Where Exorcists Cannot Lie: An MM Romance Between an Exorcist and a Demon by Kasia Bacon

Author:Kasia Bacon [Bacon, Kasia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Order Universe
Published: 2024-03-13T00:00:00+00:00

4

Lies And Temptations

The next few days flew by.

We settled into an easy rhythm, not stepping on each other’s toes. Being familiar with each other’s habits probably helped, although, on the whole, sharing a house with Inuel resembled little of our life in the past.

First and foremost, we slept in separate bedrooms. The fact we didn’t spend the majority of our time pawing at each other like we used to afforded us the opportunity to discover other things. Like talking. And playing cards. Not that I didn’t have that dull ache settle in my sternum—and pretty soon my blue balls, too—every time Inuel bid me goodnight and shut the door of his room behind him.

At the start, we both napped and meditated a lot. Inuel’s dedication to the latter came as a surprise—he hadn’t done a whole lot of that before, as far as I’d known. But I didn’t think much about it, assuming we both had our own spiritual mending to do. After all, demonic energy worked in a way very similar to Magic and required similar daily cultivation.

Inuel made a good companion, the easy-going sort he could be. He seemed more attentive and agreeable than I’d remembered. Living with him became comfortable in a snap, and I grew fond of the routine we established. Granted, Inuel’s alpha streak shone through here and there. He insisted on doing all the heavy lifting-type tasks around the house on account of my ‘delicate bone structure’, as the arse once phrased it. Did I mind that? Hell no. His other good use extended to acting as my personal demonic ladder whenever I had trouble reaching things from the top shelves in the larder and kitchen. Therefore, often.

By choice, I did most of the cooking. Inuel prepared an odd evening meal on open flames outside—a delicious but somewhat dramatic affair he insisted on calling barrabeko—or fire-kissed food. It involved an array of spices and a marinade, which he applied using a little brush while sporting a look of intense concentration, complete with a furrowed brow and a stuck-out tongue.

We each claimed a settee in the sitting room by the fire and often read our respective scrolls there in the evening. Yet again, something I hadn’t realised Inuel had been into. Thank the gods he proved not to be one of those annoying morons who would ask, “What’s so funny?” about every passage that had me cracking up. Discussing our readings at the end of our day turned into a habit, though. Inuel’s sarcastic and to-the-point comments demonstrated he wasn’t just a pretty face. By complimenting him in this fashion once, however, I found myself under a vicious pillow attack.

Towards the end of the first week, the curative benefits of the retreat finally materialised. The therapeutic aura of the place did away with the last remnants of Inuel’s grudge curse. As for myself, I went back to feeling more balanced. My mood had lightened, and the fatigue and headaches had ebbed away—a welcome sign of the blackening beginning to recede.

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