Chapter 10 Kallum
KALLUM
Christian still smells like me.
Even with the daylight stretching its filthy hands over everything, trying to scrub me away, I could feel myself on him. Inside him. His lips were still swollen from my kisses; his body still ached where I held him too tight. He might not remember all of it, not yet, but his soul did.
And then that four-eyed fucker Sam had to go and ruin it.
I knew he’d come sniffing around. I made sure Christian’s phone was missing, tucked away where he wouldn’t think to look. No calls. No texts. No lifeline. But of course, the persistent little shit had to show up in person, acting like he had any right to worry—any right to touch what’s mine.
I crouch in the shadows just outside the bookstore, watching as Sam stumbles out, shaking his head and muttering to himself. His bloodied sweater looks pathetic, and I smirk at the memory of his pained little whimpers. Not so brave now, are you, Sammy?
I should break him. Snap his pretty little fingers so he never touches Christian again. Rip his tongue out for every word he’s ever spoken to my human. But the sun is too high, and I’ve already pushed too hard. Patience.
That doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun.
I follow. Silent. Watching. Close enough to him to hear the tremble in his breath.
I let my shadow slither ahead of me, stretching long and swallowing the space around him as he fumbles for his keys.
His hands shake as he unlocks his car, muttering under his breath, something about Christian, about me.
Well not me exactly, but something about spirits or whatever.
It’s a creepy little old bookstore. Of course there are things lurking around every corner.
But that’s semantics. Let him fear me.
He climbs into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut and locking it behind him.
Like that will stop me. Too bad for him that he chose to park in the shade today.
I press a clawed hand to the back windshield, just lightly enough that the glass doesn’t shatter.
Sam doesn’t see me yet; he’s too busy cursing as blood still drips between his fingers.
Then I let him see me.
My true form. The monster.
The shadows coil around me like living things, eyes burning red, my mouth stretching into something wide and wrong. My horns cast long, jagged silhouettes across the dashboard. The air freezes. The moment his gaze lifts to the mirror…
He screams.
A strangled, desperate, horrified sound.
The kind of scream that doesn’t come from the throat, but from the soul.
And it would make my dick hard, if not for the fact that the only thing making my dick hard lately was a little blonde guy with a delicious cock.
I wonder for a moment if Christian would let me suck him off again, would he like my forked tongue sliding down his length?
He loved when it ate his ass last night. Moaned so perfectly for me.
I tilt my head and flash him a sadistic smile as I drag my clawed finger down the glass, slow, so slow, watching the way his body locks up in terror.
“Drive, Sammy.” My voice slithers through the now-cracked windshield, low and syrupy. “And don’t come back.”
His tires screech as he peels out of the lot, nearly hitting a parked car in his blind panic. I laugh, satisfied, watching his pathetic little vehicle disappear down the street.
“Good boy.”
I should be riding the high of making Sam scream like a dying animal. I should be satisfied watching his shitty little car fishtail down the street, his panic thick in the air like the coppery taste of blood. But as soon as I turn back to locate Christian, the satisfaction curdles into rage.
Because he’s not alone.
That fucker from before, the young one who thought he could put his hands on Christian last time, is standing inside the bookstore, leering, cocky as ever.
And I can’t do a fucking thing about it.
The old laws bind me. Noctis Imperium: The Dominion of Night.
A law older than human history, older than fire and scripture.
We were made from darkness, stitched from the fabric of void and hunger, and so long as the night reigned, so did we.
But daylight … daylight was the first weapon wielded against us, a holy, untouchable force that forced us into the cracks, the shadows, the liminal spaces where humans forgot to look.
I can still exist in daylight, barely. But it costs me.
Every second is a fight against the natural order, a struggle to keep from unraveling into nothing.
Every action drains me, pulling me further into the abyss of inertia.
If I push too hard, I’ll be trapped, fading into mere thought, a whisper on the edge of Christian’s mind, unable to reach him, unable to hold him.
And I would rather burn than let that happen.
Inside, the bookstore is quiet except for the low hum of the old AC unit and the lazy flipping of pages from some students skimming through books they have no intention of buying.
Christian stands near the counter, trying to ignore the presence of the asshole now leaning against it, drumming his fingers on the wood.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He wants attention. Wants a reaction.
My fingers twitch, the need to intervene clawing at me, but light still bleeds through the store windows, slanting golden across the floor, severing me from them. I clench my jaw and push, willing myself to reach beyond the barrier of my limitations. A test. A risk.
If I can’t touch flesh, maybe I can touch something else.
My gaze flicks to the old glass paperweight sitting on the counter near Christian’s hand. If I can move it, if I can make it shift even an inch, then maybe…
The strain hits me like a knife between the ribs. My vision darkens at the edges, the weight of daylight pressing down, suffocating. The paperweight trembles, just barely, but instead of sliding toward the edge, it resists, like something unseen is forcing it to stay put.
Fuck.
I grind my teeth, forcing more of myself into it, but it’s like pushing through molasses. The object jerks, just a fraction, before snapping back into place.
The resistance sears through me, a rejection so visceral it feels like my own body is spitting me out.
A surge of rage floods my chest. I want to shatter the glass, splinter it into a thousand jagged pieces just to prove I can.
But the light has me in its teeth, holding me still, laughing at my struggle.
I pull back before it costs me more than I can afford.
The edges of my form flicker, my shadows retract into the corners like a wounded animal licking its wounds.
The frustration is a living thing inside me.
I hate this. I hate the rules. I hate that I can’t reach Christian when he needs me the most.
And he does need me.
The bully’s smirk deepens as he watches Christian stiffen, his fingers flexing over the book he was shelving. The asshole’s eyes drag over him, slow and assessing, like he’s weighing his options. His voice is slick with condescension when he finally speaks.
“Not so tough without your freak boyfriend around to protect you, are you?”
Boyfriend.
Something ugly and hot coils in my chest, momentarily eclipsing my rage at the sun. He called me Christian’s boyfriend.
It’s wrong—not enough, not nearly fucking enough, but I’ll take it. It's an acknowledgment. Proof that people see it, see that Christian is mine.
Christian scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The bully grins, sensing an opening. “Guess he’s not here now, huh?” He leans in closer. “Figures. People talk big when they’ve got protection. But when it’s just you and me…” His fingers twitch like he’s thinking about touching Christian.
Do it. Fucking try it.
Christian doesn’t move. He just stares at the guy, shoulders squared, as if daring him to follow through. There’s something reckless about it, something that makes my hunger rise despite my rage. He’s been around me too long. He’s getting bold.
The bully smirks like he’s going to make good on his unspoken threat…
And then Kaleb steps in.
“Get the fuck out,” Kaleb growls, his voice like a low warning shot.
The bully sneers, looking him up and down. “And if I don’t?”
Kaleb doesn’t move, but there’s something dangerous in the way he holds himself. A coiled tension in his frame, like a spring waiting to snap. I like this dude. “You won’t like what happens next.”
The guy hesitates. For a moment, I think he might be stupid enough to push it further. To touch Christian. To force my hand even when I have nothing left to give.
But then he scoffs, like it’s all some big joke, and steps back. “Whatever, man.” He shoots Christian a final look, something ugly slithering behind his eyes. “Don’t forget, you won’t always have someone to save your ass.”
He’s wrong about that. He will always have me. And I will burn any motherfucker who comes near him. Except during the day. Fuck being a sleep demon.
He walks out.
The second the door swings shut behind him, I move. Not toward Christian. No, no. I’m too pissed for that. I focus on Kaleb, stepping up into the shadows behind him and pressing an invisible, ghost-light pat to his forehead.
Kaleb shivers, like a cold breeze just crawled down his spine, and glances around. His brows pinch together, sensing something he can’t see.
Christian mutters a thanks, but his voice is distracted. Tense.
Good. He should be concerned. Because I heard what he said. He needs to be reminded who exactly he belongs to. But first, I have to take care of this asshole as soon as fucking possible.