Chapter Eight
Reality TV was going to be the actual cause of Isaac’s death. Not the reality TV itself, though the fake drama between contestants made his eyes want to roll out of his skull. No, it was Whichello’s running commentary that was going to do him in.
“I could start a fire faster than that,” Whichello said, gesturing at the screen where some sunburned contestant struggled with flint and steel. “Without any tools. In a rainstorm.”
Isaac tried to shift on the couch, angling for a better view around Whichello’s broad shoulder, but the demon’s arm stayed draped over him like a weighted restraint. The leather couch creaked under their combined weight, worn soft from what must have been centuries of use.
“You know these people are regular humans, right?” Isaac pointed out, watching the contestant finally produce a spark that caught on dry grass. “They don’t have demonic powers or fourteen hundred years of survival experience.”
“Which is exactly my point.” Whichello’s fingers traced lazy patterns on Isaac’s shoulder, the touch casual but grounding. “If I were dropped in the middle of nowhere with nothing but the clothes on my back, I’d have shelter and food within an hour.”
“Congratulations on being an overachieving demon.” Isaac reached for the remote on the side table, trying to turn up the volume over Whichello’s critiques. “Some of us mere mortals have to struggle with basic survival skills.”
The contestant on screen had moved on to building a shelter, lashing together branches with strips of bark. Whichello made a derisive sound low in his throat.
“That’s not gonna hold up,” he said, leaning forward slightly. Isaac tried to use the momentum to slip out from under his arm, but Whichello’s grip tightened, pulling him back against the couch. “See how he’s angling the supports? First strong gust and the whole thing collapses.”
Isaac squirmed, testing the hold. Whichello’s arm might as well have been a steel bar for all the give it had. “You planning on letting me move anytime this century? Or am I just permanently attached to your gargantuan body now?”
Whichello’s mouth curved against the side of Isaac’s throat, warm breath ghosting over skin. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Then Isaac felt teeth, not breaking skin but grazing with enough pressure to make his protest dissolve into something that wasn’t quite a gasp. Playful nips traced the line of his jaw, punctuated by the soft press of lips that felt too gentle for someone who’d spent centuries perfecting violence.
“That’s cheating,” Isaac managed, but he’d already stopped trying to escape, his body melting back into Whichello’s side despite his brain's weak protests.
“Is it working?” Another nip, this one at the sensitive spot just below his ear, which made Isaac’s toes curl against the plush carpet.
“Shut up and watch your show.”
Whichello’s laugh rumbled through both their bodies, the sound rich and genuinely amused in a way Isaac had rarely heard from him. They settled back into the couch, Isaac’s weight tucked against Whichello’s side while the demon’s arm remained a solid presence across his shoulders.
On screen, the contestant had finished his shelter and was now attempting to catch fish in a shallow stream using his bare hands. Whichello opened his mouth, probably to explain exactly how he could do it better, but Isaac jabbed an elbow into his ribs before he could start.
“Just watch,” Isaac said. “Without commentary. For five minutes.”
“Five minutes is a long time to stay quiet.”
“I have complete faith in your inability to manage it.”
Another laugh, softer this time, and Whichello’s fingers resumed drawing their absent patterns on Isaac’s shoulder. The touch should have been distracting, but instead it grounded Isaac in the present moment. It was real and solid, not the nightmare illusion the castle had trapped him in earlier.
He could still hear Danny’s voice, still hear the cruel words that had felt so real, even though Isaac knew they weren’t.
The apartment had looked like his, every detail perfect down to the coffee stains and lumpy couch.
But Danny would never say those things. Would never look at Isaac with that cold indifference.
At least, Isaac hoped he wouldn’t.
The thought wormed its way deeper, planting roots in soil that was already too fertile for doubt.
What if the castle had just shown him a truth he’d been too naive to see?
What if Danny really did view their friendship as nothing more than convenient and moving in with Ash had been his escape route?
Isaac’s hands fisted in his lap, nails digging crescents into his palms. He forced himself to breathe slowly through his nose, counting the exhales.
“You’re thinking too loud,” Whichello said quietly, his attention still on the screen but his awareness clearly tracking Isaac’s internal spiral.
“Didn’t know thoughts had volume.”
“Yours do.” Whichello brushed his thumb against Isaac’s shoulder. “Want to talk about it?”
“Not particularly.” Isaac kept his eyes on the screen, watching the contestant give up on catching fish and start foraging for edible plants instead. “Just processing.”
“The illusion.”
“Yeah.”
They lapsed back into silence, though calling it comfortable would be generous.
The weight of everything unsaid pressed down harder than Whichello’s arm.
Dimitri was still out there somewhere. The castle had proven it was actively hostile.
And Isaac couldn’t shake the feeling that staying here, in Whichello’s chambers like they were a normal couple doing normal couple things, was just the eye of a storm that hadn’t finished destroying everything yet.
Whichello’s body felt relaxed against his, loose-limbed and casual in a way that suggested he didn’t have a care in the world.
But Isaac could feel the careful control that kept every muscle from betraying the tension underneath.
His mate was unsettled too, just better at hiding it behind centuries of practice.
Mate. The word still felt foreign, too big for Isaac’s mouth. He was mated to a demon who’d bought him at an auction, who’d sent enforcers to drag him back when he’d run. Nothing about that should feel right or safe or like something Isaac wanted to sink into and never leave.
But Whichello’s arm stayed steady, and his thumb kept tracing those small circles, and Isaac found himself leaning into the touch despite every rational argument against it.
On screen, the contestant had found some berries and was carefully testing them for poison by rubbing them on his inner wrist. Whichello made a sound that might have been approval, which was probably the closest he’d come to admitting a human was doing something right.
Isaac needed to call Danny. Not because he believed the illusion’s version of his best friend, but because hearing the real Danny’s voice would help separate truth from the castle’s lies.
He shifted again, this time with actual intent, trying to extract himself from Whichello’s hold. The arm tightened immediately, keeping him pinned in place.
“Where are you going?” Whichello asked, his tone mild but his grip firm enough to make escape impossible without a fight.
“I want to call Danny.” Isaac pushed against the arm but it didn’t budge. “Just to check in. Make sure he’s okay.”
“He’s fine.” Whichello’s attention stayed on the screen, but Isaac could feel the sudden predatory focus. “Ash won’t let anything happen to him.”
“I know that.” Isaac pushed harder, his frustration building. “But I still want to hear his voice. Need to, actually, after the castle decided to use him as nightmare fuel.”
The arm loosened slightly, enough to let Isaac slip free. He stood up and immediately missed the warmth of Whichello’s body against his. The floor felt cold under his bare feet, even through the carpet.
“Phone’s in the bedroom,” Whichello said, gesturing toward the door that led to his private sleeping quarters. “Don’t go wandering off anywhere else.”
“Not a chance in hell.” Isaac headed for the bedroom, his steps quick across plush carpet. “Not after the castle tried to eat me.”
The bedroom was exactly as excessive as the rest of Whichello’s chambers.
A massive four-poster bed dominated the space, draped in dark fabrics that looked like they’d swallow anyone who got too close.
Floor-to-ceiling windows showed the eternal twilight of the demon realm, city lights twinkling in the distance like fallen stars.
His phone sat on the nightstand, the screen dark. Isaac picked it up, thumb hovering over Danny’s contact before he made himself press Call.
It rang once. Twice. Three times. Isaac counted each ring, his heart rate climbing with every unanswered second. Maybe Danny was busy. Maybe he was with Ash and didn’t want to be interrupted. Maybe—
“Hello, Isaac.”
The voice that answered didn’t belong to Danny.
Ice flooded Isaac’s veins, freezing him in place with the phone pressed too hard against his ear. He knew that voice, had heard it right before Whichello had yanked him off Isaac’s body and sentenced him to death.
Dimitri.
“I was just about to call you,” Dimitri said. “Funny how we had the same thought, huh?”
“Where’s Danny?” Isaac snarled, ignoring the obvious taunt. “What did you do to him?”
“Nothing yet.” Dimitri’s voice held that same cruel amusement it had carried in the tower room, making Isaac grind his molars. “Your friend and his bear are perfectly fine. For now.”
“Let me talk to him.” Isaac gripped the edge of the nightstand, nails scraping against wood. “Right now.”
“I don’t think so.” Something rustled on the other end, fabric maybe. “But I’ll give you a choice. Come to your friend’s house. Alone. No demon backup, no Whichello riding to the rescue. Just you.”
“And if I don’t?” Isaac already knew the answer. It would be some kind of death threat. Although he was terrified of the demon, Dimitri didn’t seem like the type who thought outside the box.