“Well, Diantha, when a man and a woman love each other very much?—”
I cut him off with a scoff. “Those guys didn’t put a spell on me. What you saw…The way you found me? I don’t know what it’s actually called, but me and my mom always called itdecoupling. It’s like I can pull my spirit out of my body and…walk around. I can go anywhere, as long as I can picture exactly where I want to go. And when I get there…” I chew at my lip for a moment.How do I describe this?“It’s like I’m a ghost.”
Even when I stop talking, Orfeo doesn’t pull his eyes off of me. The color of his eyes—the intensity of that brown-yellow—has calmed, but his pupils are still so focused I feel like he could etch my bones. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, and I glimpse his fangs. Bone-white, both terrifying and…
Andwhat?
“That’s what you were doing?” he asks.
I nod. “But I haven’t done it in a really long time, and I think…I think my body was shocked. Or maybe being around other magic messed with my energy. I wouldn’t know, because I don’t think I’ve ever met a demon before. Usually, I can decide when I go back inside my body, but tonight…”
Orfeo pushes back from the table and lets out a chestful of air. “Can I smoke?”
“Does nicotine work on vampires? Also…” I lean forward. “What the fuck, you’re avampire?”
He rolls his eyes, but I catch a prideful little flicker of a smile on his lips. “Is that a yes or a no?”
“Fine.” I push my empty dish toward him. “Donotget any ash on this table. It’s an heirloom.”
He raises his brows. “You like old things?”
I ignore the curl of excitement behind my belly button just as I ignore the flirtation in his voice. “Old things? Yes. Old men? No.”
Orfeo laughs—thankfully. Could you imagine if he just got sick of my bad attitude, reached across the table, snapped my neck, sucked me dry like an applesauce pouch, and then went toodles into the ether? I need to keep my wits about me. Never before has my shitty attitude beensuchan enormous liability.
“You were saying…” He waves me on.
“Right. I usually decide when I go back into my body. But tonight, it all happened so fast. And then I was…”
Maybe I shouldn’t tell him about the Dream Place.
“Unconscious. For like, twenty-five minutes.” He finishes my thought for me, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “But you weren’t dead. You were fighting something, some energy.”
I pull in a breath. My mom had always been clear that I shouldn’t decouple when my body was exposed and unguarded. And tonight, I flat-out ignored that foundational rule. It hadn’t seemed dangerous at the time, I try to remind myself. How could I have known what I was getting caught up in?
“Did they see me? Those half-demons. Leo and…?”
“Nisos.” Orfeo grimaces. “We call him Nis. And yes, they came after you. But they didn’t seem to realize you were using magic. Fucking idiots.” He shakes his head.
“You…saved me?”
Orfeo doesn’t reply, and my question hangs heavy in the air around us.You saved me.I sound like a dumb kid.
“Of course I did.” He stubs out his cigarette, stands, and pulls on the shirt he’d discarded over the back of a chair. His back muscles flex with effort as he slides one arm in, then the other, taking special care not to wrinkle the fabric. Soft, diffused light catches on each pull of his muscles, on his profile. He looks like an oil painting, all rich shadows and decadent shades of gold and cream. “You are special, Diantha. But even if you weren’t, I would have still saved you from those beasts.”
I’m special?
I force myself to stand up and begin cleaning up the kitchenette. If I’m not human, then maybe I’m not his prey. That feels important to me, suddenly. So suddenly that it kind of scares me.He’s a stranger,I remind myself.And a vampire.
And of course, he’s handsome. He has to be. It’s an evolutionary necessity. How else would he convince people to let himeat them?
I fill the sink with hot, soapy water and drop my dirty dishes in. “Who bought Hades House?”
“A bunch of jackasses. Bullies and thugs. People who like to take advantage of the weak.”
In an instant, he’s beside me, and I jump, sending suds up into the air between us. “Jesus,fuck?—”
“Diantha.” He slips a finger beneath my chin. His touch is hot, hotter than the water my hands are submerged in. My chest constricts, breath stalling in my chest. I catch a gasp between my teeth and pray he hasn’t noticed. I also pray he doesn’t feel the way my pulse has begun to thud in my neck—or, I don’t know, sense the gentle ratcheting of pressure deep in my abdomen.
