Page 24 of The Devil

I don’t check my phone, not even when I hear the buzz of a text coming in. I make my way to my bedroom and pause at the door to knock once. Although I admit it’s a soft knock, when there’s no answer, I open it and peer inside to find Amal still asleep on my side of the bed, burrowed beneath the covers.

I should clear my throat. Give some signal that I’m here. But I don’t. Instead, I cross the room to the bed, footsteps silent. It’s wrong and creepy to watch her sleep but I do it anyway. She has one arm over her head, the other on top of the blankets. Wild curly hair is splayed out over my pillow, and her face is so soft in sleep, she looks even younger than she is and utterly innocent.

The shirt I had given her to wear is on the floor alongside her panties and the realization that she’s naked strikes me. I grit my teeth. The thought of it, of her naked in my bed, has my breathing tighten, my muscles tensing.

Fuck. Me.

When she mutters something and shifts a little, I quickly snatch up the panties from the floor and tuck them into my pocket before clearing my throat. This time, Amal blinks, draws in a luxurious breath before stretching, her body twisting like a cat. There’s a satisfied smile on her lips and a soft moan of pleasure escapes her pretty lips. That sound makes my dick ache.

“Morning,” I say, and she gasps, eyelids flying open.

“What the…” She bolts upright, eyes wide, hands over her heart and staring up at me in a panic.

I grin. “Sleeping Beauty,” I say casually.

“Holy shit, Jet! You almost gave me a heart attack! What the hell⁠—”

“I knocked.”

“Knock louder. What are you doing? Watching me sleep?”

“Bringing coffee,” I lie, very aware her panties are literally in my pocket. I hold up the cup as if that proves my innocence.

When I drop my gaze to her exposed breasts, she glances down, then, startled, she grabs the duvet and clutches it to her chest, glancing at the discarded shirt before looking up at me.

My eyebrows lift just a little and I can’t help my grin.

“I got hot,” she says, a blush creeping into her cheeks.

“I bet.”

“Not like that,” she says, but the furious red her face turns tells me exactly like that and I like the idea of it. Of her getting off in my bed even if it is alone. I’d love to watch her sometime.

I forced the image out of my head before my dick gets the wrong idea.

She swings her legs out and takes the coffee I hand her, clutching the duvet to herself with her other.

“You don’t look like you got much sleep,” she says finally.

“I got hot too,” I say with a wink.

She flushes bright red and her gaze drops to my chest before she looks me over. I’m shirtless, in my sweats and barefoot. It takes a beat as her blush fades and her eyes grow… confused.

My heartbeats pick up at this shift.

Because I know what she sees.

Because it’s what I intended, isn’t it?

The scars are faded, but there all the same. Dozens of them. And from them rise the inked black wings of a phoenix. My rebirth. I could have hidden the scars. Covered over them. But this? This is me owning them.

Down my right arm is a large skull, the broken crown on its head. A Roman letter decorates each prong. I V I. Each letter is split in two by my sword which is coming out of the blind eye of the skull. My family’s crest is swallowed up inside the skull’s open mouth.

Every dot of ink carries meaning. A taking back of what was taken from me.

Severin asked me once why I’d want that on my body, in my skin. Did I not feel the constant weight of it?

I still think about that question so many years later. More than a decade later.