That washell.
For a moment, I thought Ismelledher.
A blink. That’s all it was. The scent of something dazzling—warm, floral, alive. Like sunlight soaked in honeysuckle.
And then it was gone.
That split second would haunt me for the rest of eternity.
I accepted what I couldn’t have long ago. A lack of sensation should’ve made her easier to resist. But I hadn’t realized how much a monster could stillwant—even without touch, without taste.
It didn’t matter that I couldn’t fuck her. I could stilltouchher.
My sight hadn’t failed me. Neither had my hearing. Isawher—hair tousled across the bed, skin flushed, legs parted, her bodytrembling in the aftermath. And Iheardher—each sharp breath, every broken moan as she came undone beneath my hand.
It was disgusting—pathetic—how badly I wanted to turn around, shove her legs open again, and watch her mewl like the kitten she was.
I underestimated how far Kara would go to escape me. She let me touch her. Showed me want. But it had to be an illusion. A calculated act. There was no way she could desireme.
I knew who I was in her story. In her family’s story. The villain. A monster. The Devil.
And if Faye spoke the truth…
Then it was thesight of her—not war, not pride, not rebellion—that led me into damnation.
She clipped my wings.
She made me the Devil.
Shemademe her villain.
Whatever I saw in the scrying well—whatever vision shattered my angelic self—must’ve been her. The moment that cracked me open and let sin slither inside. And now, she continued to unwind me. Always. Always her.
Her fate wouldn’t change.
And mine—ours—were carved in ruin long before her first breath.
Still…I wondered if she’d try again. Try to fool me with that wicked body.
And if she did?
I’d let her. I’dworshipher.
Even without the senses that made such acts pleasurable.
It was maddening.
Being around Kara, with my body still numb, felt like I’d returned to my angelic prison. Unfeeling. Cut off. Yearning but bound.
But unlike the angels, Iwantto fall. Again.
I’d fall a thousand times if it meant tasting her.
Touching her. Once.
Agitation gnawed at my bones. I stopped mid-stride and looked over my shoulder. She was right where I’d left her. I always felt her. Even when I tried not to.
What irritated me more? Her pretending to want me, or my wanting her?
