Nine
JOSIE
Okay, so I'm dating a Demon.
In a relationship with a Demon?
Married to a Demon?
Claimed by a Demon—wait, isn’t that a book or a song or something?
Anyway, I have no idea what my current relationship status is.
How does one even update their social media to reflect such a change?
In a relationship with:
□ Single
□ Married
□ It's Complicated
□ Demon
Yeah.
It's Complicated seems to fit.
I'm sitting in the hospital locker room staring at my phone when I really should be changing into my scrubs.
The little bite mark on my neck is hidden beneath concealer and my hair.
Mostly.
Okay, maybe not mostly.
Maybe I spent twenty minutes staring at it this morning.
Because somehow seeing it made this whole insane experience feel real.
Desmond says I don't have to work anymore.
Which is absolutely ridiculous.
I've always worked.
Working is what I do.
It's who I am.
But… for the first time in my life, possibilities exist.
Real possibilities.
Maybe work fewer shifts.
Maybe I could go back to school.
Maybe volunteer more.
Maybe open that mobile clinic I’ve always wanted to try.
And my secret dream—the one I don’t talk about out loud—maybe someday…
A baby.
A child.
Our child.
My face heats immediately.
Because yes.
I asked.
After finding out Demons existed, the next logical question was obviously going to be this one.
“Can Demons and humans have babies?”
Apparently, the answer is yes.
A very enthusiastic yes.
Desmond had been delighted by the question.
Delighted.
Like I'd handed him the greatest gift imaginable.
And then he'd very thoroughly explained—with real live demonstrations, of course—exactly how such hypothetical children would be created.
Multiple times.
My entire body is still humming from the memory.
I bury my face in my hands.
“Oh my God,” I mutter.
“Bad date or good date?” Abigail asks, appearing beside me.
I nearly jump out of my skin.
“What?”
She grins wickedly.
“Ooh, good date, for sure! Yasss! Get it Josie!”
“What?!”
“You've just got that look.”
“What look?”
“The one women get after really good sex.”
I choke.
“I don't have a look.”
“Sweetie, you've got glow.”
Wonderful.
Absolutely wonderful.
“Anyway,” she says, wiggling her brows. “Tell me about Mr. Tall, Dark, and Delicious.”
My stomach flips.
Tall.
Dark.
Delicious.
All accurate.
“How did you know he was tall with dark hair and eyes?”
“Oh, Madame is in again! She said something about you getting lucky,” she replies, wagging her eyebrows.
I bite my lip and don’t bother replying because the truth?
I did get lucky.
Very lucky.
“Myrrin.”
The deep voice from this morning echoes through my memory.
God.
I miss him already.
Which is insane.
We've known each other less than twenty-four hours.
Before leaving, he'd kissed me softly and tucked a curl behind my ear.
“Myrrin, I must see my old employer today and it might take a few hours, okay?”
“Of course,” I'd told him.
Truthfully, I hadn't understood why he was informing me.
He was an adult.
He could do whatever he wanted.
Besides, I had another twelve-hour shift.
And afterward…
Afterward, he'd promised he'd pick me up.
Just like he'd dropped me off.
In a stretch limousine.
Which honestly shocked me, considering I met him on the train.
Apparently lonely immortal Demons ride public transportation for emotional support.
Who knew?
The truth is I’m scared. There is so much I don’t know about Desmond or what this whole mate thing means.
But I want to find out.
I don’t reply as I get ready to make my rounds.
And honestly, my shift starts the same way it always does.
Patients.
Charting.
Chaos.
A man convinced his toe fungus is a government conspiracy.
Business as usual.
And all day long, I feel Desmond.
Not physically.
Not exactly.
But emotionally.
Warmth.
Love.
Joy.
It's like sitting in sunlight.
Like someone wrapped a blanket around my heart.
Every now and then I stop and smile for absolutely no reason.
Because I can feel him loving me.
Which still sounds insane.
And I still don't fully believe.
How can someone love me after one day?
But the feeling keeps coming.
Steady.
Bright.
Real.
Until suddenly—I feel nothing.
No warmth.
No joy.
Like one second, he’s here, inside of my heart, my mind, my soul—I mean, I can feel him.
His happiness.
His ridiculous amount of affection.
His love.
And then—bam—nothing.
The absence hits me like a physical blow.
My chest hurts.
Actually hurts.
I rub the center of it.
The warmth that was there seconds ago just vanishes.
I stop in the middle of charting.
A strange ache forms beneath my breastbone.
It feels like a thread has suddenly been cut.
I press my hand to my chest.
What the hell?