Chapter 9
NINE
The sun bleeds across the horizon, a molten spill of orange and gold as twilight swallows the sky.
Flames crackle behind me, licking up the stacked wood in a frenzy of hunger and heat.
I take a step back, watching the fire stretch taller, stronger, like it wants to consume the air itself.
The clearing glows with violent light, shadows shifting like spirits caught between escape and surrender.
It’s perfect.
Already, the air buzzes with something electric.
Laughter echoes too loud. Music thrums like a pulse just beneath the surface.
The scent of liquor, smoke, and sweat thickens with every second.
But soon, the real perfume of the night will rise—sex, sin, lust turned tangible.
It's in the way the crowd moves. In the sharp edge of every glance.
In the restless pacing of my own heartbeat.
I want to break something. I want to fuck something until it cries for mercy. I want to burn this place down to ash just to see what survives.
Deimos stands to my left, staring into the fire. His body is carved from tension—rigid spine, clenched jaw, fingers curling into fists. It’s not rage. It’s restraint. And it’s worse. He’s starving, and not for the usual reasons.
He’s waiting for her.
That girl. That human.
My lip curls, bitterness coating my tongue before I can swallow it down.
I’ve seen him obsessed before, but this.
.. this is something else. He hasn’t fed since she showed up, hasn’t touched anyone, hasn’t lost himself the way he needs to.
It’s not a phase. It’s fixation. It's rot disguised as romance.
And she has no idea.
I rip my eyes away from him, my molars grinding. Let him starve. Let him chase the idea of purity and ruin like a fucking idiot. We’ve seen how this ends. They always break. Every soft thing that wanders into our world ends up torn to ribbons. The question isn’t if she’ll bleed. It’s how much.
And fuck me, part of me wants to see it.
Cassiel sidles up, quiet and sharp as ever. He doesn’t say anything at first, just takes the bottle of whiskey I hand him and watches Deimos.
“He’s slipping,” Cassiel says at last, voice low.
“No shit.” I scrub a hand down my face and take the bottle back.
Cassiel doesn't look at me when he speaks again. “If she’s a succubus…”
“She’s dangerous,” I finish. The words sting. “And if she can feed him—really feed him—then what happens to us?”
Cassiel shrugs, but there’s tension beneath it. “He won’t leave us.”
I want to believe him. But the silence that follows is too long. Because he’s not sure. Because deep down, we both know Deimos might choose her over us.
And if he does… then what are we?
A sharp crack splits the air—the sound of a shift. Not physical. Not visible. But real. I feel it like a string pulled tight in my gut, a sudden snap of energy that turns the world on its axis. Deimos stiffens, his aura pulsing outward in jagged waves.
I follow his gaze.
She’s here.
The crowd parts instinctively, moving around her like animals sensing the arrival of a predator they can’t see.
Her presence is quiet, but it draws. It demands.
Long, dark hair shines with a copper-red glint beneath the firelight.
A short skirt barely covers those fishnet covered thighs, and the sweater she wears does nothing to hide the body beneath it—soft, curved, meant to ruin men.
And she’s not alone.
She’s holding another man’s hand.
My jaw tightens.
I don’t know why it bothers me. She’s not mine. She’s his obsession. His curse. But there’s something in me that twists violently at the sight of her with someone else. Something primal. Possessive. Ugly.
I’ve never felt that before.
Cassiel exhales beside me, his voice hushed. “She’s more than just human.”
“She doesn’t even know what she is,” I mutter.
But I do.
And fuck, I want her to wake up. I want her to realize just how far from normal she is. I want her to shatter. Not gently. Not with grace. I want her to break in a way that screams.
I want her to fall into us.
Into me.
Deimos moves then, stalking forward like a shadow dragged by instinct. His voice, when it comes, is a blade.
“Keep your eyes on her,” he says. “I won’t let him claim what’s mine.”
Cassiel lifts a brow, unimpressed. “Which is?”
Deimos doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe.
“Her virgin cunt.”
The words drop like coals in my chest—too calm, too casual for the way my blood ignites. My fingers twitch at my sides, aching to curl into fists. That should make me laugh. Should spark some cruel delight.
But instead, all I feel is heat. Territorial. Vicious. Because he called her his.
And somewhere deep inside, something feral stirs in protest.
I imagine dragging her into the shadows. Not to hurt her—at least not in the way she fears. I want her to tremble, not from fear, but from the ache of recognition. From the pull of her own body awakening under mine. I want her to whisper my name before she even knows it.
Not to destroy her. Not yet.
Just enough to mark her.
Just enough to teach her who she belongs to.
I blink and force the image away, chest tight. Deimos turns to Cassiel.
“Start the music.”
And just like that, the fire is back in his eyes. The mask slips on. Charming. Controlled.
But I see the truth in the lines of his jaw, the tension in his steps as he disappears into the night.
He’s unraveling.
Cassiel glances at me, searching my face. “You good?”
I don’t answer right away. Because I’m not.
All I know is this: tonight changes everything.
And if that girl thinks she can walk into this fire and come out unburned… She’s fucking wrong.