Chapter 38
SLAYER
Bix is still curled up beside me on the bed, wrapped loose in a silk robe that’s barely hanging over one shoulder. Her lips are pink and flushed. Her skin glows.
For the first time in years, I feel light and carefree. Like something’s been loosened inside my chest that I didn’t even know was locked.
I turn to look at her fully, just to make sure she’s still here, still real.
She opens her eyes and smiles lazily. “That was unexpected.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “That’s what happens when you go snooping through my things.”
“Well, if you’re going to leave incense and vintage books lying around, a girl might become intrigued.”
I stretch out beside her. My body still aches—the good kind. Muscles loose. Cock soft. Heart...not so soft.
“I haven’t felt that free since—” I stop myself. It’s half a thought. One I don’t think I want to finish out loud.
“Since?” she asks.
“Since a long time ago.”
Her eyes soften. This woman, who earlier was tracing rope-lined fantasies and driving me insane with her tongue, now watches me like I’m a map she’s learning how to read.
“Did the scarf bother you?” I ask.
Her brow lifts. “No. The idea of being tied to a post... So strange to say it, but it thrilled me. Excited me."
Inside me, it’s like something unwinds.
She adds, “You took your time. Made it safe. Sexy. And I didn’t expect that. But I liked it.”
And that’s the moment. Right there. It hits harder than the orgasm.
Because that’s not just permission. That’s trust.
For the first time in a long damn time, someone sees me—not the leather, not the legend. Just me. I lean over and kiss her shoulder. “You’re kind of blowing all my circuits.”
“Excellent. That’s what I’m going for.”
I grin. For a minute we lie there in the quiet, the air warm with incense and the hum of the ceiling fan. Bix runs her fingers over my arms and picks up the pendant resting against my chest.
“This always part of the costume?” she asks.
I look down as her fingers brush the silver edge. The stone catches a flash of the fading light—a pulse of violet.
“Bought it in Paris,” I say. “At some weird, dusty bookshop that smelled like cloves and old paper. The owner said it dates back to the seventeenth century and once belonged to a vampire. Or an alchemist. Either sounded fine to me."
She laughs softly. “So...protection?”
“Something like that.”
She lets it fall back against my skin.
That's all. No judgment. No digging. Just Bix, blowing all my circuits.
And maybe...resetting them.
“I’m looking forward to you meeting my best friend, Rafe," I say after a short silence. "He’ll be joining us tonight at the party.”
She nods. “You’ve known each other a long time, right?”
“Forever. The performer you know as Slayer wouldn’t exist without him.”
Now I’m saying more than I meant to. But there’s no stopping now.
“Rafe’s the one person who lets me be…whatever version of myself I need to be that day. He doesn’t expect anything, doesn’t try to manage me, doesn’t need me to perform.”
She’s quiet, listening.
“He’s arriving late because his mom’s dying.”
There it is, naked and awful. I feel my breath hitch in my chest just from saying it out loud.
Bix’s eyes soften. “How terrible. I’m so sorry.”
“Mrs. Tyson was more of a parent to me than my actual parents. You know how some people feed you canned soup when you’re sick and others make you homemade chicken broth and check you every hour for a fever?”
Bix nods. “That was my Grandmother Lola for me and Hilary.” Her phone buzzes. After glancing it, she groans.
“That was Milo. He sent me a photo of the dress he wants me to wear tonight, and he’s warning me to start getting ready now.”
“Better snap to it,” I tease. “Clearly you need all the extra beauty time you can get.”