He tells me about his attempts at redemption. The bargains he started subtly sabotaging. The victims he warned when he could get away with it. The slow, painful process of developing something like a conscience after centuries without one.
He tells me about the other women. More details than before. The ways he manipulated them, even while convincing himself he was being honest. The rationalizations he made. The lies of omission that were still lies.
Through it all, I listen.
When he finally falls silent, the morning light has shifted to afternoon. We’ve migrated to the floor at some point, sitting cross-legged across from each other like children sharing secrets. My legs are cramped. My back aches. My eyes are swollen from crying.
But I’m still here.
“That’s everything.” His voice is hoarse. “Every terrible thing I can remember. Every reason you should walk away and never look back.”
I consider his words carefully.
Three hundred years of horror. Thousands of victims. Pain and death and destruction on a scale I can barely comprehend.
And also a demon who tried to save children from a fire he’d started. Who developed a conscience despite his nature. Who spent decades punishing himself for the death of a woman he cared about. Who has shown me more genuine kindness in the past three months than most humans manage in a lifetime.
Which version is the truth?
Both of them.
That’s what makes this so hard. He’s not a reformed villain from a fairy tale, completely transformed by the power of love. He’s not a secret monster who’s been playing me all along. He’s both things at once—the creature who caused unimaginable suffering and the man who makes me laugh until I cry and forget what day it is.
Can I accept that?
I don’t know.
But I know I’m not willing to give up without trying.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I say slowly. “We’re going to get up off this floor, because I think I’ve lost feeling in my left leg. We’re going to order food, because I haven’t eaten since breakfast and I think better when I’m not starving. And then we’re going to figure out how to complete this contract before the deadline.”
Mal stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Izzie...”
“I’m not saying everything is fine.” I hold up a hand. “I’m not saying I’ve processed all of this, or that I fully understand it, or that I won’t wake up at three in the morning with questions that make me want to scream. But Azrael said the final invitation requires full knowledge. You’ve given me that. The question now is whether I can accept it.”
“Can you?”
“I don’t know.” It’s the most honest answer I have. “But I know I want to try. And I know that running away from you won’t help me figure it out. So.” I extend my hand. “Partners?”
He looks at my hand like it might bite him.
“You’re serious.”
“As a heart attack.” I wiggle my fingers impatiently. “Come on, my arm’s getting tired.”
Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid I might dissolve if he touches me, Mal takes my hand.
His skin is warm. Solid. Real.
Monster, my brain whispers.
Mine, something else responds.
“We have three days,” I say, pulling him to his feet. “Three days to figure out how to give you a seventh invitation with full knowledge and genuine acceptance. It’s going to require an actual plan, not just hoping I can will myself into enlightenment. What do we need?”
Mal shakes his head slowly, like he’s still trying to catch up with the conversation. “The invitation has to be freely offered. It has to represent the deepest level of trust. And you have to mean it—the magic will know if you’re just going through the motions.”
“What counts as the deepest level of trust?”
