27. Body After Body, Lesson After Lesson

She slept for a full twenty-four hours, not stirring until the mortal bodily needs made themselves impossible to ignore. She’d woken in her own bed, dazed and blinking rapidly as she tried to get her bearings.

How had he got her back? Her shadows fluttered like ribbons in an April breeze as she sat up and looked around.

The room still smelled subtly of lemon bleach. The floor gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the crack in the curtains. Ash wasn’t in bed with her.

Where was he? She’d thought he’d be itching to poke fun at her, to leverage his help with her heat and use it against her. Make some bawdy jokes at her expense.

Silence and absence were the last things she expected.

She sighed softly, silk sheets rustling as she cracked her stiff neck and ignored the dull, satisfying ache between her thighs. An anomaly caught her attention. He’d left a glass of water on her nightstand.

Condensation still speckled the glass, and a strange, lurching sensation in her heart made her claws unsheathe. And a jagged lump clogged her dry throat. It was a kindness.

The most dangerous weapon he owned.

She didn’t know what to think of it, but drank it anyway. The cool water sat heavy in her gut as she set the empty tumbler down. The need to use the bathroom howled in her mind and bladder.

A small thud from somewhere in the penthouse made her jump, heart racing and shadows coiling close. She watched them with a gimlet eye. They almost appeared smug.

“Speak. What happened after I... after I fell asleep?” She whispered so quietly it was barely a sound.

The memory of Ash’s arms fastened around her, and his firm, cold body under hers slammed into her as her darkness observed.

You’re mine. Just as I’m yours. Deny it. I dare you.

His growled claim echoed not only in her mind but between her thighs, somewhere deep in her core, even as she tried to push it away.

Liar. False poet. Monster...

miracle, her demon added in a languid voice, curled up fat and drowsy in her belly. Liora couldn’t even deny it to herself. If he hadn’t been here when she lost control—she shook her head, no.

Enough of that. It hadn’t happened; she told herself. Whether it was a one off punishment or not, she’d survived it.

Losing control hadn’t destroyed her. Her dark snakes finally found their tongues. She listened in abject disbelief as they explained they’d helped Ash bring her back.

“Why?” She felt like a child.

It was the same question she asked herself constantly. But the thought of her magic listening and heeding his request to help him... it was so out of left field, she hadn’t known it was a possibility.

Their response only made her pulse thump faster. The urge to pull her own hair was almost impossible to ignore, even as her stomach flipped, warmth spreading behind her ribs. Her clawless hand massaged the flesh above her pounding heart.

He asked. You were vulnerable. He wanted what we did: to keep you safe.

It had taken her a full day to get over the shock of that. Coupled with the stress of waiting for Ash to make a sarcastic comment about the state she’d been in. He never did.

On the first day, he’d worked in the parlour. Typing away on his humming machine and tossing random questions at her that had nothing to do with sex or violence. Studying her, she guessed.

She still struggled to relax around him. His focus on her was potent, like an X-ray. It seemed to see straight through her. He offered information without her asking.

He’d discovered some gossip about a bar that catered to supernaturals deep in the shadowed part of the city. The details triggered her long memory.

She had thought it defunct in the age of technology, of cameras capturing every aspect of mortals’ brief lives. A bar where entranced humans received a handsome payment to play feast for the beasts with a taste for human flesh.

Then, their memories got wiped before they left, to keep the secret of the magical world from leaking out. She’d snatched onto that, sending a pack of shadow spies out into the city to learn more about it.

To find out if Raymond—an incubus she had the displeasure of enduring once—would welcome them. He had chosen an innocuous name over his demonic title. Three days passed in tension and relief when none of her worries came true.

Ash never once mentioned what went down that night. Defying her every expectation yet again. It was peculiar. But his presence in her life was different.

He touched her more. And not sexually. It felt like...

affection. Something so utterly foreign, she jolted and snarled whenever he laid a hand on the small of her back or brushed her hair off her neck to plant a sharp kiss there.

It was a new, armor corroding tactic. She was sure of it. His siege of casual intimacy designed to starve out her defenses. The bastard was learning. He wasn’t soft, no.

He still ribbed her and made fun of her short temper when he asked something that hit her in a tender spot. But he appeared more settled. More sure of himself.

Part of her wanted to shake that new certainty off him, say something so vicious, he’d crumple like a paper plane in a hurricane. The louder part of her needed to see how it played out.

So she played her part. She snarled and threatened and nicked him with her claws. He laughed and smirked, icy hands always finding their way to her warm skin.

Every time he touched her, she flashed back to that derelict temple and all they’d done there. The memories were almost as vivid as the real thing.

They smashed her unbothered facade every time he inspired one. She told herself she hated it. Hated how her body betrayed her, softening for him like warmed silk when her mind screamed for metal armor.

It didn’t work. She mostly despised that a chunk of her, growing larger by the day, welcomed it. Wanted to savor it.

It was the great, burnt sugar scented elephant in the room that she hoped died and decomposed before she had to address it. Luck was on her side for once.

Her shadow spies returned on the fourth day and brought good news. The bar Ash had heard of was indeed a new incarnation of one she’d frequented decades before.

She remembered the owner all too well. She recalled a repugnant and rotund incubus, who’d once tried to add her to his menagerie of fanatical lovers. A vainglorious asshole, but a useful one when he wanted to be.

She considered keeping it to herself and going alone. But Ash paced the house like a caged panther, fed up with being locked away so much. He fought adequately in the theatre.

He’d brought her back here safely and made sure she didn’t suffer the heat alone. Logic, and the irritating, traitorous part of her that had grown accustomed to his presence, told her to bring him.

She sighed as her shadows agreed, her demon too. She braced herself for his smug reaction, but he just grinned after she told him they were going out that night.

“Finally. I’m climbing the damn walls here, Red.”

She frowned at the mischievous glint in his silver gaze. “It’s not a leisurely affair, leech. We’re not courting trouble. If anything happens, we’re not getting involved.”

He chuckled. The sound caressed her throat with goosebumps even as she maintained her haughty expression.

“I know. What’s the dress code? BDSM chic? Or something kinkier?” His eyebrows danced on his forehead suggestively. “Before you get any ideas, I’m not letting you walk me like a dog on a leash.”

She snorted before she could stop herself. Ignoring the delight in his eyes as she rolled hers to cover it. “Anything without bloodstains will do.”

She’d left him to his ‘hunting’ and spent a good hour soaking in the tub as she searched her memories for the glamor she’d worn the last time she’d met with Raymond.

He had a thing for platinum blondes. Tiny little things with big tits and asses he could grab and squeeze. She shuddered as she washed.

The thought of giving up her favoured glamor for a man like him turned her stomach.

That’s not the only reason, darling. But close enough. The demon laughed.

Liora ignored her and left the bathroom wrapped in a towel, shutting herself in her bedroom to get ready.

Long pale tresses lay heavy down her back. Pin-straight and bright as liquid moonlight, Liora toyed with the blunt ends. Her skin bore a Los Angeles tan. Her vibrant green eyes shone yellow in certain lights, and crimson painted her lips.

She smoothed her manicured hands down her shimmering dress, the fabric like fallen starlight kissing her curves. She stood four inches shorter than usual. The low neckline offered a banquet of cleavage as she doused herself in the sweetest perfume she owned.

Her nose wrinkled as she inhaled it. Marshmallow and vanilla—much too sickening for her, but it was what the owner liked. Her insides twisted. A sour taste in her mouth as she thought of his wretched gaze locked on her borrowed breasts.

How would Ash handle it? She couldn’t risk his jealousy ruining the plan. She’d have to warn him. The thought was a shackle around her wrist, but she hardly felt the weight of it anymore.

Her shadows watched her with apparent disappointment as she slid on the jewelry she rarely wore. Diamonds, rubies, platinum—her neck, wrist, and ears dripped with their glistening dazzle as she put on her silver heels.

She listened to the sound of Ash getting ready in his room. And tried not to think of how the night might end if it all went well, even as her stomach fluttered and warmed.

She stood once she’d fastened her straps and grabbed the small matching clutch she’d chosen to take with her.

It fit a little knife, a pair of brass knuckles, and a tiny vial of poison—just in case. She left the room, eyes on the bag as she ensured she had everything.

Ash stood by the floor to ceiling windows, a half-finished glass of bourbon in his hand and a lit cigarette in the other. She closed her clutch and met his gaze. Jerking at his horrified expression.

He stumbled back toward the window, hand crushing his glass as his eyes grew to the size of dinner plates and a look of sheer disgust marked his face. Her heart stopped.

She glanced down at herself and back at him as his liquor splashed on the floor.

This was it. The moment she had braced for since the beginning had arrived, and it was a butcherous, bloodcurdling sensation unfurling within her.

Her insides went cold. Fusing together with a different kind of ice than she’d grown used to. The worst part?

She had expected it.

Baited it. The revulsion and unadulterated horror on a lover’s face when he saw her true form. The claws, fangs, shadows devouring the light, and scales replacing her skin had never made a difference to him.

Not even when those talons pierced his throat. He laughed and leaned into it. He hadn’t blinked at any of it.

But it was clear as day now. Her pulse roared in her ears, a flush creeping up her neck as she stood there wearing a pretty, harmless skin.

The fright limning his every hard edge ripped the air from her lungs and made something deep inside her wither and die. This was what she’d invited in.

And it had struck without validation or reason.

It was a betrayal that soaked her cells in an agony she hadn’t seen coming. Leaving her swaying like a brittle tree in a gale wind. Why this?

Why now? She let none of it show.

Holding his swivelling gaze whenever he risked meeting her eye. He shook his head. His quick-witted mouth was soundless and gaping. Her shadows froze.

She froze. Time seemed to freeze. A spike of infernal heat shattered it, and she scowled at him.

“What’s the matter?”

He was a skittish horse. She took a step closer, and he jumped back, smacking into the window. The cigarette dropped from his trembling fingers.

It’s orange ember, hissing its death rattle in the pool of brown liquor at his feet. As fast as it had come, it all stopped. He changed.

His expression wiped. His body stilled until he appeared truly dead. Mouth snarled and his eyes shuttered so thoroughly, all she saw was apathy in his mercurial gaze.

“Take that off—your glamor—get it off.” His demand rang like a death sentence.

She stiffened. Brows knitting together as she said, “I can’t. He knows me like this. I don’t want—” “I don’t care. Take. It. Off. Now.” That subsonic growl wove through his buckling tone.

Frost crystallized in eclectic patterns on the glass where his palms met it. Her fingers twitched. Teeth grinding as she stared at him. What was his problem?

Why did he look horrified?

What gave him the right to demand dominion over what guise she wore?

Her eyes narrowed, flickering flames alight in them as she spat, “What the Hell is wrong with you?”

She crossed her arms, claws unsheathing as he refused to meet her eye. He chewed on the inside of his cheek for so long she worried he’d eat his face before he told her what was wrong.

He loosed a weary sigh. His shoulders tensed, and his movements were knifelike as he walked past her. Swerving around her diminutive form. Even his scent had shifted.

The bergamot decayed; the frost took over completely.

“Nothing. Come on,” he said and stalked away, heading to the front door.

She gave a low, caustic chuckle. Fire flared bright in her chest, the impulse to kill something rising high. “No. You will tell me what is wrong, or—” He paused in the archway leading to the hall. His black laugh only made her feel more unanchored. It was wrong. A dead thing that drilled deep and ached in her marrow.

“You’ll what? Hmm?” He didn’t turn, but his spine stiffened to the point of severing if he moved too fast. “I’m not doing this. Let’s just go.”

She huffed as he walked out of sight. Footsteps like a countdown to a looming battle she hadn’t prepared to fight. Her fingers spasmed, mouth dry as she followed him.

He didn’t speak. His smirk had gone missing. He was so quiet as they took the elevator to the ground floor that she almost wished the building would explode to escape him.

The quiet was unnatural. But something in him must have broken. The bond didn’t stay quiet. And Liora did not know what it meant when a single word dropped from his consciousness into hers.

Claire.

One name. Another girl’s name. A slimy, green worm wove around her ribs and infected her hammering heart as it settled like poison in her mind.

Claire. Who the fuck was she?

She was afraid to ask and demolish him completely. He was doing a good job of it on his own.

The quiet stretched taut and shivered with a tension that abraded her bare, borrowed skin. Her reflection in the elevator mirrored doors just looked like a human woman to her.

Ash’s pained eyes kept flicking to it and away again. The only sign of his discomfort as the rest of him remained closed off.

He’d clasped his hands so tightly, his midnight-blue shirt seams strained. She stifled a sigh and squared her shoulders. Only her succubitch spoke.

You just can’t help yourself, she purred.

He was perfect. Lethal. Now you’ve fucked him up.

She wished she knew how. Her breath caught. Jaw rippling as she endured the torturous descent to the lobby. So many times, she’d prayed for this.

For him to shut up and for peace to return to her life. She had wanted him to stop joking, to stop laughing. Stop calling her names.

Be careful what you wish for, the voice in her head hissed. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped her clutch and tried not to breathe too loudly. This silence...

This silence was the eerie, horrific stillness and lack that existed before the shockwave of sound erupted from the nuclear bomb blast. Windows shattering, buildings crumbling, bones melting.

It was only a matter of time before the fires raged.

And all the fallout shelters had closed.