Page 38 of Cuddly Demon

Stretched out as far as the eye can see is a collection of seashells, their intricate patterns and shapes creating a mosaic of white, beige and sand-colored hues. The shells vary in size and shape, some as small as my thumbnail and others as big as a fist.

There are also smooth rocks and pieces of driftwood scattered along the beach, as if placed there by some unseen hand. The rocks are polished to a high shine, and I can't help but wonder how long they had been worn by the ocean waves.

I inhale deeply, the welcoming scent of sea salt and marine life entering my nose. The sound of waves crashing against the shoreline is both soothing and awe-inspiring, mixing perfectly with the ocean smells. Towering cliffs jut out into the ocean, their walls a mix of green and beige, dotted with moss and other vegetation.

"What... is this place?" I gasp. It's as if it's hidden away from the rest of the world.

"We're in Sardinia, Italy. Three thousand years ago, this was a rural land filled with people without the luxuries of modern life. The men were farmers and hunters, who diligently worked to provide for their families. They plowed the sandy soil with oxen and farmed goats and sheep. They hunted wild boar, deer, and birds for food."

"Wow."

"The women were equally busy, tending to the needs of their homes and children. They wove baskets and cloths from palm and wool, ground grains with large stones, baked bread in clay ovens, and cooked stews over open fires. The villagers often gathered around the fires after the day ended. They exchanged stories and songs, passing on their history and culture to the next generation. That's how Leviathan picked up so much Homer. Everyone practiced the tradition of oral storytelling because it was the primary way to record their culture."

"But The Iliad and The Odyssey aren't historically accurate, right?"

"Of course not. That wasn't the purpose of epic poetry back in the day—it was to entertain and inspire. To teach lessons and morals through the tales of heroes and gods. The Greeks were masters of storytelling, and their epics have endured for thousands of years because of it. To be honest, The Iliad and The Odyssey were like the Hollywood blockbusters of their time."

I nod, taking in the information. "So how did we end up in Sardinia?"

"Azazel must be here. I requested that the portal bring us to where he is, and it deposited us here."

Onyx murmurs something in Etruscan. The low, enchanting rumbling is music to my ears.

"I know what Azazel is up to."

My eyes widen eagerly. "I'm listening."

"Azazel has been studying ancient texts and artifacts in Sardinia for years. He's become a powerful demon sorcerer over the past thousand years, hiding out in Sardinia to escape human persecution. Sardinia contains ancient soil, so he's been able to manipulate the energy of the island to his advantage. If we can find him, he'll definitely teach us how to use true love to break my last master's curse."

I nod, my heart pounding with excitement. This is like something out of a fairy tale. "Awesome."

Onyx scans the beach, his eyes sharp. "We've got to look for anything out of the ordinary. Azazel clearly doesn't want to be found, so he's probably hiding."

Onyx leads me down the beach, his eyes scanning the rocks and crevices. I keep pace behind him, following as he climbs over boulders and hurdles pieces of driftwood with supernatural ease.

"Azazel?" I shout, eagerness bubbling up inside my voice.

Saint growls as he smacks my arm. "Hush. You'll alert the locals to our presence."

We peer in crevices in the cliffs, pull enormous rocks back, and even search behind the lush vegetation that surrounds the towering palm trees.

At last, I sit down, shaking my head. "It's hopeless. Your brother's not anywhere."

Onyx settles into the spot beside me. "We've got to keep our hopes up. The portal wouldn't have deposited us on this beach if he wasn't nearby."

I nod, feeling a sense of comfort wash over me. Onyx always knows what to say to make me feel better. "You're right."

The sky turns a deep shade of orange as we continue our search. Our eyes scan every inch of the beach and cliffside. The hot sun beats down on our skin, but we don't let it deter us. Our stomachs growl with hunger, but we don't stop.

Suddenly, a faint whisper dances on the wind. It's barely audible, but it's enough to make me stand up straight and listen.

"Did you hear that?" I ask.

He furrows his brow, his eyes narrowing. "Hear what?"

"That whisper. It sounded like someone's voice."

Onyx stands up, his hand reaching for mine. "Be careful."