“The dance itself isn’t the problem.” His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. “We could perform the choreography blindfolded at this point. The magic will respond to that—the technical execution, the physical connection.”
“But?”
“But technical execution isn’t enough.” He turns to face me fully, and in the dim light, I can see the red bleeding into his irises. “The Dance of Accord requires more than partnership, Izzie. It requires... acceptance. Complete, unconditional acceptance of who and what I am.”
“I already accept you.”
“Do you?”
The question hangs between us.
I want to say yes. I want to be certain. But something in his eyes tells me that easy certainty isn’t what he’s asking for.
“Tell me what you mean.”
Mal is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks again, his voice is rough.
“You know what I am. You’ve seen glimpses of my true form. You know about the contract, the servitude, the things I’ve done in Azrael’s service.” He swallows hard. “You say you accept me. But there’s a difference between accepting the parts of me that are convenient—the charm, the dancing, the way I make you laugh—and accepting all of it. The demon. The darkness. The fact that I am not, and never will be, human.”
“I know you’re not human.”
“Knowing and accepting are different things.” He reaches for my hand, his fingers tracing over my knuckles with devastating gentleness. “Tomorrow, when we dance... the magic will see the truth. It will know if there’s any part of you that’s holding back. Any reservation. Any fear. And if there is?—”
“The dance fails.”
“The dance fails.” His grip tightens. “And I remain bound. Forever.”
The weight of it settles over me like a physical thing.
This isn’t just about the showcase anymore. It’s not about saving my studio or impressing the judges or proving something to mymother. It’s about him. About whether I can truly, completely, unconditionally accept a demon into my heart.
And not just any demon.
My demon.
“Mal.” I shift until I’m facing him, our knees touching. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Why me?”
His brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“The contract requires seven invitations. Someone welcoming you into their life, their home, their... heart.” I search his face for answers. “You could have chosen anyone. Someone easier. Someone who doesn’t have a mountain of trust issues and a pathological need for control. Why did you pick the most emotionally unavailable dance instructor in Bellamy Cove?”
A ghost of a smile crosses his lips. “You’re not emotionally unavailable.”
“I’m a disaster.”
“You’re guarded.” He lifts my hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to my palm. “There’s a difference. And to answer your question... I didn’t choose you. Not consciously. The contract doesn’t work that way.”
“Then how does it work?”
“The magic finds... compatibility. Potential for genuine connection. I’ve spent three centuries watching it fail because the women I approached couldn’t truly accept what I am.They wanted the charming stranger. The mysterious lover. The exciting distraction. But when they saw the demon underneath...” He trails off, jaw tightening.
“They couldn’t handle it.”
“They couldn’t accept it. And I can’t blame them. What I am, what I’ve done... it’s not easy to love.”
