Quiet in the Devil’s Arms

Daemon could not stay away. The Devil would not allow it. He had just come from a job. There was no blood on his clothing. He had washed his hands before leaving, scrubbing beneath his fingernails until the water ran clear. Still, violence moved beneath his skin like a second bloodstream. His shoulders remained tight.His jaw ached from clenching it.

Every sound seemed too loud. Every movement too close. He needed to hit something. Break something. Hear the satisfying surrender of bone beneath his hands.

The Devil paced inside him.

More.

No.

One more.

He’s dead.

Someone else, then.

Daemon flexed his hands.

We’re done.

The Devil disagreed.

It always did after a job.

Violence had once been the only language it understood for the restless thing that came afterward. Kill. Move. Find the next threat. Do not stop long enough to remember. Daemon should have gone home.

Instead, he rode to Helix.

The Devil knew what waited there.

Little ghost.

Daemon accelerated.

The Devil became suspiciously pleased.

Faster.

No.

Femi.

Speed limit.

I have watched you kill seventeen men in a warehouse.

And?

Do not insult me with traffic laws.

Daemon almost smiled despite himself. Only Femi quieted them after violence. Only her hands could touch him while death still echoed inside his head and remind him that he was capable of holding something without destroying it. The Devil had another reason now.

One it had repeated for days.

She likes me.

Daemon sighed beneath his helmet.

Yes.

Too.

Yes.

Specifically me.

We have covered this.

I am ensuring accuracy.

“You are obsessed.”

She likes me.

Daemon parked behind Helix. The Devil practically purred.

Go inside.

I was planning to.

Quickly.

Daemon entered through the rear door. The clubhouse was already crowded. Music shook the walls. Glasses struck tables. Someone laughed too loudly near the pool tables.

The Devil recoiled.

Too loud.

Daemon scanned the room.

No Femi. His fingers curled.

The Devil immediately sharpened.

Where?

She’s working.

Where?

We’ll find her.

She should be here.

She is here.

I cannot see her.

Daemon cracked his knuckles and crossed to his usual corner.

The Devil remained restless.

Find her.

Sit.

No.

Two raised fingers brought Mary toward him with a Jack on the rocks. She approached carefully and placed the glass on his table. Daemon looked past her.

“Where is Femi?”

Mary froze. The Devil noticed before Daemon did.

We frightened her.

His voice had come out sharper than he intended. Low. Ragged. Still carrying the promise of whatever he had done before walking through Helix’s doors. Mary resembled a deer who had just noticed the hunter. Daemon frowned.

“I asked where—”

Stop.

Daemon stopped. The Devil surprised him. Mary pointed frantically toward the kitchen. Then fled. Daemon watched her disappear behind the bar. He had not meant to frighten her. The Devil watched too.

Too much.

Yeah.

Little ghost would disapprove.

Daemon lifted the whiskey and emptied the glass in one swallow.

Probably.

The Devil considered.

Apologize later.

Daemon nearly choked.

You?

Femi likes me. I am growing.

Daemon set down the glass.

God help us.

He has not so far.

It did nothing to settle him. Femi was in the kitchen. That knowledge did.

The Devil changed instantly.

There.

Daemon stood. He moved through the clubhouse slowly, allowing the crowd time to clear a path before him. Conversations weakened as he passed and resumed only after he was gone.

The Devil noticed.

Once, it had enjoyed that. Fear meant distance. Distance meant safety. Tonight it found the reactions mildly irritating.

They are between us and Femi.

That isn’t their fault.

Still inconvenient.

The kitchen door swung closed behind him. Warm air met his face. The room smelled of bread, roasted meat, and strawberries. The Devil inhaled through him.

Home.

This isn’t home.

A pause.

She is here.

Daemon had no answer for that. Femi was bent beneath one of the sinks, reaching for something at the back of the cabinet. Daemon stopped. The Devil stopped. Black jeans followed every curve of her body. The lace shirt she had worn earlier rode slightly above her waist.

The Devil whispered—

Black lace.

Daemon’s latest dream returned in full force. Femi on his stairs. Black lace. Bare skin.

 Wicked intentions.

The stairs.

Stop.

She pulled our shirt open.

Stop.

Then she—

A sound escaped Daemon. Femi straightened and looked over her shoulder. Her eyes found him. The shadows in Daemon’s mind receded. So did the violence. The Devil stared. Femi smiled. Not cautiously. Not as though she saw the violence he carried and needed to decide whether it made him dangerous. She smiled as if she had been waiting for him.

The Devil went soft.

She is happy we came.

Looks like it.

Ask.

Daemon almost laughed.

Ask what?

If she is happy we came.

No.

Coward.

Then Femi crooked one finger.

Come closer.

The Devil surged.

She summoned us.

Daemon obeyed. Immediately. The Devil noticed.

Good boy.

Do not ever say that again.

“Do you need help?”

His voice remained low and raspy.

Femi nodded.

He came within reach. The Devil became curious.

What does she need?

Femi caught the front of his shirt. The Devil’s thoughts vanished. Daemon looked toward the cabinet beneath the sink.

“What are you trying to—”

Femi pulled him down and kissed him.

The Devil broke.

Oh.

Daemon forgot the question.

She kissed him as though she had been thinking about his mouth all day. Perhaps all week. Her lips were soft, but there was nothing hesitant about them. She opened to him, pulled him closer, and placed one hand against the back of his neck. Daemon melted.

The Devil melted faster.

She missed us.

Violence left him. Not slowly. Not reluctantly. It simply ceased to exist beneath the warmth of her mouth.

The Devil marveled at the disappearance.

Gone.

Yeah.

All of it.

Yeah.

It had wanted another body beneath its hands ten minutes ago.

Now—

Her.

Daemon’s hands found her waist but did not tighten. He let Femi decide how close she wanted him. The Devil waited. It had become remarkably good at waiting when Femi was the answer. She chose closer. Her body settled against his.

The Devil stretched inside Daemon, no longer raging.

Purring.

Ours.

“No,” Daemon breathed against her lips.

Femi drew back slightly. Her eyes questioned him.

The Devil immediately understood its mistake.

No.

Daemon touched her cheek.

“Yours.”

The Devil corrected itself.

Hers.

Understanding softened Femi’s face. Then something playful entered her eyes. She kissed him again.

The Devil went completely pliant.

Yes.

When Femi finally released his shirt, Daemon stood staring at her.

She pointed beneath the sink. The Devil stared at her finger. Then the cabinet. A heavy pot had been pushed to the rear. Silence. Daemon looked at the pot. Then at Femi.

The Devil was offended.

The pot?

“You summoned me for a pot?”

Her expression became innocent.

The Devil immediately rejected it.

Liar.

Daemon did not believe it for a moment either.

She wanted the kiss.

Probably.

Definitely.

We don’t know.

The Devil nearly growled.

Daemon.

Femi’s lips twitched. Daemon crouched, retrieved the pot, and placed it on the counter. Femi smiled her thanks. Then returned to cooking as though she had not just dismantled the Devil in the middle of Malone’s kitchen.

Daemon remained there. The Devil remained there. Femi glanced over.

Her eyebrow rose.

The Devil whispered—

Ask if she needs another pot.

Daemon turned toward the door.

Absolutely not.

Coward.

Daemon reentered the clubhouse feeling as if his boots no longer touched the floor.

The Devil was worse.

She kissed me.

Us.

She likes me.

Yes.

And kissed me.

Daemon gave up. Malone stood behind the bar. One look at Daemon’s face made him laugh. The Devil frowned.

Why is he laughing?

Daemon glared at him. Malone laughed harder.

“You look better.”

Daemon returned to his corner.

“I am.”

“Femi provide medical attention?”

The Devil purred.

Yes.

Daemon looked toward the kitchen.

“She helped me retrieve a pot.”

Malone stared at him.

“A pot.”

“Yes.”

“With her mouth?”

The Devil burst into delighted laughter inside Daemon’s skull. Daemon’s eyes narrowed. Malone turned away, still laughing.

The Devil whispered—

I like him.

Daemon sat down.

“You like everyone tonight.”

Femi likes me.

Daemon closed his eyes. There it was. Again.

He did not care.

Not one bit.

---

He waited for her at closing. Friday had finally arrived.

The Devil had been counting.

Friday.

I know.

Weekend.

I know.

Two nights.

Usually.

Perhaps three.

Sunday exists.

Unfortunate.

Daemon sat astride his motorcycle in the parking lot, one boot planted against the pavement. The engine idled beneath him while the last employees left Helix. He wanted Femi alone. No Malone watching over the rim of a whiskey glass. No Marta studying every change in her expression. No customers interrupting whenever she came near him. Just Femi. His house. The entire weekend.

The Devil purred.

Our little ghost.

Daemon corrected automatically.

Her own little ghost.

The Devil paused.

That makes no sense.

You know what I mean.

Unfortunately.

The rear door opened.

Femi stepped into the night carrying her backpack. Another black lace shirt covered her upper body. Daemon groaned. The sound was low enough to disappear beneath the motorcycle’s engine. The Devil heard it.

Black lace.

“You are becoming tiresome.”

You dreamed it first.

Femi approached. The Devil became unbearably smug.

Perhaps she knows.

She does not know about the dream.

Perhaps little ghost reads minds.

She doesn’t.

Then why does she keep wearing black lace?

Because she likes black.

Boring explanation.

Daemon took her bag and secured it behind him. Femi climbed onto the motorcycle, settled against his back, and wrapped both arms around his waist. The Devil stopped talking. Her cheek rested between his shoulder blades. Daemon placed one hand over hers.

The Devil whispered—

There.

The rage that had ruled him earlier seemed impossible now. Not suppressed. Not waiting. Gone. Femi’s fingers flexed beneath his. The Devil became contemplative.

She does not tame us.

No.

I do not like that word.

Neither do I.

The Devil thought.

She reminds us we can stop.

Daemon’s expression softened.

Yeah.

Better.

Much.

Then he carried his little ghost home.

Rain began the moment their feet touched the porch. It struck the roof in a sudden rush and swept across the yard, turning the darkness silver beneath the porch light. Femi unlocked the door. She stepped inside and waited for him.

The Devil noticed that.

She waited.

Daemon entered. The door closed behind them. He turned the lock.

The Devil immediately remembered something.

Door.

Daemon glanced at Femi. She knew where the lock was. She had a key. She could unlock it whenever she wanted.

Good.

When he faced her again, Femi pushed him.

The Devil was startled.

What—

Daemon allowed himself to fall onto the sofa. His pale hair spilled over his face and shoulders. Femi dropped her backpack. Then she climbed onto his lap. The Devil forgot every language it had ever learned.

Little ghost.

Daemon’s hands settled against the cushions. He did not touch her. Not yet.

The Devil suffered.

Hands.

Wait.

Waist.

Wait.

She is sitting on us.

I noticed.

Again.

Yes.

I love weekends.

Femi placed her knees on either side of his hips. Her fingers entered his hair. Her mouth descended upon his. The kiss was immediate. Hungry. Almost out of control. The Devil surged forward.

Take—

It stopped itself. The old word hung there. Take.

The Devil rejected it.

No.

Daemon felt the correction.

The Devil tried again.

Receive.

That startled a laugh inside him.

Receive?

She is giving.

Daemon surrendered to the kiss. He let Femi set the pace. Always. She had spent so much of her life having choices taken from her. Here, inside his house and within the circle of his arms, every movement would belong to her. Every kiss. Every touch. Every step forward. Every decision to stop.

The Devil whispered each one.

Hers.

Kiss.

Hers.

Touch.

Hers.

More.

Hers.

Stop.

Hers.

Gods, he lived for this. The Devil did too. Femi grew bolder every day. Braver. Not because she had ceased to feel fear. Because she no longer allowed fear to make every decision for her. She opened his jacket. Her hands pushed it from his shoulders.

Daemon let it fall behind him. The Devil remembered the dream.

Black lace.

Do not ruin this.

Impossible.

She reached beneath the lapels of his shirt and spread her fingers against his chest.

The Devil shuddered.

She likes me.

Daemon almost groaned.

You are going to say that while she is touching us?

Especially while she is touching us.

Her desire was unmistakable. So was his. Daemon finally touched her. His hands found her waist.

The Devil immediately checked.

She moved closer.

Yes.

Femi kissed him harder. He answered with equal hunger, drawing her against him while leaving her free to retreat. She did not. The Devil shook beneath his skin. Not with violence. Pleasure. It purred as Femi took what she wanted from them.

Then it caught itself.

No.

Daemon felt the correction.

What?

Not from us.

Daemon understood.

The Devil whispered—

With us.

Something in Daemon’s chest tightened.

Yeah.

With us.

Femi pressed closer until no space remained between their bodies. Daemon trembled. The Devil trembled harder.

She is doing this deliberately.

Obviously.

I am documenting.

For whom?

Me.

Femi pulled away to breathe. Daemon followed her mouth without thinking, searching for another kiss. She leaned back just beyond his reach.

The Devil protested.

Come back.

Daemon’s eyes opened. Femi watched him. Saw the hunger. Saw that he had followed. Her lips curved slightly.

The Devil realized.

She did that on purpose.

Yes.

Bold little thing.

Daemon’s mouth curved.

“You do this to me.”

His voice broke over the words. Daemon let his head fall against the sofa and closed his eyes. His chest rose hard beneath her palms. He could feel Femi’s heart pounding against his. Fast. Matching his.

The Devil listened.

Her heart.

Steady.

Fast.

Desire.

The Devil liked that answer far more than fear. Femi’s mouth touched his jaw. Then his scar.

Everything inside the Devil stopped.

There.

She kissed the place others avoided before following its path toward his neck. The Devil became overwhelmed. Not by desire. Not entirely. The scar. Her mouth. The place she used to speak to it without speaking.

She knows.

Yes.

That one is mine.

Daemon almost corrected it. Then stopped. Not ownership. Meaning. The scar belonged to Daemon’s face. But Femi had made it a doorway. When she touched it— the Devil listened. When she kissed it— the Devil felt seen.

She likes me.

Daemon softened.

Yeah.

She does.

Femi’s lips settled against his pulse. Her teeth closed softly over his skin. A moan escaped him. Open. Unrestrained. The Devil made the same helpless sound inside him. Then immediately became embarrassed.

We did not do that.

Daemon’s head fell back.

Yes, we did.

That was you.

Coward.

I kill people.

And apparently whimper when Femi kisses your neck.

Delete that thought.

Daemon almost laughed. He did not attempt to silence the next sound. He would hide nothing from her. Femi had seen him at his worst. She had watched him kill. Seen the Devil soaked in rain with Carr’s life between its hands. She knew what violence made of him. Now he wanted her to see this too. The way her touch made his hands shake. The way her kisses destroyed his control. The way one small woman could reduce the Devil to something trembling beneath her.

Not weak. Never weak.

Open.

The Devil whispered—

Safe.

Daemon’s eyes opened.

What?

We are safe with her.

The thought nearly wrecked him. Femi moved against him. Daemon’s hands flew to her waist. His eyes opened fully. The innocence in her expression had vanished. Curiosity remained. So did determination. She moved again. Daemon’s fingers tightened against her sides. The Devil lost coherence.

Little—

Daemon inhaled sharply.

Ghost.

“Bold little thing.”

The words emerged wrecked. Femi watched his face. She was learning. Every broken breath taught her something. Every tremor became an answer to a question she had written in her notebook. Daemon saw the realization enter her eyes.She could do this to him.

The Devil realized it too.

She knows.

Femi moved once more. Daemon’s head fell back. A helpless sound left him. The Devil purred so loudly he could barely hear the rain.

She knows.

There was awe in it now. Not alarm. Femi leaned close. Her lips hovered over his.

Her hands moved between them.

Does this please you?

Daemon stared at her.

The Devil shouted—

YES.

“Yes.” The word came without hesitation. “Yes, little ghost.”

The Devil added—

Very.

Her gaze searched his face.

You said pleasing you might please me.

Daemon remembered the question she had asked in the kitchen.

What if pleasing you pleases me?

His hands loosened upon her waist.

“Does it?”

The Devil waited desperately for the answer. Femi considered the pounding of his heart beneath her palm. The hunger in his eyes. The way his entire body answered each deliberate movement she made. A slow smile curved her lips.

She nodded.

The Devil nearly came apart.

She likes pleasing us.

Apparently.

Daemon.

Yes.

She likes me.

Daemon almost laughed.

Of course that is where you went.

It remains important.

Daemon lifted one hand to her face. His thumb brushed her bottom lip.

“Then you may take all the pleasure you want from me.”

The Devil liked the words.

Then reconsidered.

If she wants.

Obviously.

Say it.

Daemon understood.

“But only because you want it.”

Femi’s expression softened. She kissed the pad of his thumb. Daemon shuddered. The Devil went helplessly quiet.

“But if anything frightens you, we stop.”

She nodded.

The Devil watched carefully.

“If you become uncertain, we stop.”

Another nod.

And if we become uncertain?

Daemon paused. That was new.

Then we stop too.

The Devil considered.

Both.

Both.

Daemon looked into Femi’s eyes.

“And either of us can stop.”

Her expression changed slightly. Interested. Daemon continued.

“You are not the only person allowed to change your mind.”

The Devil went quiet. Femi studied him. Then nodded.

The Devil whispered—

Good.

“If you simply change your mind—”

Femi silenced him with her mouth. The Devil immediately complained.

We were making an excellent speech.

Daemon’s remaining words disappeared into her kiss. She pressed against him. He held her.

Outside, rain battered the house.

Inside, the Devil trembled beneath the only hands it had ever trusted.

Femi kissed him as though she meant to consume him. Daemon surrendered little by little. Willingly. Joyfully.

The Devil recognized the word from her notebook.

Surrender.

Not losing. Not being conquered. Not having something taken. Trust. Chosen. Safe enough to stop fighting. Femi drew another helpless sound from him. Her silent laughter warmed his mouth.

The Devil froze.

She laughed.

Daemon could feel it against him.

Yeah.

At us.

Definitely.

The Devil became indignant.

Little ghost.

Femi kissed his scar. Indignation vanished.

Never mind.

Daemon nearly laughed into her mouth. Femi drew back just enough to look at him. Her fingers touched the scar again. 

Then her hands moved.

Him too?

Daemon stopped. The Devil stopped.

Femi waited. Daemon understood.

“Does this please him too?”

She nodded.

The Devil panicked.

Daemon.

What?

Answer correctly.

Daemon’s mouth curved.

“He is currently incapable of coherent thought.”

Femi’s shoulders shook. The Devil was outraged.

Betrayal.

Daemon laughed softly. Femi touched the scar. Her expression softened.

She signed again.

I want to know.

The Devil went still. No teasing now. No hiding behind Daemon. Femi wanted an answer. About it. Daemon let the Devil have one.

“He likes when you touch us.”

The Devil whispered—

Yes.

“He likes when you kiss the scar.”

Yes.

“He likes that you aren’t afraid of him.”

The Devil became quiet.

Daemon felt the next thought before it formed.

No.

What?

That is not enough.

Daemon waited.

The Devil struggled. It could say kill without hesitation. Break. Move. Run. Blood. Threat. It could tell Daemon exactly where to place a blade to end a man quickly. This was harder.

Tell her…

Daemon waited.

Tell her I like that she sees me.

Daemon’s expression changed.

Femi noticed.

“He likes that you see him.”

Her face softened.

The Devil trembled.

And—

Daemon waited. The Devil almost retreated. Then forced itself forward.

I like her.

Daemon smiled.

“He likes you too.”

Femi went still.

The Devil panicked instantly.

Too much?

Wait.

She stopped.

Wait.

Daemon—

Femi’s smile appeared. Small. Warm. Real. The Devil collapsed. Not literally. But Daemon felt the entire creature fold somewhere inside him.

Oh.

Femi touched the scar. Then kissed it. The Devil made a helpless sound.

Daemon smiled.

“You have ruined him.”

Femi’s eyebrow rose.

The Devil objected weakly.

We are fine.

“You are not.”

Femi’s shoulders shook with laughter. The Devil tried to recover its dignity.

Tell her I remain dangerous.

Daemon looked at Femi.

“He would like you to know he remains extremely dangerous.”

Femi’s smile widened. The Devil was pleased.

Good.

Then Femi moved deliberately against Daemon again. His head fell back.

The Devil shattered.

Oh, fuck.

Daemon laughed breathlessly.

“So much for dangerous.”

Silence.

Femi watched him. Curious. Delighted. Learning. The little ghost had discovered something extraordinary. She could make Daemon tremble. She could make the Devil purr. She could turn violence quiet without fearing it. She could ask the monster what pleased it— and receive an answer. More dangerously, the Devil had discovered something too.

It liked surrendering to her. Not because she conquered it. Not because she controlled it. Because Femi never demanded surrender at all. She offered her hands. Her kisses. Her laughter. Her choice. And waited to see what the Devil would give her.

Tonight, it gave her everything she asked for.

Willingly.

The Devil whispered as Femi kissed the scar again—

Bold little ghost.

Daemon’s crooked smile appeared.

Yeah.

The Devil purred.

Do it again.

Femi silenced him with her mouth. Daemon’s remaining words disappeared into her kiss. She pressed against him. He held her.

Outside, rain battered the house.

Inside, the Devil trembled beneath the only hands it had ever trusted. Femi kissed him as though she meant to consume him. Daemon surrendered little by little. Willingly. Joyfully. And when she drew another helpless moan from him, her silent laughter warmed his mouth.

The little ghost had learned something.

She could please the Devil.

More dangerously— she enjoyed making him beg.

Helix was packed.

Music hammered through the clubhouse. Bodies crowded every table, spilled into the aisles, and gathered three deep around the bar. Daemon sat in his usual corner. Darkness concealed most of him. His pale hair caught the occasional flash of colored light, but his face remained hidden. One arm rested across the back of his chair. The other lifted, two fingers raised.

His third drink.

Femi noticed immediately.

She always did.

She poured Jack Daniel’s over ice and crossed the room.

Tonight, she wore a black sundress. The neckline rested beneath her shoulders, leaving smooth skin exposed. The fabric followed her curves before falling loosely around her knees. Daemon watched her approach. The Devil watched too. She placed the fresh whiskey before him, smiled, and collected his empty glass.

Nothing unusual.

Nothing she had not done countless times before.

Then Femi looked into his eyes.

The clubhouse vanished.

The Devil recognized the memory before Daemon did.

Yesterday.

Daemon returned to it.

---

She had worn white.

A white sundress.

Her midnight hair fell loose around her shoulders and continued nearly to her knees. Sunlight followed her through the doorway when Malone dropped her off for an afternoon visit. Daemon had been reading. He heard Malone’s truck leave, then the quiet closing of the front door.

The Devil stirred.

Little ghost.

Daemon continued reading.

She is here.

I heard.

Alone.

I also heard Malone leave. The Devil settled back.

For approximately two seconds.

Go see her.

She knows where I am.

Terrible hospitality.

Daemon turned a page. Femi appeared in the living room entrance. The Devil went silent.

Daemon lowered his book.

“Hello, my little ghost.”

He had not intended for his voice to change. It descended anyway. Low. Dark. Femi stood looking at him as though she were starving. 

The Devil noticed.

Daemon.

I see it.

No. Look.

Daemon did. Her breathing. The focus in her eyes. The slight tension in her fingers. Not fear. Intent. The Devil woke slowly inside him, opening its eyes and watching her. Femi reached for the neckline of her dress. The Devil stopped breathing with Daemon.

She pushed the white fabric from her shoulders.

Oh.

Daemon did not move.

The dress traveled down her body and pooled around her bare feet. White lace remained. The sight nearly destroyed him. The Devil was considerably less composed.

She planned this.

Probably.

For us.

For herself first.

The Devil paused.

Yes.

Then, with unmistakable pleasure—

But also us.

Daemon swallowed.

Femi stepped free of the discarded dress. Then she walked toward him. Slowly. Deliberately. There was a little extra movement in her hips. The Devil noticed immediately.

She is doing that on purpose.

Daemon’s fingers tightened around his book.

Definitely.

Bold.

She knew he was watching. More dangerously, she enjoyed it.

The Devil purred.

She likes our eyes on her.

Daemon corrected automatically.

When she chooses them.

When she chooses them.

The Devil liked the distinction now.

Daemon’s gaze traveled over her.

“Mmm.”

Femi stopped before him.

“Sexy little ghost.”

The Devil whispered—

Very.

Color warmed her face. But she did not retreat. The Devil had learned to watch that too. Not only the blush. What came after. Did she move closer? Away? Did her shoulders tighten? Did her eyes drop because she was frightened or because she was pleased?

Today—

Closer.

Femi’s hands moved.

Touch me.

The Devil surged.

Yes.

Daemon set the book aside.

Femi signed again.

More firmly this time.

Touch me like you mean it.

The Devil broke.

Little ghost.

Then she straddled his lap.

Daemon forgot how to breathe. The Devil forgot considerably more.

She—

Yes.

She just—

I know.

Daemon.

I KNOW.

The Devil was lost. Daemon caught her waist. Then stopped. Femi was already leaning toward him. Choice made. He kissed her. The Devil disappeared into the sensation. He could still taste that first kiss after three glasses of whiskey and an entire day between them. Strawberries. Need. Trust.

Us.

Daemon’s hands tightened slightly. Femi kissed him harder.

The Devil purred.

She likes me.

Daemon almost laughed against her mouth.

Now?

Especially now.

Femi had kissed him before. They had spent hours on his sofa learning one another through mouths, hands, and trembling breaths. She moved his hands to places she wanted them.

Daemon followed. Never advancing farther than she guided him.

The Devil had become obsessive about the rule.

She moves us.

Yes.

We follow.

Yes.

No guessing.

Not when we can ask.

Good.

Yesterday had been different. Femi had arrived knowing what she wanted. She wanted the answer to the questions in her books. She wanted the pleasure Daemon promised could exist without pain. She wanted him to show her. The Devil had been nearly reverent about that.

She came here to learn.

Yes.

From us.

Yes.

Because she trusts us.

Daemon’s chest tightened.

Yes.

Then Femi reached behind herself and removed the white lace bra. The Devil forgot every language it had ever known. Daemon stared. Silence. Absolute silence.

Then—

Oh.

Femi’s courage faltered beneath his silence.

The Devil saw it immediately.

No.

Her arm began to cross over herself. Daemon caught her wrist gently.

“Do not hide from me.”

The Devil corrected—

Careful.

Daemon heard it.

He lifted his eyes to hers.

“Not unless you want to.”

Better.

Femi studied his expression.

The Devil became almost frantic.

Tell her.

Daemon knew.

“Beautiful.”

The word was reverent.

The Devil whispered—

Beautiful.

“Gods, little ghost.”

Femi’s arm lowered. The Devil softened.

She stayed.

Daemon’s restraint nearly shattered. But restraint no longer meant denying desire. It meant making room for hers. His hands touched her only after her body moved toward them. Warm. Soft. Given freely. The Devil trembled.

She gave.

Yes.

Not taken.

Never.

Daemon closed his eyes for one dangerous moment. He had imagined touching her. Dreamed of learning every response hidden inside her body. The truth was infinitely more powerful. Femi made a small sound. Kittenish. Questioning.

The Devil surged.

Again.

Daemon opened his eyes.

“Good?”

She nodded.

“More?”

Another nod.

Ask again if anything changes.

I know.

Daemon continued carefully. The sound deepened. Femi’s head fell back. Her hair poured down her spine, and the afternoon light moved over the exposed line of her throat. The Devil purred.

Beautiful little ghost.

Daemon kissed slowly, allowing her time to understand each new sensation before offering another.

Femi’s hands entered his hair. Her breathing changed. 

The Devil noticed everything.

There.

Daemon lingered. Femi shivered.

Again.

Daemon repeated it. Her fingers tightened.

The Devil became fascinated.

That means again.

Probably.

Ask if uncertain.

Look at you.

I am an excellent student.

Femi’s body began answering him without hesitation. Every shiver taught him where to linger. Every tightening of her fingers told him what she wanted repeated. The soft sounds in her throat became a continuous purr.Daemon nearly lost himself inside it.

The Devil was already gone.

Again.

Daemon smiled against her skin.

There.

Another response.

She likes that.

Yes.

We please her.

The wonder in the Devil’s voice changed something inside Daemon. It was not bragging. Not conquest. The creature was genuinely awed.

We can make her feel good.

Daemon slowed.

Yes.

The Devil had spent most of its existence believing its hands existed to break.

Now Femi trembled beneath those same hands for another reason entirely.

We can do this.

Daemon understood what it meant.

Yeah. We can.

He spent hours coaxing that sound from her. Not rushing. Learning. The Devil learned with him. Then Femi’s fear rose when pleasure became unfamiliar. Daemon felt her tense. The Devil reacted first.

Stop.

Daemon stopped immediately. No argument. No frustration. No attempt to convince her body that it had misunderstood itself. Everything ceased. Femi’s eyes opened.

The Devil whispered—

There you are.

“Look at me.”

Femi did.

“You are safe.”

The Devil added softly—

Nothing happens unless you want it.

Her fingers remained tangled in his hair.

“We stop if you want.”

She shook her head. The Devil did not accept that alone.

Wait.

Daemon waited. Femi pressed closer. Her hands moved unsteadily.

Do not stop.

The Devil exhaled.

She chose.

Daemon touched his forehead to hers.

“Then breathe for me.”

He stayed close. Not pushing. Not demanding that she endure something simply because she had asked for it moments earlier. Femi breathed. The Devil listened.

Slow.

Daemon followed her pace.

“That’s it.”

Femi’s eyes closed. Pleasure gathered again. Her body tightened. Then uncertainty flashed across her face.

The Devil caught it.

Eyes.

Daemon immediately slowed.

Femi looked at him.

“Still good?”

She nodded.

Again.

“Do you want me to continue?”

Another nod. Daemon waited. Femi understood.

Her hands rose.

Yes.

The Devil purred.

There.

Daemon continued.

Femi’s eyes snapped open as the sensation gathered faster than she could understand it. Daemon held her. Not restraining. Supporting.

“Just feel.”

The Devil whispered—

You can stop.

Femi did not.

Her body tightened against him.

“That’s it.”

The Devil was climbing the walls of Daemon’s mind now.

Little ghost.

Daemon’s voice dropped near her ear.

“Let it happen if you want it.”

The Devil noticed the change.

Better.

Never command surrender.

Never.

Femi came apart in his arms. Her whole body trembled. The first wave struck her with enough force to tear a raw, astonished cry from her throat.

The Devil ceased functioning.

FEMI.

Daemon held her through it. He watched every expression cross her face. Shock. Pleasure. Fear at the loss of control. The Devil immediately sharpened.

Hold her.

Daemon did. Not tighter. Steadier. Then wonder entered Femi’s face when she realized he still held her safely.

The Devil went soft.

There.

Daemon understood. That mattered more than everything else.The pleasure. The sounds. Even the trust that brought her here. At the moment when Femi’s body did something she could not completely control— nothing bad happened.

No one used the vulnerability. No one demanded more. No one took advantage of the moment when she could not think clearly. Daemon simply held her.

The Devil whispered—

Safe.

“Just like that, little ghost.”

His voice roughened against her ear.

“I have you.”

The Devil corrected automatically.

Careful.

Daemon understood.

“I’m right here.”

Better.

Femi shook in his arms. Another wave moved through her. Her fingers clutched his shoulders. Her head fell against his neck. Daemon had always prided himself on knowing how to please a woman. That pride meant nothing now. This was Femi. Every tremor became precious.Every sound belonged to trust she had chosen to place  in him.

The Devil wanted to roar its triumph to the world.

WE DID THAT.

Daemon nearly laughed.

Quiet.

DID YOU HEAR HER?

Yes.

WE FUCKING PLEASED HER.

I noticed.

LITTLE GHOST—

Daemon only held her.

The Devil struggled for several seconds. Then understood. This moment did not need its triumph.

Femi did.

Her first.

Always.

The Devil quieted.

Hold her.

Daemon did. When the final shiver left her, Femi remained curled against his chest. He stroked her hair. Neither moved for several minutes. The Devil remained very still.

Then—

Heartbeat.

Steady.

Breathing.

Slowing.

No fear.

Not now.

The Devil settled.

Good.

Daemon kissed her temple.

“You all right?”

Femi nodded against him.

“Too much?”

She shook her head.

“Did anything hurt?”

Another shake.

The Devil relaxed by degrees.

Good.

Then Femi lifted her face.

She looked at him as though he had hung the moon solely to give her something beautiful to see in the dark.

The Devil was destroyed.

She is looking at us.

Daemon’s wicked smile appeared.

“Did I please you?”

The Devil became intensely invested in the answer.

Say yes.

Femi stared at him.

Little ghost.

Then she returned his smile.

Her hands rose.

Do it again.

The Devil screamed. Not aloud. Daemon’s eyebrows lifted.

Femi signed once more.

Again.

The Devil was already delirious.

YES.

Then, with a sweetness that nearly killed both the man and the Devil—

Please.

The Devil folded.

She said please.

Daemon stared at her.

Daemon.

I heard.

She asked.

I KNOW.

Do something.

Daemon’s wicked smile deepened. Neither could deny her.

They never stood a chance.

---

A kiss against his scar returned Daemon to Helix.

The Devil returned more slowly.

Again.

Daemon blinked.

We’re at Helix.

Unfortunate.

Femi drew away from his cheek. Her hands trembled around the empty glass. Daemon saw the memory in her eyes.

The Devil did too.

She remembers.

Yeah.

She was thinking about it.

Looks like it.

The Devil became delighted.

Ask.

Daemon’s wicked smile emerged.

He leaned forward, allowing the light to reveal his face.

“Do you dream of me, little ghost?”

The Devil surged close to his voice. Wicked intentions threaded through every syllable. Femi pulled back. Her cheeks turned crimson.

The Devil purred.

There.

Still, she nodded.

Yes.

Daemon’s pulse jumped. The Devil went utterly still.

She dreams about us.

Apparently.

Us?

Daemon looked at Femi. Her gaze touched his scar before she escaped into the crowd.

He smiled.

Us.

The Devil melted.

She likes me.

Daemon nearly laughed.

Still?

Forever.

Before serving the next table, Femi glanced over her shoulder. Their eyes met. Daemon lifted his whiskey. She looked away quickly. But not before he saw her smile.

The Devil whispered—

She is wicked.

Learning.

From us?

God help her if she is.

The Devil purred.

Good.

---

Last call came at two in the morning. Malone turned up the lights.

The crowd protested, finished its drinks, and gradually emptied into the street. Daemon remained in his corner. He had consumed considerably more than three whiskeys.

The Devil had warned him around number five.

Enough.

Daemon had ignored it.

Around number six—

Little ghost will have to carry us.

Daemon considered that.

Then ordered another.

The Devil had been impressed.

Strategic.

Eventually, Daemon attempted to stand. The floor moved. Daemon frowned at it.

The Devil noticed.

Floor.

Yes.

Moving.

I see that.

Kill it.

Daemon considered.

No.

Good. Growth.

The floor had never offended him before. Tonight, it appeared to be doing so deliberately. A small body slipped beneath his arm. Strawberries reached him first. The Devil immediately forgot the floor.

Little ghost.

Femi’s arm settled around his waist.

Daemon looked down.

“Little ghost.”

The Devil purred.

She came for us.

She is preventing us from falling.

Romantic.

Femi pointed toward the stairs.

“I can walk.”

The Devil objected.

Lie.

Femi raised one eyebrow. Daemon looked at the floor again. It shifted beneath his boots.

“Perhaps it requires supervision.”

The Devil approved.

Excellent recovery.

Femi guided him across the clubhouse. Malone watched from behind the bar.

“Try not to crush her.”

The Devil became offended.

We would never.

Daemon glared at him.

“I would never.”

His voice carried enough wounded dignity to make Marta laugh from across the room.

The Devil muttered—

Everyone is disrespectful tonight.

Femi’s shoulders shook.

Daemon looked down at her.

“You too?”

She nodded. The Devil became pleased.

She is laughing.

Femi helped him climb the stairs. Daemon leaned carefully against the wall whenever the corridor tilted.

The Devil had opinions.

Walls are excellent.

Daemon patted one.

“Reliable.”

Femi looked at him. Her eyebrow rose.

“Nothing.”

Tell her the wall is helping.

Absolutely not.

At last, they reached the room he once used whenever he stayed at Helix. Femi stopped outside the door.

Daemon looked at her.

“You are leaving?”

The Devil immediately joined him.

Why?

Femi nodded. Disappointment entered his face.

The Devil’s was considerably worse.

No.

She has work tomorrow.

Irrelevant.

Femi touched his cheek. The Devil softened instantly.

Fine.

Then she pointed toward the room.

Sleep.

Daemon sighed.

“Yes, my queen.”

Everything inside him stopped. The Devil recoiled so violently that the alcohol haze vanished with it.

NO.

The title erased the softness from Femi’s expression. Daemon sobered instantly.

“No.”

The Devil was already furious with him.

Not his word.

Daemon caught her hand.

“Not his word.”

Femi watched him. The Devil pressed close.

Never his.

Daemon pressed his lips to her fingers.

“My little ghost.”

The Devil corrected—

Her little ghost.

Daemon’s mouth almost curved. Femi’s shoulders relaxed.

The Devil did too.

There.

Daemon released her. Femi waited until he opened the door. Then she disappeared down the hall. The Devil watched after her.

Idiot.

I know.

Never queen.

I know.

She is Femi.

I know.

A pause.

Then softer—

Little ghost.

Daemon entered the room. A book lay open upon his bed. The Devil noticed first.

Book.

Daemon stared at it. The pages displayed a bright, glossy photograph of a couple entwined together in a position Daemon recognized immediately.

The Devil became very sober.

Oh.

A handwritten note rested beneath the photograph. Femi’s writing. The Devil recognized that too.

Ours.

Daemon automatically corrected—

Hers.

The note is for us.

Fair.

He picked it up.

Will it happen if you touch me like this?

The whiskey haze vanished. Heat flooded Daemon’s blood. The Devil leaned close to the page. Delighted. Fascinated. Completely wrecked.

She left us homework.

Daemon’s crooked smile appeared.

“Yes.”

The Devil studied the photograph through him.

Yes.

Daemon read the question again.

“Yes, bold little ghost.”

The Devil purred.

Very yes.

Daemon sat on the edge of the bed and studied the picture again. Then her note. He could imagine precisely how he would touch her. How slowly. Where he would place his hands. How carefully he would watch her face. The Devil whispered possibilities. Daemon’s blood burned.

This.

Maybe.

And this.

If she wants it.

Ask.

Yes.

Slow.

Yes.

Watch her.

Always.

If she freezes—

Stop.

If she becomes uncertain—

Stop.

If she says no—

Stop.

If she says yes—

Daemon looked at the photograph.

The Devil purred.

Proceed with enthusiasm.

Daemon laughed. Quietly. Drunkenly. Completely helplessly. But he would wait. Femi had begun this journey. She would decide every step. Daemon refused to rush her. He refused to turn her curiosity into an obligation or her desire into something he was owed.

The Devil agreed.

That surprised neither of them anymore.

Her question.

Yes.

Her lesson.

Yes.

Her pace.

Yes.

Her body.

Hers.

The Devil became quiet.

Then—

But she asked us.

Daemon looked down at the handwritten question. A strange tenderness moved through him.

Yeah. She did.

The Devil was silent for several seconds.

Then the real wound beneath all its delight surfaced.

She trusts me with this too.

Daemon closed his eyes.

There it was. Not simply desire. Not simply the thrill of being included. Femi had asked Daemon a question. But she knew the Devil lived beneath his skin. She knew it heard. Knew it wanted. Knew it could become hungry.

And she had left the question anyway. Not despite the Devil. With the Devil included.

Daemon touched the note with his thumb.

“She trusts you.”

The Devil went still.

And likes me.

Daemon smiled.

“And likes you.”

The Devil shattered all over again.

Too.

“Yes. Too.”

A long silence followed.

Then—

Daemon.

What?

We must not disappoint her.

Daemon looked at the photograph. Not by performing. Not by proving anything. Not by rushing to give Femi an experience simply because she had asked whether it was possible. He understood exactly what the Devil meant.

“We won’t.”

Ask her what she wants.

“Yes.”

Listen.

“Yes.”

Stop if she needs.

“Yes.”

And if she wants more—

Daemon’s crooked smile returned.

“We listen to that too.”

The Devil purred.

Good.

Daemon closed the book.

The Devil objected immediately.

Wait.

What?

One more look.

No.

Research.

You have memorized it.

A pause.

Correct.

Daemon placed Femi’s note beside the book. Then lay back. The Devil lasted perhaps thirty seconds.

Daemon.

No.

Do you think she is awake?

We’re not going downstairs.

I did not suggest that.

You were about to.

Perhaps she wants an answer tonight.

She told me to sleep.

The Devil sulked.

Little ghost gives contradictory instructions.

Daemon closed his eyes. She asked a question and told me to sleep. Both can be true.

The Devil considered.

Tomorrow.

Maybe.

Friday?

She decides.

A long, suffering sigh moved through Daemon’s mind.

Choice remains inconvenient.

Daemon smiled into the darkness.

You love it.

The Devil looked inward at the memory of white lace. Femi’s hands. Her astonished pleasure. The kiss against their scar. The note waiting on his bed. The woman who had once been afraid to ask for touch now leaving questions for them to find.

Yes.

The answer came without hesitation.

I love it.

Daemon lay awake until dawn thinking about the next move his increasingly wicked little ghost might make. The Devil stayed awake with him. Not planning what they would take.

Wondering what she would ask for next.

The question came because Femi had been staring at him. Daemon noticed after the first thirty seconds. He said nothing.

After a minute, he looked up from the knife he was cleaning at the small table beside his bed.

Femi sat cross-legged against the headboard wearing one of his black shirts. It swallowed her. The sleeves had been rolled three times and still covered part of her hands. Her book lay open in her lap. She had not turned the page in several minutes.

Daemon set the cloth down.

“What?”

Femi’s green eyes narrowed innocently.

“You are staring at me.”

She shook her head.

“You are.”

Another shake.

The Devil stirred.

Liar.

Daemon almost smiled.

Femi saw it.

Her eyes narrowed further.

She knows.

Yes.

Do it again.

No.

Daemon leaned back in the chair. “You have been on the same page for five minutes.”

Femi glanced down.Her expression changed. She turned the page.

Daemon’s mouth twitched.

The Devil was delighted.

Caught.

Femi looked at him. Then at the book. Then deliberately turned another page without reading it.

Daemon laughed. It was quiet. Barely there.

Femi smiled.

The Devil immediately abandoned whatever amusement it had found in catching her.

Again.

Daemon knew what it wanted. Her smile. It had become greedy for them. He had been greedy first. Femi closed the book.

Her hands moved.

Can I ask you something?

“You usually do.”

Her mouth flattened.

Daemon waited.

Were there a lot of women before me?

The amusement disappeared. Not because he minded the question. Because the Devil did. It did not retreat. That was what made Daemon pay attention.

Years ago, the mention of one of his women would have sent the thing deeper into his mind before the conversation had properly begun. Now it remained awake.

Watching Femi.

Why does she want to know?

Because she asked.

Is she upset?

“I don’t know.”

Femi’s eyebrow rose. Daemon realized he had answered aloud.

He rubbed a hand over his mouth.

“The Devil asked whether you’re upset.”

Femi blinked. Then shook her head.

Her hands moved.

Curious.

The Devil considered that.

Fine.

Daemon looked at her.

“Yes.”

Femi waited.

“There were women.”

Her fingers moved again.

A lot?

“Enough.”

Her eyes narrowed.

Daemon sighed.

“More than you would approve of, apparently.”

Femi’s expression said he had not answered.

“I’m not counting them for you.”

Coward.

Daemon ignored it. Femi’s shoulders shook with a silent laugh.

There.

The Devil practically leaned toward her.

Again.

“You’ve created a monster.”

Femi pointed at him.

Daemon shook his head. “Not me.”

She pointed at his head.

“Yes. That one.”

Rude.

Daemon looked toward the ceiling.

“You’ve been called worse.”

By people who are dead.

“That isn’t helping.”

Femi was smiling again. Then the smile softened.

Her hands moved.

Did it like them?

Daemon went still. That was different. He looked at her for a long moment.

“No.”

Femi waited. Daemon could have left it there. The Devil wanted him to. Not because it was hiding anything. Because explaining itself had never been something it tolerated well. People had spent too many years trying to explain it for their own purposes. Monster. Disease. Weapon. Instinct. Alter. Failure. Asset.

Daemon had eventually stopped caring what anyone called it. Femi had never called it anything except the Devil. And somehow, from her, the name had never sounded cruel.

She tilted her head.

No?

“No.”

None of them?

“Not one.”

Femi’s eyebrows lifted.

The Devil shifted uneasily.

Enough.

Daemon ignored it this time.

“They weren’t its women.”

Femi’s expression changed.

Your women.

“Yes.”

But not its women.

Daemon stared at her.

“No.”

Femi absorbed that distinction with the seriousness she gave everything involving the creature inside him. Most people never bothered. They assumed whatever Daemon wanted, the Devil wanted. Whatever Daemon touched, the Devil desired. Whatever Daemon enjoyed, the Devil enjoyed more. It had never worked that way.

“Most of the time, it went away.”

Femi frowned.

Her fingers moved.

Away where?

“Inside.”

Inside you?

“Yes.”

“How far” was harder to explain. Daemon picked up the cleaning cloth, folded it once, then put it down again.

“It would withdraw. Sometimes completely. Sometimes I’d barely feel it for hours.”

Femi stared at him.

“If a woman stayed the night, it usually went to sleep.”

The Devil grumbled.

Not sleep.

“You disappeared.”

Waiting.

“For her to leave.”

Yes.

Daemon looked at Femi. “Apparently it prefers the word waiting.”

Her mouth curved.

The Devil tolerated the amusement because it was hers.

Tell her they were loud.

Daemon’s brow lifted.

“You tell her.”

Silence. Daemon waited. The Devil did not.

Of course.

Femi pointed toward his head.

What did it say?

Daemon sighed.

“It said they were loud.”

Femi looked confused.

“Not all of them literally.”

Some were.

“Some were.”

Very.

“Apparently very.”

Femi laughed silently again. Daemon watched her. The Devil did too. Neither looked away.

Then Daemon’s expression became more thoughtful.

“It didn’t like being touched by them.”

Femi’s laughter faded. Her gaze dropped briefly to his hands.

“Hands bothered it.”

The Devil went quieter. Daemon understood why. Hands had rarely meant affection in the beginning. Hands restrained. Hands struck. Hands injected. Hands pushed his head down against metal tables. Hands attached wires. Hands dragged. Hands held. Hands forced. Later, women’s hands had been different. But the Devil had never entirely believed that.

“They would grab me,” Daemon said. “My arm. My chest. My hair. My face.”

Femi’s fingers stopped.

“It hated that.”

Still do.

Daemon glanced at her.

“Still does.”

Femi looked at the hand she had resting against his pillow. Then slowly drew it toward herself.

The Devil reacted instantly.

No.

Daemon’s eyes went to her.

“Don’t.”

Femi froze.

“Don’t do that.”

She frowned.

“Your hands aren’t their hands.”

Something moved across her face.

Daemon stood. He crossed the short distance between them and sat on the edge of the bed. Femi watched him. He held out his hand. She looked at it. Then placed hers in his. The Devil settled almost immediately.

There.

Daemon closed his fingers gently around hers.

“Your touch has never bothered it.”

Femi glanced toward his head.

“Not once.”

The Devil corrected him.

First night.

Daemon remembered. The blanket. Helix. He had fallen asleep on the sofa, something he almost never allowed himself to do in public. Femi had approached quietly and covered him. He had awakened at the first brush of fabric. The Devil had surged awake. Not violent. Alert.

Then it had seen her. Small. Silent. Backing away immediately because she thought she had disturbed him.

Little ghost.

Daemon looked at Femi.

“The first time you touched me, it woke up.”

Her expression tightened.

“It wasn’t angry.”

Confused.

“It was confused.”

Femi’s brows lifted.

“Yes. You confused the Devil.”

She looked ridiculously pleased with herself.

She should be.

Daemon ignored that.

“It didn’t understand why you were touching me and didn’t want anything afterward.”

Femi’s smile disappeared.

Daemon ran his thumb once across the back of her hand.

“That was the difference.”

She watched him.

“The women I knew before you usually wanted something.”

He paused.

“Sex. Money. Protection. Violence.”

The Devil stirred.

Us.

Daemon nodded slightly.

“Sometimes the Devil itself.”

Femi’s eyes sharpened.

“There were women who liked the reputation more than they liked me. They wanted to say they’d been with the Devil. That it watched them. Wanted them. Protected them.”

A particular perfume threatened the edge of his memory. Heavy. Sweet. Suffocating. The Devil recoiled before the memory had fully formed.

Horrible.

Daemon almost smiled.

“Yes.”

Femi tilted her head.

“The Devil says the perfume was horrible.”

Her shoulders moved.

“It hated perfume.”

Still do.

“Strong perfume.”

For no reason.

Daemon laughed despite himself.

“For no reason, apparently.”

Femi touched her own throat, where the faint scent of strawberries and cream lingered against her skin.

The Devil noticed.

Immediately.

That is different.

Daemon stared at her. Femi caught the stare. Her cheeks warmed.

“The Devil would like it formally entered into the record that you are different.”

Her eyebrows rose.

How?

Daemon knew exactly how.

“Strawberries.”

Her blush deepened.

“And cream.”

She tried to pull her hand away. Daemon let her. The Devil objected.

No.

She had already reached for her pillow and struck him with it.

Daemon caught it.

“Violence?”

Femi snatched it back.

You deserved it.

“Apparently.”

She put the pillow behind herself with considerable dignity. Daemon watched her settle. Then his expression sobered again.

“Some of them wanted loyalty from something they gave nothing to.”

Femi went still.

“They wanted the Devil to care because they slept with me.”

The words came without bitterness. They were simply true.

“They wanted it to protect them. Hurt people for them. Frighten people for them. Prove something.”

Always taking.

Daemon nodded.

“They held out their hands.”

He turned his palm upward.

“Not to give.”

His fingers slowly closed.

“To take.”

Femi stared at his hand. Daemon had not realized until that moment how much the Devil remembered about that. Not the women themselves. It barely remembered faces. It remembered sensation. Hands. Perfume. Voices. Demands.

Daemon.

Baby.

Do something.

Buy me this.

Make him stop.

You’re the Devil, aren’t you?

Prove it.

Does the Devil like me?

Does it watch when we’re together?

Would it kill for me?

The answer had always been the same. No. The Devil had not watched. It had gone somewhere deep inside Daemon and waited for the room to become quiet again.

“They thought my stillness meant it was watching.”

Femi listened.

“Sometimes they thought the violence afterward meant it cared.”

He shook his head.

“It didn’t.”

The Devil was silent.

“It wanted them gone.”

Quiet.

“Yes.”

Femi’s fingers moved slowly.

Then I came.

Daemon looked at her. The Devil came awake completely. Not violently. Not defensively. Something warmer.

Then she came.

Daemon’s mouth softened.

“Then you came.”

Femi waited.

“You didn’t ask me for anything.”

She frowned.

I asked you for things.

“Eventually.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“You asked me to pass things.”

She nodded firmly.

“You asked me to reach things you were too short to reach.”

Her mouth dropped open.

The Devil laughed inside him.

Tiny.

Femi slapped his thigh. Daemon caught her wrist on instinct.

The Devil surged with delight.

Again.

He released her immediately.

Femi’s eyes were laughing.

“You asked me to take you places.”

She nodded.

“You asked for books.”

Another nod.

“You asked me not to kill people.”

A much more emphatic nod.

The Devil became offended.

Many times.

“Many times.”

Femi pointed at his head.

“Yes, it remembers every one.”

She looked pleased.

“But you never approached me because you wanted something from the Devil.”

Her amusement faded.

“You didn’t even know what it was.”

Femi shook her head.

“You knew something was there.”

A nod.

“And you weren’t afraid of it.”

She considered that.

Then signed carefully.

Sometimes.

Daemon’s eyebrows lifted. Femi gave him a look.

He laughed.

“Fair.”

She stayed.

Daemon heard it.

The simple certainty underneath the words. She stayed. Not because she didn’t understand danger. Because she did. She stayed anyway.

“You never asked it to prove itself.”

Femi watched him.

“You never asked it to hurt someone because you wanted to see what it could do.”

Daemon reached for her hand again.

“You never demanded loyalty.”

Her fingers curled around his.

“You gave yours.”

The Devil went very quiet.

“You fed me.”

Femi’s mouth softened.

“You worried whether I’d eaten.”

His thumb moved over her knuckles.

“You put blankets over me.” A pause. “You brought me whiskey.”

The Devil added immediately:

Ice.

Daemon almost rolled his eyes.

“With the correct amount of ice.”

Femi smiled.

“You remembered what I drank before I ever asked your name.”

Her eyes lowered.

“You gave me things I didn’t know how to ask for.”

Femi looked back at him.

“Quiet.”

The Devil stirred.

“Company.”

Another small movement inside him.

“Somewhere to sit without needing to talk.”

Femi squeezed his hand.

“And you gave the Devil something no one had ever given it.”

Her expression became curious. Daemon hesitated. He had never put this into words.

The Devil knew before he did.

Choice.

Daemon inhaled slowly.

“Choice.”

Femi stared at him.

“You didn’t demand that it come out.”

His fingers tightened slightly around hers.

“You didn’t demand that it go away.”

The room became very still.

“You let it decide.”

The Devil remembered. Every moment. Femi speaking to Daemon and occasionally glancing toward his head as though she knew someone else might be listening. Femi touching his wrist and waiting. Femi asking.

Is it angry?

Does it like this?

Did I hurt it?

Is the Devil awake?

Never—

Make it come.

Never—

Prove it’s there.

Never—

Tell it to do something for me.

She had treated the Devil as though it were neither trick nor weapon. Just something that existed. Something that could say no. Something that could choose.

“You wanted me happy,” Daemon said.

Femi’s eyes softened.

“And somehow you decided that included it.”

Her fingers moved.

It is part of you.

“Yes.”

She frowned. Then corrected herself.

But not only part of you.

Daemon went still. The Devil did too. Femi searched for the right words.

It is itself too.

Nothing inside Daemon moved. For several seconds, even the Devil seemed not to know what to do with that.

Then—

Little ghost.

So quiet.

Daemon lifted her hand and pressed his mouth against her fingers.

“That,” he said, “is why it loves you.”

Femi stopped breathing. Daemon did too. The Devil did not retreat. It did not hide. It had spent a lifetime disappearing when women came too close.

Now it moved nearer.

Tell her.

Daemon looked into Femi’s green eyes.

“It has never loved another woman.”

Her eyes filled before she could hide it.

“It never wanted one.”

Daemon brushed his thumb beneath one eye.

“It tolerated some because I wanted them.”

Barely.

“Barely.”

Femi laughed through the wetness gathering in her lashes.

“It waited for them to leave.”

Daemon touched her cheek.

“Then you came along.”

The Devil whispered:

And stayed.

“And stayed.”

Femi leaned into his palm.

“You didn’t want money.”

His thumb moved gently over her skin.

“You didn’t want violence.”

Her eyes held his.

“You didn’t want a reputation.”

He leaned closer.

“You didn’t want the Devil’s loyalty.”

Femi’s fingers rose and touched his wrist.

The bracelet there.

ALL YOURS.

The Devil nearly purred.

Hers.

“You just wanted us happy.”

Femi’s hand stilled.

Daemon felt the word after it left him. Us. He did not correct it. Neither did the Devil.

Femi’s fingers moved.

I still do.

The Devil broke.

Not violently.

Something inside Daemon simply folded beneath the weight of three silent words.

Keep her.

Daemon closed his eyes.

No.

The Devil went quiet. Daemon opened them again.

“She isn’t something we keep.”

Femi watched him, unaware of the argument.

The Devil considered. It had learned this lesson. Slowly. Painfully. Because Femi had taught it without ever meaning to.

She stays because she can leave.

Yes.

A pause.

Then—

Then make her want to stay.

Daemon’s forehead touched Femi’s.

“I intend to.”

Her breath warmed his mouth.

Her hands moved between them.

What did it say?

Daemon smiled.

“It said to make you want to stay.”

Femi stared at him. Then her expression changed into something soft enough to hurt. She reached for him. Both hands this time. One settled against his cheek. The other disappeared into his hair. The Devil did not withdraw. It did not sleep. It did not recoil from her hands.

It leaned into them.

More.

Femi kissed Daemon’s forehead. The Devil went silent. She kissed the scar on his cheek.

Again.

His other cheek.

Again.

The corner of his mouth.

Little ghost.

Daemon caught her waist as she moved closer, but his hands remained loose. Femi could leave whenever she wanted. She didn’t. She rested her forehead against his and closed her eyes.

For years, the Devil had understood women as something to endure until they left. Hands that took. Voices that demanded. Perfume that lingered after the door closed. Desire with an open palm waiting for payment.

Then Femi had walked into Helix asking for nothing. She had brought food. Blankets. Strawberries. Books. Quiet. Choice. And somehow, without ever asking the Devil for its loyalty, she had earned something no one else had managed to touch.

Not obedience. Not possession. Not even protection. Something infinitely more dangerous. Affection freely given.

The Devil settled beneath Femi’s hands. Content. Awake. Unhidden.

Hers.

Daemon kissed her temple.

“Yeah.”

Femi looked at him questioningly.

Daemon smiled.

“The Devil says it’s yours.”

Her eyebrows rose.

Daemon felt the correction before it came.

No.

He waited.

The Devil gathered the thought carefully. As though this distinction mattered more than most things ever had.

I am hers because I choose to be.

Daemon stared at Femi. Then his smile disappeared into something quieter. Something she immediately noticed.

What?  her hands asked.

Daemon touched the bracelet beneath her fingers.

“It corrected me.”

Femi waited. Daemon brought her palm against his chest.

“It says it is yours because it chooses to be.”

Femi’s eyes filled again. Then she placed her hand over his heart. Her fingers moved against him. Slowly. Carefully.

Then tell it I choose it too.

The Devil became utterly still.

Daemon swallowed.

“You heard her.”

Nothing.

Daemon almost smiled.

For once, the creature that always had something to say had been rendered completely speechless.

Femi waited.

Then—

very quietly—

Again.

Daemon’s throat tightened.

“She said she chooses you.”

The Devil trembled beneath his ribs.

Again.

“She chooses you.”

Femi understood without being told.

Her palm pressed more firmly against his chest.

I choose you.

Daemon translated anyway.

“She chooses you.”

The Devil curled around the words like something starving finally offered food without a price attached. And for the first time in Daemon’s life, it did not wait for the woman in his arms to leave.

It hoped she never wanted to.

---

Saturday evening settled differently over Daemon’s house.

Quietly.

Not the quiet of Helix before opening, when silence merely waited for motorcycles, music, and Malone swearing at someone. Not the silence of an empty warehouse, where every distant scrape became a possible threat.

This quiet smelled like butter, black pepper, and the remains of dinner.

Femi had cooked steak. Not merely steak. The Devil’s steak. Thick cut. Hard sear. Pink in the center. Enough cracked pepper to make Daemon reach for his water once and earn a smug little smile from Femi across the table. There had been a baked potato beside it, split open and disappearing beneath butter, sour cream, cheese, and chives.

Daemon had eaten everything. The Devil had considered licking the plate.

Daemon had refused.

Wasteful.

There had been nothing left on the plate.

There was juice.

“You’re disgusting.”

Femi had looked up from clearing the table.

Daemon had pointed toward his head.

“The Devil.”

Her eyes had immediately brightened.

Traitor.

She had disappeared into the kitchen and returned with the skillet, tipping the last of the steak juices over the remaining piece before putting it on Daemon’s plate. The Devil had gone silent with reverence. Femi had kissed Daemon’s cheek. Then taken the dishes away.

The Devil had decided Saturday was an excellent day.

Now the house had settled around them.

Rain had threatened earlier but never arrived. The windows stood partially open, allowing cool October air to drift through the rooms. Somewhere outside, insects hummed in the dark. The occasional car moved along the distant road and disappeared.

Daemon sat at one end of the sofa with a book open in one hand. His boots were off. One ankle rested over the opposite knee. A lamp burned beside him. He had been reading for almost forty minutes.

The Devil had been awake for the first ten. Then it had begun drifting. Daemon could feel it somewhere behind him, neither asleep nor interested enough in the book to remain fully conscious. It had opinions about his reading habits. Most were insulting.

Tonight it had been unusually content.

Steak.

Home.

No one trying to kill them.

Femi somewhere nearby.

Nothing required its attention.

Daemon turned a page. The Devil stirred. He continued reading. A moment passed.

Then—

Where is she?

Daemon’s eyes stopped moving across the page.

He listened.

Nothing.

“She’s here.”

Where?

Daemon looked toward the kitchen.

Empty.

The dishes had been washed. The counters were clean. The small light over the stove remained on. He glanced toward the hallway. No Femi. The Devil came fully awake.

Where is little ghost?

Daemon closed the book around one finger.

“She’s in the house.”

That did not satisfy it.

Not here.

Daemon looked at the empty place beside him. He hadn’t noticed. That irritated him more than he cared to admit. Femi had been moving around the house after dinner. He remembered hearing cabinets open. Water running. Her footsteps passing through the living room. Then nothing.

Daemon marked his page and placed the book on the table.

The Devil was already listening.

Upstairs.

Daemon stood. He crossed the living room and climbed the stairs. The Devil grew quieter with each step. Not alarmed. Searching. There. A faint metallic sound. Then another. Daemon recognized it immediately. He followed it down the hallway.

Femi’s bedroom door stood partially open. Light spilled through the narrow gap. Daemon stopped outside.

The smell reached him first.

Gun oil.

Clean metal.

And underneath it—

strawberries.

The Devil practically sighed.

Little ghost.

Daemon pushed the door open another inch with two fingers.

Femi sat at the small table near the window. Her hair had been pulled over one shoulder, the midnight length falling almost to her waist even seated. A cleaning cloth lay beneath her hands.

Her Glock was field-stripped across it.

Slide.

Barrel.

Recoil spring.

Frame.

Magazine off to one side.

A small bottle of gun oil stood nearby.

Femi worked slowly. Carefully. She wasn’t rushing.

Daemon leaned against the doorway.

The Devil became interested.

Very interested.

Femi ran the cloth along the slide, turned it beneath the light, inspected it, then reached for another component.

The Devil watched her fingers.

She knows what she is doing.

Yes.

Very pretty.

Daemon’s mouth twitched. He knew what was coming before it came. The Devil remembered the church. Not gradually. All at once. The old church at the edge of Wolfwater. Bruised sky. Broken stained glass. Plywood. Dust.

Gunfire exploding through a place that had once been built for prayer. Angelo’s men. Three of them. Then Angelo. Femi with the Glock in her hands. No screaming. No panic. No wasted movement. She had fired. One man dropped. Turned. Fired again. Another. Again. The Devil had been awake for every second. Daemon remembered the shock of seeing her do it. Not because he thought Femi incapable of violence. He had known better by then.

But there had been something about watching his little ghost stand amid gunfire and refuse to die. She had been terrified. That mattered. People liked to pretend courage meant fearlessness.

Daemon knew better. Femi had been afraid. She had simply fired anyway.

The Devil stirred with remembered pleasure.

She never missed.

Daemon looked at the Glock beneath her hands.

No.

Not once.

No.

The Devil went quiet. Too quiet. Daemon knew that quiet.

What?

Nothing.

Daemon waited. The Devil remained suspiciously silent.

What?

It was beautiful.

Daemon’s eyes narrowed. He remembered Femi turning. Her stance. Her hair. Those enormous green eyes focused down the sights. The weapon recoiling in her hands. Angelo realizing much too late that the little mute woman he had underestimated was armed.

Daemon’s mouth pulled slightly at one corner.

Yeah.

The Devil shifted.

Then, with complete sincerity—

Sexiest thing I have ever seen.

Daemon nearly laughed aloud. He caught it before the sound escaped. Femi did not look up.

You’ve seen me kill thirty men.

Not interested.

You’ve watched women undress.

Definitely not interested.

Daemon’s shoulders moved with suppressed laughter. The Devil returned its attention to Femi. She picked up the barrel.

Look at her.

I am.

Little ghost shot Angelo.

Yes.

Twice.

“I remember.”

The Devil was practically purring now.

Never missed.

Daemon watched Femi’s fingers work.

“No,” he murmured. “She didn’t.”

The Devil waited. Daemon knew exactly what it wanted.

He sighed.

“You’re right.”

Immediate satisfaction.

Say it.

No.

Coward.

Daemon’s jaw tightened. The Devil waited. Daemon stared at his Femi sitting at the little table, smelling like strawberries while calmly cleaning the weapon she had once used to shoot four men.

His mouth twitched.

Fine.

The Devil leaned closer.

Daemon lowered his voice.

“It was sexy.”

Very.

Don’t make it strange.

You made it strange.

I agreed with you.

Exactly.

Daemon had no response to that. So he stayed in the doorway.

And watched.

There was something intimate about Femi when she didn’t know she was being observed. No performance. No self-consciousness. She handled the weapon with the same patient concentration she used when kneading bread or decorating a cake.

Check.

Clean.

Inspect.

Set aside.

Her fingers were gentle. That was what always fascinated Daemon. Those hands could bake bread. Speak entire conversations. Touch the worst scars on his body without hesitation. Hold his face when nightmares dragged him somewhere else. Fire a Glock. Never miss.

The Devil sighed again.

Perfect.

Daemon didn’t correct it.

Femi reached for the frame. Her head turned. She froze. Green eyes found him.

Daemon remained against the doorway. For a second, neither moved.

Then Femi’s eyebrows rose.

Caught.

Daemon straightened.

“May I come in?”

Femi’s expression softened immediately.

She nodded.

Yes.

Daemon entered. He didn’t approach her immediately.

The Devil noticed.

Chair.

I see it.

There was a second chair across from her. Daemon pulled it out and sat. Femi watched him for a moment.

He said nothing.

So she returned to the Glock. Daemon rested his forearms loosely on his thighs. And watched her hands.

The Devil watched too.

For once, neither of them felt any need to fill the silence. Femi cleaned the frame. Inspected the slide again. Her fingers moved with practiced care. The scent of gun oil grew stronger. Strawberries remained beneath it.

The combination should not have worked.

It did.

Very much.

Daemon ignored that. Femi glanced at him. Then back to the gun.

A minute passed.

Then another.

Daemon remained where he was.

Eventually she reassembled the Glock, checking the weapon before setting it on the cloth. Finished. Only then did she look at him fully.

Her hands moved.

Did you need something?

Daemon shook his head. Femi waited. Her expression became curious.

Then why are you here?

Daemon pointed toward his temple. Femi looked immediately interested.

The Devil abruptly became shy.

Daemon almost laughed.

“Oh, no.”

Do not.

“You’re the one who woke me.”

Daemon.

“You made me come looking for her.”

Femi’s eyes moved between his face and the finger still pointing toward his head.

“What?” her hands demanded.

Daemon smiled.

“We missed you.”

Femi stilled.

The Devil objected immediately.

You.

Daemon’s eyebrow lifted.

“You asked where she was.”

That does not mean—

“You made me put down my book.”

You were reading nonsense.

“It was a good book.”

She was gone.

Daemon looked at Femi.

“We missed you.”

Her mouth curved. The Devil muttered something unpleasant.

Femi pointed toward his head.

Both of you?

Daemon waited. The Devil refused. He waited longer.

Fine.

Daemon nodded.

“Both of us.”

Femi’s smile became impossibly soft.

The Devil immediately regretted pretending it had not missed her.

Worth it.

Daemon leaned back in the chair. Femi reached for the cleaning cloth and began folding it. The Devil watched. Then a thought appeared. Daemon felt it before the words came.

Wednesday.

“No.”

Femi looked up.

Daemon sighed.

“Not you.”

She glanced toward his head.

“Yes.”

Her eyes brightened. The Devil continued.

Ask her.

Daemon already knew what it wanted.

“No.”

Why?

Because you only want to watch her shoot.

Yes.

At things.

Obviously.

Daemon rubbed a hand over his mouth. Femi was openly amused now.

Her hands moved.

What does it want?

“Nothing.”

Liar.

Femi’s eyes narrowed.

The Devil became insistent.

Ask.

Daemon stared at her. Then at the Glock. Then back at Femi. The truth was, he didn’t dislike the idea. Not remotely. He and the Devil had planned to use the range Wednesday evening. Femi had never gone with him.

Ask her.

Daemon sighed.

“We’re going to the range Wednesday.”

Femi waited.

The Devil pushed.

And?

Daemon ignored it. Femi tilted her head.

“And,” Daemon said reluctantly, “apparently someone would like you to come.”

Femi looked toward his head. Her eyebrows lifted. Daemon nodded.

“Yes.”

Her hands moved.

The Devil?

Say yes.

Daemon almost smiled.

“The Devil.”

Femi looked down at the Glock. Then back at Daemon. She considered it.

The Devil did not understand why consideration was necessary.

Yes.

Give her a minute.

She likes shooting.

That doesn’t mean she wants to spend Wednesday evening doing it.

With us.

Yes.

That seemed to make the Devil even more certain.

She will come.

Femi’s fingers touched the edge of the cloth. Her expression turned thoughtful. Then she looked at Daemon.

Just us?

Daemon nodded.

“Just us.”

The Devil immediately added—

And targets.

Daemon ignored it. Femi glanced at the Glock again.

Then her hands moved.

What time?

The Devil surged forward.

YES.

Daemon’s smile came before he could stop it.

“Seven.”

Femi thought another second.

Then nodded.

Yes.

The Devil was delighted.

Little ghost is coming.

Daemon watched her begin putting the cleaning supplies away.

You realize she’s been to a shooting range before.

Not with us.

That distinction apparently mattered. A great deal. Femi closed the gun-oil bottle.

The Devil was already imagining Wednesday. Daemon could feel it. Femi at the firing line. Hair tied back. Eyes narrowed. Glock in her hands.

The Devil sighed.

Never missed.

Daemon shook his head.

“You’re going to be unbearable.”

Femi looked up.

Her hands moved.

What did it say?

“Nothing.”

Her eyes narrowed.

The Devil immediately betrayed him.

Tell her.

Daemon glared at nothing. Femi waited. He could lie. She would know.

Daemon exhaled.

“It remembers the church.”

Femi went still. Not frightened. Just attentive.

“The three men.”

Her eyes remained on his.

“And Angelo.”

A faint expression crossed her face.

The Devil supplied helpfully—

Twice.

Daemon’s mouth twitched.

“And apparently it’s still impressed.”

Femi’s brows rose.

“Very impressed.”

Her eyes moved toward the Glock. Then back. The corner of her mouth lifted. Daemon decided not to tell her the rest.

The Devil disagreed.

Coward.

“Absolutely.”

Femi signed immediately.

What aren’t you telling me?

Daemon stared at her.

The Devil practically vibrated with malicious delight.

Tell her.

“No.”

Femi folded her arms. Daemon knew that posture.

So did the Devil.

You are doomed.

“Yes.”

Femi waited.

Daemon lasted perhaps ten seconds. Then he leaned back and looked toward the ceiling.

“The Devil said watching you shoot Angelo and his men was the sexiest thing it had ever seen.”

Silence.

Femi stared at him. Her cheeks turned pink. Then red.

The Devil was ecstatic.

Pretty.

Daemon rubbed his jaw.

“I agreed.”

Femi’s mouth fell open. Daemon smiled. That made it worse.

She grabbed the cleaning cloth and threw it at him.

Daemon caught it against his chest.

The Devil laughed.

Femi pointed firmly toward the door.

“I’m being thrown out?”

Yes.

“Of your room?”

An emphatic nod.

The Devil was delighted.

Wednesday.

Daemon stood.

“Apparently we’re still going Wednesday.”

Femi tried to look offended. She failed. Her smile betrayed her.

Daemon reached the doorway.

He stopped. Looked back. Femi had already picked up her Glock. Not to threaten him. Just to place it away. The Devil watched her. Quiet. Happy. Completely awake now.

Never missed.

Daemon shook his head.

“Goodnight, little ghost.”

Femi looked over her shoulder and smiled.

The Devil practically melted.

Wednesday.

“Yes.”

Steak first?

Daemon stared into the hallway.

You had steak tonight.

She makes it correctly.

We are not manipulating Femi into cooking for you.

A pause.

Ask.

Daemon laughed under his breath as he walked away.

Behind him, Femi’s door remained open. That mattered. The Devil noticed. So did Daemon. They returned to the sofa together. Daemon picked up his book. The Devil settled again.

For perhaps thirty seconds.

Then—

Wednesday.

Daemon turned the page.

“Yes.”

Little ghost. Glock.

“Yes.”

Never missed.

Daemon smiled despite himself.

“No.”

The Devil curled contentedly into the quiet.

Sexiest thing we ever saw.

Daemon considered arguing. He remembered the church. Femi turning through smoke and gunfire. Green eyes fixed. Glock steady. One shot. Then another. Then another. Not because she wanted violence. Because she had chosen to survive.

Daemon looked toward the stairs.

“No argument.”

The Devil went back to sleep.

Very pleased with itself.

Wednesday evening, the range was nearly empty.

Daemon preferred it that way.

Four men occupied lanes near the far end, and they were already shooting when he and Femi entered. Gunfire cracked through the building in irregular bursts, sharp even through the protection over Daemon’s ears.

Femi stopped just inside. Daemon noticed immediately. Her shoulders had risen. Not much. Most people would not have seen it. Daemon did.

So did the Devil.

Little ghost is nervous.

“I know.”

Femi looked at him.

Daemon pointed toward his head.

She rolled her eyes.

The Devil was becoming far too accustomed to being included in conversations. Daemon carried the range bag. Femi carried the locked case containing her Glock. She had dressed simply. Black jeans. Black boots. A fitted dark shirt. Her midnight hair had been braided down her back so it would stay out of the way. The Devil had been pleased with the braid from the moment she climbed onto the back of Daemon’s motorcycle.

It had been considerably less pleased when she tucked it beneath her jacket.

Now it was visible again.

Better.

Daemon ignored it. Another volley of gunfire erupted. Femi flinched. Tiny. Instantaneous. Her eyes moved toward the occupied lanes. Daemon didn’t touch her. He merely waited until she looked at him.

“You don’t have to shoot.”

Her eyebrows drew together.

“You can watch.”

She shook her head.

“I mean it.”

Her hands moved.

I said I would come.

“That isn’t the same as wanting to shoot.”

Femi stared at him. Then she opened the case. The Devil stirred.

She wants to shoot.

Daemon watched her remove the Glock.

“Apparently.”

Femi looked toward his head.

Then signed:

Tell it to mind its business.

The Devil was offended.

She is our business.

“No.”

Femi waited.

Daemon translated, “It said something stupid.”

Her eyes narrowed.

What?

“Nothing important.”

The Devil muttered.

Coward.

Daemon chose a lane with empty ones on either side. Femi stepped into it. Nine paper targets waited. Daemon had arranged them before she arrived. The Devil had been very specific about nine. Daemon suspected it liked the number for no reason whatsoever.

Nine is good.

There it was. Femi looked downrange.

Then at Daemon.

Her fingers moved.

Nine?

“It wanted nine.”

Her eyes shifted toward his head. The Devil became extremely attentive. Femi shook her head. But she was smiling. That helped. Some of the tension left her shoulders.

Daemon remained behind the firing line while she prepared. He didn’t crowd her. Didn’t correct every movement. Didn’t put his hands over hers.

Femi knew how to handle the weapon. He had seen proof.

The Devil had been replaying that proof since Saturday.

Church.

Yes.

Angelo.

I remember.

Never missed.

“We haven’t started yet.”

Femi glanced back.

Daemon stopped talking. She turned toward the first target. The other men continued shooting. A casing struck concrete somewhere downrange. Femi lifted the Glock. And hesitated.

The Devil’s excitement disappeared. Not completely.

It simply changed.

Wait.

Daemon did.

Femi lowered the weapon. Breathed. Raised it again. Daemon watched her shoulders. Too tight. Her grip was tighter than it needed to be. The woman who had shot Angelo’s men had not been standing in a controlled range.

She had been fighting for her life. That was different. There had been no time to think at the church. No time to wonder whether she could do it. Survival had made the decision for her. Here, there was nothing except the target. And memory.

Daemon moved close enough for her to see him without leaving the lane.

“Femi.”

She looked at him.

“You’re here.”

Her eyes held his.

“Nothing is coming through that door.” A pause. “No one is coming for you.”

Her shoulders lowered slightly.

“This isn’t the church.”

The Devil went completely still.

Daemon continued.

“You don’t have to survive anything tonight.”

Femi looked downrange. Then back at him.

Her hands moved.

Just shoot?

Daemon nodded.

“Just shoot.”

She inhaled. Exhaled. Turned. Raised the Glock.

And fired.

The first target jerked. The shot had gone directly through the center of the chest.

The Devil woke up.

Oh.

Daemon stared downrange.

Femi fired again.

Second target.

Head.

The Devil went silent.

Third.

Chest.

Fourth.

Head.

Daemon’s eyebrows rose.

The Devil made a sound inside him that was dangerously close to a moan.

Little ghost.

Fifth.

Chest.

Sixth.

Head.

Daemon folded his arms. He was smiling now. He knew it. Didn’t care.

One of the men several lanes away had stopped shooting.

He looked toward Femi.

The Devil noticed immediately.

Do not look at her.

“He’s watching the targets.”

He can watch his own.

Femi fired.

Seventh.

Chest.

The man slowly lowered his pistol. Another shooter looked over. Femi didn’t notice either of them. Something had changed after that first shot. The nervousness was gone. Completely.

Her shoulders had settled. Her breathing had evened out. There was no panic in her movements. No rush. She simply chose a target. Raised the Glock.

Fired.

Eighth.

Head.

The Devil was beside itself.

Again.

Femi shifted toward the last target. Daemon already knew. So did the Devil.

Heart.

Femi fired.

The ninth target snapped backward. Center chest. Daemon stared at it. Then at the others. Nine targets. Nine shots. Nine decisive hits. The Devil lost whatever remained of its composure.

FUCKING YES.

Daemon’s smile widened.

Again.

“She finished.”

More targets.

“Let her breathe.”

She does not need to breathe.

“Everyone needs to breathe.”

More.

Femi lowered the Glock.

Her chest rose and fell slowly. Then she looked downrange. Nine. She counted them.

Daemon watched her eyes move from one target to the next. Her eyebrows rose. Almost as if she hadn’t expected it either. Daemon laughed. Femi turned. Her expression immediately became suspicious.

“What?” her hands asked.

Daemon shook his head.

“Nothing.”

Beautiful.

Femi’s eyes narrowed. Daemon’s smile betrayed him.

She pointed toward his head.

What is it saying?

“You don’t want to know.”

The Devil objected.

Tell her.

“No.”

Tell little ghost.

Femi folded her arms.

Daemon sighed.

“It is very pleased.”

Her eyes brightened.

How pleased?

Daemon looked away.

The Devil practically clawed at him.

Tell her.

“No.”

Femi stepped closer.

Daemon.

He looked at her. She was waiting. Daemon exhaled through his nose.

“It says that was the most beautiful thing it’s seen all week.”

The Devil recoiled.

Liar.

That is close enough.

No.

Femi was watching him carefully now. She knew.

Her hands moved.

That isn’t what it said.

Daemon stared at her.

The Devil was delighted.

She knows us.

Yes, unfortunately.

Femi waited. Daemon glanced toward the targets.

“Saturday it said watching you shoot Angelo was the sexiest thing it had ever seen.”

Femi’s cheeks warmed immediately.

“Tonight has apparently confirmed its opinion.”

The color deepened. The Devil was dying.

Look at her.

I see her.

Pretty.

“I know.”

Femi signed quickly.

Stop talking about me while I’m standing here.

Daemon’s mouth twitched.

“We’re discussing your marksmanship.”

She gave him a look.

Liar.

The Devil practically purred.

Our little ghost knows us.

Daemon corrected automatically.

“Herself.”

The Devil paused.

Our little ghost knows herself?

“No. Never mind.”

Femi stared at him as though both occupants of his skull had lost their minds.

One of the men farther down finally spoke.

“Damn.”

Femi turned.

He pointed downrange.

“Nine for nine?”

Femi looked at Daemon.

Daemon nodded.

“Nine.”

The man looked at the targets again. Then at Femi.

“Hell of a grouping.”

Femi gave him a small smile.

The Devil immediately disliked him.

He is flirting.

He complimented her shooting.

Same thing.

It isn’t.

Break his—

“No.”

Femi looked at Daemon. Daemon shook his head.

“The Devil is having difficulty with sportsmanship.”

Her shoulders shook. The man wisely returned to his own lane. Femi looked downrange again. Then she looked at the Glock. Daemon saw something settle inside her. Not pleasure in what the weapon could do to someone. That wasn’t Femi. It was something else. Confidence. The church had been survival. Tonight had been choice.

She had stood there nervous. She had remembered. She had fired anyway. And she had not missed. Not once.

Daemon stepped closer.

“Well?”

Femi looked at him.

Well what?

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

She considered.

The Devil couldn’t tolerate the suspense.

Yes.

“Stop answering for her.”

Yes.

Femi’s lips twitched.

Then she nodded.

Yes.

The Devil exploded with satisfaction.

MORE TARGETS.

Daemon laughed. Femi pointed downrange.

Her hands moved.

Can I do another set?

Daemon stared at her. The Devil became unbearably smug.

I told you.

“Yes.”

Femi smiled. Not the small one. The real one. The smile that transformed her entire face. Daemon felt his chest tighten. The Devil forgot about the gun. Forgot about the targets. Forgot about everything.

Again.

Daemon knew what it meant.

That smile.

Again.

Femi turned toward the range attendant. Daemon caught her gently by the wrist. She looked back. He released her immediately.

“Come here.”

She stepped closer willingly. Daemon bent and kissed her forehead. Femi blinked.

Her hands moved.

What was that for?

Daemon looked at the nine ruined targets.

Then at her.

“Nothing.”

She narrowed her eyes.

The Devil whispered:

Everything.

Daemon smiled.

“Get your targets, little ghost.”

Femi went.

The Devil watched her walk away.

Then—

Did you see the fourth one?

Yes.

Head.

I saw.

Perfect.

Good shot.

The sixth?

Yes.

Head.

Yes.

The eighth?

Also the head.

And the others—

Chest.

Heart.

Center mass.

Heart.

Daemon gave up.

“Fine. Heart.”

The Devil settled triumphantly. Across the room, Femi collected another set of targets. She glanced over her shoulder. Caught Daemon watching. Caught the Devil watching too, somehow.

Her cheeks warmed. She smiled.

The Devil nearly collapsed.

Little ghost.

Daemon folded his arms.

You’re enjoying this far too much.

The Devil considered the accusation. Femi returned carrying fresh targets beneath one arm, Glock case in the other hand, green eyes brighter than when they had arrived. The answer came with absolute certainty.

Not possible.

---

Femi was on her third set of targets when Daemon finally admitted he needed to use the bathroom.

The Devil objected.

No.

Daemon removed his hearing protection as they stepped away from the firing line.

“I’ll be gone three minutes.”

Take her.

Daemon looked at Femi. She was studying one of her targets with the solemn concentration of someone examining a disappointing test score. There was one hole in the head. One in the chest. Nothing else.

Daemon still wasn’t certain what she found to criticize.

“We’re not taking Femi to the men’s bathroom.”

The Devil considered this.

Wait.

“I have to piss.”

Later.

Daemon stared at nothing. Femi looked over.

Her hands moved.

What?

“The Devil thinks I should postpone basic bodily functions because apparently you require constant supervision.”

Her eyebrows rose. Then she pointed toward herself. Then toward the range.

Then made a dismissive motion toward him.

Go.

The Devil was offended.

She dismissed us.

She dismissed me.

Us.

Daemon leaned down and kissed her temple.

“I’ll be back.”

Femi waved him away. The Devil grumbled all the way to the bathroom.

Unnecessary.

“Very necessary.”

Fast.

I’m not discussing this with you.

Little ghost is alone.

She is in a monitored gun range with a Glock.

The Devil considered that.

True.

A beat.

She never misses.

Daemon smiled despite himself.

No. She doesn’t.

That settled it. For approximately ninety seconds. Then the Devil wanted to go back.

Daemon washed his hands.

Enough.

I’m washing my hands.

They are clean.

They weren’t ten seconds ago.

Femi is waiting.

She’ll survive.

The Devil went silent.

Daemon immediately regretted his choice of words. He dried his hands and headed for the door.

“Poor phrasing.”

Very.

They returned to the range. Daemon had barely cleared the hallway before the Devil stopped him.

Who is that?

Daemon saw him.

One of the four men who had been shooting when they arrived. The one who had complimented Femi earlier. He was standing beside her. Too close. Not dangerously close. Not even disrespectfully close. Just— close. Daemon slowed. Femi stood beside the counter with her hearing protection resting around her neck. Her Glock lay safely on the bench, action open. The man was talking. Femi was listening. And smiling. Small. Polite. Nothing like the smile she gave Daemon. The Devil did not care about that distinction.

Jealousy shot through it. White-hot. Mean. Immediate.

No.

Daemon kept walking.

The man said something.

Femi nodded.

His attention went toward her targets.

“I’ve been watching you shoot.”

The Devil went very still.

He has been watching her.

Daemon’s jaw tightened.

Yes.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you miss once.”

Femi shook her head. The man’s eyebrows rose.

“Seriously?”

She nodded. His smile widened.

“Every shot?”

Another nod.

The Devil simmered.

Stop smiling at her.

Daemon continued toward them.

The man didn’t notice.

“You’re not even just hitting center mass. You’re putting everything somewhere that would end the fight.”

Femi glanced toward the targets. Her smile became slightly embarrassed. The man laughed.

“Head or heart every time.”

Femi nodded again.

We know.

Daemon almost answered aloud.

We saw it first.

You did not invent her shooting ability.

We appreciated it first.

That might actually have been true.

The man leaned against the divider.

“You compete?”

Femi shook her head.

“No?”

Another shake.

“You should.”

Femi’s eyebrows rose. He pointed toward the targets.

“With shooting like that? Hell, yeah. Nine targets and every one of them a kill shot.”

The Devil should have been pleased. Those were almost exactly the words it had been using all evening.

Instead—

Go away.

Daemon was getting closer. Femi hadn’t noticed him yet. Neither had the man.

“So you come here often?”

There it was.

The Devil erupted.

 FUCK NO.

Daemon’s mouth flattened.

You’re being ridiculous.

He wants her.

You don’t know that.

He asked if she comes here often.

That is a normal question.

No. the fuck it ain’t 

Daemon was close enough now to hear every word without effort.

The man smiled at Femi again.

“So maybe I could—”

Daemon stopped behind him.

His shadow fell across both of them. Femi noticed first. Her eyes lifted. The moment she saw him, her expression changed. The polite smile disappeared. Something warmer replaced it. The Devil noticed.

Its jealousy stumbled.

Oh.

Daemon nearly smiled.

Yes.

That one was theirs.

No.

Hers.

Whatever.

The man was still talking.

“—show you this other—”

He noticed Femi was no longer looking at him. His words slowed. He followed her gaze. Then turned. Daemon stood behind him. Silent. Six foot two. Arms loose at his sides. Gray eyes fixed on him.

The man straightened. For one brief, foolish second, he attempted to stand his ground. The Devil came forward. Daemon felt it move behind his eyes. Not enough to take control. It didn’t need to. The warmth disappeared from Daemon’s face. His stare changed. The man saw it happen. The Devil looked at him. That was all. No threat. No movement. No words.

Just a look.

The man’s posture changed immediately.

“Oh.”

The Devil was pleased.

Yes.

Recognition arrived next. Daemon saw it. The slight widening of the eyes. The glance toward Femi. Back to Daemon. Then perhaps the realization that he had spent the last several minutes flirting with the woman who had arrived with Daemon Pallid.

“Hey.”

Daemon said nothing. The man cleared his throat.

“I was just telling her she’s a hell of a shot.”

Silence.

“She is,” Daemon finally said.

The man’s eyes flicked toward the targets.

“Yeah.”

Daemon stared.

The Devil added:

Leave.

The man obviously couldn’t hear it. Somehow, he received the message anyway.

“Well.”

He stepped backward.

“I should get back.” Another step. “To my lane.”

Daemon remained silent. The man retreated. Quickly. Not running. He still had some dignity left. Three more steps and apparently he decided dignity was overrated. He turned and walked briskly back toward the far end of the range.

The Devil watched him go.

Faster.

“He’s leaving.”

Good.

Daemon looked at Femi. She was staring at him. One eyebrow raised. He ignored that.

“Did he want something?”

Femi shrugged. Then turned back toward her targets. Daemon waited. That was it. No explanation. No concern. Nothing.

She reached for a fresh magazine.

The Devil was dissatisfied.

Ask again.

No.

What did he want?

You heard the conversation.

He wanted something.

Daemon watched Femi check her Glock.

He was flirting with her.

The admission made something unpleasant tighten in his chest.

The Devil immediately seized upon it.

You are jealous too.

“No.”

Liar.

Femi glanced over. Daemon realized his jaw had tightened. Her eyes narrowed with amusement.

“What?”

She shook her head.

“Femi.”

Nothing. 

She adjusted her hearing protection. Daemon stared at her.

The Devil stared too.

She knows.

Unfortunately.

Femi’s mouth twitched.

“You’re enjoying this.”

A tiny shrug.

The Devil was scandalized.

She likes that we are jealous.

Daemon stepped closer.

Femi looked up at him.

“He was flirting with you.”

She blinked.

Then looked toward the man. Then back at Daemon. Another shrug. The Devil nearly lost its mind.

How does she not know?

Daemon knew exactly how.

Femi had spent years being ignored, underestimated, spoken around, spoken over, or treated as though her silence made her invisible. A stranger praising her shooting probably registered as exactly that. Praise. Nothing more.

“He asked whether you came here often.”

Femi nodded.

“Yes. I heard him.”

Her hands moved.

I thought he wanted to know.

Daemon stared.

The Devil stared harder.

Little ghost.

Femi waited. Daemon rubbed his jaw.

“He wanted to know because he wanted to see you again.”

Understanding appeared slowly. Her eyebrows rose. Then she looked toward the other end of the range. The man immediately found his target fascinating.

Femi looked back.

Oh.

The Devil was exasperated.

OH?

Daemon’s mouth twitched.

“Yes. Oh.”

Femi considered this new information for perhaps two seconds. Then shrugged again. Turned back to her target. And raised the Glock.

The Devil was stunned.

That is all?

Apparently.

Femi fired. The shot struck the target directly through the heart.

The Devil forgot the man existed.

Oh.

Daemon folded his arms.

Femi fired again.

Head.

The Devil shuddered with pleasure.

Little ghost.

Third target.

Heart.

Yes.

Fourth.

Head.

The jealousy drained away as quickly as it had arrived, replaced by something considerably more ridiculous.

Adoration.

Pure, vicious adoration.

Look at her.

Daemon was.

Fifth target.

Heart.

The Devil practically groaned.

Never misses.

“No.”

Sixth.

Head.

Perfect.

Femi moved to the seventh. Daemon glanced toward the other man.

He was very deliberately not looking at them.

Good.

The Devil caught the glance.

Do not worry.

I’m not worried.

She did not want him.

I know.

She wants us.

Daemon’s eyes returned to Femi. She fired.

Heart.

He smiled.

She chooses us.

The Devil quieted. That mattered more. Always.

Yes.

Femi fired again.

Head.

The last target waited. She adjusted her stance. Breathed. Fired. Heart. Nine shots. Nine targets. Nothing wasted. Femi lowered the Glock. She turned toward Daemon. Her eyes were bright.

The Devil was hopeless.

Sexiest thing we have ever seen.

Daemon smiled.

“Still.”

Femi tilted her head.

Her hands moved.

What?

“Nothing.”

She narrowed her eyes.

Daemon stepped forward, kissed her temple, and reached for the fresh targets. Behind them, the other man remained safely in his lane. 

The Devil noticed.

Smart man.

Daemon almost laughed. Femi tugged his sleeve. He looked down.

More targets.

The Devil immediately forgot every jealous thought it had experienced during the previous five minutes.

HELL YES.

Daemon shook his head.

“Apparently we’ve recovered.”

Femi smiled.

That smile.

Not the small, polite one she had given the stranger. Hers. Warm. Bright. Entirely voluntary.

Daemon felt the Devil settle with immense satisfaction.

Better.

He looked down at her.

Much.

Daemon was brooding. The Devil was pouting. Neither condition improved the atmosphere inside Helix. Femi sat at a table with Marta, surrounded by fabric samples, flower catalogs, and handwritten lists.

Marta’s second daughter was getting married. She was thirty-five, and this would be her first marriage. Marta wanted everything to be perfect.

Daemon understood.

Part of him did.

The Devil did not care about flowers, seating arrangements, or whether the bride should walk beneath an arch covered in white roses or blue hydrangeas.

The Devil wanted kisses. Femi had been beside Marta for three hours.

She had not looked toward Daemon’s corner once.

She is ignoring us.

“She is busy.”

A man sitting at the next table glanced over. Daemon stared at him. The man collected his beer and relocated.

She has not kissed us all day.

She kissed us this morning.

That was hours ago.

Daemon looked toward Femi. She was comparing two shades of blue ribbon. Marta said something. Femi laughed silently.

The Devil became offended.

She smiles for Marta.

Daemon stood. He needed work. Preferably something that did not involve listening to the murderous thing inside him complain about wedding decorations. He went in search of Femi’s repair list. The list contained a dripping faucet, a damaged pantry shelf, a light fixture that flickered near the rear entrance, and three barstools Malone had promised to replace six months earlier.

Daemon repaired all of it.

Femi remained busy.

The weekend arrived.

She was still busy.

Femi usually came home with him on Friday afternoon. This time, she apologized and stayed at Helix to help Marta meet with the florist. Daemon returned to an empty house.

She is ignoring us.

She is helping Marta.

We could help.

You threatened the last florist who delivered dead flowers.

The flowers were already dead.

They had been cut.

Still dead.

Daemon stopped arguing.

It never helped.

---

Fiona called Sunday evening.

“I have a job.”

Daemon stood in his kitchen, staring at the loaf of bread Femi had left for him.

The Devil had been staring at it too.

Not because it wanted bread.

Because Femi had made it.

She touched that.

Daemon ignored it.

Probably kneaded it.

Still ignored.

With her hands.

Daemon closed his eyes.

You have become pathetic.

The Devil was unbothered.

She likes me.

It had been saying that for days.

Fiona’s voice sharpened.

“Daemon?”

“What happened?”

“One of my girls had a customer who did not understand the word no.”

The Devil stopped pouting.

Everything inside Daemon changed.

No.

Fiona continued.

“Melissa refused what he wanted. He slapped her and tried to beat her. She sprayed him with mace and ran.”

The Devil was no longer thinking about bread.

Name.

“Name.”

“Peter Gales.”

Daemon reached for his jacket. The Devil moved with him. No restlessness now. No petulant longing for Femi. Something older had awakened. But it was not quite the same creature it had once been.

The Devil understood the word differently now.

No.

Once, it had thought no required strength behind it.

A weapon.

A threat.

The ability to enforce refusal.

Femi had taught it otherwise. No did not require sound. No did not require explanation. No did not require permission from the person hearing it.

She said no.

Yeah.

He heard her.

Apparently.

Then he understood enough.

Daemon pulled on his jacket.

Fiona continued.

“I sent you his photograph and schedule. He likes to boast in front of his friends, so I want the lesson delivered in front of them.”

“How far?”

“Not death.”

The Devil objected immediately.

Why not?

Daemon ignored it.

Fiona paused.

“But I want him humiliated. I want his friends to remember what happened the next time a woman tells them no.”

The Devil considered.

Its irritation eased slightly.

Witnesses.

Exactly.

Teach all four.

Daemon opened the message.

Peter’s photograph filled the screen.

The Devil studied him.

Not his face. His name. His schedule. His habits. The details Fiona provided.

It had learned that too.

Hunt with evidence.

Not rage.

“Understood.”

---

Daemon found Peter precisely where Fiona said he would be.

Behind a strip club. Rain fell through the narrow alley, running down stained brick and collecting in broken sections of pavement. Peter stood beneath a flickering security light with three other men. He was laughing. Daemon approached without sound.

Then Peter spoke.

“She thought she could tell me no,” he said. “Like she wasn’t getting paid to do what I wanted.”

The Devil stopped.

He knows the word.

Daemon’s jaw tightened.

Peter’s friends laughed with him.

“I slapped her once, and the bitch sprayed me.”

The Devil became very calm. That calm was worse than rage.

He knew.

Yeah.

He did not misunderstand.

No.

He simply believed her no did not matter.

Daemon stopped behind him. One of the men noticed. The laughter died. The second man saw the expression in Daemon’s eyes and took a slow step backward.

“I think I left my phone inside.”

“I’ll help you find it,” the first said quickly.

Both men disappeared.

The Devil was mildly offended.

Cowards.

Smart.

Both.

Peter continued speaking for several seconds before noticing the silence. The last friend backed against the wall. Daemon looked at him. The man raised both hands.

“Don’t- Don’t hurt me.”

The Devil almost laughed.

Interesting.

Daemon tilted his head slightly.

What?

He said no.

Daemon understood.

The Devil watched the man.

And we heard him.

The man slid down the wet brick until he sat in a puddle. Daemon had not said a word. The Devil did not pursue him. That lesson mattered too. Peter turned. His arrogant smile vanished.

“What do you want?”

His voice trembled.

The Devil heard it. It smiled.

“So many things.”

The words descended from somewhere beneath Daemon’s voice.

Peter swallowed.

“Is this about that whore?”

The Devil surged.

Her name is Melissa.

Daemon tilted his head.

“She deserved it. Her job is to please me.”

“No.”

The Devil moved closer beneath Daemon’s skin.

“Her job was whatever she agreed to do.”

Peter’s gaze flicked toward the alley entrance.

Daemon blocked the only clear path.

“She took my money.”

“And then refused you.”

“She doesn’t get to refuse after—”

The Devil whispered—

Wrong.

Daemon’s crooked smile appeared.

“It is my job to show you her displeasure at being struck.”

He hit him. Peter’s head snapped sideways. His final friend scrambled to his feet and ran.

The Devil let him.

He learned faster.

Peter struck the alley wall.

Before he could recover, Daemon caught the front of his shirt and pulled him upright.

“You wanted an audience.”

Peter stared into his scarred face. Daemon’s crooked smile appeared.

“Now they know precisely what kind of man you are.”

The next blow broke Peter’s nose. Daemon heard the crunch. The Devil waited for the familiar pleasure. There. Briefly. Then gone.

Hm.

Daemon paused. Peter groaned.

What?

Nothing.

Once, that sound would have delighted the Devil. Tonight, it felt hollow. Peter tried to fight. That made the lesson last longer. The Devil supplied reminders.

Not the throat.

I know.

Fiona said alive.

I know.

Three ribs.

Two.

Third would be memorable.

Daemon struck him.

A crack.

Three.

Satisfied?

The Devil considered.

No.

That surprised them both.

Daemon left Peter in the rain with three broken ribs, a broken nose, and enough breath remaining to apologize to Melissa if Fiona ever allowed him near her again. Peter curled against the pavement. Daemon stood over him.

The rain ran from his pale hair.

The Devil waited for satisfaction.

None came. Not like before. Blood had once been enough. The sound of a bone breaking beneath his hands had once quieted everything inside him. Break. Breathe. Kill. Quiet. The equation had been simple. Now Peter whimpered at their feet and the Devil remained restless. Frustrated.

An unsatisfied, brooding mess.

Again.

Daemon looked at Peter.

No.

The Devil listened to the rain.

Not him.

Daemon understood.

We want her.

The admission came almost angrily. As though Femi had personally offended it by becoming more satisfying than violence. Daemon turned away from Peter.

“Yes.”

The Devil brooded.

This used to work.

Daemon walked toward his motorcycle.

What?

Breaking them.

Daemon stopped.

The Devil searched itself.

It used to make everything quiet.

Yeah.

Now it does not.

Daemon understood before the Devil did. He almost smiled.

You changed.

The Devil snarled.

No.

You did.

I remain terrifying.

Of course.

Dangerous.

Absolutely.

Excellent at ribs.

Three tonight.

Exactly.

Daemon swung onto the motorcycle.

And still you want Femi.

Silence.

Then, resentfully—

Yes.

Daemon started the engine.

The Devil muttered—

She ruined violence.

Daemon laughed.

“No, she didn’t.”

Then explain this.

She gave you something better. The Devil went completely silent. Daemon rode home.

The faster he traveled, the faster memories of Femi spread through his mind.

Femi removing her white sundress.

The Devil stirred.

White lace.

Femi straddling his lap.

Bold.

Femi’s head falling back.

The astonished sound she made when pleasure claimed her for the first time.

The Devil nearly purred.

We did that.

Daemon smiled.

She did that. We helped.

The Devil considered the correction.

Better.

Then—

Again, she had signed.

The Devil shuddered.

Please.

Daemon accelerated.

The Devil whispered—

She asked us.

Yes.

Twice.

Yes.

Then please.

Daemon laughed beneath his helmet.

She’s at Helix.

We own a motorcycle.

No.

Coward.

Daemon reached his house, stopped the motorcycle, and killed the engine. The silence made his need louder.

The Devil prowled.

Helix is twenty-eight minutes away.

No.

Twenty-four if you ignore several unnecessary laws.

Home.

Femi.

Shower.

The Devil hated the shower. It hated the temperature more. Daemon stood beneath freezing water until his skin ached. The Devil continued whispering every possibility it had discovered inside Femi’s books.

The page she marked.

No.

The other one.

No.

The note.

Daemon planted both palms against the tile.

Stop.

She asked a direct question.

Tomorrow.

She may want the answer tonight.

She isn’t here.

The Devil became quiet.

Then—

We could fix that.

Daemon shut off the water.

“No.”

His phone buzzed. Both froze.

The Devil whispered—

Femi.

You don’t know that.

Daemon reached for the phone.

A message from Femi waited on the screen.

The Devil became unbearably smug.

Femi.

Daemon opened it.

I missed your kisses tonight.

A shudder rocked his entire body. The Devil simply ceased functioning. Daemon braced one hand against the bathroom counter. Silence.

Then—

Read it again.

Daemon did.

I missed your kisses tonight.

The Devil purred.

Again.

You can see it.

I want to hear it.

Daemon read the message aloud.

“I missed your kisses tonight.”

The Devil melted.

She missed us.

Daemon looked at his reflection. Water moved down his face. His hair hung wet over his scar.

“She is not ignoring us.”

The Devil became almost offended.

Of course not.

You were worried.

I was not.

You asked whether she meant it when she said she liked you.

Silence.

Daemon’s crooked smile appeared.

Private conversation.

We share a skull.

Still private.

Daemon typed his reply.

I missed yours too, little ghost.

The Devil immediately objected.

More.

No.

Tell her we thought about them.

No.

Tell her the cold shower failed.

Absolutely not.

Coward.

Three dots appeared.

The Devil stopped.

She is writing.

Vanished.

Why did she stop?

Returned.

There.

Vanished.

The Devil became agitated.

Daemon.

She’s thinking.

Too slowly.

You say that every time.

Because she thinks slowly when saying dangerous things.

The dots returned.

Then Femi sent:

Tomorrow?

The Devil shouted—

NOW.

Daemon’s crooked smile emerged.

He typed:

Always.

The Devil stared at the word.

Always.

Yeah.

It settled.

Not because always meant possession. Not anymore. It meant that if Femi asked tomorrow— they would answer tomorrow. If she asked next week— next week.

Each time a new question. Each time a new choice.

Tomorrow, the Devil purred.

Daemon prepared for bed with the creature unbearably pleased inside him.

---

Two days later, Daemon was out with Femi when another call came.

She had the night off.

They had spent the evening riding through Ravenside without a destination.

Femi sat behind him with her arms around his waist, and whenever they stopped at a light, her fingers moved idly across his stomach. The Devil had been content. Almost suspiciously so.

At one red light, Femi’s fingertips slipped beneath the edge of his shirt.The Devil made a sound.

Daemon’s hand covered hers.

Do not stop her.

I’m not.

Then why are we holding her hand?

Because I like it.

The Devil considered.

Acceptable.

The light turned green.

The Devil became irritated.

I hate traffic lights.

Then Daemon’s phone rang.

The job was waiting at an abandoned warehouse in Wolfwater.

The Devil sighed.

Work.

Daemon parked near the loading entrance.

He looked at Femi.

“Wait here.”

Her gaze moved toward the building.

The Devil immediately noticed.

She wants to come.

No.

Ask.

This isn’t a date.

“I will not be long.”

Her eyebrow rose.

The Devil almost laughed.

She does not believe you.

“Ten minutes.”

Femi held up five fingers. Daemon frowned.

“This is not a motorcycle repair.”

Five fingers remained raised.

The Devil became entertained.

She is negotiating.

“Seven.”

Femi stared at him.

She will win.

“Fine. Five.”

Her lips curved.

The Devil purred.

Bold.

Daemon entered the warehouse.

A man hung by his wrists from a chain attached to the ceiling.

His toes barely touched the floor.

The men who delivered him had already gone. Daemon closed the door. The job was straightforward. The hanging man had stolen from someone who did not tolerate theft. Daemon’s instructions were to recover a name, return the stolen property, and ensure the behavior was not repeated.

The Devil assessed him.

Right shoulder injured before we arrived.

Daemon noticed the uneven hang.

Yeah.

Favoring left leg.

Yeah.

Three fingers swollen.

Someone questioned him already.

Badly.

Daemon approached. The name came quickly. The lesson did not. The warehouse trapped the day’s heat. Within minutes, sweat collected beneath Daemon’s shirt. He removed it and threw it across a crate.

The Devil remained dissatisfied.

Every strike seemed to sharpen its frustration rather than ease it. Daemon drove his fist into the man’s ribs. A crack echoed through the warehouse. The man screamed.

The Devil waited.

Nothing.

Again.

Daemon drew back.

No.

His fist stopped.

Daemon frowned.

You just said again.

I changed my mind.

That was new enough to make Daemon almost laugh.

Why?

The Devil did not answer.

Then—

Five minutes.

Daemon glanced toward the door.

You’re timing me?

Little ghost is waiting.

Daemon’s mouth twitched.

The man hanging from the ceiling stared at him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

The Devil answered internally.

Many things.

Daemon raised his fist again.

Then—

We are being watched.

The Devil’s whisper stopped him in the middle of the motion.

Not danger. Not a threat. Something else. Daemon turned his head.

Femi stood inside the door.

The Devil forgot the prisoner.

Little ghost.

She was staring at him.

Not with horror. Not fear. That look. The Devil recognized it before Daemon allowed himself to.

Oh.

Her pupils were wide. Her lips had parted. Her breathing came fast enough for him to see the rise and fall of her chest from across the warehouse.

The Devil purred.

That look.

Daemon took one final look at the man hanging from the ceiling. Then he walked toward Femi. Slowly. Every step made her lift her face higher. Her gaze moved over his sweat-soaked chest. The scars. The tattoos. The blood across his knuckles.

The Devil became increasingly pleased.

She likes looking at us.

Apparently.

She definitely likes looking at us.

Femi retreated until her back touched the metal door.

Daemon stopped over her.

The Devil sharpened immediately.

Door.

I know.

He left space.

“What did I tell you about that look, little ghost?”

Her breath caught.

The Devil whispered—

There.

“You were supposed to stay outside.”

He placed one hand against the door beside her head. Not trapping. Space remained on the other side.

“I am a violent man.”

His voice descended.

The Devil moved through it.

“You were not supposed to see this.”

The Devil disagreed.

She has seen us.

Daemon knew. Carr. The estate. Rain. Blood. The Devil at its worst. And she had touched the scar afterward.

She likes me.

Not now.

Especially now.

Femi reached for him. The Devil went utterly still. Her fingers touched the center of his chest. Then slid slowly across sweat-slick skin. Daemon shuddered violently. His eyes rolled closed. His knees weakened. Both hands struck the door on either side of Femi’s head.

The Devil made a helpless sound.

Oh.

“Naughty little ghost.”

The moan sounded wrenched from the deepest part of him.

The Devil had no dignity left.

Again.

Daemon opened his eyes. Femi was watching his reaction. Learning. Always learning.

The Devil wanted to forget the man hanging from the ceiling.

It wanted to lift Femi into his arms, carry her outside, and take her home.

Home.

Yes.

Now.

No.

Why?

Work.

The Devil remembered the prisoner.

Oh. Him.

Femi touched Daemon again.

The Devil nearly abandoned civilization.

Little ghost.

She had done this before. Reached for him while violence still raced through his blood. And every time, the combination threatened to destroy him. Her gentleness did not erase the Devil. That realization mattered. She did not make it disappear. Did not require Daemon to become someone softer before he was worthy of touch. She knew what lived beneath his skin. And touched him anyway.

The Devil whispered—

She sees me.

Daemon’s breath caught.

Yeah.

Like this.

Yeah.

And still.

Her hand moved over his scarred chest.

She likes me.

Daemon softened despite everything.

Yes.

The Devil’s violence turned. Not toward Femi. Never. Toward attention. Awareness. Her breathing. Her hands. Her eyes. Her choices. Femi’s fingers traced one of his scars.

Daemon lowered his forehead to the door.

“Little ghost.”

The Devil whispered—

She is going to kill us.

Daemon almost laughed.

Probably.

Worth it.

Femi moved closer.

Then turned as though remembering his instruction.

She would wait outside.

The Devil immediately protested.

No.

Daemon caught himself.

She listened.

I know.

She reached for the handle.

The Devil surged instinctively toward her back.

Keep—

It stopped. The old word died before becoming action.

Daemon caught himself before pinning her there.

He shifted.

Left room.

The Devil corrected itself.

Ask her to stay.

Better.

Daemon’s mouth touched her bare shoulder.

Femi made that soft sound in her throat.

The Devil melted.

Or do that.

Daemon groaned against her skin. His need was unmistakable. There was no use denying it. No reason to hide what she did to him. Femi glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes dropped briefly before rising to his face again.

The Devil noticed exactly where she looked.

She looked.

Daemon’s breath left him through clenched teeth.

“You are making this very difficult.”

Her lips curved.

The Devil became suspicious.

She knows.

Definitely.

She likes making this difficult.

Definitely.

His mouth traveled once along the line of her shoulder.

The Devil begged—

Again.

Daemon forced himself away. Every muscle in his body protested.

The Devil protested louder.

Why?

Because she’s leaving.

She could stay.

I told her to wait outside.

The Devil paused.

Then do not punish her for listening.

Daemon stilled. That was unexpectedly wise.

The Devil was smug.

She likes me.

There it is.

Daemon opened the door and guided her outside with one gentle hand at her waist.

“Ten more minutes.”

Femi raised five fingers.

The Devil laughed.

Five.

Daemon stared at her. She stared back.

“Seven.”

Five fingers.

She already won this argument once.

“Six.”

She did not move.

The Devil became delighted.

Bold little thing.

Daemon groaned.

“Five.”

Femi smiled and returned to the motorcycle. Daemon watched her go.

The Devil whispered—

She is going to torment us.

Yes.

Good.

Daemon closed the door.

The Devil paced beneath his skin.

The man hanging from the ceiling watched him approach.

“What was that?”

Daemon retrieved his shirt.

The Devil considered several answers.

Our downfall.

No.

Little ghost.

No.

The woman who likes me.

Absolutely not.

Daemon pulled on his shirt.

“Your final five minutes.”

The man paled.

The Devil smiled.

Excellent.

Daemon took every ounce of his growing frustration out on him. But even as bone yielded beneath his hands, the Devil knew the truth. It was not the violence that would quiet it afterward.

Femi was waiting outside.

---

Daemon returned Femi to Helix shortly before eleven.

The motorcycle stopped beneath the rear light. Femi climbed off.

The Devil immediately became unhappy.

No.

Daemon removed his helmet.

What?

She is leaving.

She lives here during the week.

Technicality.

Femi should have collected her bag and gone inside.

Instead, she stepped at his knee.

The Devil stopped complaining.

Oh.

Her hands entered his hair. She kissed him. Hungry. Consuming. The kind of kiss that made every thought disappear from his mind.

The Devil surrendered first.

Little ghost.

Daemon moaned into her mouth.

His hands caught her waist. Holding. Femi kissed him until his body shook beneath hers.

The Devil was ruined.

She knows exactly what she is doing.

Yes.

She has been studying.

Apparently.

Burn the books.

Why?

She is becoming too powerful.

Daemon almost laughed into her mouth. Then Femi drew away. Daemon followed her lips.

The Devil followed faster.

Again.

She pressed one finger against his mouth.

Wait.

Daemon froze.

So did the Devil.

The Devil stared at her finger.

Wait.

Yeah.

A word it once hated. A word that had meant hiding beneath beds. Waiting for footsteps to pass. Waiting before killing. Waiting because movement meant pain. Femi had changed that word too.

Now wait could mean—

Soon.

His gray eyes opened.

Femi smiled.

Then she walked toward Helix.

The Devil strained toward her.

Now.

“Soon.”

Femi continued walking.

Now.

“Soon.”

At the door, she glanced over her shoulder.

The Devil almost left Daemon’s body after her.

FEMI.

Daemon’s crooked smile appeared.

She knew. That was the worst part. She absolutely knew. Femi disappeared inside. The rear door closed. Strawberries lingered in the night. Daemon remained astride the motorcycle, breathing hard.

The Devil paced.

Go inside.

No.

She kissed us.

Yes.

Then said wait.

Yes.

Cruel.

Daemon laughed.

“She is allowed.”

The Devil sulked.

I know.

That was the problem.

It knew.

Femi was allowed to kiss them senseless and walk away.

Allowed to ask.

Allowed not to ask.

Allowed to want them today and change her mind tomorrow.

Allowed to say again.

Allowed to say stop.

Allowed to say wait.

The Devil had learned all of those words.

It simply liked some more than others.

Again is better.

Daemon smiled.

Obviously.

Please is excellent.

Yes.

Wait is terrible.

You’ll survive.

The Devil considered the closed door.

Then remembered Femi’s smile.

Soon.

“Soon,” Daemon promised again.

The Devil settled reluctantly.

For several quiet seconds, neither spoke.

Then—

Daemon.

What?

The Devil’s voice changed. The hunger remained. But something thoughtful moved beneath it.

Breaking Peter did not quiet me.

No.

The warehouse did not either.

No.

The Devil understood now.

She did.

Daemon looked toward the door.

Yeah.

The Devil had once believed Femi calmed it because she was soft where it was violent.

That had been wrong. Femi did not erase violence. She did not tame the monster. She did not make the Devil harmless. She gave it something violence had never been able to provide.

Something to return to. A hand against its scar. A kiss chosen freely. A woman who knew exactly what lived behind Daemon’s gray eyes and had smiled at it anyway.

I like him too.

The Devil curled around the memory. Still wrecked. Still unable to understand how five words could do what bullets, blades, blood, and broken bones never had. Daemon started the motorcycle.

The Devil whispered—

She likes me.

Daemon smiled.

“Yes.”

She trusts me.

“Yes.”

A longer silence.

Then, almost shyly—

She waits for me too.

Daemon’s expression softened.

“For both of us.”

The Devil went quiet.

That answer satisfied it in a way Peter’s broken bones never could. Neither the man nor the monster knew what Femi intended to do next. Both wanted to know. Both would wait. Both were entirely hers to torment until she decided.

The Devil purred.

Bold little ghost.

Daemon pulled away from Helix.

Then the Devil added—

Soon.

Daemon laughed into the night.

“Soon.”

The Devil and the man were both oozing jealousy. Daemon stood near the motorcycle, watching Femi have a conversation with another man. Her hands moved. The stranger signed back. Femi smiled softly. He smiled in return. Jealousy burned a white-hot streak through Daemon.

The Devil wanted to hurt him.

Not badly.

Perhaps.

Just enough to erase that smile from his face and discourage him from ever inspiring one in Femi again.

Only we should make her smile like that.

Daemon clenched his jaw.

That is not how this works.

The Devil did not care how anything worked. It wanted Daemon to cross the street. It wanted him to stand behind Femi, stare the man down, and allow the reputation of Wolfwater’s Devil to do the rest. A broken finger might help.

One.

No.

He has ten.

Daemon cracked his knuckles. The man’s gaze flicked toward him. He turned back to Femi and continued signing, but his movements became less fluid.

Daemon understood every word. The man was asking about the wedding. Femi explained that Marta’s daughter had chosen the blue flowers after all. The man joked that his brother, the florist, had already ordered white ones because Marta changed her mind every twelve minutes.

That made Femi smile. Nothing flirtatious. Nothing intimate. Daemon knew this. It did not help.

He wants her.

He is discussing flowers.

Men do not care about flowers.

Apparently this one does.

Break his fingers.

He needs them to speak.

The Devil considered that.

One finger.

Daemon ignored it. Femi belonged to herself. Her smiles were hers to give. Daemon understood that better than most men ever would. Understanding did not cool the jealousy boiling through his blood. He remained where he was.

Barely.

Femi glanced toward him. Her eyes brightened. Then she smiled. At him. That should have been enough. It should have proven to the Devil that she had not forgotten them simply because another man stood in front of her.

It was not enough.

Daemon crossed the street. His walk was slow. Predatory. The stranger noticed him approaching and stopped in the middle of a sentence. His hands lowered. Daemon came to stand beside Femi. He looked down at her. Then at the man. The stranger swallowed.

His hands rose again.

Who is this?

Femi answered without hesitation.

My boyfriend.

The Devil became perfectly still.

Daemon stared at her hands.

Boyfriend.

It should have pleased him. Femi had claimed him openly. She had chosen a word that told another man Daemon occupied a place in her life no one else did.

Instead, the word struck something raw.

Boyfriend?

The Devil sounded offended. Daemon did not want to examine why.

Not here.

Not while the florist’s brother looked increasingly certain he had made a fatal mistake by discussing cake decorations with Femi.

“Malone will kill me if I do not have you back in time.”

Daemon kept his eyes on Femi. She looked at her watch. Her eyes widened. She waved a quick farewell to the man, caught Daemon’s hand, and pulled him toward the motorcycle. The stranger watched them leave.

Daemon looked back once.

The man immediately found somewhere else to direct his attention.

The Devil approved.

---

Femi climbed onto the motorcycle behind him. Her arms wrapped around his waist. Daemon started the engine.

Boyfriend.

The Devil spat the word as they rode through Ravenside. Daemon’s hands tightened around the handlebars. Boyfriend was not enough. The realization arrived without warning. The word sounded temporary. A boyfriend could be left. Forgotten. Replaced. Boyfriends belonged to a particular season of someone’s life. They occupied a place only as long as the relationship remained convenient.

Daemon was not temporary.

He had told Femi the truth months ago.

I am yours.

Every ruined piece of him. There was no ending hidden inside those words. No expiration. No future in which he woke one morning and discovered he had stopped belonging to her.

Femi had survived him.

Chosen him.

Left him and returned.

She had touched the Devil with bloody hands and tenderness. She had slept beside the monster without asking it to become a man first. Boyfriend sounded too small for that. Too fragile. Too ordinary.

We are hers.

“Yes.”

Femi shifted behind him. Daemon realized he had spoken aloud. Her fingers tapped his stomach. He placed one hand briefly over hers.

“Nothing, little ghost.”

She rested her cheek against his back.

The Devil remained furious.

Boyfriend.

Daemon increased his speed.

The motorcycle answered with a low growl beneath him.

The Devil did not.

It had gone strangely quiet.

That was worse.

Daemon knew its silences. There was the silence before violence. The silence when it listened. The silence when Femi touched him and it became so overwhelmed by the attention that words temporarily abandoned it.

This was none of those.

This silence hurt.

Daemon felt it beneath his ribs like something curled around a wound neither of them had known existed until Femi put a name to it.

Boyfriend.

A perfectly ordinary word.

A harmless word.

A word millions of men probably enjoyed hearing.

Daemon hated it.

The Devil hated it more.

Boyfriend.

Daemon accelerated.

---

He sat with the thought all night.

Helix opened at seven.

By nine, Daemon occupied his usual corner, one hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey while he watched Femi move through the room.

She seemed entirely unaware that a single sign had unsettled everything inside him.

Boyfriend.

Daemon turned the word over repeatedly.

He disliked it more each time.

The Devil worried at it like an animal worrying bone.

Boyfriend.

“Yes.”

No.

Daemon drank.

Across the clubhouse, Femi carried two glasses to a table.

“What would you prefer?”

Hers.

“I know.”

Forever.

Daemon’s jaw tightened.

That was the problem.

Boyfriend didn’t mean forever. Boyfriend meant now. Boyfriend meant perhaps. Boyfriend meant until.

Until something changed. Until someone became bored. Until one person decided the other no longer belonged in the life they were building. Daemon knew how temporary things worked. He had spent most of his life being temporary.

A son until his father decided he was a burden. A brother until usefulness became more important than blood. A weapon until the people who created him decided he had become uncontrollable. A lover until morning. An executioner until someone else needed killing. Everything ended. Everything left. Everyone eventually discovered a reason to walk away.

The Devil had learned that lesson before Daemon had.

She doesn’t leave.

Daemon looked at Femi.

No.

She comes home.

Every Friday. Backpack over one shoulder. Sometimes groceries in her hands. Sometimes books. Sometimes strawberries. Always Femi.

Yes.

She sleeps beside us.

Yes.

Feeds us.

Daemon’s mouth twitched.

You.

Us.

Mostly you.

The Devil ignored him.

Touches us.

Yes.

Chooses us.

Daemon’s amusement disappeared. There it was. The thing underneath everything. She chose them. And boyfriend seemed too small for what that had become. The Devil hated small words for large things. It especially hated temporary words for permanent things. And then there was the florist’s brother. The Devil hated him too. That part was less reasonable. Daemon knew it.

He had no intention of hurting the man.

Probably.

He smiled at her.

He was polite.

Too polite.

That isn’t a thing.

He has teeth.

Most people do.

Not necessary.

Daemon closed his eyes briefly.

We are not removing the florist’s brother’s teeth.

The Devil sulked.

Across the room, Marta stood beside Femi near the bar.

“Did you call the florist?”

Femi nodded.

“The cake?”

Another nod.

“Did she change her mind again?”

Femi held up three fingers.

Marta stared at her.

“Three times?”

Femi nodded.

“I should have raised sons.”

Femi laughed silently.

Daemon watched her. The Devil forgot the florist’s brother.

There.

Her laugh. The Devil loved that laugh. Loved it with a frightening simplicity.

Again.

Daemon’s chest tightened.

Femi said something with her hands.

Marta groaned.

Femi laughed harder.

Ours.

No.

The Devil corrected itself before Daemon could.

Hers.

That was somehow worse tonight. Daemon lifted the whiskey. Because hers was exactly what he wanted to be. Not temporarily. Not until she found something better. Not while it was convenient. Hers. Completely. Chosen. Permanently.

“What is wrong with you?”

Malone’s voice dragged Daemon’s attention back to the table.

Daemon lifted his glass.

“Nothing.”

“You look like your favorite dog died.”

“I do not have a dog.”

“That is not the important part of the sentence.”

Daemon drank.

Malone studied him.

“Is it Femi?”

Daemon’s gaze returned to her.

She was showing Marta something in the wedding book.

The Devil recoiled.

Wedding.

Daemon’s eyes remained on the book. Malone followed his gaze.

“Did something happen?”

“No.”

“Did you frighten her?”

“No.”

“Did she frighten you?”

Daemon frowned.

Malone leaned back.

“That means yes.”

“I have things on my mind.”

“Dangerous place for them.”

Daemon ignored him.

Malone poured more whiskey.

“Are you going to tell me?”

“No.”

“Good. I was worried we might have a meaningful conversation.”

Daemon stared into his glass.

Tell him.

“No.”

Malone’s eyebrow rose.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Not you.”

Malone looked unimpressed.

“The other lunatic?”

The Devil stirred.

Old man.

Daemon almost smiled.

“Yes.”

“What does he want?”

Daemon glanced toward Femi.

“Nothing.”

Liar.

Malone followed his gaze again. Femi looked up. Their eyes met. Her face changed immediately. The smile appeared. Soft. Warm. Only for him. Something inside Daemon cracked open. The Devil went silent.

Just for half a heartbeat.

Then—

Boyfriend.

The hurt came back. Not anger this time.

Something worse.

Fear.

Daemon recognized it because it belonged to both of them.

She can stop being our girlfriend.

Daemon’s fingers tightened around the glass.

Yes.

She can wake up and decide she doesn’t want us.

She can do that regardless of what she calls me.

The Devil hated that answer.

No.

She can.

No.

Femi stays because she can leave.

Silence.

The Devil knew that. It had learned that lesson. Had accepted it. Even loved her more because of it.

But acceptance did not make the possibility painless.

I don’t want her to.

Neither did Daemon.

That was the truth he had been avoiding all night. He didn’t want Femi to leave. Ever. He wanted Friday backpacks until there were no more Fridays. He wanted strawberries in his refrigerator. Her books on his tables. Her clothes mixed with his. Her ridiculous amount of hair clogging his shower drain. Her hands arguing with him from across rooms. Her feet tucked beneath his thigh on the sofa. Her food. Her silence. Her anger. Her laughter. Her.

Boyfriend suddenly seemed almost insulting.

Daemon stood.

Malone looked up.

“You leaving?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Home.”

“You’ve had four drinks.”

“I know.”

“Then you are not riding.”

Daemon reached for the coffee Malone had placed beside the bottle without comment twenty minutes earlier.

He drank it.

Malone watched him.

“That is not how sobriety works.”

“I will wait.”

“For what?”

“To become sober.”

Malone stared at him.

“That might be the stupidest thing you’ve said this month.”

He is irritating.

He’s right.

Still irritating.

Malone sighed. Daemon collected his jacket.

Femi approached before he reached the rear door.

Her hands moved.

You are leaving?

“Yes.”

Why?

“I have things on my mind.”

She looked toward his corner. Then at Malone. Her eyebrows lifted.

“No, he did not upset me.”

Malone called from the table.

“I rarely get the opportunity.”

Femi’s gaze returned to Daemon. Concern entered her eyes.

The Devil immediately softened.

Don’t make her worry.

Daemon lowered his mouth and kissed her cheek.

Strawberries.

The Devil breathed her in.

Stay.

Daemon almost did.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, little ghost.”

She touched his wrist. His entire body stilled. So did the Devil.

Her thumb rested over the bracelet.

ALL YOURS.

The Devil stared through Daemon’s eyes.

See?

Daemon swallowed.

For a moment, he thought Femi might ask him to stay. Part of him wanted her to.

The Devil desperately wanted her to.

Ask us.

She didn’t.

Instead, Femi searched his face. Then nodded.

Daemon left Helix with something hurting inside him. The Devil followed. For once, it wasn’t raging. It was wounded. That was harder to carry.

Boyfriend.

“It is a perfectly reasonable word.”

It can end.

Daemon crossed the parking lot.

“So can everything.”

The Devil flinched. Daemon felt it. He stopped walking. The Devil said nothing.

Daemon regretted the words immediately.

“I didn’t mean—”

Yes, you did.

Daemon stared into the dark.

“I meant that a different word doesn’t guarantee anything.”

I know.

The answer was small. That bothered him. The Devil was never small. It filled rooms. Filled his skull. Filled his hands with violence. Filled his mouth with thoughts Daemon would never say aloud. But Femi had given it something it had never possessed before.

Something to lose.

And suddenly the creature everyone feared sounded almost frightened.

I don’t want temporary.

Daemon closed his eyes.

“Neither do I.”

Boyfriend is temporary.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

But it can be.

“Yes.”

The Devil hated that.

So did Daemon.

She is ours.

“She is not property.”

The answer came instantly.

Almost angry.

We are hers.

Daemon stopped beside his motorcycle. That was the truth of it. Not ownership. Devotion. The Devil did not want to possess Femi. It wanted to belong to her in a way that could never be questioned. So did Daemon. He stared into the darkness. He saw Femi in his kitchen. On his sofa. Asleep beside him. Her book abandoned against her chest. Flour on her cheek. Bare feet crossing his floors. Her toothbrush beside his. Her clothes appearing in drawers she had never officially claimed. Standing beneath the porch light with her backpack because Friday meant coming home.

Home.

“Yes.”

Our home.

Daemon shook his head.

“Her home too.”

The Devil considered.

Her home.

Something settled painfully beneath Daemon’s ribs.

He imagined the opposite. The toothbrush disappearing. The books gone. The kitchen silent. Friday arriving without her beneath the porch light. The room she used empty. No strawberries. No hands moving across the dinner table. No little ghost. Something inside him tore open.

The Devil recoiled violently from the image.

No.

Daemon sat on the motorcycle but did not start it. Malone was right. Four whiskeys and a coffee did not make him sober. So Daemon waited. The Devil paced. It cursed the word boyfriend. It cursed temporary things. It cursed every man Femi had ever smiled at and several she had probably never met.

Then it remembered the florist’s brother.

Him too.

“Leave him alone.”

He wants her.

“You don’t know that.”

I know men.

“You barely tolerate people.”

Exactly.

Daemon rested his forearms against the handlebars.

The Devil paced harder.

Boyfriend.

“Stop saying it.”

Boyfriend.

“Enough.”

Fucking Boyfriend.

Daemon’s jaw tightened.

“Shut up.”

The Devil did.

Thirty seconds passed.

Then—

Husband.

Daemon lowered his forehead toward the handlebars.

“Jesus Christ.”

Better.

“You cannot simply replace the word because you dislike it.”

Why?

“Because Femi gets a vote.”

That stopped it.

The Devil considered.

Ask.

Daemon lifted his head.

“No.”

Why?

“Because I’m not proposing to my girlfriend because you’re having an emotional crisis in a parking lot.”

The Devil was deeply offended.

We are having an emotional crisis.

Daemon almost laughed.

Despite everything.

“Yes.”

Ask her.

“No.”

Tomorrow.

“No.”

Friday.

“Stop.”

Birthday?

“Absolutely not.”

The Devil sulked.

Then—

Ring.

Daemon stared ahead.

“Don’t.”

She likes rings.

“She wears one.”

Mine.

“Mine.”

The Devil corrected him.

Hers.

Daemon went quiet.

Yes.

Hers.

His phone rang at one in the morning. The sound cut through the parking lot. Daemon pulled it from his pocket and answered.

“Daemon.”

A familiar voice gave him an address.

Then a name.

“What is the job?”

“Someone needs hurting.”

The Devil stopped pacing.

Silence.

Then—

Good.

Daemon’s expression hardened. At last, something simple. No boyfriend. No forever. No fear. No imagining an empty house. Violence had always been easier. Violence asked uncomplicated questions. Where? Who? How badly?

The Devil understood those.

Go.

Daemon looked back at Helix. Most of the lights were off now. One remained. Femi’s. A soft glow against the darkness.

The Devil stared at it.

Little ghost.

The violence receded for one strange second. Daemon knew what it was thinking because he was thinking the same thing. Femi was behind that window. Safe. Probably reading. Maybe already asleep. Maybe wearing one of his shirts. And she had called him her boyfriend. A word most men would have celebrated. Daemon and the Devil had somehow managed to turn it into an existential crisis.

The absurdity almost made him laugh.

Almost.

Not enough.

Daemon looked away from the window.

No.

We need more.

Yes.

Permanent.

Daemon’s fingers tightened around the phone.

We don’t decide that alone.

The Devil remembered.

Her choice.

Always.

A pause.

But we can ask.

Daemon stared at the motorcycle.

“Yes.”

The Devil quieted. Not satisfied. But calmer.

Then the voice on the phone repeated the address. The job. Someone needed hurting. The Devil smiled. There it was. Teeth again.

Good.

Part of Daemon knew accepting a job while jealousy, fear, and hurt still burned through his blood was a terrible idea. The Devil did not care. It wanted bones beneath Daemon’s hands. Wanted someone to scream loudly enough to drown out that small, temporary word.

But beneath the violence, beneath the jealousy, beneath everything ugly and frightened moving through them, another thought had already taken root.

Not mine.

Not ours.

Not even hers.

Daemon started the motorcycle.

The engine roared through the parking lot.

Before he pulled into the street, his eyes returned once more to Femi’s glowing window.

The Devil whispered one word.

Not wounded now.

Not angry.

Certain.

Little Ghost

Daemon stared at the light.

Then he accelerated into Wolfwater.

Fiona called a week later.

“I need security tonight.”

Daemon stood in his kitchen with the phone against his ear. Femi had left less than an hour earlier, and evidence of her remained everywhere.

A mug beside the sink.

A cookbook open on the counter.

Three strawberries in a bowl because she had apparently decided four was excessive and two insufficient.

The Devil had been staring at them since she left.

“What kind?”

“I am meeting a powerful client. He prefers privacy, and I prefer leaving meetings alive.”

“Where?”

“Mythos.”

Daemon knew the name.

Mythos was an exclusive private club in Northcrest. Politicians, executives, judges, and people with enough money to purchase all three met behind its dark curtains.

Fiona lowered her voice.

“The only person I trust is you, Daemon.”

The Devil stirred.

She wants something.

She called for security.

Everyone wants something.

Daemon ignored it.

“What time?”

“Eight.”

“I’ll be there.”

He ended the call.

The Devil remained awake.

Little ghost would like Mythos.

Daemon glanced toward the cookbook.

“You’ve never been there.”

Neither has she.

“That doesn’t explain how you know she’d like it.”

A pause.

Food.

Daemon almost smiled.

“Yes. They have food.”

Good food?

“Expensive food.”

Not the same.

Daemon picked up one of Femi’s strawberries.

The Devil immediately objected.

Hers.

“She left them in my house.”

Her house too.

Daemon stopped with the strawberry halfway to his mouth.

The Devil had become increasingly possessive of Femi’s place in the house.

Not possessive of Femi. Her things. Her chair. Her side of the bed. Her favorite mug. The blanket she preferred on the sofa. The shelf where her books had begun multiplying. Her. Not theirs to own. But the space?

The Devil had apparently decided that belonged to her completely.

Daemon ate the strawberry.

The Devil sulked.

---

Daemon did not wear leather.

Mythos had a dress code, and Fiona had insisted that terrifying the staff before they reached the private rooms would be inconvenient.

He chose a black silk shirt, leaving the first two buttons open. Black slacks. Polished black shoes. He combed his pale hair until it fell smoothly over his shoulders and partially concealed the scar along his cheek.

The Devil endured the entire process with disdain.

Leather.

“No.”

Boots.

“No.”

Knife.

“Several.”

That improved its mood. Daemon fastened his watch. Then his fingers found the chain Femi had given him. The ring rested against his chest. He lifted it. Turned it slowly between his fingers.

One word had been engraved inside.

MINE.

The Devil stirred.

Not angry.

Something deeper.

Hers.

“Yes.”

The word had become ritual between them.

Mine.

Hers.

A correction neither resented anymore. Daemon released the ring. The Devil did not. It remained focused on the thought.

Hers.

“Yes.”

Not boyfriend.

Daemon closed his eyes. A week. A full week, and it remained offended.

“Leave it alone.”

Temporary.

“We discussed this.”

Bad word.

“It is not a bad word.”

Small word.

Daemon paused.

That was harder to argue with. The Devil had finally found the proper description for what bothered it. Small. Boyfriend felt too small for what Femi had become. Too small for Friday evenings and shared breakfasts. Too small for the way Daemon knew which nightmares required touch and which required distance. Too small for Femi’s books beside his. Too small for her toothbrush. Her strawberries. Her bare feet on his floors. Too small for the way the Devil woke whenever she entered a room. Too small for ALL YOURS.

Daemon buttoned one cuff.

“What would you call it?”

The answer came immediately.

Hers.

Daemon’s fingers stopped.

The Devil settled.

Satisfied.

Daemon finished dressing.

He left for work.

---

Mythos occupied the upper floors of an unmarked building. There was no sign outside. No line at the entrance. Only a black door, a brass handle, and two men who recognized Fiona before she gave her name.

The interior was dark.

Soft amber lighting warmed mahogany walls. Heavy curtains divided private dining rooms from narrow corridors. Music drifted through concealed speakers—slow piano and muted strings, quiet enough that no one needed to raise their voice.

The entire place smelled of expensive liquor, polished wood, perfume, and secrets.

The Devil disliked the perfume immediately.

Why?

Daemon knew exactly what it meant.

I don’t know.

Why do they do that?

A woman passed wearing something floral and strong enough to linger after she disappeared around the corner.

The Devil recoiled.

Horrible.

Daemon almost laughed.

Fiona wore a dark red gown beneath a black coat.

She looked Daemon over.

“You clean up well.”

“I am armed.”

“I assumed.”

“With several weapons.”

“I also assumed that.”

Fiona handed her coat to an attendant.

“Your task is simple. Stand outside the curtain and look dangerous.”

Daemon stared at her.

The Devil considered the instruction.

We can do that.

“So, behave naturally,” Fiona added.

The corner of Daemon’s mouth moved. Fiona disappeared into the private room. Daemon took his position outside. The curtain closed. One hour became two. Servers came and went. Dinner was served. Wine followed.

The client’s voice remained low enough that Daemon could not distinguish words, only tone. Fiona laughed occasionally—the light, elegant laugh she used when someone wealthy believed he was charming.

No one approached the room without permission. No one caused trouble. Daemon stood beneath the amber light with his hands folded before him.

The Devil became bored after forty minutes.

Nothing is happening.

“That is preferable.”

No.

“Yes.”

We could go home.

“We’re working.”

Little ghost might be home.

“She isn’t.”

We could find her.

“No.”

Silence.

Then—

Boyfriend.

Daemon’s jaw tightened.

“Stop.”

The Devil retreated with considerable satisfaction. Daemon touched the ring beneath his shirt. Warm against his chest.

MINE.

Hers.

“Yes.”

The man behind the curtain told Fiona another joke. She laughed. Daemon thought about Femi. What would she wear to a place like this?

Green silk, perhaps.

Black.

Something that left her shoulders bare.

The Devil immediately became interested.

Black Lace.

“You like her in black.”

Yes.

“So do I.”

They considered that together. Femi would examine the menu seriously. Probably frown at the prices. Definitely frown at the portions.

Too small.

“Yes.”

She would taste his food without asking. Slide whatever she disliked onto his plate. Take whatever she liked from his. Daemon would allow it. The Devil would consider this proof of devotion.

Then it would watch every man who looked at her and quietly plan unnecessary deaths.

Necessary.

“No.”

Some.

“No.”

The Devil sulked.

Daemon imagined Femi across one of the private tables. Candlelight against her skin. Her hands moving between them. No need for anyone else to understand. Just him. The Devil. And her. It might still be pleasant.

Take her.

“Maybe.”

The Devil brightened.

Friday.

“No.”

Saturday.

“Stop scheduling my dates.”

Our date.

Daemon’s eyes narrowed.

The Devil corrected itself.

Her date.

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

It didn’t care.

---

The meeting ended without incident.

Fiona emerged smiling. Her client left through a private exit with two bodyguards of his own. Daemon escorted Fiona to the waiting car. He sat across from her during the ride back to her penthouse. City lights moved across the windows. Fiona studied him. Daemon noticed. Ignored it.

She continued.

“You look troubled.”

He said nothing. His fingers found the ring beneath his shirt.

The Devil immediately stirred.

Don’t tell her.

I wasn’t planning to.

Fiona crossed one leg over the other.

“Your silence is more dramatic than usual.”

“I am not dramatic.”

“Of course not.”

Daemon looked out the window.

The Devil muttered.

She talks too much.

She hasn’t spoken in three minutes.

Long three minutes.

Fiona allowed several more to pass.

Then she said, casually, “Perhaps you should bring your wife to Mythos.”

Daemon turned.The Devil became perfectly still. The city continued moving beyond the windows. Traffic. Streetlights. People crossing intersections. The car continued forward.

Everything inside Daemon stopped. Fiona continued as though she had not just changed the shape of the world.

“The food is excellent. The private dining rooms are quiet. She might enjoy it.”

Daemon stared at her.

The Devil whispered—

Your wife.

Not girlfriend.

Not boyfriend.

Not temporary.

Wife.

The word entered every restless place inside him. Filled them. Settled them. The Devil sat up. Its jealousy vanished. Its irritation disappeared. A week of pacing inside Daemon’s skull simply—stopped.

Wife.

Daemon felt his pulse change.

Our wife.

He corrected automatically.

“No.”

Fiona’s eyebrows rose.

Daemon realized he had spoken aloud.

“Nothing.”

She watched him.

The Devil corrected itself.

Her husband.

Daemon’s breath caught. That was worse. Better. Dangerous. Femi’s husband. The Devil seemed almost intoxicated by it.

Yes.

Fiona tilted her head.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No.”

Daemon’s voice had changed.

Low.

Thoughtful.

“Maybe I will.”

Fiona smiled faintly.

“Good. She deserves somewhere better than whatever biker bar you normally take her to.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed.

The Devil came forward.

Careful.

Fiona smiled wider.

“There he is.”

Daemon looked out the window again. But the Devil no longer cared about Fiona. It had found a new word.

And apparently intended to repeat it until death.

Wife.

Daemon touched the ring.

Wife.

The car stopped outside Fiona’s building.

“Good night, Daemon.”

He stepped out and closed the door.

“Good night, Fiona.”

The car pulled away. Daemon remained on the pavement. The city moved around him. He did not.

Wife.

The Devil purred.

Daemon had never heard it make that sound over a word.

“You like that.”

Yes.

“Obviously.”

Say it.

“No.”

Wife.

Daemon started walking.

Wife.

“Stop.”

Femi Pallid.

Daemon stopped dead. The Devil went silent. So did he. He had never thought it. Not exactly. Femi Pallid. The name did something violent to his chest. The Devil practically shuddered.

Again.

“No.”

Femi Pallid.

“Enough.”

Mrs. Pallid.

Daemon’s mouth twitched despite himself.

“You’re unbearable.”

Husband.

Daemon resumed walking.

The Devil was deliriously pleased.

---

The word followed him home. It rode beside him through the sleeping city. Entered the house with him. Crossed the living room. Climbed the stairs.

Wife.

Daemon removed his jacket.

Wife.

He unbuttoned his cuffs.

Wife.

“Are you going to do this all night?”

Yes.

Daemon pulled the shirt over his head. The ring swung against his chest. The Devil quieted. Not because the fascination had faded. Because the image returned. Femi in his kitchen.

Wife.

Femi asleep beside him.

Wife.

Femi walking toward his motorcycle every Friday.

Femi wearing his shirts.

Femi standing at the stove cooking steak because she had somehow learned what the Devil liked.

Femi touching the scar on his face and calling him beautiful.

Femi signing arguments at him while he deliberately misunderstood her until she became irritated enough to throw something.

Femi in black lace at Mythos. A ring on her finger. Femi looking at a stranger. Her hands moving.

My husband.

The Devil made a sound of such deep satisfaction that Daemon closed his eyes.

“Jesus.”

Again.

“No.”

My husband.

“Those would be her hands.”

Yes.

“You cannot make her sign things.”

The Devil went quiet.

Then—

She might.

Daemon opened his eyes.

“Yes.”

That was the problem. She might. And Daemon wanted it. He wanted it enough to frighten himself.

The Devil was not frightened at all.

Ask.

“No.”

Ask.

“Not tonight.”

Tomorrow.

“No.”

Friday.

“No.”

Saturday.

Daemon opened the top drawer of his dresser. The Devil stopped. Completely. Beneath folded shirts rested a small black box. The Devil knew it was there. It had known since the day Daemon bought it.

But neither of them had touched it in weeks. Daemon removed the box. Sat on the edge of his bed.

The Devil moved close.

Open.

Daemon turned the box in his palm.

Open.

“Impatient.”

Yes.

He finally lifted the lid.

The ring waited inside. Simple. Beautiful. Chosen because the moment he saw it, he had imagined it on Femi’s hand. He had bought it weeks ago. Before he understood why the word boyfriend had made him furious.

Before Fiona gave the hunger a name. Before the Devil understood that what it wanted wasn’t ownership. It was permanence.

The Devil stared through Daemon’s eyes.

Ours?

“No.”

Its pleasure faltered.

Daemon touched the ring hanging against his own chest.

MINE.

Then looked at the one waiting in the box.

“Hers.”

Silence.

Then the Devil purred.

Hers.

“Yes.”

Put it on her.

“Not yet.”

Immediate displeasure.

Why?

“Because I haven’t asked her.”

Ask.

“No.”

Why?

Daemon stared at the ring. Because he could imagine Femi saying yes. That was precisely why he had to be careful. He could imagine those green eyes filling. Her hands trembling. Her smile.

Her fingers spelling—

Yes.

The Devil nearly vibrated.

Ask.

Daemon closed his eyes. Then another image came. Femi afraid. Femi saying yes because she thought saying no might cost her him. Femi agreeing because she had spent too much of her life learning that safety could disappear when powerful men were disappointed.

Everything inside Daemon cooled.

The Devil felt it.

No.

“No.”

Daemon looked at the ring again.

“I will not do that to her.”

The Devil went quiet.

“She has only recently started deciding what she wants without wondering what it will cost her.”

The Devil listened.

“She is learning that she can tell me no.”

She tells us no often.

Daemon almost smiled.

“Yes.”

Very often.

“Because she knows she can.”

The Devil understood.

It had learned the same lesson from her.

Ask.

Wait.

If she wants.

Please.

Choice.

Daemon turned the ring beneath the light.

“I will not turn marriage into another cage.”

The Devil recoiled from the word.

Cage.

“Yes.”

No cage.

“Never.”

The Devil looked at the ring differently now. Not something to place on her. Something to offer. That distinction mattered. Daemon felt the realization move through it.

Her choice.

“Yes.”

She can say no.

Daemon’s chest tightened.

“Yes.”

The Devil hated that possibility. So did Daemon.

It asked the question anyway.

And we stay?

Daemon knew what it meant. If Femi said no. Would they punish her? Withdraw? Make her fear she had destroyed something? Leave?

“No matter what she says.”

The Devil struggled with that. Daemon could feel it. Its desire was enormous. Primitive in its certainty. Femi. Wife. Home. Forever. Yet beneath all of that lived the lesson she had taught it.

She stays because she can leave.

“Yes.”

A long silence.

Then—

If she says no, she is still little ghost.

Daemon’s throat tightened.

“Yes.”

Still hers.

“Yes.”

Still love her.

Daemon looked down at the ring.

“Always.”

The Devil settled. It still wanted. God, it wanted. But now its hunger had boundaries. Femi had taught it those too. Daemon closed the box.

The Devil immediately protested.

Wait.

“What?”

Look again.

Daemon stared at nothing.

“You have seen it.”

Again.

Daemon sighed and reopened the box.

The Devil admired the ring.

Pretty.

“Yes.”

She will like it.

“I hope so.”

Fits?

“Yes.”

The Devil became suspicious.

How do you know?

Daemon smiled faintly.

“I know her ring size.”

A pause.

Good.

He closed the box again. This time the Devil allowed it. Daemon returned the box to the drawer. He pushed it beneath the folded shirts. Closed the drawer. His hand remained against the wood.

“Not yet.”

The Devil shifted.

Soon.

Daemon thought about Femi. About where she was now. About how much of herself she had given him without ever once being required to. About the woman who had walked into his life asking for nothing and somehow made a monster want vows.

“Yes.”

Soon.

“When she’s ready.”

The Devil accepted the condition.

When she chooses.

“Yes.”

Daemon turned off the light. He lay down alone. The empty space beside him felt more noticeable tonight.

The Devil noticed too.

She should be here.

“She has her own room.”

Here.

“Friday.”

The Devil calculated.

Two days.

“Yes.”

Too long.

Daemon closed his eyes. The Devil remained awake.

For several minutes, neither spoke.

Then—

Daemon.

“What?”

When she is wife…

Daemon waited.

Friday still?

His eyes opened.

The Devil was completely serious.

“No.”

Silence.

Alarm.

No?

“She would live here.”

The Devil went utterly still.

Daemon almost laughed.

“She wouldn’t go home Sunday night.”

The realization unfolded slowly. Femi’s toothbrush. Permanent. Her clothes. Permanent. Her books. Her strawberries. Her shoes beside his. Her shampoo in the shower. Her hands moving across the breakfast table Monday morning. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday without a backpack because there would be nowhere else she needed to come from.

The Devil nearly came apart.

Every day?

Daemon’s smile appeared in the darkness.

“That’s generally how living together works.”

Every night?

“If she wanted.”

The Devil fell silent.

Daemon could almost feel it constructing the life. Femi asleep beside them. Femi waking beside them. Femi in the kitchen. Femi on the sofa. Femi everywhere. Home no longer waiting for Friday. Home simply being where she was.

Then the Devil whispered the word again.

But differently now. Not possessive. Not jealous. Not demanding.

Almost reverent.

Wife.

Daemon touched the ring against his chest.

“Hers.”

The Devil settled beneath his ribs. Content for the first time since Femi had signed that terrible little word a week ago. Not boyfriend. Not temporary. Not yet wife. But somewhere inside the dresser, beneath folded black shirts, a ring waited. Not to claim Femi. Not to bind her. Not to close a cage. To ask a question. And when the time came, the Devil had finally learned the only thing it was allowed to do afterward.

Wait.

Daemon closed his eyes.

“Yes.”

A pause.

Then, because it remained the Devil—

But soon.

Daemon laughed quietly into the darkness.

“Go to sleep.”

Femi sat upright in bed.

Her heart pounded.

The room was dark, but the dream remained vivid.

Daemon’s hands moving over her body.

His mouth against her skin.

His weight above her.

The unmistakable proof of his desire joining them as he gave her the pleasure she had only read about. Femi pressed both palms against her heated face. She had dreamed of him again.

The same dream came more often now. Each time, she became braver. Each time, Daemon went farther. He always watched her face. Always asked. Always waited until she chose. Then he touched her as though nothing else in the world deserved his attention.

Femi drew a slow breath.

Her body still ached with everything the dream had promised.

She pushed back the blankets and went to shower.

---

Malone had dropped her off late the previous night.

Daemon’s motorcycle had been parked near the porch, but his bedroom door was closed when she entered.

She heard nothing from inside. He was asleep. Femi did not disturb him. He had been distant all week. Not cruel. Never cruel. Just quieter. He arrived at Helix late, watched her from his corner, and disappeared before she could finish working. His kisses had become brief. His visits shorter. Femi did not know why. Perhaps he was growing tired of waiting.

The thought had followed her into bed. Now it followed her downstairs. Femi tied a blue robe around herself and entered the kitchen. Cooking usually quieted her mind.

This morning, it did not. She mixed pancake batter. Placed strips of bacon into a pan. Started coffee. All the while, questions crowded her thoughts. Daemon had been patient for so long. Perhaps patience had limits. Perhaps he needed more than she had given him.

Maybe he believed she did not care for him enough. Femi flipped a pancake. Its edge folded over itself. She frowned and flattened it with the spatula. Maybe he had grown bored with kissing her. She did kiss him often now. Sometimes without warning. She had begun seeking him out simply because she liked the way his face changed when she touched him. The way the Devil’s terrible eyes softened. The way Daemon trembled beneath her hands and refused to hide it.

Perhaps she asked too many questions. She always wanted to know what he liked. What a touch meant. What should happen next. She read books because no one had ever taught her the difference between desire and danger. Then she brought every new question to Daemon. Maybe he was tired of explaining. Tired of waiting while she learned. Femi bit her bottom lip.

The pancake burned. She turned it over and stared at the darkened side. It looked like something Marta would produce and insist was edible. Femi discarded it. She placed the remaining pancakes on a plate, removed the bacon from the pan, and poured coffee into Daemon’s favorite black mug.

If he no longer wanted this—

She stopped.

Her fingers tightened around the mug.

She did not know what she would do.

---

Daemon woke to the smell of food.

The Devil woke to strawberries.

Little ghost.

Daemon opened his eyes. For several seconds, he remained motionless. Then bacon reached him. Coffee followed.

His stomach made the decision.

The Devil disagreed.

Femi first.

Coffee first.

Femi.

Food.

Little ghost.

Daemon sat up.

“You are exhausting.”

The Devil was unrepentant.

She is downstairs.

Yes.

She came home.

She comes every Friday.

She chose us again.

Daemon’s irritation vanished.

The Devil had a way of doing that now.

Yeah.

She did.

Daemon rose and pulled on a pair of black lounge pants. He did not bother with a shirt.

The Devil approved.

Good.

Daemon stopped.

What?

Nothing.

That means something.

Little ghost likes our chest.

Daemon stared at the wall.

You have become insufferable.

She likes me too.

There it was.

Again.

Daemon opened his bedroom door. Strawberries greeted him at the top of the stairs.

The Devil purred.

There.

Daemon descended.

Then the Devil remembered the drawer behind them.

The ring.

Its mood changed instantly.

Daemon.

No.

You have carried it for two years.

Not now.

Coward.

Not before coffee.

You are hiding behind coffee.

I am thinking.

You have been thinking all week.

Exactly.

And depriving us of kisses.

Daemon stopped halfway down the stairs.

I am not depriving you of anything.

Three brief kisses Monday.

You counted?

Two Tuesday.

Daemon closed his eyes.

None Wednesday.

She was busy.

One Thursday. Forehead. That barely counts.

It counts.

Coward.

Daemon continued downstairs. The ring was not a small question. He had waited two years because it had to remain a question. Not expectation. Not inevitability. Not something Femi felt she owed him because she loved him.

The Devil understood that.

It simply hated waiting.

Ask her.

When I’m ready.

She answers, not you.

Daemon slowed.

The Devil knew it had him.

You do not need to know her answer before you ask.

I know.

Then what are you afraid of?

Daemon did not answer.

The Devil softened.

It knew.

No.

Yeah.

If she says no—

She says no.

The Devil was quiet.

Daemon continued toward the kitchen.

And we open the door.

Yes.

The answer hurt.

The Devil accepted it anyway.

As long as she likes.

Always.

Then Daemon entered the kitchen— and every thought about rings disappeared.

Femi stood with her back to him. A blue robe clung to the curves of her body before falling loosely around her thighs. One side had slipped from her shoulder. Her midnight hair was still damp from the shower. It hung in a tangled river down her back. She was barefoot.

The Devil forgot marriage.

Oh.

Daemon watched her arrange pancakes and bacon on two plates. She carried one across the kitchen. His gaze followed every movement. The robe shifted around her legs.

The Devil whispered—

Blue.

Daemon frowned internally.

Blue?

We have discussed black lace extensively. Blue deserves recognition.

A low, animal sound slipped from Daemon’s throat. He did not attempt to stop it.

The Devil purred.

Excellent.

Femi looked over her shoulder. Daemon stood in the doorway, pale hair disordered from sleep and scars exposed across his bare chest. His gray eyes traveled over her. Slowly. Hungrily.

The Devil watched with him.

Then it noticed something else.

Wait.

Daemon’s attention sharpened.

What?

Her face.

Femi was smiling.But not completely. There was uncertainty beneath it. Something guarded. Daemon’s hunger remained. The Devil’s changed.

Something is wrong.

“Sexy little ghost.”

The words emerged as a rough breath. Femi’s uncertainty weakened. Not vanished.

The Devil noticed.

There.

She smiled softly.

Her hands moved.

Breakfast is ready.

She placed his plate and coffee on the table.

Daemon sat. He had not taken a single bite when Femi came to stand between his knees. The Devil forgot its concern. And breakfast. And coffee. And probably Daemon.

Little ghost.

Daemon lifted his face.

“Mmm.”

His hands hovered beside her hips.

“Kisses before coffee, little ghost.”

The Devil enthusiastically agreed.

Yes.

Femi straddled his lap.

The Devil lost whatever remained of its mind.

YES.

Daemon almost laughed.

Calm down.

No.

His hands settled lightly against her waist. Femi touched his face. The Devil softened immediately. Then she kissed him. Softly at first. A morning greeting. The kind he had missed while brooding over a ring hidden upstairs.

The Devil reminded him—

Your fault.

Daemon answered. Femi deepened the kiss. The questions that had tormented her since waking disappeared beneath the hunger of his mouth. Daemon did not seem bored. He did not kiss her like a man who had grown tired of waiting. His body responded the instant she settled closer. He did not hide it. Never from her.

The Devil purred.

Let her feel.

Daemon did. Not as demand. Not as pressure. Simply truth. You do this to me. Still. Always. Femi’s hands traveled over his shoulders and down his back. Daemon’s fingers slipped beneath the robe. Warm skin met his palms. He shuddered.

The Devil made a helpless sound.

Skin.

Yes.

Warm.

Obviously.

Little ghost.

The kiss changed.

Heat replaced softness. Femi gripped his back. Daemon drew her closer, careful even as the Devil urged—

More.

Daemon paused.

The Devil caught itself.

If she wants.

Better.

I know.

Femi moved closer on her own.

The Devil became smug.

She wanted.

Yes.

She trembled against him. That beloved sound began in her throat. Small. Kittenish. Daemon groaned into her mouth.

The Devil nearly purred with her.

Again.

Femi made the sound once more.

There.

The Devil wanted it. Needed it. Not proof that Femi belonged to them. It knew better now. Proof that she was enjoying what she had chosen. Proof that the hands she had once feared could give something other than pain. Proof that when Femi reached for them— pleasure could answer.

One of Daemon’s hands moved higher along her back. The robe loosened. Blue fabric fell away from her shoulders, opening between their bodies. Daemon stopped. The Devil did too.

She opened it.

Yes.

Femi pressed her soft warmth against his bare chest. The Devil ceased functioning. Daemon’s head fell back.

“Oh, gods.”

That too.

His eyes closed.

“Yes, little ghost.”

The words became a moan against her ear. The Devil was somewhere beneath them, wrecked.

She likes us.

Femi shivered. Then pulled him into another scorching kiss. Daemon’s coffee cooled beside them. The pancakes were forgotten. The Devil remembered them briefly.

Breakfast is ruined.

Daemon kissed Femi harder.

Worth it.

Obviously.

Femi’s body moved closer until no space remained. His hands explored only where she welcomed them, pausing whenever her breathing changed. The Devil had become better at hearing those changes than Daemon.

Wait.

Daemon paused.

Femi pulled him nearer.

Continue.

Daemon did. Another change. Not fear. Anticipation.

Good.

She made that sound again. Louder. The Devil purred with her. Daemon broke the kiss long enough to breathe.

“Did you miss me?”

The Devil whispered—

Say yes.

Femi nodded. Yes

The creature became unbearably pleased.

She missed us.

Her hands moved between them.

You were avoiding me.

Everything stopped. The desire in Daemon’s face altered. Not vanished. Softened.

The Devil recoiled.

No.

Daemon stared at her.

“I was thinking.”

The Devil became angry. Not at Femi. At him.

Idiot.

Daemon ignored it.

She thought we did not want her.

I see that.

Because you were thinking.

I SEE IT.

Femi signed.

About what?

His gaze flicked briefly toward the stairs. Toward the bedroom. Toward the drawer containing the black ring box. 

The Devil immediately whispered—

Tell her.

Not yet.

Not the question. Tell her why.

Daemon looked at Femi.

“Something I am not ready to ask you.”

Femi frowned.

The Devil studied her face.

She thinks it is bad.

Daemon felt it too.

“You have done nothing wrong.”

Her eyes searched his.

“I am not bored.”

Relief entered her expression so quickly that Daemon’s chest tightened.

The Devil was horrified.

She thought we were bored?

Apparently.

Of her?

Yes.

Impossible.

Daemon’s hands tightened around her waist.

“Is that what you thought?”

Femi looked away.

The Devil whispered—

No. Eyes.

Daemon touched her jaw and guided her attention back to him.

Gently.

“I could spend the rest of my life kissing you and never become bored.”

The Devil corrected—

Longer.

Daemon almost smiled.

Her cheeks warmed.

“I am not tired of your questions.”

The Devil added—

We like the questions.

Daemon’s thumb moved beneath her eye.

“I am not tired of waiting.”

We hate waiting.

Daemon nearly sighed.

Not helping.

The Devil amended—

We hate waiting. We do not hate waiting for her.

That was different.

Daemon felt the truth of it.

“I don’t always enjoy waiting,” he admitted.

Femi’s eyebrows rose.

The Devil became delighted.

Truth.

Daemon’s mouth curved.

“But I will wait for you.”

Her expression softened.

“Those are different things.”

The Devil whispered—

Very.

Femi’s hands rose.

What are you waiting for?

“You.”

The answer came quietly. The Devil went still. Daemon continued.

“Whatever you decide you want next.”

Not whatever we want.

Femi watched him.

Not whatever the books say.

Daemon’s thumb stroked her cheek.

Not what happened yesterday.

“There is no schedule, little ghost.”

Another kiss.

The Devil supplied—

No deadline.

“No deadline.”

His lips brushed hers.

“And there is nowhere else I would rather be.”

The Devil whispered—

Here.

Femi kissed him again. The kiss carried relief. Gratitude. Renewed hunger. Daemon answered it. The Devil remained troubled. Something about the fear in Femi’s face had wounded it.

She thought we were leaving.

Daemon knew.

Because she was slow.

His arms tightened around her.

Holding because she had moved into them.

Yeah.

The Devil became cold.

Not toward her.

Toward the idea.

No.

Daemon understood.

She does not have to hurry to keep us.

No.

She does not have to learn faster.

No.

She does not have to give more.

Never.

The Devil settled around that certainty.

Tell her.

Daemon drew back enough to see her.

“Femi.”

She looked at him.

“You never have to do something before you’re ready because you’re afraid I’ll leave.”

Her expression changed. The Devil watched closely. Daemon continued.

“You do not keep me by giving me more.”

The Devil whispered—

We stay because we choose.

Daemon nodded slightly.

“I am here because I choose to be here.”

Femi stared at him.

“And you are here because you choose to be.”

The Devil went soft.

Every Friday.

Daemon smiled.

“Every Friday.”

Femi’s eyes narrowed slightly. She had not signed anything. Daemon realized his mistake.

The Devil was delighted.

Caught.

Femi pointed at him. Then at his scar. Her eyebrow rose.

Daemon sighed.

“He has opinions.”

The Devil objected.

Excellent opinions.

Femi touched the scar.

The Devil immediately forgot its complaint.

Hello.

Her thumb stroked it once.

The creature melted.

She likes me.

Daemon smiled.

“Yes. He is very happy you’re here.”

Femi’s cheeks warmed.

The Devil panicked.

Why did you tell her?

You wanted to be included.

Yes, but—

Coward.

The Devil sulked. Femi leaned forward and kissed the scar.

It broke completely.

Oh.

Daemon closed his eyes.

The Devil whispered—

Tell her I missed her.

Daemon opened them.

Femi remained close.

“He missed you.”

Her expression softened. The Devil panicked harder.

Daemon.

What?

That sounded vulnerable.

It was.

Take it back.

No.

Femi signed.

I missed him too.

The Devil died. Daemon felt it happen. One moment, a monster lived inside his head.

The next—

nothing.

Silence.

Daemon waited.

Femi waited.

Then, very faintly—

She said too again.

Daemon almost laughed.

Yeah.

Again.

Yeah.

She keeps doing that.

Seems intentional.

The Devil curled somewhere deep inside him and refused to recover.

Little ghost.

Femi kissed Daemon again. The robe opened farther at her invitation. Daemon pulled her flush against him.

The Devil rumbled with pleasure— and then a heavy knock struck the front door.

Everything stopped.

The Devil whispered—

No.

Neither moved.

The knock came again.

“Femi!”

Malone’s voice carried through the house.

The Devil’s response was immediate.

Kill him.

Daemon closed his eyes.

“Did you forget the cake appointment?”

Femi froze on his lap. Silence filled the kitchen. The coffee machine clicked off.

The Devil stared toward the hallway through Daemon’s eyes.

He has terrible timing.

Malone knocked a third time.

“I know you’re in there. My truck is parked outside.”

Daemon lowered his forehead to Femi’s shoulder.

“I am going to kill him.”

The Devil agreed.

Finally, something we both want.

Femi’s body shook.

For one hopeful second, Daemon thought she was still trembling from his touch.

The Devil knew better.

She is laughing.

Then Daemon realized it too. Silently. Without mercy.

“Do not encourage him,” Daemon muttered against her skin.

The Devil became offended.

She is laughing at us.

Femi shook harder.

Little traitor.

Malone tried the door. It did not open.

“Why is this locked?”

The Devil stared toward the front of the house.

Because doors lock, Malone.

Daemon lifted his head.

“Because it is my house.”

A pause followed.

Then Malone called through the door.

“Put your clothes on.”

Daemon looked at Femi’s open robe. Then at his bare chest. Then at the untouched breakfast.

The Devil snarled.

He knows.

Daemon narrowed his eyes.

How?

Malone knows everything. It is irritating.

Femi covered her mouth, shoulders shaking harder.

Daemon stared toward the hallway with murder in his eyes.

The Devil began planning.

There is a shovel in the garage.

No.

We know several remote places.

No.

No body required.

Stop.

Fiona knows people.

Daemon almost laughed despite himself. Malone knocked again.

“Some of us have a wedding to plan.”

Everything inside Daemon stopped. The Devil did too. Wedding. The ring upstairs suddenly felt impossibly heavy despite being nowhere near him.

The Devil whispered—

Daemon.

Not now.

Wedding.

Not ours.

Yet.

Daemon went still.

The Devil went very quiet.

Yet?

Daemon realized what he had thought. So did the Devil. Neither addressed it.

Femi shifted on his lap. Daemon looked at her. Her face was warm from laughter. Hair damp. Robe open. Green eyes bright. Safe. Here because she wanted to be.

The Devil softened.

Not today.

No.

When?

When I’m ready to ask.

The Devil corrected him.

When you are ready to hear either answer.

Daemon stilled.

That was the truth.

Yeah.

The Devil whispered—

Then ask.

Eventually.

Coward.

Daemon drew Femi close and kissed her once more. Slowly. Thoroughly. A promise delayed but not forgotten.

The Devil disappeared into the kiss with him.

When Daemon released her, her cheeks were flushed and her lips swollen.

His crooked smile appeared.

“Go plan the wedding, little ghost.”

Femi began closing her robe.

The Devil immediately objected.

No.

Daemon caught the sash before she could tie it.

Femi looked at him.

The Devil whispered—

Careful.

Daemon did not pull. He merely held the loose end. Leaving the choice with her.

“But tonight—”

He leaned close. His breath moved across her ear.

“More kisses before coffee.”

Femi shivered.

The Devil purred.

And after coffee.

Daemon’s mouth twitched.

Femi noticed.

Her eyebrow rose.

“He is negotiating.”

The Devil became outraged.

Do not expose me.

Femi silently laughed.

Then signed—

After coffee too.

The Devil went feral with joy.

I LIKE HER.

Daemon laughed.

“I know.”

Femi looked at him. The Devil froze. Daemon had answered aloud. Her smile widened. She touched the scar.

The Devil recovered enough to whisper—

Tell her.

Daemon already knew.

“He likes you too.”

Femi leaned down. Kissed the scar once. Then tied her robe.

The Devil sighed happily.

She likes me.

Malone pounded on the door.

“Femi!”

The Devil’s joy vanished.

Kill him.

Daemon’s eyes closed.

“Yes,” he murmured. “I am definitely going to kill him.”

Femi shook with silent laughter again.

The Devil considered.

After the cake appointment.

Daemon opened his eyes.

What?

She wants cake.

Daemon stared at nothing for a moment.

Then smiled.

Fine.

Then murder.

No murder.

The Devil sighed.

Femi has ruined everything.

Daemon looked at the woman still sitting on his lap. She touched his cheek. His scar. Then kissed him once before climbing carefully to her feet.

The Devil watched her go.

No.

She has an appointment.

She could miss it.

She won’t.

We could hide Malone’s truck.

Daemon laughed under his breath. Femi glanced back.

And in that moment, the Devil understood something else.

Daemon’s distance had frightened her because she had mistaken silence for withdrawal. Carr had filled silence with his own meanings. Others had done the same throughout Femi’s life. Daemon could not expect her to know what he did not tell her.

Ask.

Yes.

Tell.

Yes.

Do not make her guess.

Daemon watched Femi walk toward the hallway.

No.

The Devil settled. It had learned another word. Not kill. Not break. Not wait. Not even choose.

Reassure.

Daemon smiled.

That one might be difficult for you.

The Devil watched Femi open the front door to a visibly irritated Malone.

I told her I missed her.

You panicked immediately afterward.

Irrelevant.

Malone looked past Femi and saw Daemon sitting shirtless at the kitchen table. His gaze dropped to the abandoned breakfast. Then to Femi’s flushed face. Malone closed his eyes.

“Jesus Christ.”

The Devil became delighted.

He knows.

Daemon lifted his cold coffee and took a drink.

Malone pointed at him.

“Not one word.”

Daemon said nothing.

The Devil whispered—

Ask him whether he wants a pancake.

Daemon nearly choked. Femi turned. Saw his face. And began laughing again.

The Devil purred.

Worth it.

Daemon looked at his little ghost. At the woman who had spent the morning afraid he was growing tired of her. The thought felt impossible now. He could spend a lifetime answering her questions. A lifetime waiting for the next one. A lifetime giving her every opportunity to decide again.

Upstairs, a black ring box waited inside a drawer. The Devil remembered it. So did Daemon. But not today. Today, Femi had needed another answer first.

We are not leaving.

Daemon watched her.

No.

We are not bored.

Never.

She does not have to hurry.

Never.

The Devil settled deeper beneath his skin.

Then, because it remained the Devil—

But tonight?

Daemon’s crooked smile returned. Tonight she decides.

The Devil purred.

Good.

A pause.

I hope she decides kisses.

Daemon took another drink of cold coffee.

“So do I.”

To Daemon, the wedding was an exquisite form of torment.

He did not want to attend.

There would be too many people.

Too much music.

Too many strangers attempting conversation.

The Devil agreed with every objection.

We could leave.

No.

We have a motorcycle.

We are staying.

Why?

Daemon looked beside him.

The Devil followed his gaze.

Oh.

Femi wore an emerald silk gown. The dress left her arms and shoulders bare. It gathered around her waist before following every curve Daemon had spent weeks learning with his hands.

The Devil forgot every complaint.

We are staying.

Daemon almost smiled.

Thought so.

Marta’s daughter had also forbidden leather. That alone should have qualified as cruelty. The Devil had been particularly offended.

She cannot forbid leather.

Apparently she can.

We should leave.

Femi shifted beside him.

Emerald silk moved over her thighs.

We are staying.

Daemon’s mouth twitched.

His own clothes felt unnatural. A black silk shirt. Black slacks. Polished black shoes. He had left the collar open, allowing the chain Femi gave him to rest against his shirt. When she first saw him, her eyes widened. Her breath hitched.

Daemon noticed.

Of course he noticed.

The Devil noticed faster.

She likes it.

Daemon’s crooked smile appeared.

Femi stared.

She is still looking.

I know.

Do something.

What?

Stand there.

Excellent advice.

I am overwhelmed.

Femi stared long enough that Marta called her name twice.

The Devil was delighted.

Twice.

Daemon leaned closer.

“You like the shirt?”

Femi’s cheeks warmed. Her hands moved.

Stop staring.

The Devil was outraged.

She was staring first.

“You were staring first.”

Femi’s eyes narrowed.

The Devil purred.

Exactly.

Femi turned toward the ceremony. Daemon continued staring.

The Devil approved.

She did not tell us to stop.

She literally did.

Her face disagreed.

Daemon suppressed a laugh.

The bride entered. The guests stood. Someone cried behind him.

The Devil became suspicious.

Why are they crying?

They’re happy.

Humans are strange.

You are part of one.

Debatable.

Daemon noticed none of the ceremony. He watched the way the emerald silk shifted when Femi breathed. Watched her eyes soften as Marta’s daughter reached the altar. Watched her smile when the couple joined hands.

Then the vows began. Something changed inside him. The Devil quieted. When everyone else looked at the bride, Daemon looked at Femi. The Devil did too. A white dress appeared inside its mind. Not the white sundress from Daemon’s memory. Another one. Femi walking toward them. Femi choosing them. Femi standing before them while someone asked a question that mattered.

A ring.

The Devil whispered—

Ours.

Daemon’s hand moved toward his chest.

Then stopped.

No.

The Devil caught itself.

Silence.

Daemon waited.

The correction came.

Hers.

Better.

Another pause.

Then, almost shyly—

But perhaps she will choose us.

Daemon touched the small ring hanging from the chain beneath his shirt.

His pulse changed.

The Devil noticed.

The other ring.

Not yet.

You brought it?

No.

Coward.

It is at home.

Coward with storage.

Daemon ignored it.

The black box in his bedroom drawer no longer felt like an impossible dream.

The Devil watched Femi smile at the vows.

She likes weddings.

Maybe she likes this wedding.

Ask.

Not today.

You say that often.

Daemon looked at her.

Not today.

The Devil quieted.

For once, it did not argue.

Her answer deserves its own day.

Daemon’s expression softened.

Exactly.

---

The reception began pleasantly enough.

Long tables had been arranged beneath strings of warm lights. White flowers and blue ribbons decorated the room. Music played while people ate, laughed, and offered increasingly embarrassing speeches about the newly married couple. Children chased one another between tables.

The Devil tracked them nervously.

Small.

Children.

Fast.

Yes.

Unpredictable.

Very.

One nearly collided with Daemon. He stepped aside.

The Devil recoiled.

Terrifying.

Daemon almost laughed.

You kill people.

Adults are slower.

Marta cried twice and denied both occasions.

The Devil noticed both.

She is crying again.

Don’t tell her.

I enjoy living.

Malone danced once. Badly. The Devil watched for eleven seconds.

Make him stop.

He’ll stop himself.

Malone nearly stumbled into a table.

The Devil was appalled.

How has that man survived Wolfwater?

Luck.

Malone claimed an old injury prevented him from repeating the mistake.

The Devil muttered—

Good.

By the time the sun began to sink, dusk had settled beyond the windows. Daemon found a place in the shadows. The Devil approved.

Better.

He watched the celebration from there, content to remain unnoticed.

Mostly, he watched Femi.

Of course.

She stood across the dance floor with Marta, adjusting something on the older woman’s necklace while Marta complained about the caterer.

The Devil watched Femi’s fingers.

She fixes everyone.

She helps.

Same thing.

No.

The Devil considered.

Fine.

Then Daemon heard two women speaking behind him.

One pointed toward Femi.

“That’s the dumb one.”

Everything stopped.

The Devil opened its eyes.

What?

Her companion laughed.

“I don’t know why Marta invited her.”

Daemon became perfectly still.

The Devil did not. It rose. Slowly.

Say it again.

Daemon’s jaw tightened.

No.

I want to hear whether she is stupid enough to repeat it.

“But did you see her date?”

“Yes, girl. The things I would do to a man like that.”

The Devil recoiled.

No.

Daemon almost smiled.

Agreed.

“Why is something like that with her, of all people?”

They laughed again.

The Devil went cold. Not angry. Cold.

Something?

Daemon looked across the room. Femi smiled at something Marta had said. Beautiful. Warm. Unaware. Or perhaps merely unwilling to let small people spoil a meaningful day.

The Devil’s attention remained behind them.

They think silence means stupid.

Yeah.

It does not.

No.

The Devil knew that better than most. Femi could communicate more with one raised eyebrow than some people managed with an hour of speech. She noticed everything. Remembered everything. Read rooms before people inside them knew they had changed.

And these women—

They cannot even see what is in front of them.

Daemon’s gaze hardened.

Exactly.

He returned his attention to them. Their cruelty was casual. That bothered the Devil most. No threat. No advantage. No reason. Simply the pleasure of making another person smaller.

The Devil began suggesting corrections.

The tall one’s jaw.

No.

One break.

No.

She would drink soup at the reception.

No.

Educational.

It’s a wedding.

The Devil considered.

Marta would be displeased.

Very.

After the wedding?

No.

You have become boring.

Daemon walked away.

We could frighten them.

No.

Just a little.

Femi doesn’t need us terrorizing every person who insults her.

The Devil went quiet.

That truth bothered it.

I know.

Daemon slowed.

The Devil added—

I simply want them to understand.

They may not.

Then what are teeth for?

Daemon looked at Femi.

 Protecting her when she needs them. 

The Devil watched her laugh with Marta.

And when she does not?

We stand beside her.

The Devil considered that.

It was still learning that protection sometimes looked disappointingly peaceful.

Fine.

A pause.

But I dislike them.

You are allowed.

Good.

---

Later, Marta brought Femi toward those same women.

The Devil noticed immediately.

No.

Daemon watched.

“Marta.”

Too late.

“Femi, this is Lisey and Carla. They are cousins on the groom’s side.”

Both women smiled brightly.

The transformation might have impressed Daemon if he had not heard them earlier.

The Devil was disgusted.

Liars.

Lisey touched Femi’s arm.

“Oh, hello.”

She spoke slowly. Too slowly.

The Devil stared.

Why is she speaking like that?

You know why.

Femi is mute. Not deaf.

I know.

And certainly not stupid.

I know.

Carla leaned closer as though Femi’s inability to speak had also affected her vision.

“You look very pretty.”

The Devil wanted violence again.

One jaw.

No.

Half a jaw.

Stop negotiating.

Femi stared at them. Her expression remained polite. Her green eyes did not. The Devil noticed.

Then delighted.

Oh.

Daemon almost smiled.

She knows.

Little ghost knows exactly what they are.

Marta was called away by another family member before she noticed the false sweetness. Lisey and Carla continued talking around Femi. Not with her. They discussed her dress. Her hair. Whether she understood what happened during the ceremony.

The Devil became increasingly incredulous.

Does she understand a wedding?

Daemon’s jaw flexed.

Femi survived Angelo.

I know.

Carr.

I know.

She can shoot.

Yes.

She built an entire family out of people everyone else overlooked.

Daemon’s expression softened.

Yes.

And these idiots are asking whether she understands a wedding.

Apparently.

The Devil decided—

I hate them.

Daemon crossed the room. Both women noticed him approaching. Their voices changed.

The Devil caught that too.

Cowards.

Femi turned. Relief softened her face. Everything inside Daemon changed. The Devil did too.

There.

Daemon held out his hand.

“Dance with me.”

Femi looked toward the dance floor. Then at him. Her eyebrows rose.

The Devil understood.

She doubts us.

Reasonably.

“I am capable.”

Femi looked skeptical.

“Malone’s dancing was not representative of all men in Wolfwater.”

The Devil muttered—

Few things should be represented by Malone’s dancing.

Femi’s lips twitched.

She placed her hand in Daemon’s.

The Devil purred.

Chosen.

Daemon led her away without acknowledging the women. The song was slow. He settled one hand at Femi’s waist and held the other carefully in his. She rested her palm against his shoulder. Daemon drew her closer. Not until she came willingly. She did.

The Devil softened.

Again.

Yeah.

“Pay no mind to jealous people, my sexy little ghost.”

Femi looked toward Lisey and Carla.

Then back at him.

You heard them.

“Yes.”

Her eyes lowered.

The Devil immediately reacted.

No.

Daemon touched her chin.

“They are not worth your shame.”

Femi met his gaze.

The Devil whispered—

None of it belongs to her.

Daemon understood.

“They saw you before they knew you and still failed to understand what stood in front of them.”

His fingers brushed her cheek.

“That is their failure.”

The Devil added—

Entirely.

Femi’s expression softened. Daemon moved with her beneath the warm lights.

The Devil was surprised to discover he really could dance.

We are excellent.

We’re moving in a circle.

Gracefully.

Daemon nearly smiled. He knew people were watching. He did not care. The Devil did. It took savage pleasure in holding Femi where both women could see.

Look.

Daemon felt it.

Look at her.

But not because Femi needed to be displayed as his. The old Devil might have thought so. Mine. See what belongs to me. This one knew better.

No.

Daemon waited.

The Devil corrected itself.

Look at who chose us.

That was different.

Daemon’s hand softened at Femi’s waist.

Yes.

They think she is fortunate.

The Devil almost laughed.

Idiots.

Daemon’s gaze settled on Femi. She smiled at him. The Devil went completely soft. Femi was not fortunate to stand beside the Devil. The Devil was blessed beyond reason that she had chosen to stand beside him.

Do not tell anyone we used the word blessed.

Daemon smiled.

Your reputation?

Destroyed.

---

Near midnight, Daemon went in search of dessert.

Femi liked chocolate.

The Devil had memorized this as though it were tactical intelligence.

Chocolate mousse.

I see it.

Left.

I see it.

Two.

One.

She may want another.

She can have mine.

The Devil became pleased.

Excellent.

The table held several varieties of cake, small fruit tarts, cookies, and glass cups filled with chocolate mousse.

Daemon selected a plate.

“Well, hey, handsome.”

The Devil immediately soured.

No.

Daemon ignored the voice.

A woman moved beside him. Lisey.

The Devil groaned.

Jaw woman.

Do not call her that.

Potential jaw woman.

Daemon picked up a fruit tart. Lisey smiled. Up close, the expression made his skin crawl.

“I’m Lisey, by the way.”

She held out her hand. Daemon looked at it. Then at her.

The Devil waited.

Do not touch.

Wasn’t planning to.

Good.

“I am with my wife.”

Silence.

Inside.

Outside.

Everywhere.

The Devil became perfectly still.

Daemon did too.

The word had left him without permission. Wife. Not girlfriend. Not temporary. Not the small word that had tormented him for a week. Wife.

The Devil whispered—

Wife.

Daemon stared at the dessert table.

Do not start.

My wife.

Daemon’s heart slammed once.

No.

The Devil caught itself.

Our—

No.

Another pause.

Then—

Femi.

Daemon exhaled.

The Devil tried again.

Wife.

Something about the word fit too easily. That frightened him.

The Devil loved it.

Say it again.

Absolutely not.

Wife.

Stop.

Femi Pallid.

Daemon nearly dropped the plate.

Do not.

The Devil became delighted.

You thought it.

You said it.

Same skull.

Lisey glanced across the room.

Femi sat at a table with Marta and Malone.

“I don’t see a ring.”

The Devil went quiet. That struck somewhere deeper. Daemon reached beneath his shirt. He drew out the chain and allowed Femi’s ring to hang visibly against his chest. The engraving rested against his skin.

MINE.

The Devil stared at the word. Once it had loved it for the obvious reason. Now it understood it differently. Femi had given the ring. Femi had chosen the word. That made all the difference.

She put it there.

Yeah.

“She gave me this.”

Lisey examined it.

“That isn’t a wedding ring.”

The Devil whispered—

There is one upstairs.

Daemon ignored it.

“It is enough.”

The Devil corrected softly—

For now.

Daemon turned back to the desserts. He found the chocolate mousse. Lisey did not leave. She moved closer.

“How about you take my number?”

The Devil became baffled.

Why?

Daemon almost laughed.

Exactly.

He placed the mousse on his plate.

“You can call me after you dump the mute.”

The Devil rose. No humor now. No creative jaw suggestions. Just cold.

Her name is Femi.

Lisey laughed.

The Devil whispered—

Say it.

Daemon turned. Lisey reached for his arm.

The Devil recoiled.

No.

Daemon moved before she touched him. The rejection made her smile falter.

Good.

Then the Devil noticed someone approaching behind her. Its rage vanished beneath something warmer.

Little ghost.

Femi had seen Daemon’s expression from across the room. The Devil was awake. Angry. She did not yet know why. But she had come anyway.

She saw us.

Yeah.

Daemon looked at Femi.

Then returned his attention to Lisey.

“Leave.”

Lisey flushed.

“I was only being friendly.”

“No.”

His gray eyes held hers.

“You were being cruel because you believed the woman you insulted could not hear you.”

The Devil corrected—

And because you thought silence made her powerless.

Daemon’s jaw tightened.

Lisey glanced toward Femi. Color drained from her face.

“She can hear?”

The Devil stared at her.

Remarkable.

Femi raised one eyebrow.

Daemon’s smile contained no humor.

“She understands considerably more than you do.”

The Devil purred.

Good.

“I didn’t mean—”

“You did.”

The Devil approved.

Do not let her rewrite it.

Lisey’s mouth closed.

Daemon picked up the chocolate mousse. He looked at Femi. His entire expression changed.

The Devil softened with him.

Chocolate.

“Are you done here?”

Femi glanced toward Marta’s table. The newlyweds had already left. The oldest relatives were collecting coats. Malone was arguing with a server over who had taken his untouched slice of cake.

The Devil noticed.

Probably a child.

Probably.

Good.

Femi nodded.

“I find the company rude and childish.”

Lisey went red.

The Devil purred.

Very.

Daemon held out the dessert.

“I found this for you.”

Femi accepted it.

Then her hands rose.

You called me your wife.

The Devil stopped. Daemon stilled. Lisey looked between them.

The Devil leaned close.

Not amused now. Attentive. Almost nervous.

She heard.

Obviously.

What do we say?

The truth.

The Devil went quiet.

Daemon could have corrected himself. Could have told Femi it was simply the easiest way to end an unwelcome conversation. Could have hidden behind convenience. The Devil stopped him before the lie even formed.

Do not.

I wasn’t going to.

Good.

Daemon looked into her eyes.

“Yes.”

Femi stared at him. Questions entered her face. So did something softer. Hope. The Devil saw it. And became afraid. Not of Femi.

Of damaging something delicate by reaching too quickly.

Slow.

Daemon touched the ring hanging against his chest.

“Boyfriend never sounded right.”

The Devil agreed.

Too small.

Her breath caught.

Daemon offered his hand.

“Come home with me, little ghost.”

Femi placed her fingers in his.

The Devil exhaled.

She came.

Daemon led her away from the dessert table.

Lisey remained behind them.

Forgotten.

The Devil remembered one thing.

We forgot the second mousse.

Daemon almost laughed.

---

They left at midnight.

Marta hugged Femi near the entrance. Malone reminded Daemon three times that the roads were wet.

The Devil counted.

Three.

“Yes, Malone.”

“Roads are slick.”

“Four.”

Malone glared at him.

The Devil laughed.

He cannot hear me.

Daemon ignored him.

He guided Femi toward the motorcycle with one hand resting lightly against her back. Emerald silk moved around her legs. The Devil admired it.

Wife.

Daemon closed his eyes briefly.

Stop.

Emerald wife.

That is worse.

Sexy little wife.

Absolutely not.

Femi stopped beside the motorcycle and looked at him.

Her hands moved.

Your wife?

The Devil disappeared.

Daemon’s gaze lowered to her fingers.

“Yes.”

Say it again.

No.

Her cheeks warmed.

We are not married.

The Devil knew the correct response.

Yet.

Daemon said it before thinking.

“Not yet.”

Femi went perfectly still. So did Daemon. The Devil did not regret it.

Not even slightly.

Good.

Daemon realized what he had said.

Very good.

Do not help.

She asked.

She stated a fact.

We answered with another.

We are not engaged.

Technical obstacle.

Daemon almost groaned. Femi continued staring at him.

The Devil’s excitement faltered.

Too much?

Daemon watched her carefully. No retreat. No fear. Shock. Blush. Questions.

Ask.

Not here.

Then do not pretend it did not happen.

Daemon handed her the helmet.

“Let us return to this morning.”

Femi continued staring at him.

The Devil objected.

Coward.

“Unless you would rather discuss the word wife.”

The Devil immediately changed allegiance.

Excellent.

Femi put on the helmet so quickly Daemon almost laughed.

The Devil became delighted.

She ran.

Daemon’s wicked smile appeared.

“As I thought.”

Femi struck his shoulder.

The Devil was offended.

Violence.

Daemon laughed.

You suggested breaking someone’s jaw an hour ago.

Different.

Then Femi climbed behind him. Her arms wrapped around his waist. The Devil quieted. Her body settled against his back. Her helmet touched him between the shoulder blades. Daemon placed one hand over hers.

The Devil whispered—

Wife.

Daemon started the motorcycle.

Not yet.

You said not yet.

I know what I said.

Which means someday.

It means I want someday.

The Devil went quiet.

That distinction mattered. Wanting was not having. Dreaming was not deciding. Carrying a ring did not create an answer.

Femi’s answer remained hers.

Someday, the Devil whispered.

Maybe.

The word hurt it. Daemon felt that.

But the Devil accepted it.

Maybe.

Daemon pulled onto the wet road. Femi tightened her arms around him. The Devil purred. Not girlfriend. Not temporary. Wife. The word had escaped because it had already been living inside Daemon.

Now Femi knew.

The Devil tested it again.

My wife.

Daemon corrected gently.

Not yours.

The Devil was quiet.

Then—

Not ours.

No.

Rain-slicked Ravenside stretched ahead of them. Femi rested against his back. 

The Devil tried one final time.

The woman we hope will choose to be our wife.

Daemon smiled.

Long sentence.

Accurate.

Yeah.

The Devil settled.

A few miles passed.

Then—

Daemon.

What?

When you ask her—

If.

The Devil hated the word.

But corrected itself.

If you ask her.

Yeah?

Do not make a speech about killing people.

Daemon laughed aloud.

Femi squeezed his waist questioningly.

“Nothing, little ghost.”

The Devil continued.

Wear the black shirt.

Daemon almost laughed again.

Why?

She stared.

True.

Twice.

Marta called her name twice.

Evidence.

Daemon shook his head. Femi rested closer against him.

The Devil softened.

Then its voice became serious.

Ask properly.

I will.

Make sure she knows no is allowed.

She will.

And if she says no—

Daemon waited.

The Devil did not like this part.

But it said it anyway.

We still take her home if she wants to come.

Daemon’s throat tightened.

Yes.

Still kiss her if she wants kisses.

Yes.

Still love her.

Always.

The Devil went quiet.

Then—

Good.

The motorcycle carried them deeper into the night. Femi’s arms remained around Daemon. The ring beneath his shirt rested against his chest. Another waited inside a black box at home. Neither ring made Femi his. Neither promise made her theirs. But tonight, one dangerous little word had slipped through every defense Daemon possessed. Wife.

And for the first time, Femi knew the word had already begun living inside him. The Devil curled around the possibility. Not claiming. Not keeping. Hoping.

Someday, little ghost.

Daemon covered Femi’s hand with his.

Maybe.

The Devil surprised him.

Maybe is enough.

For now.

For now.