Then there’s nothing but the night breeze, the moonlight, and the whisper of trees and grass all around us.
My mind hasn’t stopped spinning. A mó broke throughour borders. I need to stay, need to fix the wards around our village and around my house. But that’ll take more time than I have.
There’s a soft noise next to me. Yù’chén.
I turn to him, heart in my throat. “Yù’chén—”
But he’s on the ground, holding his face in his hands, and twists away from me. “Don’t,” he rasps. “Don’t come near me—”
“What are you talking about?” I reach for him. “You’re injured—let me help you—”
“Don’t look at me!”he yells, and I start back, because I think I see the reason why.
Between his fingers comes the glint of teeth sharpened to points. Where his skin should be, red-and-black scales bloom on his cheek. He’s crouched over, hands grown over with the same scales. His shoulders shake.
“Please,” he says, more quietly, his voice muffled by his hands. “Don’t come near me.”
I know that all mó wear the faces of mortals over their true, monstrous forms and that their beauty takes energy to maintain. I’ve seen the darkened veins over Yù’chén’s skin when he has overexerted himself. But this—this is new.
I stare at the red-and-black scales covering the skin of his hand. “Is this”—I can’t hide the tremor in my voice—“is this your true form?”
His silence is confirmation enough.
The seconds pass. Blood drips from the wound in his stomach. It pools on the ground with his cloak, fanning out like the petals of a crimson flower around him. His chest hitches with each labored breath.
If I don’t do something, he’ll die.
I take out Heart. A single slice, and blood flows from my wrist. I hoist myself behind Yù’chén and, careful not to turn his way, hold my arm out to him. “Drink, or my life energies will bleed out anyway.”
For a few heartbeats, he doesn’t move. But then I hear him shift and come up behind me, feel the rough scales of his hands clasp around my forearm, the heat of his lips as he presses them to my skin. I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to think of what I’m doing, of how I’m giving myself and my life energy to the very kind of being I’ve sworn I will kill.
Half of one.
Too mortal for the mó. Too demonic for the mortals. It’s then that I understand,fullyunderstand, Yù’chén’s plea:I want you to stop looking at me as if you’re afraid, or suspicious, or disgusted. As if you’re thinking of what I am instead of who I am.
I look at him and see a demon, an enemy pretending to be human. But when the mó looked at him, she saw him as something beneath, something frail and breakable and mortal. Something to be used. He’s unbelievably powerful in my eyes, but to the mó, he is no more than a plaything. Prey, just like me. His entire life, he has never been enough for either side.
At some point, he’s stopped drinking. His fingers are warm, smooth, soft as they stroke over the wound on my wrist…and when I look down, I see skin instead of scales. I follow the line of his arm up to his bare neck and then the sharp edge of his jaw, and when he doesn’t protest, I lift my gaze to his face.
He’s breathing hard, veins still carving dark streaks across his face, a trace of my blood on his lips. Sweat glistens along his brow and jaw; his hair, wild and mussed, hangs over his downcast eyes.
I press my palm to his cheek. “It’s all right,” I say softly. “I’m still here.”
He says nothing as he reaches out and draws me tightly against him. Only holds me, as if he never intends to let go. His hand comes up to cradle the back of my head. His chest rises and falls against mine, and I’m acutely aware of how my heart pounds against my chest, drumming out the confusion of feelings stirring inside me. Of how he must feel it, too.
“I…” He swallows and I feel the movement of his throat. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.” And then, quieter: “I don’t want to disgust you.”
I remember, so well, the cruel words I’ve cast at him.
I want to take them back. I want to apologize for every hurtful thing I’ve said to him. I owe him that and so much more, after how he saved my life and the lives of my family.
“You don’t,” I say. “You don’t disgust me.”
He tenses. His muscles are so tight, I can almost feel him shaking.
“Yù’chén,” I whisper, “we should go.”
He’s silent for so long that at first I think he hasn’t heard me. Then he says, a breath against my cheek, “I know.” But his fingers thread through my hair and my long white ribbon, cradling the back of my head. Holding me closer.
