Marcus' Prey

Chapter Three

Hey y'all!

So, I know it's been a long wait. I'm sorry! College is fucking impossible, and I'm also in a varsity sport and in clubs, so I barely have time to function (lol what is even functioning). I really do apologize.

I'm really stressed and sad but I finally said "screw it" and carved out time to write. If I get some bad grades, that's why. Y'all can explain it to my mother when she sees my grades :))

Anyways, love you all! 

Enjoy,

E <3

~~~

With a roar, I attacked the worthless weapons on my walls, sending them crashing to the floor. I upended my mattress, tearing into it with my now fully-grown claws, feathers flying into the air. My tail lashed behind me wildly, taking down shelves and causing even more chaos. With every strike, feral battle cries and roars ripped from my chest and throat, until I sat in the center of my destroyed room, naked and panting and positively beastly.

"Marcus?" I closed my eyes as the voice of Lacedaemon; A.K.A. Benjamin, came from the now shattered doorway.

"Yes, Lace-Ben?" I cursed myself inwardly. The Spartan war general was no fool, and I couldn't afford such slip ups.

One of the most dangerous aspects of this life was the weakness of the daemon form. And, as Death, I had gained myself many enemies. Thanatos hadn't cared; no being could possibly touch him, much less harm him. But Marcus was vulnerable. If the powerful enemies that Thanatos were to catch wind of the state I was in...well, I simply could not allow it to happen. So, I'd spent centuries slowly eliminating the Greek accent from my speech, bit by bit, until I had an accent similar to Lucifer and the other angels. I hadn't spoken my mother tongue in centuries, and it made my soul ache. But, I could afford no ties to my homeland. To repeat Lacedaemon's name aloud, with my pronunciation and accent...it would have exposed me immediately as a native speaker. Only God and Lucifer knew of my past, and I wanted, no, needed, to keep it that way.

I turned to see the Spartan's eyebrow quirk up, which was an expression he'd only recently adopted, most likely due to Ammi's terrible influence.

"You almost attempted my name, daimon. That would have been most entertaining." I tried not to flinch at the hauntingly familiar term. He thought of me as a daimon, a Greek spirit or demon. Hearing the term filled me with a sharp pang of longing and homesickness that I tried hard to suppress.

They said time healed a broken heart. Yet, after all these centuries, Greece still held mine in the palm of her hand.

There isn't much that I wouldn't give to engage in small talk with that big, loveable Spartan oaf in Greek. I'd discuss the fucking weather if I could. That's how I knew I'd fallen from the old days. I had no godly pride anymore.

"And I'm sure you would've never let me live it down, Ben." I attempted to smile, but considering the state of both myself and my room, I doubted I pulled it off. "Was there something you needed? Or was Ammi just giving you more trouble?"

The soldier's lips quirked up at my last statement. He'd been the Queen's personal guard since she'd first come to Hell and received his fair share of inconveniences because of it. Yet, somehow, even he was still fond of her. She was a more powerful witch than even Megara in that way. None were immune to her spell.