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“Why not?” Scarlet smiles deviously. “Go for it. We’ll have a drink waiting for you when you need something to soothe your wounded ego.”

Typical Scarlet, assuming the worst. For the night, I’m choosing to be an optimist.

I laugh and pull my arm away. “Sterling isn’t going to wound my ego. I’m… going to say hi.”

They’re probably right, and I should definitely listen, but I’m possessed as I pass through the bar and sidle up to the pair. Once it’s directed at me, Sterling’s smile simultaneously puts me at ease and fills my gut with butterflies. I have to force myself to look away, greeting the demoness—Latra, Farrah had said.

When I try to shake her hand, she stares at me rather than accepting.

“Um… this is Aurora,” Sterling says. “She moved to Starbrook—when was it? Almost two months ago?”

“Yup.” I lower my hand. Maybe she doesn’t know what a handshake is. Most demons integrate well with humans, but not all of them.

“Latra!” She does know what a hug is because she pulled me into a bone-crushing hug, her head resting on top of mine, her warmth seeping into my bones.

A fire demoness, maybe?

“I love your perfume,” she says, pulling away. “Almost like… cake?”

I flush under her attention. Okay, I can kind of see why she might affect Sterling. There’s something about her—sweet, charming, and hot. Literally. Fire comes off her in waves.

“I like gourmands,” I say.

“So yummy.”

She’s nice. Why does that only make me more jealous? I bite my lower lip and look between them, tugging on Sterling’s sleeve. “Actually, can I talk to you for a second?”

He looks at Latra as if asking for permission—annoying—and she shrugs.

“Sure,” Sterling says.

I drag him away, still holding his sleeve. Past the bar, past the chairs, into the bathroom.

“What are we doing?” he asks, his expression bewildered as I lock the door behind us.

“I need you,” I whisper, pressing my hands against his chest and pinning him to the wall. “Please.”

This wasn’t supposed to be the plan. I wanted to talk to him, but instead, I’m fighting the urge to stake my claim—and I’m losing that fight. Badly.

How can the same thing that makes me want to run from him be forcing me to run to him now? All I can think of is him leaving with Latra. To the Underworld. Never returning my calls. The leaves in my backyard will pile up and up and up.

His chest rises and falls harshly, and the confusion melts away as his fingers tangle in my hair. “You’re jealous, but you don’t have to be.” His lips brush against mine, his hot breath fanning over my skin. “You shouldn’t be. I told you how I feel, and you didn’t return the sentiment.”

“I-I know.”

But I do—I return his feelings, even though I still can’t be as bold with my words as he was. Why can’t I be more like him?

This is easier.

I kiss him, and he kisses back, crushing and hungry, holding my face close to his. It’s not until my fingers trail over his bulge that he pulls away, breathless.

“I need to know what we are,” he says. “I can’t keep doing this.”

It’s the first time he’s said anything like this since his confession, and it feels different now. Maybe it’s my surge of possession. Maybe it’s the sincerity with which he meets my gaze.

I stand on my tiptoes, my chest pressed against his. “I’m yours.” Those two words feel impossible to say, but they’re true. I’ve been his. I haven’t been with anyone else since we kissed in my kitchen, and I don’t want to be. “Is that what you’ve been waiting to hear? That no one can fuck me like you do? That you’re the only one I want?”

“No.” He sighs, his grip softening, brushing over my hair. “Not quite that.”