“Really? So you think forcing people to have sex is fine so long as you can convince them theylikedit?”
“I told you. You wouldn’t be convincing them of something that’s not real. Having sex with an incubus can be a divinely beautiful experience for a human. Healing, even. And, more to the point, you don’t have to use that power to force people. Like any other strong muscle, yes, it can be used as a weapon, but it doesn’t have to be that way. It wouldn’t be that way with you.”
This is full-on too much. I launch myself to my feet. “You don’t know that! You don’t know what this part of me wants to do! Itisa weapon! It wants to consume and devour. It sees humans as food. As prey! And there’s awordfor what that makes me.”
The Irish boy nods, but stays frustratingly calm. “I get that it feels predatory, Alvin. But that’s because you’ve only let yourself feel it in desperate situations. When it’s at its most primal. When it’s scared. When it needs the higher parts of you—your values, your compassion—to give it guidance. To let it know that things are going to be okay.”
“Things are not okay, Collin!” I march forward, and I’m up to him fast, poking his chest. “I know other incubi! I know my mother! Trust me, there’s not the slightest hintof divine healing rainbows and sunshine inanythingthey do! They are killers! Theyaremonsters!”
“You’re not like them,” he says, chin up, firm.
“You don’t know me,” I growl back, trying to sound as scary as I feel. I grip the thick fabric of his long wool shepherd shirt tight in my fist.
But he doesn’t get scared. And he doesn’t look away. “I want to. So, tell me. Tell me who you really are.”
I fix my gaze on him. His eyes are soft, gentle, and searching, giving my rage nothing to bash itself against. Despite my best efforts, it starts to retreat inside me, like a large frothy wave sliding back into the ocean.
“You’re never going to convince me that this power could ever be used for good.”
“All right,” he says.
“You’re never going to convince me that there’sanythinggood about this part of me!”
“All right,” he says.
“You might know all the facts in the entire world, but I know more about this than you.”
“Fair enough,” he says.
He doesn’t sound convinced. But he’s not fighting me.
I let go of his shirt and turn away from him. “I’m going to find a way to get you out of the watch—to set you free—and then you can believe whatever the hell you like.” My anger has spent itself. There’s only enough left to keep pressure on the Obligation. But I still want distance between us. I want to push him as far away as I can.
I glance over my shoulder, and he nods, getting the message loud and clear. We stare at each other for a fewbeats. His expression is full of silent despair. And even sad, he looks cute. Just a sweet, lost boy, now in desperate need of a hug. It’s almost enough to make me want to apologize for yelling at him.
But I don’t.
His eyes flick up and away for a second, and he says, “It’s time, Alvin. Rafa should already be at the café.” His attention returns to me. “If you still want to go, that is.”
Right.Emma. Here I am, all caught up in my own personal little pity party, and there’s a high school girl, kidnapped, alone, in the clutches of completelydifferentmonsters. Ones who probably second-guess their villainy a lot less than I do.
I know there were other questions I wanted to ask Collin. A lot of them. But none of that feels important right now. Certainly not in comparison—and maybe not at all, anymore.
“Yeah, okay,” I say. “Let’s go.”
Joe’s Café is very old-school. Worn lime-green booths. Dim lighting, even at noon. Laminated menus. Paper placemats covered with an outdated neighborhood tourist map. Nothing San Francisco hipster about it. The only reason Joe’s is still around after seventy years is because it’s dirt-cheap, the coffee is bottomless, and they make a mean breakfast sandwich.
Rafa is sitting by the soot-caked window, glowering, so it looks like we’re both in a mood. Laid out in front ofhim are two ice waters next to menus. His glass is three-quarters empty. He looks up the moment I enter, and his scowl melts into that smoldering little smile of his. Seems he’s still, for whatever reason, happy to see me.
And now that he’s in actual daylight, in actual normal clothes (heavy blue chambray shirt with a single button open at the chest, light jeans, silver sports watch, nice leather work boots), it’s hard not to be happy to see him, too. Those Monster Hunter muscles are still bulging in all the right places, and his face practically glows in the soft, diffuse light from the street. He pulls off “alpha male” effortlessly and then makes it stunning with sensuous lips, piercing hazel eyes, and strong, youthful proportions.
And he’s 100% human. And he seems to like me. If I were to fall for someone like him, we could actually make a life together. Get married, have kids, the whole nine yards. And he’d never, ever encourage me to give in to my monster.
Of course, we’d also never be able to actually have sex. And if he knew Iwasa monster, he’d probably just as likely blow my head off. So, there’s that.
I sit across from him, and he slides over one of the menus as he takes me in.
“You’re… looking better,” he says.
