Eight lives left.
That's what Loki reminded himself as he stepped out of the dark portal and into the golden light of the human world.
His tall frame cast a long shadow across the quiet rooftop. Tousled black hair brushed against his cheekbones, and his golden-brown eyes flicked lazily over the skyline—gleaming like a predator half-awake from a luxurious nap.
He looked devastatingly handsome, even as he yawned.
"Finally," he muttered, stretching his arms overhead with feline ease. "Earth. It's been too long."
Years ago, he had been dragged—kicking and scratching—back to Hell after sacrificing one of his nine lives to save a human. That human? A teenage girl named Rose.
Or as he fondly remembered her: that ridiculous pheasant of a human who kept smuggling fish into her schoolbag to feed him under the desk.
She had no idea he was a demon prince back then.
And she still didn't.
