Chapter 22
Lionel woke with a start. Or maybe he hadn’t fallen asleep at all; he couldn’t tell. The light in the room hadn’t changed. The lamp in the corner still glowed warm and soft, painting the walls gold. Mads’ hand still held his.
His head ached dully when he lifted it from Mads’ shoulder. His throat was dry, like he’d swallowed dust.
“You’re awake,” Mads said, his voice calm, pleased. “I thought you’d doze for longer.”
“I wasn’t asleep,” Lionel muttered.
Mads tilted his head, pale lashes fluttering. “Then you were resting. That’s good too.”
Lionel pressed his palms into his eyes until colors bloomed. Even after resting, he felt wrong in his skin, stretched thin. His brain whispered he should be moving, doing something. But his body wouldn’t cooperate.
“Why this place?” Lionel asked at last, gesturing vaguely to the pristine apartment. “Why does it look so normal?”
“Because I wanted it to.”
Mads’ answer was simple, matter-of-fact, but it landed like a stone in Lionel’s stomach. He looked around again at the spotless shelves, the glowing lamp, the photographs of strangers smiling eternally. He shivered.
“You can just—” He stopped, throat tight. “You can make it like this?”
“I can make it many ways,” Mads said lightly. His thumb brushed Lionel’s knuckles again, steady, patient. “But I thought you would like this one. It’s easier to breathe when it feels familiar.”
Lionel swallowed hard as he thought of how many apartments they had come across that looked a bit too perfect and untouched by the chaos. His chest rose and fell too quickly, though his mind still felt muted, sluggish.
Lionel turned his head, staring at Mads.
His eyes caught on the pale lashes, the faint shimmer of something not-quite-human in his irises.
He remembered the way those eyes had glowed in the dark, the way his body had felt cold under Lionel’s touch.
He remembered Mads saying it so easily: You’re mine.
“You’re really not human,” Lionel said flatly.
“No, I’m not,” Mads confirmed again with a slow nod.
Lionel’s chest tightened, but not with panic. He should have flinched, denied it, but the words sat heavy and right. Mads’ hand left his for the first time, only to cup his jaw, cold fingers gentle against his overheated skin. “Are you beginning to understand now?” He asked.
Lionel’s breath caught. His instinct screamed to pull back, but his body leaned forward instead. He didn’t know who kissed who first. One second there was distance, the next Mads’ lips were on his, soft and chilling.
Lionel’s hands twitched against his thighs, then lifted hesitantly before finally gripping Mads’ shirt. The fabric was smooth beneath his fingers, but the body beneath was too still, too precise.
Lionel didn’t know how long they continued kissing, hands clutching each other, tugging at clothes until they were both bare.
He could only count the moments by how many times his heart beat and how many marks Mads left on his neck and chest. Lionel moaned when Mads bit down too hard, drawing blood that he could then taste on his lips.
Mads hand was cold as it wrapped around Lionel’s cock, making him flinch slightly and hiss.
The sharp spike of sudden discomfort didn’t last long as Mads squeezed him and ran his fist over his shaft.
Lionel was so much more aware of how cold Mads was—a fact that he already had become familiar with, but now made his head spin more with the truth.
Even Mads’ dick was cold as he took both of them in one of his hands to jerk them off together.
“Fuck,” Lionel gasped as Mads kissed him again, biting down on his lip. His hips bucked up into Mads’ hand until his entire body tensed and his orgasm washed over him. He groaned as he came, tilting his head back and giving Mads more skin to bite and lick over on his throat.
By the time his vision had settled, Mads was already returning with tissue to wipe off his stomach and his own hand.
He hummed as he did, tossing it into the trash before laying beside Lionel and tugging the blankets up around them.
It felt so normal that Lionel could almost forget about everything.
Lionel blinked up at the ceiling as something in his mind seemed to clear with his orgasm. The fog that had surrounded him since Mads told him what he was had begun to dissipate, and he let out a long breath through his teeth.
He pursed his lips slightly as he turned over onto his side so he could look up at Mads—he looked just the same as he always had.
His face was so content, lips curled up slightly as he lay with his eyes closed, that Lionel thought he looked a bit like a cat.
Lionel moved closer and wrapped an arm around Mads’ hips, squeezing his waist until Mads’ eyes opened and looked over at him.
“I have another question,” Lionel said after a moment.
“You can ask me anything,” Mads said, voice quiet.
Lionel hesitated, tucking his actual question away for a moment as he smiled up at Mads. “If this body is dead, how can you come?”
Mads laughed, eyes squinting upwards as he shook his head. “It’s similar to how I’m able to urinate, drink water, and eat food. I figured it out so you would question me a bit less.”
“So is it weird dead person jizz or actually yours?”
“Mine,” Mads grinned, looking over at him. “I sort of… put my own body inside of this one. Think of this body as a cup and my actual body as water. I made myself slot into it.”
“So what do you actually look like?” Lionel asked, tipping his head to one side.
“Sort of like the creatures,” Mads said, pursing his lips and rubbing a hand over his jaw and chin. “But I can change my shape pretty easily. Humans are harder because you are so complex. Which is why trying to disguise myself as one requires a host.”
Lionel reached up, brushing his fingers over Mads’ face. “It’s hard to imagine you as that.”
Mads caught his hand, smiling as he brought it to his lips. “Why? Do you like this face?”
“Very much,” Lionel nodded.
“Then I’ll keep it even after this is over,” Mads said simply.
Lionel took a breath and asked the question that had been pressing on the edge of his thoughts since the moment Mads first mentioned it. “You said that once this… ritual starts, you can’t stop it?” His voice was cautious, searching. “So there’s really no way out of here until it ends?”
Mads didn’t answer right away. His expression shifted, something thoughtful flickering behind his eyes. The silence stretched just long enough for Lionel to fidget, then quietly tack on, “I’m just curious. I want to understand more.”
“There…” Mads began slowly, his voice softer now. “There is a way out.” Lionel’s heart jumped at the words. He could feel his pulse pound harder against the inside of his throat, like his body wasn’t sure whether to brace for hope or disappointment.
Mads shifted onto his side so they were face to face, his long body folding gracefully as his head rested on his bent arm.
His red eyes lingered on Lionel’s face, unreadable and just a little heavy-lidded.
“I’ve never used it,” he admitted. “Because there’s never been a need to.
I usually stay in the building and wait for the ritual to finish on its own.
And obviously…” He hesitated, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“I would never let anyone leave. Not before now.”
“Why not?” Lionel asked, his voice hushed. “Because of your powers?”
“Yes. To open the exit would take… a lot from me. Enough to burn through most of what I have left. You and I—this whole building, even—it isn’t on your plane of existence anymore.
Not really.” Mads’ voice dropped to a murmur, like he was sharing something sacred.
“To bring it back before the ritual completes naturally would unravel the binding. I’d lose everything.
All the power I’ve gathered, scattered into nothing. ”
Lionel’s brow furrowed. “But can’t you just start the ritual again afterward?”
Mads shook his head, the movement slow and deliberate.
“There aren’t many humans left. Not the way there used to be.
My strength comes from the consumption of souls, bodies, and emotions.
If I used everything to send this place back early, I’d have to wait.
Wait for this building to replenish itself, for enough new lives to settle here before I could begin again.
And even then, it would take me years to recover. Centuries, maybe.”
“Oh,” Lionel whispered, absorbing that. He stared down at his hands, then lifted his eyes. “Is it a physical exit? Like… a door? Or would you have to tear a hole in the air or something?”
“It’s physical,” Mads said, his tone almost amused. “Hidden, but real. No human would ever stumble on it without exact instructions, though. Most wouldn’t even think to look for something like it, especially not in the middle of all this chaos.”
“Where is it?” Lionel asked carefully, trying to keep the hunger out of his voice. He didn’t want to look like he was searching for an escape hatch, even if part of him still was.
Mads’ smile returned, small and almost tender. But there was a sadness behind it now, faint but unmistakable. “Why?” he asked. “Do you want to leave me?”
“No,” Lionel said quickly, shaking his head. “I’m just… curious.” It was the truth, or at least most of it was.
But the rest of it—that restless part still coiled tight in his chest—wanted to see it with his own eyes.
He wanted proof that the cage had a door, even if he never planned to open it.
Some small, frantic voice deep inside still cried out for escape, no matter how safe he felt now, no matter how comforting Mads' embrace was.
Just knowing the exit was real would calm something inside him.
Mads stared at him for a long time, his expression unreadable. His eyes flicked between each of Lionel’s, as if searching for something beneath the surface: some hidden motive or some unspoken thought. Finally, he exhaled softly, almost a sigh, and said, “It’s on the roof of the building.”
Lionel’s brows drew together. “The roof?”
Mads nodded once. “It’s inside one of the ventilation exhausts. Concealed behind the old metal grating. You’d have to crawl to reach it.”
Lionel blinked at him. “You actually told me?”
Mads’ face twitched, a flicker of something between confusion and offense passing through his features. “Of course I did.”
“But… why?” Lionel asked, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “What if I try to leave? What if I go up there right now and disappear, and you’re left here with nothing and are completely drained of power, stuck waiting a hundred years for another ritual?”
“Because I trust you not to.” There was no hesitation in his tone, no room for doubt. He said it with the kind of unwavering certainty that left Lionel speechless, as if the question hadn’t even occurred to him. And in that moment, Lionel didn’t doubt it either.
Mads tilted his head slightly, studying him again. “How can I say I love you,” he said quietly, “if I don’t trust you?”
Lionel’s breath caught. The word hung heavy in the space between them. “Love?” he echoed.
Mads laughed, genuine and soft, the kind of laugh that creased his eyes and warmed the room around him. “What?” he teased. “Did you think I was protecting you, keeping you safe, holding back the creatures because I just liked you? Or just found you attractive?”
Lionel hadn’t thought about it in those terms. He hadn’t dared.
Every time he tried to give what was happening between them a name, it slipped through his fingers like smoke.
But something about hearing it spoken so openly knocked the wind out of him.
He ducked his head, feeling the heat rush up his neck and settle on his cheeks. “I guess not,” he murmured.
Mads hummed, pleased, and reached out to thread his fingers through Lionel’s hair.
The touch was gentle, reverent. He combed through the strands slowly, as if memorizing their texture.
“I don’t think I could say I loved you,” he said, “if I was keeping you here against your will. That would make me no better than the others—no better than the thing you’re afraid I might be.
” His hand slid down to cradle the back of Lionel’s neck, not possessive, just a solid touch.
“If you want to leave me,” he added, voice low and unsteady, “I don’t want to stop you. I’ll let you go.”
And somehow, the quiet honesty of it and that willingness to let Lionel walk away felt more binding than chains. Lionel leaned forward, connecting their lips again so he wouldn’t have to answer.