Little snippet of the demon ZoeMira AU. This is just a little inkling I thought of; itâs not related to the wonderful story being written by @plslemmedie
Rumi didnât remember unlocking the door.
She only remembered stepping into her apartment, twisting the deadbolt out of habit, and then feeling the air shift, like the room had taken a careful breath. A gust of wind rushed past her, the scent alluring, dangerous, and eerily familiar.
Two silhouettes sat in her dim living room, as if they belonged there. As if she welcomed them.
Zoey, the shorter of the two infuriating demons, was perched on the arm of her couch, one boot on the cushion as sheâd made herself at home in Rumiâs space. Mira stood near her bookshelf, hands loosely folded behind her back, gaze drifting over Rumiâs wards, the symbols by the windows, the charms nailed above the door frame. There was a kind of calm about the two that didnât ask permission; it demanded Rumiâs full attention.
Rumi wished her first instinct was to draw her blade.
Instead it was worse. Her omega side flared, hot and sharp, reacting to their alpha-heady scent like a match sparking against dry kindling. Her demon blood answered- restless, hungry, and recognizing something between them that her mind refused to name.
She kept her face blank and her voice steady.
But she wasnât scared. Something instinctual recognized their presence as protection.
âYou canât be here,â the omega snapped. âThis is my home!â
Zoey smiled, gentle yet also infuriatingly smug, âHello to you too.â
Miraâs tone was even, controlled. Her gaze burned Rumiâs skin, setting her patterns ablaze with a pleasant warmth. âWe didnât break in if thatâs what youâre concerned about.â
Rumiâs jaw tightened. That was true. Her wards were intact, humming softly against her skin. No scorch marks, no snapped threads. That meant they had either asked to be let in, or they had simply walked through without setting them off.
Neither option made her feel better.
âHow,â Rumi asked carefully, âdid you get in?â
Zoeyâs gaze slid to the chain lock, âYou opened the door.â
Rumiâs stomach dropped, âI didnât open it for you.â
Miraâs eyes held hers, steady, not triumphant, âYou did. A long time ago.â A smirk, âWe have something of a standing invitation.â
Rumiâs fingers curled around her keys until the metal bit into her palm, âGet out.â
Zoeyâs smile dimmed, but she didnât move. âWeâre not here to hurt you.â
âI donât care,â Rumi snapped. âYouâre demons.â
Miraâs expression didnât change, but her voice softened a notch, âAnd youâre not only a Hunter, are you?â
Rumi went very still. The words landed quietly, and still they felt like a slap.
Zoey watched her carefully now, the playfulness fading into something more focused, âYou smell different when youâre stressed, and I know itâs not our presence doing it. You always have this cloud following you. This fear that just wonât dissipate.â
Rumi swallowed, âDonât talk about my scent.â
Miraâs gaze flicked to the collar of Rumiâs jacket, where the edge of her ward-threaded sigil peeked out, âYour wards are over-compensating.â
Rumiâs pulse thudded, âFor what?â
Mira answered like she was reciting a fact, not accusing her, âFor you. Youâre restraining yourself.â She stepped closer, her rich scent danced in Rumiâs nostrils, âOne-half of yourself, that is.â
Rumiâs throat tightened. She backed one step toward the kitchen without meaning to, eyes flicking to the knife block, the salt jar, the drawer where she kept her silver-thread wire.
Zoey noticed and lifted both hands, palms out, âHey wait a second. Weâre not doing that. Weâre not here to hurt you.â
Rumiâs voice went sharp, âOh really!? It sorts of feels like youâre-â
âCornering you?â Zoey cheerfully interrupted her. âThreatening you? Whatever you think this is doesnât matter. Weâre just here to talk.â
Rumi laughed once, brittle and small, âYou broke into my home.â
Miraâs tone stayed calm, âWe came in through the front door.â
Rumiâs gaze cut to Mira, âStop saying that like it makes it any better.â
Mira held her eyes, hands moving upwards to show she was unarmed, âOk, maybe we could have handled that better, but weâre here for a reason. I swear itâs important.â
Rumiâs heartbeat kicked harder. Her demon blood surged warm, prickling under her skin, a restless tide. She forced it down, forced her pupils to stay round, forced the edges of her nails to remain blunt.
She refused to give them proof of her sin.
Zoeyâs voice dropped, careful, âRumi your eye went gold last week. I saw it.â
Mira continued, quiet but relentless, âYou bled black on that rooftop last week. From that demon that snuck up on you.â
Rumiâs breath caught. She remembered. She remembered the rogue demonâs claws, the sting of the wound, and the moment her blood had hit the concrete like ink in rain.
She hadnât told anyone. Zoey and Mira had arrived out of nowhere, helping before she was overrun. The omega was too scared to look at her wound. It had been one of the only times sheâd let them touch her.
She hadnât even wanted to admit it to herself; the color of her blood spoke louder than any words she could give.
âYou donât know what you saw,â Rumi nearly pleaded, hatting the wobble in her voice.
Zoey slid off the arm of the couch slowly, giving Rumi space, âWe know what we saw.â
Rumiâs chest tightened, âWhy are you here? What do you want?â
Miraâs answer was immediate, and steady, âBecause youâre a half-demon, and we want to talk to you.â
Rumiâs stomach turned, âNo.â
Zoeyâs expression softened, something akin to pity in her gaze, âYes.â
Rumi shook her head, quick and hard, like she could dislodge the truth, âNo. Iâm not. Iâm fine. Iâm normal. Iâm a Hunter- Iâm human!â
Miraâs gaze didnât waver, âNormal Hunters donât have wards that damage their own scent. Youâre hiding.â
Rumiâs voice rose, anger turning into panic, âYou donât get to come in here and tell me what I am! Youâre demons! Youâre-â
Zoey took a small step forward, then stopped, as if sheâd felt how close was too close, âWeâre not telling you to shame you about this, Rumi.â
Rumiâs laugh cracked, âThen why tell me at all? What do you two want!?â
Miraâs voice lowered, âWe wantâŠâ The tall alpha shuddered, ââŠwe need you to be safe. Because sooner or later, someone else will notice the truth.â
Rumiâs hands trembled. She hated that. She tucked them into her sleeves, hiding the shake. She didnât want them to see how much they affected her.
Zoeyâs eyes flicked to the motion anyway, âWeâre trying to help.â
Rumiâs throat burned, âDemons donât help Hunters.â
Miraâs gaze sharpened, a flicker of something ancient crossing her face, âYou know we used to be Hunters. We know more than you can possibly imagine.â
Rumiâs head snapped up, âLiar. What kind of Hunter would ever choose to become a demon!?â
Zoey sighed, like sheâd been hoping Rumi would be easier to handle, âNot a liar. Just⊠itâs kind of complicated. Itâs a long story.â
Rumiâs heart hammered. The room felt smaller. The air felt heavier. Her wards hummed louder; warning her, warning her, warning her.
âGet out,â she said again, hoarse now and damn near pleading with them, âIâm not listening to this.â
Miraâs voice stayed calm, but there was an edge under it now, not threat, just urgency. âYou have been running from your own blood for years. We can help you. All the trouble and misfortune youâve went through? We can protect you.â
Rumiâs eyes stung, âStop.â
Zoeyâs tone gentled, her eyes were sincere, âRumi, look at us.â
Rumi didnât- she couldnât.
She stared at the floor, because if she looked at them, she might see something she couldnât unsee. Sympathy. Truth. Familiarity. The shape of a life that didnât belong to her, but she also couldnât escape it.
Mira spoke, quieter. âWe know what you are. Weâre not here to expose you.â
Rumiâs breath hitched, âThen what?â
Zoeyâs voice was soft, almost careful, âWeâre here because we knew you before. Way back, before when we were still untouched by the patterns.â
Rumiâs head jerked up despite herself.
Miraâs gaze held hers. âAnd because your curse makes sense to us. The lonely omega who never found her pack- the only lone Hunter, marked by a power older than herself. We know the truth. Your curse- itâs all connected.â
Rumiâs laugh was harsh, disbelieving, âMy curse is none of your business. Itâs my burden to bear.â
Zoeyâs smile was small, tired, âNo Rumi, you donât understand. The curse isnât real. Hunters are soul-mated, you never found your pack because theyâre already here- waiting for you.â
Rumi backed up another step, until her spine hit the kitchen counter. She gripped it behind her, knuckles white, grounding herself in something solid.
âYouâre lying,â she whispered, but her voice didnât have conviction. Not with the way her chest ached. Not with the way her demon blood hummed like it recognized their presence as more than danger- her inner omega was screaming, telling her to listen.
It was everything she was taught not to trust.
Mira stepped forward one single pace, then stopped, deliberate, âWeâre telling you the truth.â
Rumiâs wards pulsed hot. Her omega instincts flared, furious and yearning at once, like her body wanted to run to them and away from them in the same breath.
She hated them for causing it.
âI donât care,â Rumi said, even though she did. âI donât care what you think you know. I donât care what you want from me.â
Zoeyâs voice stayed gentle, and that gentleness felt like a door Rumi knew she shouldnât open, but did anyway. âWe donât want to hurt you.â
Rumi swallowed, hard, âYouâre demons. Itâs in your nature.â
Miraâs response was quiet, âYouâre not listening.â
Rumiâs breath shook, âBecause I canât.â
For a second, Zoeyâs expression softened into something almost human. Miraâs gaze lowered, just slightly, like sheâd heard that sentence before in a different century.
Then Rumi pushed herself upright, forcing steel back into her spine.
âIâm calling it in,â she said, reaching for her phone. âIâm reporting you.â
Zoey didnât lunge. Mira didnât move.
Yet, Rumi couldnât move either.
Mira simply said, âIf you do, youâll have to explain your blood.â
Rumi froze with the phone in her hand. Was that a threat? Were they going to attack her?
Zoeyâs voice was quiet. âWe donât want to use that against you,â she said. âBut we will if itâs the only way to keep you near.â
Rumiâs fingers trembled around the phone, and her vision blurred at the edges, gold threatening to spill into her pupils.
She stared at them, breathing hard, caught between rage and fear, between duty and the awful, traitorous pull in her chest.
âGet out,â she whispered.
Not while the truth sat in the middle of her living room like a third presence, watching her, waiting for her to stop pretending she could outrun it.
And Rumi knew, with great dismay, that she couldnât keep running forever.
The past was catching up.
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