“From humans dabbling in magic?” He sounds delighted by this. Like it’s the funniest thing he’s heard all week. “Oh, Adam. That’s adorable.”
Tentative relief tickles over me. He doesn’t seem enraged, he seems… amused. Deeply entertained, as if I’m nothing more than a clumsy puppy that’s just done something absurd.
“It’s working!” I point out, trying to inject some confidence into my voice. Trying to sound braver than I feel. “You can’t get to me.”
Hex’s rich laughter rolls through the room again. He moves to the other side of the bed, testing the barrier from a different angle. Still blocked. He completes a full circle around my room, prowling like a caged animal. Except I’m the one who’s caged. Trapped on my own bed by my own protections.
This was a terrible plan.
“You’re right,” Hex says, stopping at the foot of my bed. He leans against the invisible barrier, shadows writhing around him. “I can’t touch you. Not while you’re cowering behind your little magic tricks.”
The way he says it makes heat flood my face. Cowering. Like I’m pathetic. Like I’m weak.
“I’m not cowering!” I snap. “I’m being sensible!”
“Is that what you call it?” His eyes gleam with mischief. “So scared of getting close to someone that when a handsome man offers you a good time, you put up wards.”
My mouth falls open. The absolute audacity. The nerve!
“That’s not what this is about!” My voice comes out higher than I’d like. Defensive and flustered.
“Isn’t it?” Hex’s form solidifies slightly, just enough that I can make out the sharp planes of his face. The curve of his smirk. “When was the last time you let anyone into your bed, Adam?”
“That’s none of your business!”
“Two years, wasn’t it?” He sounds like he already knows the answer. Like he’s been rummaging around in my head. “Two years since you let anyone touch you. Since you let yourself feel anything.”
“Stop it.” My hands are shaking. I press them flat against the mattress, trying to ground myself.
“You’re so desperate to keep everyone at arm’s length,” Hex continues, his voice dropping lower. Softer. More dangerous. “You live in someone else’s flat. Work a job you hate. Have no real friends except the goth boy who thinks you’re a fun occult mystery. You’re not living, Adam. You’re just existing.”
Each word lands like a physical blow. My chest feels tight. My throat is burning. He’s right. He’s absolutely right, and I hate that he can see it so clearly.
“And now,” Hex says, spreading his arms wide in a theatrical gesture, “someone finally wants you. Really wants you. And what do you do? You run and hide behind crystals and salt like a frightened child.”
“You’re a shadow creature who wants to feed on me!” I yell, finally finding my voice. Finding my anger. “Forgive me for being cautious!”
“Cautious.” Hex tastes the word like it’s bitter. “Is that what you call two years of self-imposed isolation? Caution?”
I glare at him. My jaw is clenched so tight it aches. I want to argue. Want to defend myself. But the words stick in my throat, because what can I say? He’s not wrong. I have been isolating myself. Keeping everyone at a distance. Telling myself it’s because I’m protecting myself from getting hurt again.
But maybe I’m just scared.
Hex watches me wrestle with this realisation. His expression softens slightly. Not much, but enough that I notice.
“You have claws, little human,” he says quietly. “I saw them when you called me a duckling. That was brave. Foolish, but brave.”
Despite everything, despite my anger and embarrassment and the crystals between us, I feel a small flicker of pride at those words.
“I want to see you use those claws on everyone who tries to walk over you,” Hex continues. “Not just me.”
I blink at him. The anger drains away, replaced by confusion. “What?”
“You let people push you around,” he says bluntly. “Your boss. Your family. Strangers in the coffee shop who are rude to you. You just take it. Smile and nod and swallow your anger.”
“I’m being professional!”
“You’re being a doormat.” He says it without heat. Just matter-of-fact. “And I’m going to fix that.”
