“That’s cheating,” Isaac managed, but he’d already stopped trying to escape, his body melting back into Whichello’s side despite his brain's weak protests.
“Is it working?” Another nip, this one at the sensitive spot just below his ear, which made Isaac’s toes curl against the plush carpet.
“Shut up and watch your show.”
Whichello’s laugh rumbled through both their bodies, the sound rich and genuinely amused in a way Isaac had rarely heard from him. They settled back into the couch, Isaac’s weight tucked against Whichello’s side while the demon’s arm remained a solid presence across his shoulders.
On screen, the contestant had finished his shelter and was now attempting to catch fish in a shallow stream using his bare hands. Whichello opened his mouth, probably to explain exactly how he could do it better, but Isaac jabbed an elbow into his ribs before he could start.
“Just watch,” Isaac said. “Without commentary. For five minutes.”
“Five minutes is a long time to stay quiet.”
“I have complete faith in your inability to manage it.”
Another laugh, softer this time, and Whichello’s fingers resumed drawing their absent patterns on Isaac’s shoulder. The touch should have been distracting, but instead it grounded Isaac in the present moment. It was real and solid, not the nightmare illusion the castle had trapped him in earlier.
He could still hear Danny’s voice, still hear the cruel words that had felt so real, even though Isaac knew they weren’t. The apartment had looked like his, every detail perfect down to the coffee stains and lumpy couch. But Danny would never say those things. Would never look at Isaac with that cold indifference.
At least, Isaac hoped he wouldn’t.
The thought wormed its way deeper, planting roots in soil that was already too fertile for doubt. What if the castle had just shown him a truth he’d been too naive to see? What if Danny really did view their friendship as nothing more than convenient and moving in with Ash had been his escape route?
Isaac’s hands fisted in his lap, nails digging crescents into his palms. He forced himself to breathe slowly through his nose, counting the exhales.
“You’re thinking too loud,” Whichello said quietly, his attention still on the screen but his awareness clearly tracking Isaac’s internal spiral.
“Didn’t know thoughts had volume.”
“Yours do.” Whichello brushed his thumb against Isaac’s shoulder. “Want to talk about it?”
“Not particularly.” Isaac kept his eyes on the screen, watching the contestant give up on catching fish and start foraging for edible plants instead. “Just processing.”
“The illusion.”
“Yeah.”
They lapsed back into silence, though calling it comfortable would be generous. The weight of everything unsaid pressed down harder than Whichello’s arm. Dimitri was still out there somewhere. The castle had proven it was actively hostile. And Isaac couldn’t shake the feeling that staying here, in Whichello’s chambers like they were a normal couple doing normal couple things, was just the eye of a storm that hadn’t finished destroying everything yet.
Whichello’s body felt relaxed against his, loose-limbed and casual in a way that suggested he didn’t have a care in the world. But Isaac could feel the careful control that kept every muscle from betraying the tension underneath. His mate was unsettled too, just better at hiding it behind centuries of practice.
Mate. The word still felt foreign, too big for Isaac’s mouth. He was mated to a demon who’d bought him at an auction, who’d sent enforcers to drag him back when he’d run. Nothing about that should feel right or safe or like something Isaac wanted to sink into and never leave.
But Whichello’s arm stayed steady, and his thumb kept tracing those small circles, and Isaac found himself leaning into the touch despite every rational argument against it.
On screen, the contestant had found some berries and was carefully testing them for poison by rubbing them on his inner wrist. Whichello made a sound that might have been approval, which was probably the closest he’d come to admitting a human was doing something right.
Isaac needed to call Danny. Not because he believed the illusion’s version of his best friend, but because hearing the real Danny’s voice would help separate truth from the castle’s lies.
He shifted again, this time with actual intent, trying to extract himself from Whichello’s hold. The arm tightened immediately, keeping him pinned in place.
“Where are you going?” Whichello asked, his tone mild but his grip firm enough to make escape impossible without a fight.
“I want to call Danny.” Isaac pushed against the arm but it didn’t budge. “Just to check in. Make sure he’s okay.”
“He’s fine.” Whichello’s attention stayed on the screen, but Isaac could feel the sudden predatory focus. “Ash won’t let anything happen to him.”
“I know that.” Isaac pushed harder, his frustration building. “But I still want to hear his voice. Need to, actually, after the castle decided to use him as nightmare fuel.”
