Slaying Monsters for the Feeble - Annette Marie Page 0,2
I’m lazy,” I snapped. “I was sick. I had the flu.”
“You promised to search for a way I can return home.”
“And I am. Right now. Or I would be if you’d stop bothering me.” I grabbed a book at random. “The more you distract me, the longer this will take.”
He finally stepped back, taking the scent of hickory and leather with him, and drifted away in moody silence. I unclenched my jaw, fighting the urge to order him back into the infernus. The harder I pushed, the more he would resist. If I’d learned anything in the six weeks since we’d been bound together in a contract, it was that Zylas was infuriatingly stubborn. And deliberately contrary. Defiant. Ornery. Contentious to the point of—
“Should I describe you, payilas?”
His hiss floated back to me and I flushed. Thanks to the telepathic connection that was supposed to allow me to control him, he could hear my thoughts. Not always—it depended on how forcefully I was thinking them—but often enough to be completely unfair.
Pretending I hadn’t been insulting him in my head, I opened the book I held and blinked at the title page. Demon Psychology: Monsters Born or Made?
Hmm. I flipped the page and scanned the introduction.
The debate of nature versus nurture has dominated discussions on psychology for centuries. Are humans inherently good or is morality a learned behavior?
In the coming pages, we will examine how this concept applies to the preternatural creatures known as demons. Though psychology is, in theory and in practice, relevant only to humans, we now apply our well-practiced diagnostic methods to the demon psyche.
The symptoms most often displayed by demonkind (aggression, violence, lack of empathy, lack of remorse, inability to form emotional bonds, narcissism, manipulativeness) would earn most humans a swift diagnosis of antisocial personality disorder, more commonly known as psychopathy.
However, the question remains: Is demonic violence a product of the demons’ mysterious home environment, or, as long believed to be the case, are they born monsters?
I peeked over the top of the book. At the end of the aisle, Zylas was crouched low as he peered around the corner. His tail lashed.
Aggressive, violent, manipulative—check, check, and check. Unempathetic, remorseless, selfish—three more checkmarks. My brow wrinkled as I turned the page and skimmed the table of contents to see if there was a nice, neat “Conclusions” chapter I could read. Biting my lip, I glanced up again.
The aisle was empty.
With a horrified gasp, I shoved the book onto the nearest shelf and sprinted to the end of the aisle. It opened into a wider path with tables lined up against the wall. Halfway along, my demon, in all his horned, tailed, leather-and-armor glory, was prowling past the third table.
I dashed to him so fast I smacked into his back and bounced off, almost dislodging my glasses. Grabbing his arm, I hauled him backward—or I tried. I could’ve been an ant for all the notice he took of my attempt.
“What are you doing?” I whispered in a panic. “Get back in the infernus before someone sees you!”
“Be quiet,” he hissed.
I yanked on his elbow. “You need to—get—back—over—here.”
I gave his arm a final heave and my hands slipped. Lurching back, I bumped hard into a chair, which clattered loudly against the table, then tipped sideways. I caught it and shoved it upright. Its feet banged down on the floor.
“Dahganul,” he snarled.
I had a moment to be irritated by the new insult—it was most definitely an insult, even if I didn’t know what it meant—before I heard the distinct sound of high heels clacking against tiles. I lunged for Zylas as though I could forcefully mash him back into the infernus—except the bright glow of his power would be a beacon for the approaching librarian.
He shot me a withering look, then dropped into a crouch and slipped between two chairs. He disappeared under the table.
As the authoritative snap of heels grew louder, I lost my head entirely and dove after him. With the chairs jutting under the table and the wall behind it, only a narrow rectangle was free, and Zylas took up most of it. Too late to go back, I squeezed in beside him.
Not that hiding from the librarian was necessary. She was a librarian. I needed to work on my irrational fear of confrontation.
The librarian’s steps drew closer, then hesitated a few tables away. I held my breath.
Eyes gleaming in the shadows, Zylas leaned toward me and whispered, “Move.”