This was the right thing to do. They’d kidnapped him, tortured him, hurt him.
They’d also healed him, given him fresh clothes, let him shower. He couldn’t help thinking back on the moment when Shadrach stepped into the shower with him. Thereliefhe’d felt when Shadrach pinned his wrists to the wall. Surrendering all control to the demon had felt rapturous. He’d never experienced a moment of such pure, perfect pleasure before—which was all the evidence he needed that it waswrong. Anything that brought him happiness was punished. Being with Shadrach had to be the worst sin he’d ever committed. Otherwise it wouldn’t have felt so good.
They’d tried to convince him he could leave the guild, but it was just a fantasy. If he knew that logically, why was it so hard to shake off the way Shadrach had made him feel?
With a sigh, he undressed mechanically, laid down, and pulled the blankets over him. He should probably shower and put on some pajamas, but he couldn’t resist the phantom touch of Shadrach’s hands on his skin. He tucked the blanket around himself as though to hold the sensation closer and closed his eyes.
He made the right choice. Hedid.
The right choice always hurt, after all.
The cemetery stretched on as faras the eye could see, moonlight casting the world in indigo as Isaac stalked between the headstones. The weight of his sword was familiar in his hand, the straps of the sheath a comforting press against his shoulders. He did not fear the darkness around him, because this was where he belonged. In the shadows between life and death, he thrived like a grim reaper, slaking his bloodlust with monsters from Hell.
A creature with black skin launched itself at him from the darkness, and with a few quick strokes from his blade, it collapsed at his feet, alive but wounded. Rather than kill it quickly, he drew a knife and straddled the creature, pinning it to the ground. It hissed and spat, but his blade sank through its skin like butter. Black blood and viscera spilled from the wound as he unzipped the creature’s stomach. It thrashed violently, unable to heal and unable to die. When the wound began trying to close, he stabbed it in the heart and stood, rubbing his thumb against the tips of his fingers. The blood between them was smooth, and he raised his blade to the moonlight, watching it gleam.
Demon blood could heal. Even this blood? If he licked the blood from the blade, would it taste like Shadrach’s? He wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. It seemed… wrong to drink any other demon’s blood. But he wondered if the other paladins knew it could heal. Would they use it to give them an edge in battle? Or would they consider it another depravity?
“You’re fucking incredible, you know that?”
As though summoned by his thoughts, Shadrach appeared through the darkness, walking toward him. He was dressed justthe same as the last time Isaac saw him, in a white dress shirt and black trousers—albeit dry this time.
Was this Shadrach real, or just a figment of his dreamscape?
“You didn’t give me a chance to explain before you ran off,” Shadrach said, and Isaac’s mind adjusted. He was real.
“Explain what?”
Shadrach stopped in front of him, his black eyes reflecting the starlight above their heads. “You feel it, too, don’t you? This thing between us. Like a rope that’s pulling us closer and closer together.”
Isaac wasn’t sure that metaphor was accurate. “More like two trains,” he said. “Barreling toward disaster.”
A slow smile bloomed on Shadrach’s unfairly handsome face. “It seemed to work out for the others.” A furrow formed between his brows. “But you ran away.”
“You were holding me hostage. What’d you expect?”
Shadrach arched a brow. “I wasn’t holding you hostage when we were in that shower together.”
Isaac shuddered with remembered desire. “I know.”
“Then why?”
It took him a moment to find his voice. “It scared me.”
He’d rather chew glass than admit such a thing in real life, but here in his dream, all his quiet thoughts were right there on the surface. His guard was down here, and he knew it. That was why he’d wanted Shadrach to stay away from his dreams. He couldn’t hide the truth here. He wasn’t strong enough.
Shadrach’s hand lifted, brushing Isaac’s cheek. “Scared you how, killer?”
Killer.It sounded like such a fond endearment when Shadrach said it. Not spat with disgust or accompanied with a glare of disdain.
“Things that feel good, things that make me happy—those are the things I’m usually punished for.”
Shadrach’s hand flattened, curling around the side of his head. “Doing those things with me made you happy? Made you feel good?” He leaned in, his black gaze on Isaac’s mouth.
Isaac’s stomach flipped. “Made me forget you’re a demon who probably feeds me whatever lies will make me talk.”
Shadrach stilled abruptly. “You misunderstand me, I think.”
Isaac tried to swallow. It was unfair that his mouth could be so dry in a dream. “How so?”
