Chapter 15
Exorcism
E
Steam drifts out of the bathroom and into the hall, dense enough to stick to the back of my throat. The rolling cloud sends my pulse racing. For a split second, I think Max is in danger, but as I drift past the door, the steady hiss of the shower registers.
The small vanity mirror—far too small for anyone to pass through—is fogged over, and the shower door is no clearer, offering only the faintest outline of her shifting behind the glass.
A high-pitched sound grates in her throat as I draw near. “Eek. Are you fucking serious? I’m naked.”
“I don’t mind that.”
I meant it as a joke, but it comes out darker than I intended. I’m done with false pretenses.
“Get out!” she grits through her teeth.
“No. We need to talk about what happened.”
There’s a long pause before she squeaks, “I have nothing to say to you.”
The indignation in her voice gives way to something softer and more fragile. She sounds like she’d stay in the shower forever rather than have this conversation.
Is she that upset that I tracked her here, or afraid of a repeat of that kiss?
I didn’t imagine the way she dragged her fingers over my chest, tracing the lines of muscle there, or the heated moans she breathed against my lips. She only ran because she was ashamed, not because she didn’t want it.
Then I see it—dark, diluted blood swirling in the water at her feet, thin ribbons of red slipping toward the drain. My heart stops.
“Max, why are you bleeding?” My jaw sets in the hardest line it has ever known as I press my incorporeal palm to the shower door. “Did he hurt you?”
“No.”
But there’s fear in her voice. Doubt, even.
“Come out, please. I need to know you’re alright.”
She doesn’t answer.
My teeth grind. “If you won’t come out, then I’m coming in!”
Half mad, I float past the glass.
Max stands under the spray, utterly still.
Water runs over her deep-red hair, down her shoulders and along the curve of her spine as her lips part in a silent gasp. Her hands rest at her sides, her fingers curled against her thighs.
Freckles scatter along the curve of her neck and across her chest, her skin flushed from the heat. I can barely breathe.
My gaze drifts lower, to her breasts, but I force myself not to linger—to assess, not ogle.
I inspect her body, but there are no visible bruises, no trace of violence—until I reach her head. Her eyes are bloodshot, but worse than that, a clot of blood mats her hair. Blood drips down her fiery mane, originating from a bruise right at the base of her skull.
“Flaming hells, I’m going to kill him.”
Her hands fly to her shoulders to keep me from seeing all of her. “Kill him? He didn’t do anything.”
“That’s hard to believe, considering the bloody bruise at the back of your head!” I lower my voice. “Max, if he hurt you—”
“He didn’t do this! You did this!”
I freeze. “Me?”
She hits the shower knob with her elbow, shutting it off. “You came to me in the Dreaming and made me feel all those things for you when I shouldn’t. But I won’t let these manipulative visions affect me anymore!”
She bolts out of the shower and wraps a white towel around herself.
“What are you talking about? What visions?”
And then it hits me—how wild her sleep has been and how heated her moans sounded. What has she been dreaming about?
She flees the bathroom altogether, and just like when she bolted from the house, I give chase. I enjoy this game of cat and mouse, some wicked part of me rising to the challenge. Not the part that knows better—the darker shard.
It revels in the hunt, the back-and-forth, the feeling of standing close to the edge.
She stops dead in her tracks at the end of the hallway and whirls back around to face me. “Why did you kiss me?” she shouts, like the words have been burning at the back of her throat since it happened.
“Because you’re mine!”
From the first moment I saw her, I felt transformed. Not by hope, or desire, but by a sense of belonging that doesn’t obey logic or ask permission. When I crossed that final line and tasted her lips during the séance, everything in me aligned around that simple truth.
No more Mr. Nice Ghost.
Her mouth hangs open, the line of her jaw caught somewhere between surprise and denial, before she turns on her heel and disappears into the bedroom. “Have you lost your mind? You’re a ghost!”
She can run if she wants. I’ll always catch her in the end.
I follow her into the room she shares with him. The king-sized bed and minimalist decor are bland, beige, and without savor—so unlike Max, I could scream.
“I don’t feel dead when I’m with you,” I say, my inner devil rattling in his cage. “And you can deny it all you want, but you kissed me back, little fox. The nail streaks along my back would be proof enough, if I wasn’t invisible.”
Her hands bunch at the edge of the towel, clutching it in place. “You cocky bastard!”
The towel catches fire, and Max gasps as the electric lights above us flicker wildly. The fabric shrivels in her grip, blackens, then unravels into soft, weightless ash that slips from her body.
“What’s happening?” I ask.
She grits her teeth. “I don’t know.”
“Is that the reason you hit your head?”
Her nostrils flare. “No, that was the dream, this is…different. It’s annoying as fuck.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. Her chest rises and falls, but she doesn’t try to cover herself again. Instead, she braces her hands on her hips and stares me down like I’m unworthy.
She’s so sexy, I could die again.
“You had no right to kiss me. Or sneak into my shower for that matter. You’re a depraved, self-righteous, insufferable bastard who can’t take no for an answer.”
I lick my lips. “You’re right. But it’s hard to feel remorseful with you standing naked in front of me.”
Her chest heaves. The smooth, milky skin of her flat stomach beckons, and I’d give anything to dip my tongue in that sweet belly button of hers.
I’d know what to do if I had a body.
Her hips would fit perfectly beneath my hands.
Those round, heavy breasts would peak in my palms, and I’d shower them with attention until her resolve began to crack and the darker parts of her stopped resisting.
Then, I’d find myself kneeling at her feet, softening her anger with kisses that would leave no room for thoughts of her mortal fiancé.
I’d win her over with my tongue, one orgasm at a time.
I’d touch her until she became addicted—but I can’t.
She grabs a robe from the hook behind the closet door and wraps it around her frame. “How are you here? I thought you were tied to the lantern,” she enunciates.
“I’d rather haunt you,” I admit, floating closer.
The lantern doesn’t tether me anymore. To be honest, I’m not sure if it ever did. I’d just assumed it was important because whenever Devi and Mabel had exchanged it, I’d found myself following it from one house to the other.
I press myself against Max, the sum of me brushing the limits of her body. The fabric of her robe clings to her breasts, droplets of water peppering her neck.
I inhale deeply.
She tucks her hands behind her back. “Well—you can’t stay.”
I dip a hand to the sash tied around her waist and trace the knot. “You escaped the monsters for one night. That doesn’t mean you’re safe. You need to come home with me.”
Her throat bobs. “Home? I’m already home. With the man I chose to marry.”
Fuck, I shouldn’t have phrased it like that. But now that I have, I want to double down on it. I need to call her out for her hypocrisy, because there’s no way in the seven hells she still wants to marry this chump.
“We all make stupid choices. It’s not too late to dump him,” I chuckle darkly.
Her lips form a thin line. “This is all a big joke to you, isn’t it?”
Words rise out of me, driven by a feral but frighteningly familiar urge to provoke her. I’m dying to see what lies at the bottom of this slippery slope.
“You belong to me, little fox. And dead or not, it’s me you want between your legs, not him. You can stand there and lie to me, but at least have the decency not to lie to yourself. He has no idea who you are or what you need.”
She scoffs. “And you do?”
I was a devil in life. It’s sensible that I should be one in death, too.
I reach for her chin, stopping just short of contact, and I know that if she unclenched her fists and reached for me, her fingers wouldn’t pass through. Not like before.
If she gave in—if she shoved me away, or pulled me closer, or both—I’d show her exactly what she’s missing.
“You pretend that you want safety or normalcy, but that’s a lie. See your hands? You’re shaking from the effort not to touch me.”
“You’re wrong.”
My little fox is a good liar, but not that good. Her chest is all flushed, the hardened peaks of her breasts showing through the thin silk of her robe, and the delicious scent of her arousal goes straight to my ghost-cock.
“You want me to unravel that knot and make you see stars. I’d remove that ugly ring with my teeth, first, then show you how a man should treat his fiancé.” I infuse the word with as much disgust as I can summon. “And you would love it.”
She blinks away the tears shining in her eyes. I’m pushing her too far and raw, but I can’t help myself.
Her lips part, but nothing comes out, like the words got stuck somewhere between outrage and a hard place she doesn’t want to acknowledge. Her hands curl tighter at her sides, like she doesn’t trust them. Like they might betray her if she lets them move.
“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” she finally growls. “You crossed a line. You’re not leaving me any other choice.”
When she finally steps away, her movements are almost frantic. She rummages through the closet and hauls out a leather suitcase. It lands at the foot of the bed with a loud thud. She unlatches the lid, revealing candles, incense, and a huge plastic pit of salt.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
Maybe I overplayed my hand.
“I’m doing another spell.”
She closes the drapes, the rings clinking against the poles, and draws a rune circle on the smooth, industrial concrete floor. The pattern looks different from the ones she used for the séance, and the fistful of herbs she gathers from her suitcase smells of vinegar and mulch.
She sets candles around herself and fumbles with the match.
“Bloody hells,” she mutters, struggling to light the first one. The match burns out in a flare of ash. She reaches for another, but the candles all ignite at once, drawing a synchronized gasp from both of us.
“What is this spell for?” I choke.
Her green irises gleam with a yellow rim, deepening to a rich amber that pulses until it nearly glows. “It’s a cleansing ritual. To rid the house of dark spirits.”
“You want to get rid of me that badly?” I taunt her. “Just tell me you feel nothing for me and mean it.”
She slices her palm open, blood spilling down her fingers as she paints over the runes. “Dark One, heed my prayers.”
“Max, don’t do this,” I plead.
“By flame and salt, this house is cleansed.
Let every darkened spirit depart.
Guide wandering souls beyond these walls,
And grant them rest within your dark.”
The candles flare, their flames stretching several inches high before snuffing out at once.
Smoke coils from the wicks, sulphur, and vaporized wax thickening the air.
The drapes shudder to an unnatural breeze.
Blood sinks into the floor, vanishing as if lapped clean by some dark, all-consuming presence.
But I’m still here.
I can’t bear the disappointment in her eyes when I tell her it didn’t work, so I retreat to the corner of the room and hide in the shadows, holding unto my bite of power.
“Are you still here? Tell me if you’re still here,” she says, her voice trembling between the sharp edge of command and the soft, desperate hush of a plea.
I can’t bring myself to answer.
If she wants me gone, then I’m gone. I’ll crawl back into the void and let myself fade, but not before I chase that wretched man out of her life. My parting gift. She deserves to be loved for who she is, and if not by me, maybe someone better will come along.
My hands tremble at the thought of leaving her forever.
She’s yours. Make her see that.
The devil I used to be rises from the forsaken corners of my amnesic brain. I kind of like how he thinks. I’m still deciding if I’m wicked enough to haunt the woman I love against her wishes when her demeanor changes.
Her arms fall limp at her sides, the anger draining from her face. Tears well and spill, forming shimmering trails on her flushed cheeks. Her eyes are green again.
“Fuck,” she whispers.
Those tears are for me because she thinks she cast me back into the void. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful. Don’t cry for me, little fox. I’m here, I want to say. But I don’t reveal myself—not yet.
I need her to miss me first.