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“I hate that you did this to me. I hate that there’s something growing inside me that might kill me. I hate that I can hear everyone’s heartbeats and I’m glowing like a goddamn lightbulb and my jeans don’t fit anymore.”
“I know.”
“But I also—” The words catch in my throat. I force them out anyway. “I also love it.”
His arms tighten around me. Just a fraction. Just enough that I feel it.
“I haven’t felt anything in three years,” I say. “Not really. Just the motions. Just the routine. Wake up. Bake. Sleep. Repeat. But now I’m feeling things. Fear and anger and this terrifying, overwhelming aliveness that makes me want to scream and laugh and cry all at once.”
“That’s the bond,” he says quietly. “My essence inside you. It’s waking you up.”
“I don’t want to go back to sleep.”
“You won’t.”
I twist in his arms, turning to face him. His glamour is back, hiding the horns and the obsidian skin, but his eyes are still that impossible black. Endless. Hungry. Fixed on me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
“What are you?” I ask.
“Incubus. Void-walker. Shadow-born. Pick whichever term makes you feel better.”
“None of them make me feel better.”
His mouth curves. Not quite a smile. “Then call me Malak.”
“So it is you… the incubus they talk about?”
“Yes.”
I study his face. The sharp angles. The too-perfect symmetry. The way his features seem to shift slightly depending on the light, like reality can’t quite decide what he should look like.
“You’re beautiful,” I say.
He goes still. “What?”
“You’re beautiful. Terrifying, but beautiful.”
“You just watched me consume two men.”
“I know.”
“You saw what I am. What I can do.”
“I know.”
“And you think I’m beautiful.”
I reach up. Touch his cheek. His skin is hot beneath my palm, fever-warm, and something in his expression cracks.
“Don’t,” he says.
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t—” He stops. His jaw clenches so tight I hear his teeth grind. “I can’t touch you again. Not like that. Not while you’re carrying—”
“The baby.”
“Yes.”
