Chapter 37: Marquis

Back home, soaked to the bone, they found Eva alone: Sean had slipped out just before they arrived. Which wasn’t such a bad thing; given the hour, Kiyan wouldn’t have tolerated him for long. His bad mood hadn’t left him since Al had vanished, clinging to him like a second skin—unseen, yet heavy.

At least the lovebirds had the decency to order dinner, even if sushi had never been Blanche’s thing: raw fish and her just didn’t mix. The smell alone made her feel like she’d dunked her head into a harbor at dawn. She went upstairs to change, Eva right on her heels after wishing her father good night, practically bouncing despite her exhaustion.

In the car, Blanche had replayed the conversation over and over, picking apart every word, every silence. Yet it was only as she climbed the stairs that it hit her: Al was Kiyan’s familiar. His familiar. The word echoed absurdly in her mind. She could’ve slapped herself—and not just once, a whole well-deserved series.

“Everything okay?” Eva asked, flopping onto her bed, arms spread like a stranded starfish.

Blanche nodded casually, but her eyes betrayed a restless tension. She brushed a damp strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture she repeated without noticing.

“You sure?” Eva insisted, rolling onto her stomach to stare at her. “You both had those faces… like you’d seen a ghost.”

Without answering, Blanche peeled off her soaked clothes. Water still dripped from her sleeves, forming a small puddle at her feet. She slipped into an ultra-soft plaid pajama set, too big for her, the sleeves swallowing her hands. The fuchsia pink unicorn hood—awful, truly awful—fell over her still-damp hair. Her pale skin made the color pop almost violently, and her emerald green eyes seemed to shine even more under the ridiculous contrast.

“Honestly, you look like cotton candy,” Eva commented with a smirk.

Blanche stuck her tongue out, but a smile slipped through anyway. Her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, like a dramatic protest.

“Traitor,” she muttered, pressing a hand against it. “You ate pastries an hour ago.”

“Will you tell me about it?” Eva asked as her best friend headed for the door.

Blanche grabbed the handle.

“I’ll tell you later,” she promised before slipping out quickly.

“I’ll be asleep by then!” Eva called after her.

“That’s the point!” Blanche shot back, hurrying down the stairs, her hood bouncing behind her.

She found Kiyan, still brooding but focused, his movements precise despite his fatigue. Yet there was something in the way he moved that drew attention—a controlled slowness, almost deliberate, as if he were holding something back, keeping everything contained.

And, in his infinite kindness—or perhaps to rein in whatever simmered inside him—he was making croque-madames with disarming efficiency. His hands moved with confidence, flipping the golden bread, adjusting the cooking without thinking, as though his body knew before he did.

The chocolate-colored towel draped over his shoulders revealed the line of his neck, still damp, while his barely dried black curls framed his face in a carefully careless way. The apron, hastily tied, shifted slightly over his hip with each movement, occasionally hinting at the subtle tension of his muscles beneath the fabric.

He looked like the perfect stay-at-home dad… on the surface.

Because beneath that almost domestic image, there was something else. Something rougher. More dangerous.

A quiet heat, a presence that filled the room without a word. His dark aura pulsed around him like a restrained promise, a tension ready to snap—and somehow, it made the scene even harder to look away from.

Blanche finally sat at the counter. She had been watching him for a long moment, pulling her hood over her head. The gesture made him smile, briefly. His gaze lingered a second too long, amused by the absurd contrast between her serious expression and the loud unicorn hood.

“Don’t say anything,” she warned.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you thought it. Loudly.”

They ate in silence, but it was a charged silence, almost electric. Blanche occasionally glanced at Kiyan, as if to make sure he was still there—that he wouldn’t disappear too.

Until a black cat suddenly appeared on the counter, as if it had materialized from a shadow. Its fur was a deep, liquid black, swallowing the light. Its eyes, meanwhile, gleamed with a cold silver—far too intelligent for an ordinary animal. It moved straight for the plate it absolutely shouldn’t touch.

“Hey!” Blanche protested, shielding her food.

Smells so good...

Its voice echoed in her mind, smooth and lingering, almost caressing—and yet edged with something cruel, like a claw hidden beneath velvet.

Kiyan grabbed the animal by the scruff and set it on the floor. The feline, unfazed, landed with insolent grace. Its tail swayed slowly like a lazy flame before it leapt again, reappearing at the other end of the counter without Blanche seeing it move.

It carefully licked its paw, each motion almost human in precision, then drew it over its ear while staring at Blanche as if judging her entire existence.

“Give me a warning next time,” Blanche muttered, setting her plate back down.

“Care to introduce us?” Kiyan asked, eyes slightly narrowed.

“My demonic familiar, Phénix. Rude and shameless,” she summarized. “And invasive. Very invasive. Imagine if he showed up while I’m in the bathroom or the shower.”

There’s nothing I haven’t already seen, little mouse.

His voice softened even more, almost affectionate—but his smile, or something close to it, revealed a flash of teeth too long, too sharp to be reassuring.

Blanche shivered, half annoyed, half unsettled by something she couldn’t quite name.

“And you think saying that will get you a bite of my dinner? Jerk!”

The cat approached again, arching with almost provocative grace, its body forming a perfect curve. It yawned widely, showing off its carnivorous fangs, then briefly brushed its head against Blanche’s arm—a fleeting, almost tender gesture that clashed sharply with its unsettling presence.

“You’re the marquis, I assume?” Kiyan said to it, his gaze dark.

The cat nodded slowly, never taking its eyes off Blanche, as if she were the only one that truly mattered in the room.

Kiyan turned to her, impressed, his aura flaring slightly, as if awakened.

“The marquis?” Blanche repeated, watching the feline, suddenly less sure of herself.

“Phénix is one of the thirteen marquises of Hell,” her professor explained. “Demons are organized by rank and by sin. This one…” he added, pointing at the cat with the knife, “is one of the most powerful. He’s even called the ‘Grand Marquis.’”

Silence fell again, heavier than before.

Phénix slowly sat down, wrapping his tail around his paws, his silver eyes glinting with faint amusement.

And despite herself, Blanche had the distinct feeling that he was protecting her just as much as he was watching her.