“You’re here.” He murmured, stepping forward. His hand was outstretched.
I ignored his tentative advance and glanced down at the baying group of admirers.
I recognized the streets. It was my neighborhood. Our apartment building was just across the block, located in one of the red-brick townhouses.
With barely a thought, the raging mob vanished. Becoming dust and drifting away on the wind.
“What are you?” Hugo's demanding voice caught my attention. Now that his raging admirers had vanished, I caught a glimpse of a backbone that I wasn’t sure had existed.
“I am a Demon. Same as you,” I replied simply.
Hugo blinked slowly. Surprised that I had answered, he blinked slowly. “I know that.” Despite the wide stance, his voice was delicate.
“I am Nightmares. You are Lust.” I explained, deliberately vague.
“And this is my dream?”
“It’s not mine.” I shrugged as much as a demonic cloud of smoke could.
Hugo pressed his hand against the Soulbond mark on his chest. “Do you know what this is?” He asked as he stepped forward. One of my tendrils reached forward, like a wayward limb, and brushed his cheek before I could stop myself.
If I had worn a human form, I would have been shifting on my feet and searching for an escape with frantically darting eyes. Instead, I hovered.
I did not want to tell him.
“Please.” His husky timbre was seductive. A crack in his voice told me that it was a tone that he did not often use. Based on his dreams of uncontrollable mobs, I could see why. He would cause a riot if he broke out those sexy vocal cords in the Mess Hall.
I wanted to rub against him like a cat in heat. Hugo spent so much time hiding away, hating the way he looked because of his heritage. I had known hundreds of Seventh Circle Demons. All he needed to learn was control.
I stepped forward and placed my hand against his chest. Marveling at the feel of his warmth. I had never been able to experience physicality with my true form—but our combined dreamscape had different rules. Ones that I was fully willing to take advantage of.
I had made an unsaid pact with myself. To not get involved with the Hunter’s. To keep a respectable distance, no matter how attractive I found them.
But I was a Demon. We were not known for our self-control.
The world shifted. From the apocalyptically quiet East Village to the hunched over and crooked glass of the Prideful City in the First Circle.
Every surface was a reflection. The clouds were a harsh churning grey, and fluttering snow and ash rained down in a lazy dusting. Every building reached into the sky like gnarled fingers. Hundreds of reflections stared back at me. Hugo's cherub face, and his full, scared ice blue eyes.
In the distance was the Ice Palace, once home to the Devil and his Consort. I had heard that the very floor was made up of the frozen blood of traitors and adulterers.
Hugo glanced at me, expectantly to ask where we were, without words.
I did not answer. Instead, my eyes were drawn to the circular lines of Hugo’s Bond mark again. Sorrow and elation churned inside of me, like two oceans fighting for dominance. He was a Demon, that was true, but Hugo had been called. He belonged to the Hunters more than he belonged in the world I had come from.
I drifted forward. Silent, as I reached out and cupped the Incubus’s cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into my touch. Seeking comfort from a creature that only ever created terror in the deep of the night.
“Who are you?” He whispered. In awe. His eyes still closed tight.
My chest and throat were too tight. I couldn’t bring myself to answer. Hugo knew my real name, but that would be all he ever knew. I could only visit him in dreams, and even then, I knew I should stop.
I was putting myself in danger.
I hadn’t fled my home, and left the rotting bodies of my family in the chasm, only to die at the hands of the Hunters.
I pulled myself away from the dream. I did not say goodbye because I knew I was too weak to mean it.
Dr. Jae Lee caught me the next morning, stuffing blood-stained sheets into the laundry shoot, with enough fury to power a dozen suns.
I had pummelled the comforter through the metal hatch, swearing up a storm. Jae stood, his shoulder against the threshold. Wearing a white shirt and dress pants, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His lips twitched as he held back a mischievous smirk.
I couldn’t help but compare Remi, with his bright and carefree laughter, to Dr. Lee, and his wicked glint.
Jae looked as cute as a button, but his insides were jagged like broken glass. His violet eyes seared straight through me. Deep down, I knew that I couldn’t bullshit the doctor. Our time together was limited, by design. Jae knew that I was not Frankie. He was also an empath, with the ability to sense other's emotions. Keeping secrets around someone like that would be almost impossible.
“Frankie,” He teased, glancing over his shoulder at the empty hallway before he pushed away from the doorframe. “Have you killed someone? Getting rid of the evidence?”
I popped a hip. “Women bleed,” I informed him. He was a man, he probably didn’t know. “You should be scared of a creature that can bleed for several days without dying.”
“Clever.” Jae tilted his chin.
“I read it on a t-shirt.” I gave my comforter one last push, before slamming the metallic hatch shut. I slapped my hands together, congratulated myself on a job well done; then I turned back to the doctor.
“Did you need something?”
Jae's expression sobered. “You missed your appointment.”
I hitched a shoulder and let it drop. “I’ve been busy. Therapy is a farce anyway.”
“Busy?” Jae's gaze was intense.
I waved my hand towards the closed shoot, where my bedsheets had been moments before. “I took a few personal days. Everyone's been on a manhunt in The City. I'm not needed.” I rested my hip against the laundry cart.
Jae leaned back against the wall. He crossed one ankle over the other. “You don't like feeling useless.” He guessed.
“Is every word I say going to be psychoanalyzed?” I rolled my eyes. “Because I can tell you about the time I got drunk and stole a penguin from the zoo.”
“That didn’t happen.” Jae narrowed his eyes.
“Okay.” I held my palms up in a disarming motion. “It might have been a box of doves from a wedding in Central Park.”
I had sold them to the Leviathan that worked in the DMV on 25th Street. He had most certainly eaten them.
Jae ignored me. “Riley said that you might need more chocolate—Hart and I are going into Maywood for a supply run, and wondered if you wanted to come.”
If I were a dog, my ears would have perked up. “Chocolate?”
Jae glanced at the laundry shoot. “I’ve heard it helps with these things.”
My brows raised as I considered that. “If Riley said I should get chocolate, I’m going to get chocolate.” I nodded sagely.
“Decided to mend bridges?”
“She hasn’t told me to die this week. I consider that progress.” Plus, she'd given me tampons and thrust an instructional leaflet in my hands when I had asked for a demonstration on how to use them. I felt like she had welcomed me to the Woman Club™.
Jae nudged my chin with his knuckle. “Hart’s waiting.” His violet eyes grew soft. He whispered a word in Korean, but I had no idea what he had said. I considered asking, but Jae had already turned to walk away. He beckoned me to follow.
Ahn-Jae Lee was short by Western standards. Almost exactly Frankie's height. Our steps matched perfectly. Hart stood in the entranceway to the dorms, watching two men spar in the dojo. His shoulders were squared, and his gaze was impassive. If I didn’t know better, I would say he was bored.