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“The pieces are there if you let yourself believe.”

Believe what? He designed his room in the game after his own. That made sense. But I kept going back to the tattoo differences, and the fact I could so vividly remember every detail from my dream earlier. That had never happened in my life. I rarely remembered my dreams beyond fuzzy snapshots of disjointed moments.

His strength. His changing eye color. His horns. The tattoos.

No. It couldn’t be.

“It’s just a game—not reality. That’s all mythology.”

Zane captured me with his piercing stare, not letting me look away.

Impossible.

But.

If I allowed myself to consider it, this was the only explanation that made sense. The way he responded when I touched his horns. They had to be real.

“You’re an incubus.” I spoke the words on a whisper.

He slumped in his chair as the weight rolled off him.

“Why the game?”

Zane scrubbed his hands over his face. “I needed something to do in my exile. I’d always been an artist, but it turned out I enjoyed developing video games.” His lips curved into a wry smile. “And I knew that would piss off Lucifer.”

Exile? “Lucifer?”

Zane’s smile grew. Fond and dangerous. “He can be quite petulant.”

I closed my eyes and shook my head. “You’re telling me you’re an incubus exiled because Lucifer’s a big baby, and you made the game to piss him off?”

“Mostly. I really enjoy my work, but I knew the subject matter would irritate him.”

That was too big to think about right now. So I focused on Kiss of the Abyss and what the game told me about Zane.

A spark ignited deep in my belly as a realization hit. “You’re telling me I’ve been romancing a digital version of you for months, and now I’ve found—met—the real you.” I shivered at the predatory gleam in Zane’s eyes.

“You chose Dorian.” He rose from his chair in a smooth, graceful movement. His muscles exuded the power of a predator stalking its prey.

Instinctively, I uncrossed my legs and spread them. That earned me a smirk.

“Tell me why.” His tone was expectant. Not a question but a demand from a sex demon used to getting his way.

The tone had a direct line to my dick.

“There was something about him,” I hedged, squirming on the couch, desperate for his touch.

“Be specific.” Zane stood between my legs, looming over me. Imposing. Expecting. Wanting.

“His eyes.”

Golden flames danced in Zane’s, eclipsing the black irises. “More.”

“He’s sexy.” At the smug twitch of Zane’s lips, I continued. “There’s something deeper about him. Wounded.”

Zane clicked his tongue. “They all have tragic backstories.” He leaned forward and braced himself on the couch behind me, caging me in. “Why Damien’s?”

I remembered what he’d said earlier about basing some characters off people he knew. Whoa.