IRYNA
The world folded in on itself again—black silk and ozone, a heartbeat of vertigo—and then we were simply there.
Ciara's living room.
No cab. No city streets. No slow crawl through traffic lights and late-night horns. Just the familiar hush of her house at midnight: lavender candle wax lingering in the air, the faint creak of old floorboards, the soft golden glow from the lamp she always left burning on the side table.
What happened to using a car like normal people? Oh, my bad. I forgot he wasn't normal and I was no longer normal.
Dark set me down in the center of the rug with that same careful reverence he'd used every time he touched me—like I was something fragile he refused to let break. His hands stayed at my waist a second longer than necessary, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin just above my hipbones before he finally let go.
I swayed slightly, stomach still swooping from the teleportation, heart hammering against my ribs. He stepped back one measured pace—close enough that the bond purred in contentment, far enough that I could breathe without tasting him on every inhale.
For a long moment neither of us spoke.
The porch light outside flickered through the curtains, casting soft yellow stripes across the floor. Everything looked so painfully normal: Ciara's throw blanket draped over the arm of the couch, her half-read occult paperback splayed open on the coffee table, the faint scent of chamomile tea she must have made earlier still hanging in the air. Too peaceful. Too ordinary for the chaos still roaring inside my chest.
"I'll be fine from here," I muttered, brushing imaginary dust from my sleeves because I needed something to do with my hands other than reach for him. I fucking hated this—whatever the hell this thing in my chest actually was.
His gaze stayed locked on me—deep, unreadable blue that felt like it could peel me open layer by layer.
"Call if the pain returns."
I let out a dry, breathless laugh. "Like I have your number."
The corner of his mouth curved—slow, wicked. The kind of smile that made heat crawl up my neck even while I wanted to slap it off his face.
"Come on, little moral. You know you don't need it."
"Oh please, I wasn't asking for your number. You're not human, forgotten?"
He didn't respond but simply smirked. The air around him shimmered once—like heat rising off asphalt—and he was gone. No sound. No footsteps. Just empty space where his body heat had been warming my skin a second ago.
I stared at the spot for three stupid heartbeats.
"Creepy asshole," I whispered to the quiet room.
Then I turned and walked down the hallway toward Ciara's bedroom.
"Ciara?" My voice sounded too loud in the stillness.
No answer. The house was quiet. Too quiet. Dark had said she was sleeping. But her bedroom door was ajar, light off inside. I pushed it open.
Empty bed—sheets still rumpled from where I'd collapsed earlier, but no Ciara. Bathroom—door open, light off, empty. I checked the living room again—empty.
A cold knot twisted low in my stomach.
"What the hell…?"
I pulled my phone from my pocket to call her— It rang in my hand before my thumb even touched the screen.
Ciara was calling. I answered.
"Where the hell have you been, Iryna Grey?!" she shrieked so loud I had to yank the phone away from my ear.
"I've been calling you for hours! I woke up and you were gone! What happened?!"
I exhaled shakily. "Slow down. I'm fine. I'm… I'm in your room right now."
Dead silence on the line. Then—
"What?"
The bedroom door flew open so hard it banged against the wall. Ciara stood there—hair a wild halo, eyes huge and glassy with panic, still wearing her oversized band T-shirt. When she saw me perched on the edge of her bed, phone still pressed to my ear, she froze.
Then her shoulders dropped and she crossed the room in three quick strides, dropping down beside me and yanking me into a crushing hug.
"Don't ever do that again," she mumbled into my shoulder, voice muffled and thick with unshed tears.
My chest squeezed tight. "I'm sorry."
She pulled back just enough to search my face, thumbs brushing my cheeks like she needed to confirm I was real.
"Okay," she said, voice steadier now but still raw. "Tell me everything. Because the last thing I remember is you screaming in pain on my bed… and then nothing. I woke up alone and terrified."
I looked at her—really looked.
Ciara had always believed in the impossible. Tarot decks spread across her coffee table at 3 a.m., crystals charging on her windowsill under full moons, shelves crammed with dog-eared paperbacks on demonology, fae courts, and cursed bloodlines. If there was anyone on earth who could hear this story and not immediately call for psychiatric help… It was her.
I took a shaky breath.
"Okay," I said quietly. "You're going to freak out."
"Try me."
So I told her. Everything. The ripping pain that started the second I tried to walk away from him. The impossible house that existed in the seams between worlds. The way his touch quieted the agony and the way my body hated—hated—how much it craved him anyway. And finally—the part that made her mouth fall open.
"He wants to MARRY you?" she whisper-shouted.
I rubbed my temples. "Yes. Apparently it's the most efficient human solution."
Ciara stared at me like I'd just told her I was moving to Mars.
"He's a DEMON, Iryna. The greatest one, at that."
"I'm aware."
She stood up and started pacing— bare feet silent against the rug, hands gesturing wildly. "Let me get this straight. The Anchor needs your full willingness to merge, right? He would have forced you but if he forced you into his world, it wouldn't work. But if he marries you—legally, humanly—you're bonded. You're choosing to let him stay. Cooperating. That's why. That's the loophole. Right?"
I blinked. "Exactly."
She stopped pacing and looked at me.
"He's terrifyingly smart."
"He's a manipulative bastard," I corrected.
Ciara snorted. "Same thing."
I dropped my face into my hands. "I'm marrying a demon I know nothing about. Once he gets his power back, he'll probably vanish and leave me with whatever scraps of his essence he decides to throw me like a consolation prize."
Ciara sank back down beside me and took my hands in hers.
"He promised you'd live."
"And you believe him?"
"Demons keep their contracts," she said firmly. "Like law. Like binding rules. They can't break them without consequences."
I groaned. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"
She squeezed my fingers. "No. I'm terrified for you. But this is the first time since the diagnosis that something—someone—has given you a real chance to live. And when the pain comes back…" Her voice softened. "He can just hold you and it stops. No more useless pills. No more hospital beds. Just him."
I stared at our joined hands.
"I know," I whispered. "But why does it feel like I'm trading one cage for another? It feels like he's taking more from me than I'm giving, Ciara. I can feel it."
Ciara sighed. "Yes you are. But at least this cage has a key."
We sat in silence for a long moment. Then she straightened, eyes suddenly bright with determination.
"You need to investigate him."
I lifted my head. "Huh?"
"You can't just marry a demon without knowing who—or what—you're dealing with. Find out why the Anchor chose you. Why it's bonded so deeply it won't let go. Figure out what the Pure Realm really wants and why they're coming for you. You need leverage. Knowledge is power, even against something like him —don't just let him dictate the terms."
I stared at her. She grinned—small, fierce, reckless.
"I've got books. I've got contacts in weird online forums. I've got a library card and zero self-preservation. We're going to dig."
I laughed despite myself—shaky, exhausted, grateful.
"I knew telling you was the right choice."
She leaned in and pressed her forehead to mine.
"We'll figure it out," she whispered. "Together."
After a while she pulled back.
"You should go home before your mom calls every police station in the country."
I smiled. "She knows I'm with you. She would only be worried because I didn't take the pain medication with me."
We walked out together, arms linked.
Ciara's grandmother was coming inside holding a basket of flowers. Her face lit up when she saw me.
"Oh, Iryna, sweetheart!" She opened her arms.
I crossed the room and let her fold me into a hug that smelled like lavender and fresh bread.
"You didn't tell me she was here," she scolded Ciara over my shoulder. "I would have closed the flower shop early and made my special soup."
I laughed softly against her shoulder. "Thank you, Nana. But please don't close the shop for me. Maybe you can teach me the recipe one day?"
Her eyes sparkled. "That's a promise."
"I'm heading home now," I said, stepping back.
"Send my regards to your mother, sweetheart," she called after me.
I smiled and waved. Ciara walked me down the block to where the late-night cabs still cruised.
While we waited, she chewed her lip.
"I had a dream," she said suddenly.
My stomach tightened. "After you passed out?"
She nodded. "I met him again. The sovereign."
I grabbed her arm. "Did he hurt you?"
"No." She shook her head slowly. "He… showed me things. Beautiful places. Power. It was… kind of incredible."
I groaned. "These demons need to stop invading people's dreams."
She laughed—shaky. "Next time I see him I'm throwing salt in his face."
"Good plan." I squeezed her hand.
"I should tell you that instead but I recalled you'll need something stronger than salt for Dark."
The cab pulled up. We hugged hard—too hard—before I climbed in. By the time I reached my building the street was deserted, sodium streetlights buzzing overhead.
I paid the driver, stepped out, and walked toward my door.
Just as my key slid into the lock— A whisper of movement. A shift in the air—smoke, cedar, power.
I froze.
Slowly, I turned. He was leaning against the tree beside the entrance—tall, dark, impossibly still. Black cloak blending into the shadows, crimson hair catching the faint orange glow of the streetlamp.
Of course.
I sighed.
"Why are you following me?" I asked quietly. "I'm home. Safe. I don't need you right now."
He pushed off the trunk with lazy grace and crossed the distance between us in three strides. I backed up instinctively until my spine met the brick wall beside my door.
In a heartbeat he was in front of me—arms braced on either side of my head, caging me without touching. His body heat rolled over me like a wave. Smoke. Cedar. Something darker. Something that made my thighs clench even as my mind screamed to shove him away.
"I came," he murmured, voice low and intimate, "to see how my future mother-in-law is doing."
His gaze dropped to my mouth.
Then lower—lingering on the frantic rise and fall of my chest. My breath caught. He leaned in until his lips were a heartbeat from mine.