Demon Begging

Chapter 11

*NARRATOR'S POV*

"Initiation, which is what you were on in the human world, is to find a destiny. A mate, a daemon, a job, anything." Alfred, Louis' close friend who lived in the library tower explains.

"Initiation fails when we don't find anything." Louis' fingers pick apart the frayed hem on Alfred's table, the other palm flat against the mark Harry gave him, feeling it sink and disappear.

"I'm sorry, Lou. Many have and turned out happy."

"But not all." Louis wipes his wet cheek.

Ares sits on his shoulder, tail wrapped around Louis' neck and he nudges Louis' jaw in weak encouragement. He makes small noises to show his support.

"They'll make me bond with Victor."

"I've never met him."

"He's a monster." Louis curls up in his chair and Ares makes a whining sound.

"Well, this Harry chap is a demon."

Louis frowns at Alfred but let's it go immediately. "I can't even go back."

Louis belonged to the world of the Zohrai, where his markings and tattoos were visible to everyone. If he left here for anything other than his Initiation, he would die of their atmosphere because he couldn't adjust twice.

"If you have faith in him then he will be here." Alfred promises with sympathy in his eyes and words.

Louis breaks into a painful sob when he feels his neck smoothen out and his chest constrict, signalling the removal of Harry's mark and essence from him.

* * * * *

Harry couldn't feel cold, it was just one of his advantages. Unlike Tim and he, the girl they have come to know as Rebecca is wearing at least four jackets. They were somewhere lost in the ice age of Canada where the hardest block of ice supposedly lay.

"Are the Zohrai not capable of keeping themselves warm?" Tim teases and Harry ignores him.

"We cannot do most fascinating things." Rebecca answers.

"Aren't you warriors?"

"We fight in our lands where the weather is consistently warm."

Harry thinks about whether Louis even liked warm weather, or if he'd prefer some cold. He frowned when he felt a tingling sensation in his chest, a place where only the younger boy ever touched. He ignored it after it faded.

Rebecca noticed and secretly smiled.

The blizzard has become much, much worse than any film could depict or as it was when they first began their quest. Harry turned to his true form and lit his skin on fire, slightly so because the snow would melt and dry up faster than he could blink that way.

They stopped atop a berg on one of the highest formed mountains here, and Harry began thinking of ways to get to the center where the ice was perfect and aged.

"Harry!" Tim called.

"What-" He turned back to yell but ended up face down in the snow, caught in a net that burnt him rather than the other way around.

Harry kicked and cursed, opening his wings where it was sharp to cut anything, but landed in a small pool of his own black blood when it sliced his wing. He didn't know what this net was made of, or who was doing this. He screeched but nothing happened, and then he was knocked out with a needle to the neck. The needle that to be doused in pure water for it to go near his skin.