“I love you,” I corrected. “Your jokes need work.”
His expression softened at my casual repetition of those three words. “I love you too,” he said, as if testing the phrase, feeling its weight and finding it good.
As the afternoon sun filtered through the windows of our shared home, I thought about how far we’d come from that first support group meeting. From a demon struggling with suburban urges and a human recovering from possession, to… this. Something new. Something that defied all the demonology books and support group theories.
Something that was perfectly, uniquely ours.
Epilogue
Six months later, I woke to the familiar sensation of the mattress dipping as Malphas slipped out of bed. Through half-open eyes, I watched him move quietly around our bedroom, collecting clothes from the dresser.
“Time is it?” I mumbled into my pillow.
“Early,” he replied softly. “Go back to sleep.”
“Why’re you up?” I forced one eye fully open to look at the bedside clock: 5:47 AM.
Malphas, now pulling on jeans over his boxers, looked slightly guilty. “It’s supposed to rain later. I wanted to clean the gutters before it starts.”
I groaned, burying my face back in the pillow. “The gutters can wait until a reasonable hour.”
“Clogged gutters can cause water damage to the foundation,” he informed me seriously, as if reciting from a homeowner’s manual. Which, knowing Malphas, he probably was.
“Come back to bed,” I tried, reaching out one arm invitingly. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
He hesitated, clearly torn between responsible home maintenance and the temptation I was offering. I decided to play dirty, pushing the covers down to reveal my naked chest.
“The gutters can wait an hour,” I suggested, stretching languidly.
Malphas’s eyes darkened, shifting toward that glowing red that indicated his more primal instincts were taking over. “Half an hour,” he countered. “The forecast says rain by eight.”
“Deal,” I agreed, watching appreciatively as he shed the jeans he’d just put on and slid back into bed.
His body was deliciously warm as he pressed against me, one large hand sliding down my side to cup my ass. “You fight dirty,” he murmured, nipping at my earlobe.
“Against a demon prince? I need every advantage,” I retorted, arching into his touch.
What followed was definitely worth delaying gutter maintenance for. Six months into our relationship, Malphas knew exactly how to touch me, how to reduce me to a gasping, begging mess with minimal effort. And I’d learned a few tricks of my own—like how running my tongue along the base of his horns made him growl in that delightfully demonic way.
When we were both satisfied and catching our breath, I curled against his side, tracing the now-familiar patterns on his crimson chest.
“I have a question,” I said, still feeling pleasantly boneless from our activities.
“Hmm?” Malphas stroked my hair lazily, his other arm wrapped possessively around my waist.
“The whole Gary thing… do you think he’s still in there somewhere? Or has he just become part of you now?”
Malphas considered this thoughtfully. “I don’t feel him as a separate entity anymore. In the beginning, there was a clear division—my thoughts versus Gary’s intrusions. Now it’s all integrated. Though sometimes…”
“Sometimes what?” I prompted when he trailed off.
“Sometimes I swear I hear him,” Malphas admitted. “Not as a voice, exactly. More like… a satisfied presence. As if he approves of what I’ve become. Of us.”
I smiled against his chest. “Ghostly matchmaker. That should be a Hallmark movie.”
“‘I Got Possessed by a Midwestern Ghost and All I Got Was This Stupid Boyfriend,’” Malphas suggested dryly.
I laughed, delighted as always when his humor surfaced. “I’d watch it.”
