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“Sunday!” I gasp into his mouth as his fingers dig in, pulling at the fabric of my pants, kneading me. He catches my lower lip between his teeth, nipping lightly as I pull away. “Not here.”

“I need you,” he begs me, settling his hands on my hips and encouraging me to rock. I do it once, my hand curling into the uncomfortable hospital-issue pillow behind his head as a bolt of desire shoots through me.

“You’re the only thing that’s keeping me alive right now.” He pushes himself up, chasing my lips. I turn my head and he kisses me under the jaw instead. “You’re the only thing that’s keeping me sane.”

He rocks up into me again, pulling on my hips until I’m flush against him. His hand travels into the back of my pants, roving over my flesh with fervor. I don’t know how I muster the strength, but I manage to get my hand between our bodies and push him back down on the bed. His back collides with the mattress, a dramatic huff tickling the curls that drape over my forehead.

“Don’t huff at me. We’re in a hospital,” I scold, keeping my hand firmly pressed into his chest even as he collects my other one, pressing kisses to each finger.

“And? Perfect place to make some babies, right?” Color floods back into his cheeks—and evidently into his groin, too.

“Sunday!” I hiss, yanking my hand back away from him. “Only you could still be horny while being eaten alive from the inside out.”

He sobers at that, the playful glimmer in his eyes winking out as the smile falls off his face. I feel horrible. I wish I could give him the comfort he needs. But there’s a time and a place, and it’s not here or now.

Extracting myself from his grip, I climb off the bed and fluff his pillow back up for him. He whines at me for fussing, but I can’t help it.

I tangle my fingers in his, sitting a respectable distance away in the uncomfortable chair. His pinky finger rubs at the edge of my bracelet as we stare at each other, a thousand unspoken things flitting between us like errant butterflies.

“So, you saw it? The demon?” Sunday asks quietly, rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand.

“Yeah. It was hideous.” I suppress a shudder, try not to think about the smoky vision of my parents’ deaths presented to me in 3D.

“Did it…say much?” He rolls slightly onto his side, careful of the tubes sticking out of his hand.

I don’t know what to tell him. I don’t know what the hell these trials are, or if it’s just a riddle, some lie to get me to…I don’t know. I don’t understand what it wants. All I know is that it will kill Sunday if I don’t sacrifice myself.

“Not much that I could understand.” A half-truth. “You should get some sleep.”

I scoot the chair as close to the bed as I can manage, stroking my thumb over his forehead until he slips into unconsciousness.

Chapter Forty-Six

Sunday

Twenty-four hours in hospital is more than enough. They made Bellamy leave some time after nine in the evening, and it was like prying a limb out of a bear trap.

I hate to admit that I was scared what might happen, with him not by my side, but the night passed uneventfully.

The sudden dormancy within me is a little suspicious. It’s like the demon is lying in wait, ready to go for the throat when I least suspect it.

I guess Bellamy’s spell sort of worked, because it’s given me some respite. My energy has come back, only a little, but enough that I can walk out the hospital without my legs shaking.

Sunlight pierces straight through my eye sockets as I step outside the hospital doors, but the warmth of it is pleasant enough. Fluorescent white lighting is not the one. I start walking toward Lara’s car, my backpack slung over one shoulder. I feel something buzz in my stomach that I haven’t felt in a while: excitement. Excitement to go home to Bellamy. Because through all the fucking shit that is going on, he is the one constant that I know I can rely on. He stuck by my side in that hospital room, which still feels like more than I deserve, but he was a steady presence. A vast difference from him spitting venom at me when he first walked back into my life.

The corner of my mouth twitches up into a smile as we wind through town. I look out the window, watching the world go past in a blur of oranges and yellows. The trees have well and truly turned now, transforming Salem into that fall-postcard tourist attraction that everyone loves. Homes are already teeming with gaudy decorations; lawns filled with skeletons and pumpkins.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but I think my masochist brain moved here because it reminded me so much of Bellamy. Back when we first dated, I wasn’t aware that the cards and crystals he was into were his craft, his genuine witchyness—not just some internet gimmick that he’d gotten himself into. But now that my eyes are open to it, it’s…fascinating. He’s fascinating, and I want to nurture him in the way that he deserves.

After asking me no less than five times if I’m okay, Lara drops me at the florist by my apartment so I can pick up something ghastly that I know Bellamy will appreciate. I end up settling on dark plum roses, mixed with some lighter purple flowers, and ask the florist to add in baby’s breath. The woman makes boring small talk while she wraps them, asking me why I know so much about flowers and saying something about me having a lucky girl at home.

“My boyfriend will love them, I’m sure,” I snark, tapping my card on the screen and feeling smug about using the term, even if we haven’t discussed anything yet.

I know Bellamy is going to be stuck at work today, but I head to his apartment anyway, knowing he keeps the spare key under the welcome mat. I still don’t feel right, but just being in his home makes me feel a hell of a lot better.

I suppose I can blame that on the familiarity of it all—the row of colored chucks lined up meticulously by the door, the assortment of oddities that collect on top of the wooden cabinet, his subtle, earthy scent enveloping everything. I find comfort in one of his many sweaters thrown over the back of a chair, in the heap of blankets bundled in one corner of the sofa, in the fact that no corner of this room is absent of something. Beautiful chaos.

Fuck, I love him.