Chapter 5 #3
The words were half-joking, but Samiel’s gaze sharpened. “You’d move here? Permanently?”
He waited, not breathing, not even shifting his weight, as if a single wrong move would scatter the hope so palpable between us.
I didn’t mean to say it yet, but it was out in the open now and there was no taking it back.
Hell, it had been the point all along, hadn’t it?
I’d applied for the nutritionist job at the stupid Lake Purgatory wellness center before I even bought my bus ticket.
I’d researched the licensing board and filled out the paperwork.
I’d stalked the town’s sad excuse for a social media presence just to see if the grocery store carried oat milk or if I’d have to settle for the shelf-stable kind.
All these little acts of hope, stashed away as insurance in case I met someone who wasn’t a disappointment.
And now, with Samiel’s eyes locked on me, I realized I’d been pulling for this outcome the whole time, even when I was pretending to be too cool to care.
If I was honest, I’d been more afraid of not finding something worth staying for than of the valley itself.
The rest was just inertia and self-defense.
“Hey.” His voice was softer than I expected.
Samiel reached across the counter, gathered my fingers into his hand, and just held them—thumb stroking the backs, claws kept carefully away from skin.
“You don’t have to decide.” He said it like he meant it, but there was a tremor there, a hunger to believe maybe he wasn’t just a one-night monster after all.
“You’d like it here,” he said, voice soft as the dusk outside, but then, catching himself, straightened his back and went for casual. “The town’s small but weird. Nobody cares what you wear or who you fuck.”
I looked up at him, at the face that should have scared the shit out of me but instead made my teeth ache to bite. His eyes—open, raw, almost pleading—held mine like he was afraid I'd vanish if he blinked. My heart hammered against my ribs.
"Is it always like that for you?" I asked, voice barely above a whisper. "When you're with someone, I mean. Or was that..." I trailed off, letting the question hang between us, not sure if I was ready for the answer, but needing to hear it, anyway.
For a second, Samiel looked at me like I was the last train out of the city, and he was the only idiot left on the platform. His mouth curled, uncertain. "That was my first time," he said, which was almost laughable, except the words hit with the force of truth.
I tried not to choke. "You mean, first time with a human?"
He shrugged, a self-conscious roll of muscle under skin.
"First time with a bride. First time it felt like it mattered.
" He looked away, his gaze catching on the dark window as if he expected to see his own reflection and didn't want to.
"Most demons don't get picked. Or they get picked by someone who wants the tourist version—a weekend of stories, a novelty. They don’t…
want us for us. It's easier to stay on the bench. "
I didn't know what to say to that. I’d always thought of myself as the benchwarmer, the second-string girlfriend or the rebound or the good story, if you wanted to look edgy without actually committing to the lifestyle.
The idea that Samiel—seven feet of muscle and menace, with wings that could block out the sun and claws that could rip through steel—could feel unwanted almost made me want to laugh.
Except he said it with his eyes cast down at his own massive hands, voice dropping to a rasp that cracked at the edges, and the crimson flush that spread across his cheekbones said he'd never meant to let that vulnerability slip.
I watched him, really watched, as he busied himself clearing the counter and wiping down the glassy surface with a bar towel.
His movements were careful, deliberate, the way a man might shift his weight in a room full of glassware he’d already been accused of breaking.
Even in this house, even alone with me, Samiel was tethered—pulling in his wings, using the slow rhythm of busywork to keep his claws off my skin.
Maybe some part of him still believed he was a walking hazard, an accident waiting to happen.
I recognized the feeling. I’d spent most of my life trying not to be too much, only to wonder if I’d accidentally made myself into nothing at all.
It hit me then what I wanted out of this—what I needed, beyond the sex and the dare.
I didn’t say any of this—didn’t want to spook him, or worse, make him think I was after some kind of project or redemption arc.
Instead, I kicked off the barstool, licked the brine from my lips, and closed the distance between us.
His back was still turned, wings tucked so tightly that the edges trembled, and I reached out—careful, this time—and ran my hand along the velvet membrane where it joined his shoulder blade.
He shivered, startled, but didn’t pull away.