I Knocked Up Satan S Daughter A Demonic Romantic Link

Love is blind. Demonic romance is just blind, deaf, and armed with a flamethrower.

So here I am. Thirty-two years old. Unemployed. About to become the father of the Antichrist's half-sibling. Lilith is currently in the other room, eating pickles dipped in Nutella, crying because she saw a commercial for a puppy. Her halo—which she swears she stole from a cherub in a bar fight—keeps flickering on and off.

I wouldn't trade it for anything.

"You knocked up my daughter," he said. Not a question. A death sentence.

Her name was Lilith—or "Lil" for short, which should have been my first red flag. She had eyes like twin voids and a smile that promised eternal damnation in the best possible way. When she walked into the dive bar, the jukebox switched from Johnny Cash to Bauhaus on its own. The neon sign above the pool table flickered and spelled out DIE for a solid three seconds before going back to BEER . I Knocked Up Satan S Daughter A Demonic Romantic

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go build a crib that doubles as a summoning circle. The instructions are in Aramaic.

Two drinks later, the dark wasn't so scary. Four drinks later, her tail—yes, tail —was wrapped around my calf under the table. I figured it was a costume. A very committed goth thing. Love is blind

I was a nobody. A bass player in a band that couldn't get a gig at a funeral. But that night, she slid into the booth across from me, her shadow moving a full second after she did, and whispered, "You look like a guy who's never been afraid of the dark."

A pause. Somewhere, a billion damned souls screamed in harmony. Thirty-two years old

"I—sir—Mr. Morningstar—it was consensual?"