He shook his head, the movement almost shy. “I’ve never known anyone who didn’t need to be convinced. You made it easy to want you.”
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Samiel
Iused to think I was cursed with want. That I would always be hungry—hungry for touch, for novelty, for a taste of chaos in a world so stiflingly governed by order. Even after forty years in exile, I’d never found anything that could quiet the gnaw in my chest. Not until Annie. Not until the act of providing became, for the first time, not a bribe or a con or a means of getting what I wanted, but the actual endgame—the reward in itself.
Watching her pluck the berries from the basket one at a time, her lips stained with juice, I felt a satisfaction so complete, it was almost religious. She took the bread I offered, tore off a piece, and handed back the larger half, like she didn’t notice or didn’t care about making things even. She chewed quietly, eyes lit from below by the cave’s neon glow, utterly unselfconscious.
I was waiting for the anxiety to spool up, for the ancient alarms to start blaring that it could never last, that if I let myself taste this—it would rot in my mouth. Instead, I felt a violence of protectiveness so hot and sudden, I nearly snapped the glass in my fist. The compulsion to keep her safe, keep her here, keep herfed and watered and wanted, was so unfamiliar that for a second, I mistook it for rage. But there was no fear in it. Only a kind of nuclear certainty: if any force in this valley, or this world, tried to touch her without her permission, I would tear the bone from its body and salt the wound.
It wasn’t just physical. It was everything. I wanted Annie safe from the hunger that had gnawed at her all her life—the men who’d left her cold, the loneliness she wore like mail, the expectation that nothing good would stick around. I wanted to be the answer, not another disappointment. I wanted to be the one who kept every promise, who made her laugh every morning and let her fall asleep knowing she was cherished. It was primal, and it was permanent. I didn’t care if it sounded pathetic. I sat with the truth and let it fossilize in me.
She wiped her sticky fingers on the blanket, then glanced up at the cave mouth, thoughtful. “Are you always like this?” she asked, as if reading my mind. “So full throttle?”
I considered. “No,” I said, voice low. “But I am with you.” It wasn’t a line. It wasn’t even what I thought I was going to say, but it was right. Annie squinted at me like she was looking for a punchline. Finding none, she just shook her head and smiled.
We lingered on the ledge until the cavern’s blue glow started to dim, replaced by the diffuse gold of the real sun slanting in from above. Every new sound—a distant hum of a motorboat, the shifting of pebbles on the ledge—felt like a timer winding down on our little pocket of suspended time. Eventually, Annie sat up. She stretched her arms overhead, spine arching like a cat’s, and looked over at me with a glint of mischief.
“Do we just stay here forever?” she asked. “Because if you have a plan for how to get me back up that wall, I’d love to hear it.”
“I’ll carry you,” I said, not bothering to make it a joke.
She snorted. “You just want to show off.” But she came to me easy, letting me bear her weight as we descended the ledge—my arms a cradle, her head tucked into the crook of my neck. I thought I’d get used to holding her, but every time felt like a first—no diminishing returns, only the novelty of finding her in my arms again and knowing she was still real.
When we reached the sand, Annie squirmed loose and did a little shake, knocking the powdered dust from her calves. “Okay, what’s next?” she asked. “I’m assuming the mandatory bonding itinerary is more than just carbs and spelunking.”
I set the basket down, wiped my hands on my thighs, and hesitated. I’d read the welcome packet—memorized it, actually, starved for any sliver of structure. The next phase was called “the Chase.” It was both a test and a joke, a rite that dated back to the earliest days of The Valley of the Damned and the original demon-human pairings, when everything was still uncertain and both parties needed a quick, nonlethal way to establish boundaries. The rules were simple: she ran, I chased. If I caught her, I got to do whatever I wanted.
If she made it back to the house, she got to write the rules for the next day. The packet said it was supposed to promote “healthy conflict resolution and mutual trust.” It had not, however, explained how to tell your new maybe-wife that you were about to hunt her through the desert at sundown and, if you caught her, pin her to the sand until she begged.
I eyed Annie, gauging whether she’d think it was fun or just feral. She was wiping berry juice from her chin with the back of her hand, expression pure curiosity.
I wet my lips. “Have you heard of the Chase?” I asked, careful with the words.
She rolled her eyes. “Not unless you mean the credit card company. Or… wait—” She sat up straighter, the glint in her eye sharpening. “Is this a demon thing? Like, a literal chase?”
I nodded, slow. “It’s tradition,” I said. “The rules are, you get a head start. The runner can hide, double back, whatever. If you make it to the designated safe zone—which is usually the front porch or a marked rock or something—you win. If I catch you, I win.” I tried to keep the heat out of my voice, though the thought of chasing Annie through the dusk made my blood burn. “If there are limits, you say them now. Otherwise, it’s fair game.”
She considered this, eyes narrowed, gnawing a thumbnail like she was weighing the merits of a challenge. “What exactly do you get if you win?”
My face went a little deadpan, because the real answer was,You. Every way I want, until you can’t walk. But I also didn’t want to scare her off. I kept my voice light, let the threat of it linger just behind the soft sell. “If I win, I claim you for the rest of the night. No take-backs, no mercy.” I let my gaze flick down her body, then back up, as if I was measuring exactly what she’d be giving up if she lost the bet.
Her breath hitched, a little, and she grinned. “Claim me how?”
I shrugged, as if it were nothing. “Any way I like.”
She snorted, but the sound was edged with anticipation. “You’re really going for it. Full monster.”
I shrugged, as if it were nothing, but the silence after hung sharp as a razor. Annie kept her eyes on me, and I let her watch, let her see the want without a mask for once. I could have filled the cave with promises and reassurances, could have defaulted to some canned line about boundaries and safety words, but instead I just watched her think. Her eyes ticked back and forth, reading me like a page, and in that breathless quiet I realized she didn’t want to be talked into it. She wanted to decide for herself.
The standoff lasted a half-minute, maybe less. Then she grinned, fast and feral. “Deal. But if I win, you have to answer three Truth or Dare questions, no loopholes, no demon logic.”
I nodded, letting the teeth of her challenge sink in. “Agreed.”
She stood, dusted off her hands, and looked down at the cave pool, the shock of cold already forgotten. “So what’s the safe zone?”
