Ash barked out a jagged laugh, bitter on his tongue. “Swell. Half-price demon stripper and an outcast wolf-cop. What a pair.” He raked a hand through his hair, pacing the room’s length like he could outwalk the knot in his gut. His eye caught on the painting on the wall, the empty bottle on the table, the scattered clothes—remnants of domestic life that suddenly felt foreign, too fragile for what was cracking inside him. “I thought I was just… a sex addict. A freak. Even went to group therapy, for Christ’s sake!”
Rick’s brow twitched, the closest thing to surprise. “And how did that work out for you?”
Ash turned toward him, frowning, arms folded. “I ended up fucking my counselor. And half the group, while I was at it. So, not good.”
Rick shook his head, lips curling in a sour grin. “No. But you’re not a freak. Not broken. Just not… human.”
The words snagged in Ash’s chest, somewhere between relief and despair. His voice dropped to a whisper. “How do you even know all this?”
Rick shifted, the couch sighing under his weight, and met Ash’s stare with steady calm. “I dug up your file when you were a suspect. Found info on your birth mother. She was a nun. Frank and I went to her old convent, talked to a Sister who knew her.” His jaw tightened. “She said your mother claimed she was raped by a demon. Got pregnant as a result. She never fully recovered from the trauma and hung herself after giving birth. Normally, I’d be sceptical. But after seeing what you can do… I’m inclined to believe her.”
Ash staggered, the words a physical blow. He dropped onto the arm of the couch, knuckles pressed hard to his mouth, willing the sting in his eyes to stay put. But a laugh broke free instead, raw and sharp. “A demon. Figures.” His voice crackedlike dry paper. “So what does that make me? The Devil’s errand boy?”
Rick exhaled slow, air stirring between them. “That’s only the Christian version,” he said, leaning forward. “But these stories go back further than that. Every culture has its own name for them.” He reached across the table, digging through the mess until a heavy spine surfaced, a thick, worn volume with frayed corners. He drew it out and set it between them. “Take a look at this,” he said quietly.
Ash glanced at the title.The Encyclopedia of Demons and Demonology.
“In the old days, they called them Sirens—beautiful creatures that lured men to their deaths,” Rick went on, forearms braced on his knees. “Later, Incubi and Succubi, spirits feeding on the living through pleasure. Some of the modern theories…” He paused, a muscle ticking along his jaw. “They think these things might not be spiritual at all. That they come from somewhere else—another world, another reality. Just wearing human skin for a while.”
Ash took the book, thumbing through the brittle pages. The paper smelled of dust and parchment, each illustration more grotesque or seductive than the last. He didn’t read so much as absorb, his pulse loud in his ears.
Silence pressed in, filled only by the muted thrum of a kitchen radio and the occasional car sighing past outside. Finally, he tossed the book onto the table, rubbed his palms over his face, and let out a shaky breath. “I always knew something was off,” he said. “Even as a kid. I knew things I’d never learned, saw things I couldn’t explain. Flashes, memories that didn’t belong to me. Like I was peeking through someone else’s eyes, into a life that wasn’t mine.”
Rick’s gaze darkened. “There’s one more thing.”
Ash tensed. “God. What now?”
“You’ve got a twin sister.”
The world lurched. His chest hollowed. “Jesus, Rick. How long have you been sitting on this?”
“I only found it out three days ago,” Rick said evenly. “I was going to tell you.”
“How considerate.” Ash shoved off the couch and stalked a few steps toward the window and back again, his body too hot for his skin. “Any more bombs you plan on dropping?”
Rick raised his palms. “That’s all I have.”
Ash stopped pacing, shoulders caving inward, staring down at the rug’s weave until it blurred. “A twin sister,” he muttered. The words tasted strange, foreign… and yet familiar. A piece of himself he’d always felt like a phantom limb, suddenly made flesh. “Well? Who is she? Alive? What do you know?”
“I only got a name,” Rick said. “Ivy. I can dig more if you want.”
Ash’s chest twisted, but the answer was already there, carved into him. He turned toward Rick again, tone steady. “Yeah. I do.”
Rick rose, closed the space between them, and brushed a wild lock of hair off Ash’s forehead, fingers lingering against his temple. His eyes searched his face, shadowed but unflinching. “Ash…” His voice dipped, quiet. “This doesn’t change anything. Me being a lycan. You being a demon. Not for me, at least.”
Ash’s breath shuddered, caught somewhere between relief and ache. “No,” he whispered at last. “I guess not.”
Rick’s hand slid to cradle his jaw, thumb dragging slowly along the ridge of bone, and Ash let the heat of it brand him. An old fear stirred somewhere deep, warning him to pull back, to keep his distance, but his body drowned it, melting, folding, craving the shelter of that grip. Rick drew him in until their bodies aligned, pressed tight, a puzzle locking into place.
The air thickened, heavy with smoke and pheromones and something rawer than either: inevitability. His lips parted,searching, almost trembling. Rick’s mouth hovered a breath away, close enough to taste the heat, close enough to burn. He held him tighter, and Ash let himself be held, heart stuttering, body already answering to the weight of destiny.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
(1:13 p.m.)
Steam swirled in the cramped shower, clinging to Rick’s lungs as he pressed Ash against the tiled wall. Water coursed over them, a hot cascade that blurred flesh into sheen, muscles into shifting light. Rick’s mouth claimed his at last—God, at last—and he couldn’t stop kissing him. He’d wanted this since last night, but trapped inside the beast’s skin, he hadn’t dared. Now he had Ash where he needed him most: lips beneath his own, opening sweet and sinful, answering with a hunger that hollowed him out.
Rick drank him in, tongues tangling, teeth scraping, every angle and tilt of Ash’s mouth learned, memorized, devoured. It wasn’t enough. Never enough. He held Ash by the nape, thumb stroking the slick line of his jaw, keeping him right where he belonged. His other hand roamed the hard planes of Ash’s spine, down to the perfect swell of his ass, dragging him forward until their bodies sealed together. Soap-slicked skin, heat on heat, cocks rigid and trapped between them, sliding as the water sluiced over.
