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“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Sunday, pull yourself together.”

I open my eyes to find a young woman standing over me, auburn locks framing her face. She looks furious.

“I did not rip apart my own being just for you to perish now. Pull yourself together and go back to your body,” she demands, shoving my chest. A strange sensation ripples through me, and then the ground under my back gives way.

Is it the ground?

I’m not sure if I’m going up, down, or sideways.

I think I’m having an out-of-body experience, because the world flashes at my feet: the man I love, and the thing I hate, and then I’m back inside my fleshy cage, gasping for air.

I wrench my eyes open, finding Bellamy across the room, looking wild, but less scared than I feel. The gold of his eyes has turned to hellfire, burning into me with savage resolve.

“Bels…” I groan, pushing myself up.

It happens so fast.

The demon laughs, the sound tinkling like dropped coins. It moves, bursting back into smoke. Bellamy screams, grabbing at the incorporeal body, his fingers gliding through nothing. I know it’s coming back to me, but I have nowhere to go, backing myself as far into the tub as I can, my feet sliding against the porcelain.

“Fuck, no!” Bellamy yells, desperation straining his voice as the smoke swirls closer.

I try to hold my breath against the intrusion, but it still finds a way to invade my nose, sliding down the back of my throat, choking and gagging me. It violates me, coiling under my skin like it’s always belonged there, demon and depraved, cretin and creature.

My head falls back, the tide of darkness rushing back in until I drown in it all over again.

Chapter Forty-Five

Bellamy

“No, no!” I plead, grabbing at Sunday as his head flops backward, connecting with the tub with a dull thud. “Sunday. SUNDAY,” I screech.

I was so close, so fucking close to getting rid of that thing. I knew the hand gestures, I had the salt circle ready, my throat was burning with the silent incantation I was projecting. But then Sunday woke up.

The demon needs a vessel, and it couldn’t use me, so it went back and invaded him.

Sunday’s body convulses, and it doesn’t stop. A thin mist of shadow particles leaks out of his mouth, his nose, his ears, as he spasms, head knocking into the porcelain.

I don’t think. I leap into the bath, yanking off my shirt and tucking it behind his head. I try to roll Sunday onto his side, but his skin is too slick. My fingers can’t keep hold of him, and besides, there’s nowhere for him to roll.

It feels like an eternity before his movements start to slow, until the jerking turns to twitching and his breathing evens out. My limbs ache from the position I’m hovering in, thighs and arms burning as I hold the bundle of fabric under his head.

Please be okay.

Please, please be okay.

His eyes flutter open, dazed and heavy.

“Sunday?” I call. “Sunday, keep your eyes open for me.”

He can’t.

I tap the side of his face. “Babe, open your eyes.” I hope the term of endearment sparks something in him, but even when I flick water on his face, he still won’t wake up.

I don’t want to leave him, but I jump out of the bath, trailing water all over the bathroom floor as I run to grab my phone. Face recognition opens my screen, but the water on my hands prevents me from dialing.

“Come the fuck on,” I yell, scrubbing my hands on my clothes, but they’re wet too.

Visceral desperation claws at my ribs as I dry my hands quickly on the couch throw and finally manage to call an ambulance. I don’t know how much they will be able to do for him, but they must be able to do something—anything.