"Tell me what you're seeking," she said, her voice warm but analytical, as if she were collecting data points rather than asking about my deepest desires.
I took a slow breath, buying myself a moment to consider my answer. What was I seeking? Simple things that had proven maddeningly elusive.
"I'm not sure where to begin," I admitted, the words sticking slightly in my throat. Vulnerability had never come easily to me, not even before the warlocks. After them? Nearly impossible.
She waited, patient and still. The silence stretched between us, not uncomfortable but expectant. She wouldn't prompt me further, I realized. This was my moment to speak or remain silent.
"I'm tired," I finally said. I cleared my throat and tried again. "I'm tired of being seen as either a monster or a novelty."
Her expression didn't change, but her fingers continued their movements, as if recording my words in the air between us. Encouraged by her silence, I continued.
"When people learn what I am—what I really am, beyond this..." I gestured to my human-passing appearance, "they react in one of two ways. Either they're afraid, which I understand, or they're..." I searched for the right word. "Enthusiastic. For all the wrong reasons."
Lacey nodded slightly, her eyes never leaving mine. "They fetishize your demonic nature," she said, putting it more bluntly than I had dared.
"Yes." The admission felt like a weight lifting. "They want the danger, the thrill. They want to say they've been with a demon. They don't want..." Me, I almost said, but stopped myself. "Anything real."
"And what is it you're truly seeking?" Lacey prompted gently when I fell silent. "Beyond what you don't want."
The question made me frown. What did I want? I'd spent so long focusing on avoiding the negative patterns that I'd barely allowed myself to articulate what I was actually looking for.
"I want someone who wants all of me," I said slowly. "Scars, demon, everything—and chooses me anyway. Not because of those things, not despite them. Just...me."
My voice had dropped to little more than a whisper, but in the quiet room, it carried clearly. Something in my chest ached with the admission.
"Someone who matches my intensity without trying to control it," I continued, the words coming easier now. "I've been controlled enough for several lifetimes. I want...partnership. Balance." My hands tightened slightly under the table. "Someone I can protect without suffocating. Someone strong enough to stand with me, not behind me."
Lacey studied me. "These are not unreasonable desires," she said after a moment.
"Aren't they?" I asked, a hint of bitterness creeping into my tone. "Hundreds of years alone suggest otherwise."
"The fact that you continue to seek connection rather than resign yourself to solitude speaks to hope, not futility."
Something about her words made my throat tighten unexpectedly. Hope. Was that what had brought me here?
"I suppose it does," I conceded, feeling strangely exposed.
"Your thread is unusual," she murmured, more to herself than to me. "Strong, despite everything. Resilient. And there's something..." She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly in concentration. "Interesting."
"Interesting good, or interesting 'he's going to regret coming here'?" I asked, attempting to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere with a touch of dry humor.
The corner of her mouth lifted slightly. "That remains to be seen. But there is definitely...potential. I believe we can help you, Magnur."
Those simple words shouldn't have affected me as strongly as they did. And yet, something in my chest loosened at her words, a knot of tension I hadn't even realized was there.
"But," she continued, her expression turning more serious, "there are conditions. And a price."
Of course there was. Nothing worth having ever came free, that was a lesson I'd learned countless times over. I straightened in my chair, my momentary vulnerability receding as I prepared for negotiation.
"I'm listening."
The words had barely left my lips when the air behind her chair shimmered like heat rising from pavement. A third woman materialized—or perhaps she'd been there all along and I simply hadn't been able to sense her.
"Atropos," Lacey acknowledged without turning.
My muscles tensed, ready for action. This one was dangerous in a way the others weren't.
"Magnur," she greeted, a small blade glinted between her fingers, appearing and disappearing as she rotated her wrist. "I understand you seek connection."
