—Arianna, the one in the wheelchair—asked, “What brings you here? Do you have a relative here or something?”

I nodded at Iyla, who had drifted over to stare at me at some point. She seemed … surprised by my attention to my fans. Like she thought I might’ve just ignored them and moved on instead of hanging around to talk to them. My chest tightened with a wave of satisfaction. I liked proving her assumptions about me wrong, because just as she’d snapped at me earlier about not knowing her, she didn’t know me .

“I’m actually a friend of hers,” I said, gesturing to Iyla. “We’re here to see her sister.”

“Ahh,” Noya said, her eyes still starstruck as she fought to look away from me and toward Iyla. “Gemma’s in the sunroom with the other kids.”

Kalypto, the girl with the walker and IV pole, gasped and exclaimed, “That’s where we’re headed. We can take you guys.”

I nodded happily. “Lead the way.”

Iyla and I trailed along with the group of boisterous girls. At one point, Nurse Patrice pulled Noya in close, and she threw me a cautious glance as she not-so-subtly questioned Noya about whether the kids were safe around me or not. It made me chuckle under my breath.

Humans never stopped judging. I’d gathered by this point in life that it was just part of their nature. They see someone and decide they know everything about that person just by their appearance. Full sleeve tattoos of vines, webs, and snakes or lip and brow piercings like mine gave people like Patrice a lot of ammunition to fuel their misguided musings. In the past, those kinds of people were my favorite to fuck with. To torment. To seduce to the dark side.

“You were really nice to all those girls,” Iyla observed. There was no missing the edge of bewilderment in her voice, which only confirmed my previous idea that she’d expected me to dismiss them.

“You sound surprised,” I noted.

She shrugged. “I guess I am. I’ve not met many demons, but I thought you’d all be, you know—”

“Evil,” I finished with a knowing nod. “Don’t get it twisted, Sparrow. Just because I indulge my fans here and there doesn’t change that I am, in fact, evil .”

She inhaled sharply, like the reminder scared her, and she turned away from me. For some reason, this whole exchange annoyed me. I couldn’t decide if it was because of Iyla’s assumptions about me or if it was the building itself. I stared ahead, fighting the urge to burn the obnoxiously bright paint off the walls on our way by, when I noticed one of the girls continuously looking over at me.

Marla, the girl with the burns, had been quiet this whole time. She didn’t share the same glee as the others. She’d barely managed to tell me her name, but her fumbling hands and tightening of her mouth told me she desperately wanted to say more.

I had a hunch what her timid silence and distance stemmed from, and I couldn’t let that slide. When I saw a tortured soul in need of attention, I was compelled to offer my sway. Sprinkle in a bit of self-thought, self-expression, self-empowerment, and eventually, it would bloom into what people liked to call defiance, the work of the devil, and sin. Because being bold and having your own thoughts meant you weren’t “drinking the kool-aid” that the world wanted you to. It meant you couldn’t be controlled, and that , for those who needed to control you, got labeled as sin.

Drawing closer to Marla, I met her fleeting, startled glance before she ducked her head again. There was no missing the look that crossed her face before she looked away, though.

Shame.

“You seem a bit down, Marla,” I said softly.

She shook her head hard, and she sniffled beneath her curtain of hair.

“It’s okay,” I soothed, ensuring my tone came off as gentle as possible.

Her burn-covered hands came up to gingerly touch her face. “I never, ever dreamed I’d get to meet you in person. You’re so famous and wonderful and handsome. How am I supposed to face you looking like—like—”

Her steps slowed before finally stopping all together. I stayed right beside her, and the others turned back to look at us. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Patrice inch her way toward us like she thought I was about to abduct Marla right on the spot.

I ignored our audience as I bent down just enough so that the teen had to look at me. “Do you not like your scars?”

Tears filled her eyes, and she shook her head.

“Why not?”

Nurse Patrice scoffed, and I looked sideways at the old woman as she said, “What an absurd question! She’s covered in scars. Do you not understand that? Please consider what you’re saying before you speak to my girls.”

Marla’s eyes pinched in anguish, and she tried to hide even more behind her hair. “My scars are ugly. I’m ugly. I know I am.”

“Ugly?” I repeated in disbelief. “They aren’t ugly, Marla. You know what they look like to me?”

She shook her head.

“Like a cluster of shining stars.” I looked over the shining, raised red and pink skin. “They’re like your very own galaxy of stars, creating a constellation that is so unique and so you . The rest of us?” I said, gesturing at myself and the lingering party. “We’re just like plain, boring rocks. All the same. All lack-luster.” I placed a finger under her chin to tilt it up so her hair had to fall back and she had to hold her head high. “Don’t hide that pretty face from the world. It would be a shame for us rocks to never get to see such a beautiful star.”

Her lip trembled as she seemed to soak in my words. “I’m a star?”

I grinned. “A whole entire glittering constellation.” I leaned closer to whisper conspiratorially, “And between you and me, that nurse over there really needs to see some stars because she’s the roughest and plainest rock of us all.”

She laughed quietly, and her lips lifted into a smile. She nodded once and squared her shoulders to stand taller. We rejoined the group, and Marla kept her head raised so her burns were on full display. Patrice seemed annoyed by my encouraging Marla to embrace her body, and part of me was glad to see that irritation. I hoped Marla took my words and used them to build up the courage she needed to face assholes like Patrice.

It was a pity the world told people like her, people who were different in one way or another, that they were somehow less than. Unless you looked a certain way or believed a certain thing, humans were quick to slap labels on you that they had no business handing out. And people wore those labels, because others gave them no choice but to do so.

Sometimes I wondered who the truly evil ones were—demons like me who embraced acting out and sinning, or the humans who told girls like Marla that they weren’t worthy of acceptance.

Iyla cleared her throat when I reached her side and leaned in close to whisper, “That was really nice what you said to her. I think she needed to hear that.”

I glanced at Iyla then at Marla. “I shouldn’t have had to say it. She shouldn’t have been made to feel less beautiful because of some stupid burns. But humans are quick to judge and reject.”

She was quiet for a minute. Finally, she whispered, “I guess we are.”

The group made it to the sunroom, which was easily the size of a standard gymnasium. Ceiling high windows spanned every wall, looking onto the lush grass and playground outside. Tables littered with puzzles or activities were spread throughout the room. There was a large TV in one corner with some animated movie playing, and most of the kids were gathered over there. In the back of the room stood an old piano.

“There she is,” Iyla whispered.

A sudden sound of elation flooded her voice, which drew my gaze to her like a moth to a flame. I hadn’t known Iyla for long, but this was the first time I’d heard that melodic chime of true happiness leave her lips or seen that euphoric sparkle fill her eyes.

I followed her line of sight to see what brought out this rush of emotion and saw two girls sitting at a table, working on a puzzle. A dark-skinned little girl wearing a green pajama set with a matching toboggan chatted away with the other one, who’s attention bounced between the puzzle pieces and her friend.

I knew right away that the quieter girl was Iyla’s sister. They shared the same nose, jawline, and even the furrow in the little girl’s brow looked identical to the one Iyla had when she was working through something in her head.

Iyla started toward her sister, and I followed close behind. Both girls looked up at our approach.

“Iyla!” Gemma squealed in delight.

She went to get out of her chair, but Iyla beat her there, wrapping her arms around the younger girl’s shoulders—albeit, gently—and kissing her on top of the head.

“I’ve missed you,” Iyla said with a breathy laugh. She looked at the other girl. “Hi, Sienna. I love your green outfit.”

Sienna gave a toothy grin. “Thank you! My daddy just brought it for me.”

Iyla turned back to Gemma to clasp her little hands and squatted next to her chair. “How are you today?”

Gemma suddenly turned sheepish. “Okay. I only got sick once so far this morning.”

This seemed to make the bracket around Iyla’s mouth tighter, but it was so miniscule, I wasn’t sure if someone who didn’t know how to read human reactions would notice.

Gemma and Sienna seemed to finally notice me hovering close by. When they looked up at me, they gasped.

Iyla followed their line of sight to me, and her smile quickly turned into a frown. “Oh, please don’t tell me—”

“Zagan?” Sienna asked in astonishment. “From the band?”

“In the flesh,” I said, holding my hands out at my sides.

Iyla had said Gemma was eleven, which definitely wasn’t the target audience for our songs. Even the teen girls we ran into were pushing it. Though, were you ever too young for freedom, learning to love and accept yourself, embracing who you were and what you want from this life? I’d say not. And that was really what our songs were about.

“You know his band?” Iyla asked her sister warily.

“That’s our fault,” Arianna quickly explained with an apologetic smile as she wheeled over. Her friends were right behind her. “We like to listen to their music out in the open, and the band became a huge favorite for everyone here. Don’t worry, though. We don’t play the—” Her cheeks pinkened, and she glanced at me then back at Iyla. “The super explicit ones.”

I smirked. In other words, the ones about sex.

Sienna leaned close to Gemma. “What does explicit mean?”

Gemma shrugged. “Beats me.”

A tug came on my shirt. I looked down to find Marla beaming at me. “Do you think you could sing something for us since you’re here?”

A whole lot of eyes from kids, teens, and even the adults that had trickled in watched me with bright, eager eyes. It wasn’t even a question. How could I deny my fans a little private concert?

Without a word, I walked over to the piano. The crowd followed, gathering around on the floor and in chairs around the older instrument. Iyla stood further back, and I met her eyes between the wall of bodies around me. She looked skeptical. Whether she doubted my ability to play or my motive for giving these people what they wanted, I wasn’t sure. All I knew was seeing that look of doubt on her face lit a fire inside of me. I wanted her to see why she should never, ever doubt me.

I fingered a couple keys. The piano needed some tuning, but it would suffice for this little performance. I moved my fingers over the keys. Someone must’ve paused the movie that had been playing, because all you could hear was the slow and dramatic melody filling the otherwise silent room.

This was one of my favorite songs I’d ever written, one of our earliest songs, when it was still easy to find inspiration. The words and notes and chords came easier back then. These days, I struggled to write a solid song, and even when I managed to get a good one out, they never felt as powerful, raw, and real as my earlier ones.

Something I was reminded of only this morning when my manager and bandmates asked for an update on the latest song. An update I couldn’t give them, because I still hadn’t written one.

It was that desperate need to feel my music like I used to that guided the strong, almost pleading edge to my voice as I sang about finding yourself, about not apologizing for who that was, about not letting the world tell you that you shouldn’t want what you do or be who you were. It was about embracing everything you were and standing up for it.

By the time the rock ballad ended, my voice fading into a memory and the chords dying off, everyone had somehow moved closer like moths drawn to a flame. The applause was instant, and everyone, even the stick in the mud, Patrice, looked impressed. It wasn’t their reaction I wanted to see, though.

I looked between the bodies and found Iyla. Shock. Longing. Hopelessness. Awe. It was such a dizzying mix of emotions causing her brow to furrow and her lips to part, and it made my heart pound harder.

This . This was why I sang. This was what I wanted my songs to do.

While my hands, tongue, and cock could claim her body and fill her up, my songs touched her in a totally different way. One could say, a deeper way.

“That was wonderful!”

“So cool!”

“Zagan, you’re the best!”

I smiled at all the compliments. There was a rush of people wanting photos or wanting me to sign something, and after the madness of all that, the crowd finally dispersed enough for me, Iyla, and Gemma to settle at our own table.

“That was busy,” Iyla said, looking around the mostly appeased room of people. She turned back to me with a curious purse to her lips. “Do you get bombarded like that a lot?”

I shrugged. “Comes with being in a popular band.”

“How do you know him?” Gemma asked her sister. She giggled and whispered, “Is he your boyfriend?”

Iyla’s face turned an alarming shade of red, and her eyes widened as they bounced between me and her sister. “Absolutely not. He—He’s my …” She paused to look over at me. We’d never really discussed what our story would be, but after only a moment of searching for an answer, she turned back to Gemma and said, “He’s my friend.”

Friend.

The word made me shift uncomfortably in my seat. I didn’t do friends . I only cared about myself and my own interests. “Friends” implied there was some sort of care involved between the two parties. Still, it was the only answer that made sense in this situation.

Gemma’s smile stayed in place as she stared at her sister. “I didn’t know you had such cool friends, Iyla.”

Iyla stared at me from across the table and offered an unimpressed shrug. “Meh. He’s okay, I guess.”

I narrowed my eyes and curled my lip at her, which made a faint smile appear on her face. Seeing the gesture on those plump lips made my stomach bottom out with a fresh pang of hunger. I needed to fucking eat. My dick and body were going crazy with the need to fuck her senseless.

Ready to get this show on the road, I announced, “I’m pretty thirsty after all that singing.” I made sure to catch Iyla’s eye so she understood my meaning. “Would you two like a water or anything?”

“I’d love some,” Iyla said, giving me a knowing nod. “Gemma?”

She bobbed her head. “Yes, please.”

I pushed my chair back and approached one of the nurses who was tidying up some toy blocks on the floor. After requesting some cups of water, I waited in the hallway for her. She brought me a tray with three cups of water. When she swept back into the room, I hung back just long enough to let my human guise disappear from only my thumb so that my long, black claw came out. With a quick press of the tip into my pointer finger, I let a few drops fall into one of the cups. My wound closed in the same time it took for the black blood to disappear within the drink so that it looked like ordinary water.

“Here we go,” I said when I got back to the table. I placed the cups in front of everyone, making sure Gemma got the one with my blood.

“Thank you,” Gemma said, pulling her cup closer.

I tried not to watch while she drank some so it didn’t seem like anything was amiss. Iyla was less subtle, throwing almost desperate glances at Gemma and fidgeting in her seat like fucking fireants were crawling all over her skin.

Still, as the three of us sat there, talking and working on the puzzle, we eventually finished our drinks. Gemma seemed to be fine after finishing hers. No fits over the taste. No flailing about in pain. No dropping dead. I took that as a good sign that this was going to work.

Which now meant, it was time for me to get what I was owed.

“It was good to meet you,” I said to Gemma as Iyla and I stood to leave.

“Will you come see me again?” she asked with hope climbing her face.

I smiled. “I think I can make that happen.”

Iyla hugged her sister, and I noticed that she held on a little longer than others might’ve. Gemma was important to her, that much was obvious. I mean, she could’ve asked me for anything when our bond formed—still could—but all she wanted was to save her sister.

“I think that went well,” I said to Iyla as we climbed into her car. “Gemma didn’t seem to have any poor side effects to the blood.”

“I just hope it makes her better.” Iyla stared at the brick building like a part of her was still in there instead of here in this car.

“Are you ready?” I asked.

Her head slowly turned my way, like she’d just remembered I was here. “Ready for what?”

I cocked a brow at her. “To go have sex.”

That amusing red flooded her face once more, and her hands clenched tightly in her lap. “I-I—Um—”

Silence filled the space between us. I knew that she was probably wracked with nerves since she was new to sex. So I gave her a second to gather herself. I didn’t know what was going through her head, but, even so, I never expected her to say, “I don’t like it.”

The sudden rush of her voice amid the quiet made my ears ring, and maybe that contributed to my confusion when I asked, “Don’t like what?”

She chewed on her lip and looked away from me. “Sex. It … It wasn’t good. No offense, but it was awful.”

I nearly fell over. My mind stalled out, and I stared at her, frozen in my seat. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. What happened before was great. But when you—” she made a jab gesture with her fingers. “That was horrible. I thought you were supposed to be a sex professional or something.”

You have got to be shitting me.

My brain couldn’t seem to compute what she was saying. I’d never been so offended in my life. And I’d been here for a millennium . Awful, sex, and me didn’t belong in the same sentence.

“That doesn’t count,” I argued quickly, trying to defend my Incubus honor. “I was working with false information. I didn’t know the full story of what I was dealing with.”

She scoffed and buckled her seatbelt. “Sounds like an excuse to me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You know what. Fine. I’ll make you eat those words.”

She wanted to taunt me and my skill? Challenge fucking accepted.