Chapter Thirty-Seven #2
Rick seemed to study him, expression somber. He had that cop stillness, every movement deliberate, every silence pointed. “What about the accident? The car crash that killed ’em. You remember it?”
Ash shifted, the couch fabric rasping against his thigh. His gaze fell to the floor, following the zig-zag pattern on the carpet. “Not much. Just… headlights. Screeching. Then nothing.”
Rick leaned closer, arm sliding along the couch behind him, his presence filling the space between them. His tone was calm, but weighted, a rope pulling Ash toward something he didn’t want to remember. “Tell me what happened after.”
The words struck like nails at a bruise.
Ash flinched without meaning to, his whole body taut.
He never opened up, not about this, not to anyone.
What would be the point? People drifted in and out of his life, no one staying tethered long enough to matter.
No one knew, not even Tess. And now this man—a cop of all things—wanted inside?
But Rick’s eyes… damn those eyes. He’d seen them cold as a winter sky, merciless, and now they were almost tender, storm-gray blurred to silver. A sea you wanted to dive into, even knowing you could drown.
“I know you don’t trust me,” Rick said, hushed but unwavering. “We’ve only known each other for a week. But I promise—I won’t betray you. I won’t hurt you.”
Ash’s throat tightened. He wanted to scoff, to shut him down with some cruel line, retreat into smoke and silence.
But Rick’s knee brushed his, just barely, the touch so light it felt accidental, though Ash knew better.
The warmth lingered. And despite every wall he’d built, despite every lesson burned into him about survival, he believed him. He couldn’t help it.
He brought the cigarette to his lips, pulled deep, let the smoke spill in a long sigh that drifted between them. It hung there like a veil, as if he needed a screen to hide behind. “All right,” he said at last.
Rick stubbed out his own smoke in the tray and shifted closer. His thigh pressed against Ash’s, his palm falling easily to Ash’s shoulder, fingers brushing just enough to steady him. A wordless nudge, anchoring.
“After the accident… after my parents died, I got bounced around a little. Until the Swansons took me in. Nice family. Nice house. Everything neat and safe, like a picture frame.” He gave a hollow laugh.
“They had a son, Eric.” Ash’s throat tightened around the name.
“Two years older than me. Star athlete. Golden boy. He… He was everything I wasn’t.
” A soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips as Eric’s face flickered through his mind, a ray of sunshine over a dark wasteland.
“He taught me kung-fu. Taekwondo. He was really into that stuff.”
When he paused, Rick’s hand slid down to his wrist, thumb tracing slow circles over the pulse there.
Ash stared at the glowing ember of his cigarette, then crushed it out hard, as if that might keep his voice from shaking.
“We… got close. Too close. Call it hormones, curiosity… whatever excuse you like. It was dangerous, intense, exciting. But it wasn’t just fooling around.
We cared about each other. Loved each other, the way only teens think they can.
” His words frayed, raw at the edges. “Only… the more we did it, the worse he got. He started looking pale, sunken. He was losing weight, like something was draining out of him. He wanted to stop, but I couldn’t.
I couldn’t stop. It was like once the door was open, I didn’t know how to shut it.
My body was starving, and he was the only thing that could fill it. ”
Rick’s grip shifted, warmer, surer, their palms aligning as he threaded their fingers together, grounding him in the contact. Ash clung to the touch, though part of him wanted to shrink away, to keep the rot of his story from staining it.
“After a month or so… he was gone. They said it was his heart. But I knew. I knew it was me. I broke him. I loved him, and I used him up until there was nothing left.” He swallowed hard, staring at his bare knees.
The couch’s fabric was worn thin, the cushion sagging beneath him, but he barely registered it; he felt hollowed out, as though the memory had carved him open all over again.
“So I ran. Couldn’t face them. Couldn’t stay under that roof knowing what I’d done.
I lived on the street. Slept wherever I could.
Learned pretty quick that people would do anything if I looked or smiled at them a certain way.
They’d give me food. Money. Their bodies.
And I needed all of it. Sex wasn’t just survival; it was…
it was hunger. Like breathing.” He rubbed the nape of his neck, gaze darting away.
“But I never let anyone get close. Not after Eric. Once, maybe twice, then I cut it off. Couldn’t risk…
couldn’t risk loving someone into the ground again. ”
Rick’s hold tightened briefly, steady and firm. Not in judgment. Not in pity. Just a squeeze, saying I’m here.
Ash let out a ragged laugh that turned halfway into a sob.
“I see his face every time. The way he wasted away. The way I—” His voice caught, broke.
He blinked hard, but it didn’t stop the wetness brimming in his eyes.
One tear slipped free, tracing down his cheek, and that betrayal of his body undid him more than any confession.
Rick released him only to cup his chin, coaxing his gaze up.
Ash saw those half-shadowed eyes soften, warm as storm clouds split by light.
He tried to look away, but Rick gathered him in, pressing Ash’s head to his chest. Strong arms wrapped around him, rocking once, twice, slow and protective, like he could shelter him from the weight of his own past.
Ash let himself melt there, into the warmth of Rick’s skin, the steady thump of his heartbeat drumming in his ear like it might stitch him together.
He hadn’t been held like this since… he couldn’t even remember when.
And it terrified him, how much he wanted to stay.
He breathed in smoke, sweat, the faint animal musk of him, and whispered, hoarse, “You’re the only one who doesn’t wither.
Doesn’t break. The only one I can’t sway.
No matter how much I take, you’re still standing. ”
Rick’s words rumbled above him, gentler than Ash thought that huge body could sound. “It’s that werewolf-healing thing,” he murmured. “You can’t harm me.”
Ash’s forehead pressed against Rick’s chest, fists bunching in Rick’s skin, fighting the urge to dig deeper, to anchor himself harder. “Why am I like this?” The words crawled out of his throat, raw and quiet. “What’s wrong with me?”
Rick’s arms cinched tighter around him, palm splayed wide between his shoulder blades. “Ash,” he murmured. “There’s something I gotta tell you.”
A prickle crawled over Ash’s skin, static alive in the air. He stiffened. “What is it?”
Rick’s fingers rose, slow and steady, and slid into his hair, combing it away like a man soothing a frightened animal. His tone stayed soft. “You’re not just special. Not just… different. I think you’re… a demon.”
Ash’s gaze locked on Rick’s, searching for a crack, a tell. “What?”
But Rick didn’t flinch. Didn’t soften. His voice was husky, even and inexorable.
“Think about it. You’ve always known there was something other about you.
Your face—people look at you and forget what they were doing.
Your body heals from things that should wreck anyone else.
You bend others. Make them do things they’d never choose.
” He swallowed hard, grimacing. “Hell, your hole—” the word caught in his mouth.
“It’s always slick, without any lube. Clean, ready, every damn time. ”
“I thought my fiber game was on point,” Ash murmured, mind reeling.
“You took me without prep, over and over,” Rick went on. “That ain’t something an ordinary man can do, Ash. Don’t tell me you never suspected it.”
The words hit cold, sluicing through him like a bucket of ice.
His stomach knotted, blood roaring hot in his temples.
He shoved out of Rick’s hold, shot to his feet, bare skin prickling in the draft from the window.
“Well, excuse me for trying to find a rational solution instead of considering I might be a fucking demon!” The sound of his words was too sharp, too high, and he hated himself for it.
Rick leaned back, calm as stone, one ankle over another knee, watching him pace across the rug. “Technically, half-demon. Your birth mother was human. But I don’t know the rules. This is a first for me, too.”
Ash barked out a jagged laugh, bitter on his tongue.
“Swell. Half-price demon stripper and an outcast wolf-cop. What a pair.” He raked a hand through his hair, pacing the room’s length like he could outwalk the knot in his gut.
His eye caught on the painting on the wall, the empty bottle on the table, the scattered clothes—remnants of domestic life that suddenly felt foreign, too fragile for what was cracking inside him.
“I thought I was just… a sex addict. A freak. Even went to group therapy, for Christ’s sake! ”
Rick’s brow twitched, the closest thing to surprise. “And how did that work out for you?”
Ash turned toward him, frowning, arms folded. “I ended up fucking my counselor. And half the group, while I was at it. So, not good.”
Rick shook his head, lips curling in a sour grin. “No. But you’re not a freak. Not broken. Just not… human.”
The words snagged in Ash’s chest, somewhere between relief and despair. His voice dropped to a whisper. “How do you even know all this?”
Rick shifted, the couch sighing under his weight, and met Ash’s stare with steady calm.
“I dug up your file when you were a suspect. Found info on your birth mother. She was a nun. Frank and I went to her old convent, talked to a Sister who knew her.” His jaw tightened.
“She said your mother claimed she was raped by a demon. Got pregnant as a result. She never fully recovered from the trauma and hung herself after giving birth. Normally, I’d be sceptical.
But after seeing what you can do… I’m inclined to believe her. ”
Ash staggered, the words a physical blow.
He dropped onto the arm of the couch, knuckles pressed hard to his mouth, willing the sting in his eyes to stay put.
But a laugh broke free instead, raw and sharp.
“A demon. Figures.” His voice cracked like dry paper.
“So what does that make me? The Devil’s errand boy? ”
Rick exhaled slow, air stirring between them.
“That’s only the Christian version,” he said, leaning forward.
“But these stories go back further than that. Every culture has its own name for them.” He reached across the table, digging through the mess until a heavy spine surfaced, a thick, worn volume with frayed corners.
He drew it out and set it between them. “Take a look at this,” he said quietly.
Ash glanced at the title. The Encyclopedia of Demons and Demonology.
“In the old days, they called them Sirens—beautiful creatures that lured men to their deaths,” Rick went on, forearms braced on his knees.
“Later, Incubi and Succubi, spirits feeding on the living through pleasure. Some of the modern theories…” He paused, a muscle ticking along his jaw.
“They think these things might not be spiritual at all. That they come from somewhere else—another world, another reality. Just wearing human skin for a while.”
Ash took the book, thumbing through the brittle pages. The paper smelled of dust and parchment, each illustration more grotesque or seductive than the last. He didn’t read so much as absorb, his pulse loud in his ears.
Silence pressed in, filled only by the muted thrum of a kitchen radio and the occasional car sighing past outside.
Finally, he tossed the book onto the table, rubbed his palms over his face, and let out a shaky breath.
“I always knew something was off,” he said.
“Even as a kid. I knew things I’d never learned, saw things I couldn’t explain.
Flashes, memories that didn’t belong to me.
Like I was peeking through someone else’s eyes, into a life that wasn’t mine. ”
Rick’s gaze darkened. “There’s one more thing.”
Ash tensed. “God. What now?”
“You’ve got a twin sister.”
The world lurched. His chest hollowed. “Jesus, Rick. How long have you been sitting on this?”
“I only found it out three days ago,” Rick said evenly. “I was going to tell you.”
“How considerate.” Ash shoved off the couch and stalked a few steps toward the window and back again, his body too hot for his skin. “Any more bombs you plan on dropping?”
Rick raised his palms. “That’s all I have.”
Ash stopped pacing, shoulders caving inward, staring down at the rug’s weave until it blurred.
“A twin sister,” he muttered. The words tasted strange, foreign…
and yet familiar. A piece of himself he’d always felt like a phantom limb, suddenly made flesh.
“Well? Who is she? Alive? What do you know?”
“I only got a name,” Rick said. “Ivy. I can dig more if you want.”
Ash’s chest twisted, but the answer was already there, carved into him. He turned toward Rick again, tone steady. “Yeah. I do.”
Rick rose, closed the space between them, and brushed a wild lock of hair off Ash’s forehead, fingers lingering against his temple.
His eyes searched his face, shadowed but unflinching.
“Ash…” His voice dipped, quiet. “This doesn’t change anything.
Me being a lycan. You being a demon. Not for me, at least.”
Ash’s breath shuddered, caught somewhere between relief and ache. “No,” he whispered at last. “I guess not.”
Rick’s hand slid to cradle his jaw, thumb dragging slowly along the ridge of bone, and Ash let the heat of it brand him.
An old fear stirred somewhere deep, warning him to pull back, to keep his distance, but his body drowned it, melting, folding, craving the shelter of that grip.
Rick drew him in until their bodies aligned, pressed tight, a puzzle locking into place.
The air thickened, heavy with smoke and pheromones and something rawer than either: inevitability.
His lips parted, searching, almost trembling.
Rick’s mouth hovered a breath away, close enough to taste the heat, close enough to burn.
He held him tighter, and Ash let himself be held, heart stuttering, body already answering to the weight of destiny.