# Bite of Destiny
## Chapter 8: Whispered Temptations
---
Aylin came home on a Tuesday.
Demri met her at the airport, standing in the arrivals hall amid a sea of strangers holding flowers and signs and expressions of eager anticipation. He had not brought flowers—the gesture had seemed somehow inadequate for what he wanted to express—but when Aylin emerged through the security doors, tired and rumpled from twelve hours of travel, her face lit up in a way that made flowers seem redundant.
"You came," she said, stopping in front of him.
"I said I would be here."
"Lots of people say things." She dropped her bag and, without warning, wrapped her arms around him. The embrace was longer this time, more deliberate. "But you actually meant it."
Demri stood frozen for a moment, uncertain how to respond. The contact sent waves of sensation through his mortal form—warmth, connection, something approaching joy. But beneath it, coiled and waiting, the hunger stirred.
*Her light*, it whispered. *So bright. So close. You could drink it in right now. She would not even notice—not until it was too late.*
He forced the thought away with an effort that left him slightly breathless. "How was your flight?"
"Long. Cramped. The person next to me snored like a chainsaw." Aylin pulled back, studying his face with that penetrating gaze he had come to know so well. "How are things here? Really?"
"Complicated. I'll explain on the way home."
The taxi ride was thirty minutes, and Demri used every one of them. He told her about Derek Thornton's code violation complaints, about Margaret Chen's decision to testify, about Elena Vasquez and her investigation. He told her about Maria's defiance and the community's growing anxiety.
He did not tell her about the shadows. Not yet.
Aylin listened without interruption, her expression shifting through concern, anger, and determination. When he finished, she was silent for a long moment, staring out the window at the familiar streets of Millbrook.
"Derek's escalating faster than I expected," she said finally. "He must think we're vulnerable while I'm away."
"That may have been his calculation. It appears to have been flawed."
A small smile touched her lips. "You handled things. Better than I could have hoped."
"I had help. Maria, Jade, the reporter—they all played their parts."
"Still. You held everything together." She turned to face him. "I knew I could trust you."
The words struck Demri with unexpected force. Trust. She trusted him—this woman who had taken him in, believed in him, defended him to her skeptical friends. She trusted him with her community, her cause, everything she cared about.
And the curse wanted him to betray that trust in the most fundamental way possible.
*You feel it, don't you?* the hunger whispered. *The weight of her faith. The burden of her belief. It would be so easy to lift that burden. To show her the truth of what you are.*
"Demri?" Aylin's voice cut through his thoughts. "Are you okay? You looked... distant for a moment."
"Fine. Just tired." He managed a smile. "It's been a long week."
"For both of us." She reached over and squeezed his hand—a brief touch, casual, yet freighted with meaning. "We'll get through this together. Whatever's coming."
Together. That word again. It had begun to feel like a lifeline, but also like a chain. Together meant vulnerability. Together meant someone who could be used against him, threatened, destroyed.
Together meant someone he could hurt.
---
The welcome-home gathering was Jade's idea.
"Nothing elaborate," she had insisted when she called to suggest it. "Just a few people, some food, a chance for Aylin to reconnect. She's been through a lot—she deserves a night with friends."
Demri had agreed, though he harbored reservations he could not articulate. A gathering meant people. People meant pure ones, their lights flickering like candles in the darkness. And the hunger, which had grown significantly during his confrontation with the shadow-kin, was becoming increasingly difficult to control.
*This is an opportunity*, the curse observed as Demri helped arrange chairs in the apartment's small living room. *Multiple targets, all in one place. Even a modest corruption would satisfy the hunger for days.*
"I will not corrupt anyone."
*You say that with such conviction. But conviction erodes. Especially when surrounded by temptation.*
The guests began arriving around seven. Jade came first, bearing wine and the perpetual chip on her shoulder. Maria followed with a tray of empanadas and her husband, Carlos, a quiet man with gentle eyes who worked construction and adored his wife with obvious devotion. Then came Tomás, a young community organizer who worked closely with Aylin at the center, and his girlfriend Priya, a medical student with a sharp wit and sharper intellect.
And then, unexpectedly, came someone Demri did not recognize.
He was tall, dark-haired, with the kind of casually handsome features that suggested minimal effort and maximum genetic luck. His clothes were expensive but understated, his smile easy and practiced. He moved through the room as if he owned it, shaking hands, making small talk, radiating a confidence that bordered on arrogance.
"Daniel," Aylin said, her voice carrying a complex mix of emotions. "I didn't know you were coming."
"Jade invited me. Said you were back from Turkey and could use a friendly face." Daniel's smile widened. "I hope that's okay?"
"Of course. It's fine." But something in Aylin's posture had shifted—a subtle tension that Demri recognized from his observations of human social dynamics. This was someone complicated. Someone with history.
"Daniel Reeves," Jade murmured, appearing at Demri's elbow. "Aylin's ex before Trevor. They dated in college. He's a lawyer now—corporate stuff, mergers and acquisitions. Makes obscene amounts of money."
"Why is he here?"
"Because he's still hung up on her and too thick to realize she's moved on." Jade's expression was unreadable. "Also because I wanted to see how you'd react."
"That seems unnecessarily manipulative."
"I'm an artist. We're complicated people." She patted his arm. "Don't worry. Daniel's harmless. Mostly."
But Demri was not worried about Daniel being harmful. He was worried about his own reaction to the situation—the way the hunger had suddenly intensified at the prospect of competition, of threat, of someone who might challenge his position in Aylin's life.
*Jealousy*, the curse observed with what sounded like satisfaction. *A mortal emotion, but useful. It creates cracks. Vulnerabilities. Opportunities.*
"I am not jealous."
*Of course not. You are merely experiencing heightened awareness of a potential rival and the instinctive desire to eliminate him as a threat. Completely different thing.*
Demri forced himself to circulate, making conversation with the other guests, accepting compliments on his handling of the center during Aylin's absence. But his attention kept drifting back to Daniel—watching the way he positioned himself near Aylin, the casual touches he deployed like tactical weapons, the way his eyes tracked her movements around the room.
And, more disturbingly, watching the way Aylin responded. She was not encouraging him, exactly. But she was not discouraging him either. Their shared history created an easy familiarity that Demri, despite his growing connection with her, could not match.
*This bothers you*, the curse noted. *Good. That means you're invested. Investment creates vulnerability. Vulnerability creates opportunity.*
"Opportunity for what?"
*For temptation, of course. For the whispered suggestion that could turn connection to doubt, familiarity to suspicion, love to resentment.* The curse's voice was almost gentle. *You have the power. You could use it so subtly that no one would ever know. A word here, a glance there, and Daniel Reeves would find himself making choices that drive Aylin away permanently.*
"That would be corruption."
*That would be protection. Of your position. Of your relationship. Of everything you've built here.* A pause. *Is it really so different from what humans do every day? The little manipulations, the strategic omissions, the careful management of information? You would simply be... more efficient.*
The logic was insidious, and Demri recognized it as such. But recognition did not make it less compelling. He watched Daniel lean close to whisper something in Aylin's ear, watched her laugh at whatever he said, watched the easy intimacy that came from years of shared experience.
And he felt the hunger surge.
---
The evening progressed with the usual rhythms of social gathering: food consumed, wine poured, conversations shifting from serious to silly and back again. Demri participated where expected, retreated when possible, and fought a continuous battle against the darkness that pressed at the edges of his consciousness.
The hunger was worse than it had ever been. Every pure one in the room—and there were several, each radiating their own particular flavor of faith and hope—called to him with an urgency that was becoming difficult to resist. He found himself cataloguing vulnerabilities without meaning to, noting the cracks in each person's spiritual armor.
Maria's weariness. Years of fighting had left her exhausted in ways she would never admit.
Carlos's doubt. He believed in his wife's cause but feared it would eventually consume her.
Tomás's impatience. He wanted change faster than the world would provide it.
Priya's cynicism. Medical school had shown her too much suffering, and she was beginning to wonder if hope was just another form of denial.
And Jade. Jade with her artistic soul and her protective walls and her fear—buried deep but unmistakable—that she would never be good enough.
Each vulnerability was a potential entry point. Each crack was an invitation. And the hunger whispered constantly, offering strategies, suggesting approaches, promising relief.
*Just one*, it urged. *Just one small corruption. It would ease the pressure. Allow you to think clearly. You're not helping anyone by tearing yourself apart.*
"I'm not helping anyone by giving in either."
*You don't know that. Perhaps corruption is a mercy. Perhaps these people would be happier without the burden of faith. Without the endless struggle against an indifferent universe.*
It was sophistry, and Demri knew it. But the sophistry had a seductive quality that grew stronger by the hour.
The breaking point came unexpectedly.
Demri had stepped onto the small balcony to escape the press of people and the overwhelming concentration of pure light. The night air was cold, sharp with the promise of coming winter, and for a moment, he simply breathed, trying to calm the storm inside him.
"Getting some air?"
He turned to find Daniel stepping through the balcony door, two glasses of wine in hand. The man's smile was friendly enough, but his eyes held a calculating quality that Demri recognized from his long experience with politicians and power-seekers.
"Something like that."
"I get it. Crowds can be overwhelming." Daniel offered one of the glasses. "Here. Peace offering."
"Peace offering for what?"
"For the territorial male thing I've been doing all evening." Daniel's smile turned rueful. "I noticed you noticing, by the way. You're pretty good at the blank expression, but not quite good enough."
Demri accepted the wine but did not drink. "I don't know what you mean."
"Sure you don't." Daniel leaned against the balcony railing, gazing out at the city lights. "Look, I'm going to be direct with you, because I'm guessing you're the kind of guy who appreciates directness. I still have feelings for Aylin. I never stopped having feelings for her. And when Jade told me she had a new roommate—some mysterious stranger with no past and an apparent savior complex—I got curious."
"Curious about what?"
"About you. About your intentions. About whether you're good enough for her."
The presumption was remarkable. Demri felt something flare inside him—not the hunger, but something older. The pride of a celestial being accustomed to being treated with respect.
*He's provoking you*, the curse observed. *Testing you. Looking for weaknesses.*
"And what have you concluded?" Demri's voice was carefully neutral.
"I don't know yet. That's why I'm here." Daniel took a sip of his wine, watching Demri over the rim. "Aylin is... she's special. You probably know that already. But what you might not know is that she's also vulnerable in ways that aren't obvious. She gives too much, trusts too easily, believes in people who don't deserve it."
"You're describing her virtues as if they were flaws."
"Maybe they are. Maybe the line between the two is thinner than we'd like to think." Daniel's expression hardened slightly. "All I'm saying is: be careful with her. Don't take advantage of her generosity. Don't mistake her faith in you for weakness."
"I would never—"
"Everyone says that. And then they do it anyway." Daniel drained his glass and set it on the railing. "I did. That's why we're not together anymore. I wasn't careful enough, and I hurt her. I'm not going to let someone else do the same thing."
He turned and walked back inside, leaving Demri alone with the cold air and the weight of his words.
*Interesting*, the curse mused. *He loves her. Actually loves her, despite his flaws. And he sees you as a threat.*
"I am a threat."
*Yes. But not in the way he imagines. He fears you'll break her heart. He has no idea you might break her soul.*
The observation was brutal in its accuracy. Demri gripped the balcony railing until his knuckles whitened, fighting the surge of hunger that Daniel's confrontation had somehow intensified. The competitive instinct, the desire to prove himself, the need to demonstrate that he was worthy of Aylin's faith—all of it fed into the darkness, making it stronger.
*You could show him*, the hunger whispered. *Show him what a real threat looks like. A word in Aylin's ear, a suggestion planted at the right moment, and Daniel Reeves would find himself persona non grata. Banned from her life forever.*
"That's not—"
*Protection? Defense? Self-preservation? The line between corruption and protection is thinner than you think. He said so himself.*
Demri closed his eyes and tried to center himself. The hunger was using his emotions against him, twisting his protective instincts into something darker. He needed to recognize that. Needed to resist it.
But resistance was becoming harder by the moment.
---
The party wound down around midnight.
Guests departed in ones and twos, offering hugs and promises to meet again soon. Daniel left with a final meaningful look at Demri—warning, challenge, or something in between—and Jade followed, pausing at the door to deliver her own cryptic observation.
"He's not wrong, you know. About protecting her." She studied Demri's face. "But he's not right either. Aylin doesn't need a guardian. She needs a partner. Someone who stands beside her, not in front of her."
"Is that what you think I'm doing? Standing in front of her?"
"I don't know what you're doing. That's what worries me." Jade's expression softened marginally. "Look, I like you. Against my better judgment, I actually like you. But there's something going on with you—something you're not telling anyone. And eventually, that's going to come out. When it does, I hope it's not the kind of thing that destroys everything you've built."
She left before he could respond.
Finally, it was just Demri and Aylin, alone in the apartment amid the wreckage of the gathering. Dirty dishes in the sink, empty wine bottles on the counter, the lingering scent of food and conversation.
"That was nice," Aylin said, sinking onto the couch with a tired sigh. "Exhausting, but nice. It's good to be reminded that we have a community. People who care."
"Yes." Demri remained standing, maintaining distance. The hunger was still there, still pressing, and Aylin's proximity made it worse. "It is."
She looked up at him, frowning slightly. "Are you okay? You've seemed... off all evening."
"I'm fine."
"Demri." Her voice was gentle but firm. "You're not fine. I can tell. What's going on?"
For a moment—just a moment—he considered telling her everything. The curse, the hunger, the shadow-kin, the constant battle to maintain his humanity in the face of supernatural imperative. She deserved to know. She deserved the truth.
But the truth might destroy everything. The truth might make her look at him the way the celestials had looked at him during his trial—with judgment and condemnation and the certainty that he was beyond redemption.
He was not ready to see that in her eyes. Not yet.
"I'm just tired," he said. "It's been a long week."
Aylin studied him for a long moment, clearly not convinced. But she did not press. "Okay. We should both get some sleep. Tomorrow we start dealing with Derek Thornton for real."
"Yes. Tomorrow."
She rose from the couch and moved toward her bedroom, pausing at the threshold. "Demri? Whatever's going on—whatever you're not telling me—I want you to know that it doesn't change anything. I still believe in you."
Then she was gone, and Demri was alone with the darkness.
*She believes in you*, the curse echoed. *Such faith. Such trust. It would be almost cruel to shatter it.*
"I'm not going to shatter it."
*Not intentionally, perhaps. But the hunger grows stronger. The shadows grow bolder. And eventually, something will have to give.* A pause. *The question is: will it be you, or will it be her?*
Demri had no answer. He stood in the silent apartment, staring at the door through which Aylin had disappeared, and felt the weight of choices he had not yet made pressing down upon him like a physical force.
---
Sleep, when it finally came, brought no peace.
Demri dreamed of the celestial court, but twisted—the faces of his former colleagues warped into shadow, their voices carrying accusations that echoed without end. He dreamed of falling, but this time, Aylin fell beside him, her light fading as the darkness consumed them both. He dreamed of the shadow-kin, rising from every corner, their hollow eyes fixed on him with patient hunger.
And he dreamed of corruption.
In the dream, he stood in the community center, surrounded by pure ones. Maria, Carlos, Jade, Tomás, Priya, the children—James, Marcus, Sofia—all of them radiating light. And one by one, he extinguished them. A word here, a touch there, and their faith crumbled like ancient stone. Their hope flickered out like candles in a wind. Their love curdled into something bitter and broken.
They did not resist. They thanked him.
*You've freed us*, they said, their voices hollow. *We didn't realize how heavy the light was until you took it away.*
And Demri watched himself accept their gratitude, watched himself feed on their corrupted souls, watched himself become exactly what the celestials had condemned him to be.
He woke with a gasp, drenched in sweat, the hunger screaming for satisfaction.
The apartment was dark. The clock on his nightstand read 3:47 AM. Through the thin walls, he could hear Aylin's steady breathing—the rhythm of peaceful sleep that had eluded him entirely.
*The dream showed you the truth*, the curse said, its voice almost sympathetic. *This is what you are. This is what you will become. Fighting it only prolongs the suffering—yours and theirs.*
"The dream was manipulation. Your manipulation."
*Perhaps. But can you be certain? Can you really know where your desires end and mine begin?* A pause. *We are not so different, you and I. We are both hungry. We both want to feed. The only difference is that I have accepted my nature, while you continue to deny yours.*
Demri rose from the bed and moved to the window, staring out at the city lights. Somewhere out there, the shadows were watching. Somewhere, Derek Thornton was planning his next move. Somewhere, innocent people slept, unaware of the threats that gathered around them.
And here he stood, the greatest threat of all, fighting a battle no one else could see.
*You could end it*, the curse whispered. *Right now. Go to Aylin's room. Wake her gently. And whisper the words that would begin her fall.*
"No."
*She would not even know. The corruption would be subtle, gradual. By the time she realized what was happening, it would be too late. And you would have fulfilled your purpose. The hunger would be satisfied. The shadows would leave you alone.*
"I said no."
*For how long?* The curse's voice sharpened. *For how many more nights of torment? For how many more days of pretending to be something you're not? The hunger will not wait forever. And when it finally overwhelms your resistance, the consequences will be far worse than if you had simply—*
"ENOUGH!"
The word erupted from Demri with a force that surprised even him. Something in his chest flared—not the hunger, but its opposite. The light he had drawn upon during his confrontation with the shadow-kin, the warmth of human connection that had pushed back the darkness.
The curse recoiled.
*What—*
"I am not your puppet. I am not a vessel for your hunger. I am Demri, and I choose what I become."
*You cannot—*
"I can. And I will." Demri's voice was steady now, the rage transmuting into something harder. Determination. Purpose. "You want corruption? You want despair? You won't find it here. Not from me. Not tonight. Not ever."
Silence. Long, profound silence.
Then, so quietly he almost missed it: *We shall see.*
The presence of the curse retreated, not vanishing but withdrawing to the periphery of his consciousness. The hunger remained—it would always remain—but it was muted now, pushed back by the force of his defiance.
Demri returned to bed, but did not sleep. He lay awake until dawn, watching the first light creep across the ceiling, and planned his next move.
---
The morning brought clarity.
Demri understood now that half-measures would not suffice. The curse, the shadows, the hunger—they would not stop. They would continue to push, to tempt, to manipulate, until he either gave in or found a way to defeat them entirely.
He needed information. He needed allies. And he needed to act before his enemies did.
"You look like you didn't sleep at all," Aylin observed over breakfast.
"I slept enough." He set down his coffee and met her eyes. "We need to talk. About Derek Thornton, about the community center, about everything that's happening."
"Okay..." Her expression was cautious. "What about it?"
"I have a plan. But it's risky, and it will require you to trust me completely."
"I already trust you completely."
"You may not, after you hear what I'm proposing."
Aylin set down her own coffee, her full attention now focused on him. "Tell me."
Demri took a deep breath. This was the moment—the point of no return. Once he shared his plan, there would be no going back.
"Derek Thornton operates through fear and manipulation. He creates pressure until his targets break, and then he moves in to claim the pieces. But he's only effective because his targets don't fight back—they don't have the resources, the connections, or the will to challenge him directly."
"I know. That's what we've been struggling against for years."
"But what if we changed the equation? What if, instead of defending against his attacks, we went on the offensive?"
Aylin's eyes narrowed. "Offensive how?"
"I've been gathering information. Margaret Chen is willing to testify about his methods. Elena Vasquez is building a case for publication. But legal channels take time—time we don't have. So I'm proposing something more... immediate."
"Which is?"
"We organize the community. Not just to defend the center, but to actively confront Derek. Public pressure, media attention, coordinated action. Make him the target instead of us."
"That's..." Aylin hesitated. "That's incredibly dangerous. Derek doesn't take challenges lightly. He'll escalate."
"He's already escalating. The code violations are just the beginning. If we wait for him to make his next move, we'll be reacting instead of acting. We need to seize the initiative."
Aylin was quiet for a long moment, processing. Then: "You said this would require me to trust you completely. Why?"
"Because the confrontation will get ugly. Things will come out—about Derek, about me, about the methods I'm prepared to use. You may not like all of it."
"Methods you're prepared to use?" Her voice sharpened. "What does that mean?"
"It means I'm willing to do whatever is necessary to protect this community. To protect you." Demri held her gaze. "And 'whatever is necessary' is a broader category than you might be comfortable with."
The silence stretched between them, taut with unspoken questions. Aylin's expression was unreadable—was she considering his words, or reconsidering her trust in him?
Finally, she spoke. "I told you once that I believe everyone deserves a second chance. I also believe that good people sometimes have to do hard things. Things that don't fit neatly into the categories of right and wrong."
"And?"
"And I'm choosing to trust you. Whatever 'methods' you're planning, I'm choosing to believe they're coming from a good place." She reached across the table and took his hand. "But Demri? If I'm wrong about you—if you're not who I think you are—it will break me. You understand that, right?"
The weight of her words settled onto his shoulders like a physical burden. She was offering him everything—her trust, her faith, her heart. And he was accepting it knowing that he might have to betray it all.
*This is the moment*, the curse whispered from its retreat. *This is where the corruption truly begins. Not with supernatural power, but with simple human deception.*
But Demri pushed the thought aside. He was not deceiving her—not entirely. He was protecting her from truths she was not ready to hear. There was a difference.
Wasn't there?
"I understand," he said. "And I promise you—I will do everything in my power to be worthy of your faith."
Aylin smiled—that radiant expression that seemed to light up the entire room. "Then let's go save our community."
---
The campaign began that afternoon.
Demri and Aylin called an emergency meeting at the community center, gathering the core group of activists who had been fighting Derek Thornton for years. Maria and Carlos were there, of course, along with Tomás, Priya, and a dozen others whose names Demri was still learning.
And Jade, watching from the back with her arms crossed and her expression skeptical.
"The situation is this," Aylin began, standing at the front of the room. "Derek Thornton has filed code complaints against the center. If they find violations—real or manufactured—they can shut us down for 'renovations' that will never end. We have maybe two weeks before the inspectors arrive."
Murmurs of concern rippled through the crowd.
"But we're not going to wait for them," Aylin continued. "We're going on the offensive. Starting tomorrow, we're launching a public awareness campaign. Community meetings, social media pressure, contact with every journalist, politician, and public figure who might be willing to help. We're going to make Derek Thornton's tactics national news."
"And if he retaliates?" Maria asked. "He has lawyers, politicians, the ability to make our lives very difficult."
"He already makes our lives difficult. The difference is that now we're going to make his life difficult too." Aylin glanced at Demri. "We have resources he doesn't know about. Witnesses willing to testify. Evidence of his methods. He's vulnerable, and it's time we exploited that vulnerability."
The room buzzed with energy—fear and hope and determination intermingling in ways that Demri could feel as clearly as physical sensation. These people had been fighting for years, beaten down but not broken. Now they were being offered a chance to strike back.
It was intoxicating. And, Demri realized with some unease, it was also feeding the hunger.
*So much passion*, the curse observed. *So much righteous anger. Do you feel how easily it could tip into something darker? How a few well-placed words could transform this energy into mob mentality, into violence, into the very thing they claim to oppose?*
"That won't happen."
*Are you sure? Revolutions are unstable by nature. And you are standing at the center of this one, shaping it, directing it. The temptation to shape it in... unfortunate directions must be considerable.*
Demri said nothing. Because the curse was right—the temptation was there. He could feel it, pulsing at the edge of his consciousness. These people trusted him, followed him, looked to him for leadership. A single suggestion, delivered with supernatural conviction, could send them down a path of escalation that would destroy everything they were trying to protect.
The power was there. The opportunity was there. All that was missing was the will.
*And how long*, the curse asked, *before that will erodes as well?*
---
The meeting ended with assignments distributed and a sense of purpose restored. People filed out in small groups, talking excitedly about the campaign, about strategy, about the prospect of finally taking the fight to their enemy.
Jade was the last to leave. She approached Demri, her expression unreadable.
"Impressive speech," she said. "You've got them all fired up."
"That was Aylin, not me."
"No. You were the one feeding her the ideas, the strategy, the sense that victory was possible. I watched you doing it." She studied him with those artist's eyes that saw too much. "You're good at this. Manipulation. Getting people to do what you want while making them think it was their idea."
"I prefer to call it leadership."
"I'm sure you do." She didn't blink. "Just remember what I said at the party. There's something going on with you. Something you're hiding. And I'm watching."
"Are you threatening me?"
"I'm warning you. There's a difference." She turned to leave, then paused. "Also, for what it's worth—Daniel called me this morning. He's been asking questions about you. Digging into your background, or lack thereof."
"And what did you tell him?"
"The truth. That you appeared out of nowhere, that you have no verifiable history, and that I have no idea what your actual intentions are." She shrugged. "I figured he'd find out anyway. Might as well be from a friend."
Then she was gone, and Demri was left with the unsettling realization that his enemies were multiplying. The shadows, Derek Thornton, and now Daniel Reeves—all of them probing, investigating, looking for weaknesses.
*The walls are closing in*, the curse observed. *How long before one of them finds a crack?*
"As long as it takes."
*Brave words. But bravery without strategy is just another form of suicide.*
Demri said nothing. But as he helped Aylin clean up the meeting room, he found himself wondering: how long could he maintain this balance? How long before the hunger overcame his resistance, or the shadows made their next move, or one of his mortal enemies discovered the truth?
The answer, he suspected, was not long at all.
And when the walls finally closed in, he would need to be ready.
---