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“And this,” he continues, pointing to the second volume, which has the image of a wolf-like demon hound, “is the origin of the Devil Dog. It’s not a typical hell hound, but an ancient primordial guardian created to purge corrupt magic from the earth. When I bound my soul to it two decades ago, two souls intertwined. Our dark magic and shadow magic blended and changed. His instincts became mine. My mind became his. We both lost powers and gained some.”

The memory of Vesper binding himself to the cryptid comes to mind. Something in the text catches my eye. I lean forward, placing my elbows on the table, completely mesmerized. I trace the edge of an illustration detailing the soul bond between a demon and their mate, listening to Vesper’s low, hypnotic voice explain the details of crossroads magic, shadow magic, and the exact mechanics of the triad link currently humming in my mind.

He speaks with such profound intelligence and passion that I lose all track of time. We sit together for hours by the crackling supernatural fire, trading thoughts, asking questions, and diving deep into the history of his world.

For the first time since we met, the frantic heat between us cools into something deep and steady. Something resembling mutual respect. He isn’t just a powerful entity who wants my body. He’s a brilliant person who respects my intelligence. He answers my questions with honesty and seems to value my thoughts. It’s something I’ve never had before, and it’s clearly something I crave.

“Take them,” Vesper says gently, sliding the stack of heavy books across the table toward me. The afternoon light begins to dim through the glass roof, bathing us in a romantic glow. “Read them at your leisure. Come here anytime and ask me anything you don’t understand.”

I gather them into my arms, pressing the books against my chest. A deep, radiating warmth fills my heart. I look up at him, meeting his glowing crimson eyes through the soft firelight. “Thank you, Vesper.”

Vesper stands up, walking around the table until he stops directly beside my chair. He reaches down, his cool fingers gently brushing a dark wave of hair away from my forehead, his thumb tracing the soft curve of my cheek with breathtaking tenderness. Is this seriously the demon who chased me through a forest and almost fucked me in front of my ex? The demon who I could’ve sworn would be my death?

“You don’t know the depths of what it means to me that you bonded with me, Bellamy,” he whispers, his voice low and heavy with absolute devotion. “You let a monster claim you, despite everything you’ve been through.”

I swallow hard, shaking my head. How can I convince him he isn’t the monster he thinks he is? At least not to me.

“We met before,” I blurt.

Vesper arches a curious brow before that smirk I like so damn much returns. “Trust me, I wouldn’t ever forget you.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s true. When I was ten, the Devil Dog found me in the woods. My father was drunk, and it saved me. That was seventeen years ago. I’m pretty sure my father would have cracked that beer bottle right over my skull.”

Vesper’s lips part as understanding floods the soul bond between us, rippling straight through our shared link. “I remember now,” he murmurs softly. “It was only a few years after I bound with the Devil Dog. We were still trying to figure out how to share a single body. No wonder the cryptid was so drawn to you later at the crossroads.”

Vesper’s hand reaches out, hovering just an inch from my skin. Suddenly, the Devil Dog emerges from the shadows, brushing against my thigh in a possessive, silent acknowledgment. His shadow body is translucent enough that I can see the phantom bones of his ribcage. The hound looked so different before losing his true form.

Breath catches in my throat as I stare at the hound. “It was you. Both of you.”

I lean my face into Vesper’s hand, holding the heavy books close as the soul bond between us hums with need. Vesper growls.

“This estate is yours. My knowledge and memories are yours. And as long as you breathe, I am yours.” His voice grates, low and rough. Despite his promise, the tone is possessive. His eyes flare into two dark crimson embers, reminding me exactly how dangerous this demon truly is. Reminding me that a mere human could never truly cage a beast so feral.

Chapter fourteen

Vesper

My study is dead silent, save for the rhythmic tapping of my claws against my wooden desk and the crackling burn of the fire in the stone hearth. Spread across my dark mahogany desk are candid photos and reports captured by Killian and his shadow-familiars over the last forty-eight hours. Gregory is not just throwing local police and hired muscle in my woods anymore. The reports confirm he has purchased a magical artifact that might help him break through the wards enough to see past the shadows. They’re hoping to breach the estate’s outer wards.

I trace a finger over a photo of the magical artifact. It’s probably a piece of shit he just wasted good money on, but I should prepare for the worst, just in case.

Yet despite everything, my mind is elsewhere.

Deep within the western wing of the manor, a soft, steady pulse echoes through the center of my chest. My new mate. The bond. Everything happened so fucking fast. Now, we share dreams and memories. Feelings and understanding. But I’m still terrified my pretty human will wake up one day and demand to leave me. He’s smart and brave. And thanks to our link, I know exactly what he went through, first with his father, then with Gregory Jones.

Through the connection, I can feel Bellamy sitting by the fire in the grand library, turning the pages of the cryptid histories I gave him. I can feel the blooming warmth in his chest, the calm rhythm of his breathing, and the absence of terror. He’s safe in my home, curled up around a book and reading my history. He’s marked. Which means he’s mine. Truly mine, no matter what insecurities try to plague me.

The realization sharpens my focus into something lethal and calculating. Anyone who tries to take him away from me will have to deal with my bloodlust.

A soft rustle of shadows stirs near the corner of the study.

A short time later, Killian emerges from the shadows, a tailored blue overcoat slung carelessly over one shoulder. His long, wavy hair is gold today instead of silver. Even wearing his human shape, a wild, lethal edge clings to him, whispering that his wraith nature is barely holding back the beast inside.

There’s an unreadable expression on his sharp face. He walks toward the desk, glancing down at the stack of photos before looking up at me with his dark eyes. He plucks one from the stack before tossing it in front of me. It’s an image of Gregory, eyes wild as he shouts at someone off camera.

“You’re using your magic to make him go insane, aren’t you?” Killian asks quietly.

“I am. Gregory knows he’s dealing with the supernatural. He didn’t believe it at first, but I have my ways of showing him the truth of what we are,” I reply, my voice low and level. “He’s going to use his expensive new toy to try to get through my wards. Fucking fool. Still, I’m taking extra precautions.”