He tried sneaking in to curl up beside the bed the first night. I kicked him out. Politely. (Okay, I threw a pillow at him. That counts.)
The weeks that followed were much like that. Luke would find every excuse to hover, to spark conversation, to mutter apologieshe sometimes took back just as quickly with a grumble about how he wouldn’t have changed a thing.
I didn’t want him to. Not really.
But it was…nice.
A slow, warm bloom in my chest, watching him try.
He was terrible at it—constantly swinging between a moody, brooding devil and a desperate mess, practically on his knees. Sometimes, he was the aloof creature who kidnapped me. Other times, he looked at me like I was the last light he’d ever see.
And then there were hissenses. Hades, his senses.
Any time he touched me—evenbarely—his body reacted. Instantly.
It wasn’t subtle.
The second I noticed, I ran. Always. Before he could sense any…interest from me.
And Ihadnoticed something else:
Every time he got flustered like that, he looked like he was inpain. Not just embarrassment—real discomfort.
I never asked.
But I wondered.
It was around then that his thoughts started bleeding into mine. Only when he was flustered, desperate, or unraveling. And usually, they were a mess.
Like the first time…
“Fuck. Why does my cock never go down? You’d think it would realize Kara’s upset and know now is not the time.”
I’d catch fragments of his thoughts when his control slipped.
“I’m dying. That’s it. I can’t even function without her. Pathetic. I just want to sit with her—but can’t, because my body betrays me.”
“How long is she going to push me away?”
“Why do these damn urges never stop? Thinking about her only makes it worse.”
“This must be my punishment for forcing her down here with me. So be it. I accept it. She’s mine. She’s always been.”
It only took a few stray thoughts before he realized I could hear him—and then came the inevitable growl.
“Kara, get the fuck out of my head.”
Then silence. Always silence.
I didn’t want him to suffer. Not really.
But I needed to push him—needed the distance—until it no longer felt like a crime to love him. I didn’t even know what I was waiting for. Maybe proof. Maybe peace.
Luke tried to win me over—through food, minor comforts, evenhuman entertainment. He materialized things from my world: board games, old movies, a stack of novels, even a few gadgets that didn’t belong in Hell. I humored him more than I admitted.
Mostly, I loved his determination—the way his brow furrowed when I beat him at cards, or how he sulked when I denied him even the lightest touch. His frustration was obvious, but it never lasted long. Sadness always crept in to drown it out.
I couldfeelhim—his moods, his thoughts, like an invisible heartbeat under my skin. Sometimes, when his guard slipped, I caught the quieter fears before he shut me out again.
