I tap my fingers to my lips. They lower to trace my altered skin, finding the mark smooth. It’s nothing like a scar, and I’m fully healed.
As I explore the intricate details, more memories return of last night. The heat of our chase—how it felt to be caught. I clutch my gilded breast. My heart pounds and my throat constricts, remembering the rush of it all.
He wants me.Our desire spiraled into delirium. We fueled each other, driving each other insane.
I yank down my pants and thrust a hand under my panties. I’m not sore. I’m wet but not drenched. I clench around my tiny finger, face flushing as a fantasy flits across my mind—him pounding into me, branding me between my legs as well.
I yank my finger away.
I wish he’d fucked me.
I want to feel raw and sore, to be burned by his cock. This perpetual arousal is becoming torturous. Groaning, I glance at the drawer of my bedside table, debating a quick tussle with my vibrator.
Instead, I allow the daylight to diffuse my gaze, blurring the heated details like a dream, and I return my attention to the brands and what they mean. My skin has changed. It’s evidence.
It’s true then. We’re bound. Something began when I bled upon his wing, for it was that next night when he first entered my dreams, and I uttered his name.
A name that’s dangerous to know because of…
Adrien—Adrial.
My fear returns in a rush—real, dangerous terror. Tensing, thoughts cascade as one unknown tumbles into the next. Demons exist. And one of them is here, in my hometown. The fire, the jailbreak, the slashed tires—chaos follows in his wake. He wants Zuriel’s name. He wants me to.
Adrial knows who my parents are.
My breath shortens as my reflection blurs.
What am I going to do?
My gaze catches on the glint of his golden brand. Making his mark was important, his highest priority. Instinctively, my hands wander, settling themselves on my chest and stomach, matching my smaller fingers to the silhouette of his larger ones. One hand over my heart and the other… my womb.
Heart and womb, cores of love and creation.
I don’t know what the fuck that means.
I work through my breaths, one after another until my heart stops racing. I remember Zuriel’s instruction to find him.
Turning away from the mirror, I dig out my phone, keys, and wallet from my pants pocket and stuff my ruined clothes under the bed. Fresh clothes in hand, I’m sneaking down to the bathroom in my robe, hoping to avoid my parents, when Oyster scurries past me and up into my room, the fur on his back raised. I stare after him, confused, and shake my head, ducking into the bathroom.
Minutes later, I race down the stairs, a practiced lie on the tip of my tongue. My phone was filled with countless ignored messages. Dad invited Adrial over for dinner again, and Mom begged me to come home for supper. Then, later that night, Dad asked if I was okay because he saw my car was still at the museum when he dropped Adrial off.
The demon was here.
Turning the corner into the kitchen—my feet halt at the threshold.
Adrial sits at the table with a plate of pancakes in front of him, and he’s drinking coffee. He looks up at me and grins, syrup and pancake mashed between his teeth.
“Summer!” Mom cries when she sees me, embracing me and squeezing me tight. She steps back and crosses her arms over her chest. “What a relief it was to find you in your bed this morning. When did you get in? You had me worried sick!”
“Bad service,” I mumble, unable to peel my eyes off Adrial. “I, umm… I stayed late, got distracted cleaning an exhibit, and then when I reached my car, it wouldn’t start. Bad battery. I must have left a light on. I ended up taking a taxi home. Dad, can you take me to town and help me jump the car?” I peel my eyes away from Adrial to look between my parents.
Acting as normal as I can, I grab a plate from the cupboard.
Dad’s lips tighten as he scans me over. “I’ll take you to town and jump your car. I’m taking Adrial back anyhow—if Mom hadn’t found you sleeping, we were ready to go by the police station. You should have replied to our messages. Or called us from the shop, at least. This isn’t like you.”
“I tried.” My skin feels too tight, guilt compounding with fear. I hadn’t thought of my parents once last night.
“Adrien was so worried about you he hitchhiked over this morning,” my mom says, anger etching her voice. “You should’ve answered the museum’s phone. With everything that’s been going on around here, really, Summer?”
