Her eyelashes were stuck together as she forced her eyelids apart.

Thump, thump.

Her vision was blurry, eyes painful and watery.

Thump, thump.

The ache in her chest was real, its thumps so harsh they made her sweat. Droplets fell into her eyes and she blinked, worsening her already foggy eyesight.

She slapped a hand to her torso, pressing down, as if to assure herself her heart was beating, that air was filtering through her lungs. And she realized she was, when the putrid, foul-smelling air made a nest inside her nostrils. It was there, breaching into her body, slowly slipping out. Raw, but real.

She was breathing. She was groggy, confused, and achy—but she was breathing.

"I'm," she choked, her throat scratchy, "alive?"

"I'm not positive I'd say alive, but okay," responded a husky, dark-tinted voice from above her.

She still couldn't see well, and her pupils were itchy and agonizing, as if she had sand or dirt in them. She rubbed them, frowning at the pain but also feeling relieved as some of the granules seemed to evaporate.

Her head pounded, pounded; a hammer colliding with her skull in the same rhythm as her heart beat. Both thuds were excruciating, but if they signified she was alive, was she entitled to complain?

She lay there, contemplating, letting that deep voice run through her mind on repeat. The more her vision adjusted, the thirstier she was, the weaker she was. Her arm felt as if it dangled, yet she still had her hand pushing hard against the space between her breasts, checking that her heart still pumped. Her flesh seemed to be peeling, falling off her; but as she glanced at her wrist, she noticed her flesh hadn't moved. It was more pallid than usual, an eerie gray tone to it, but she wasn't flaking, shedding her own skin.

The pounding continued, yet she didn't hate it. It reminded her of something else she'd felt before. Another sound that had warranted violent migraines and caused her to be nauseous at long intervals, without having any control over her stomach—

"Oh," the realization crashed into her, prompting her to close her eyes again, "the voices. They used to make me sick, didn't they? Strange. But they're gone?" She gasped. "The demons are gone? They're out of me?"

All the insane energy she'd experienced, the ups and downs, the intense shooting of power from one extremity to the next; the howling of orders in ominous tongues, the lapping of blood, the enjoyment of blood. It was all gone, erased from her being. Every negative emotion, every trace of anger, violence, and bloodlust—vanished.

She was her. Jessamine Spencer, the book-loving barista, was rid of demons, devoid of a soul—most likely—and somehow alive.

When she re-opened her eyes, a blob of red hovered over her. She startled, hurrying to sit up and skid backwards, out of reach. She'd eliminated the demons from within her; no way would she give them another opportunity at possessing her.

The being didn't move, didn't start at her recoiling from it. Its enlarged black slits that served as eyes widened. "Oh, I can't do anything to you down here," it said, eerily resembling the most prominent voice she'd listened to in her mind for what felt like years. The one who'd introduced himself as the leader of demons; the one who'd often coerced her into getting her hands dirty and enjoying it. And definitely the one who'd urged her to keep drinking blood when she thought she'd had her fill.

"You?" She gulped. "Me? Down here?" Her palms were pressed to the ground, which appeared to be a chunky but soft dirt. Her nails dug in, stabilizing her before she fell further backwards in shock. "What do you mean?"

"Yeah, us, down here. Where we're not supposed to be." The red being—the demon—snorted, though Jessamine had no idea where said snort came from, as he had no nose or mouth to emit it from. Only a large pair of black, black eyes that stared into her, seeing through her. That made her want to hug herself, tip her chin down, and look just about anywhere else. "You're useless to us now. You failed. So we're down here, with you." He scoffed, again confusing Jessamine. It was almost as if the sound came from his eyes. "You couldn't even fight off a partially possessed human? How could you be so dumb, so inattentive? And here we'd thought we'd imparted all our knowledge and power on you."

"P-partially possessed human?" Jessamine couldn't quite recall what had happened in the past few minutes, and how she'd landed here; wherever here was. Last she remembered, she'd been hefting Jamie off the ground—well, the demons were, not her. She'd been on the inside screaming, begging them to let him go, to leave him be, to move on to the next portal. But they'd gotten her fangs out, they'd revolved in her belly making it grumble, hungry for Jamie's life juice.

"Your little friend," said the demon, its shape growing a deeper hue of red. "He sucked up some Guides and pushed you in. And now we're back to square one, and the bad part of the prophecy was fulfilled. The one where we lose, and the world remains in its gray area forever. So thanks a lot."

The one where we lose.

So she was alive, and Avery had won?

Despite the questions racing in her mind, Jessamine wanted to laugh, to shake her head. The demon was pouting? Was complaining about being on the negative side of the prophecy? His mission, the demon population's mission, had been thwarted, as it was meant to be, and now they were all sulking?

She opened her mouth to retort something snarky, but the demon raised a near-transparent, glimmering red arm to stop her. "I don't want to hear it. You shouldn't be here, but we have no alternative, nor any means to expel you. So have a nice life in our demonic realm, and stay out of our hair."

It zoomed off towards a cluster of trees, disappearing behind the foliage.

Jessamine lost her breath for a few moments, forgetting about all the thumps and thuds that reminded her she was alive. So here was the demonic dimension—she'd been pushed in, as predicted. But the demons didn't want her here with them?

It was nothing like she'd anticipated. The notion of a demonic realm had always given her Hell vibes; burning tree trunks, exploding volcanos, thrones made of iron sitting atop mountains of skulls. A red or black sky, skeletal birds screeching across it, and creatures with horns and black eyes coming to rip her soul from her body.

But this was... almost normal, aside from the colors, that were completely off. It was like a desert, with trees all around. She squinted at those trees. A forest of dimmed green and earthly brown, with branches reaching towards the sky. She balked; it was an off yellow sky, covered with gray clouds. And not gray as in about to unleash a downpour; gray as in a gray filter. A black and white world.

Upon further inspection of the tree-line and the ground and the sky, and how all their colors morphed together, Jessamine corrected herself. It was a sepia world, which came off even drearier than a black and white one. Her skin was more pallid than usual because of this filter. She tugged on her hair, pulling it close to her face to analyze it—it was a caramel-like shade of brown, the same sleek, smoothness as before she'd transformed into a demon-possessed monster.

The smells she'd detected earlier became sharper. Sulfur, kind of like rotten eggs. Burned grass, similar to how the forest had smelled in the real world, the night the ghost portal house had exploded at her command. And that coppery, distinct odor of blood. She'd have expected that last scent to come from her, from her fingertips. Evidently, her lips were still tainted with the substance after what she'd done, right? But the stench was in the air itself, swirling around her, poisoning her.

Aside from the woods up ahead, there was nothing around her. A wasteland of drying dirt and a blaring, gray-scaled sun peering through the clouds.

"There's a sun down here?" She scoffed. "In here? Over here? Ugh," she massaged her temples, "this is a living nightmare."

Though anything was better than being possessed by the demons, for sure. She was grateful she'd failed their mission, grateful they'd abandoned her. But something told her she still wasn't quite safe, and finding somewhere to have a nice life in the demonic realm would be wise. Difficult, dangerous, but essential if she wanted to stay alive.

Cringing, she managed to get to her feet and stretched out her legs. They were rigid, as if she'd been sitting on them for days, or lying in bed for years. She wiggled her toes, realizing she was wearing the same dark, leather leggings she'd stolen while in demon form.

"Ugh." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "And I presume there's no way to change my outfit down here? There won't be a random closet somewhere with human clothes in it, will there? I," she snickered as she sniffed at herself, "stink."

She'd get no response, she knew. If there were any other beings in this realm, they'd be behind those trees, where the demon had gone. And yes, she was supposed to stay out of its hair, but she had no plans on bothering it, or any other demons. She needed shelter from the sun and the elements. Somewhere to gather herself, and figure out what to do next.

She wasn't supposed to be alive.

With a shaky breath of the blood-infested air, she took a step forward. She was wobbly, at first, re-learning how to walk as if she hadn't done so in centuries.

Once she found her gait, she moved faster, a speedier pace to hurry towards the tree-line.

But with every step, said tree-line appeared farther and farther away. When she accelerated, the branches became smaller, the details on the leaves impossible to see. When she'd woken, she'd been able to identify some of the trees—not that she was an expert, but she'd recognized pines, birches, possibly an oak or two. Now they were all clamped together, blending into hazy tree-like shapes, like a smear of paint over an off-white canvas.

"What the fuck?" She stopped, panting. She'd been running, she noticed, as her knees cracked and her thighs begged for a break. "What's happening here?"

"Yeah, you won't be able to reach them," came a voice from behind her. One that was softer, and strangely human-sounding, less intense and invasive than that of a demon.

She whirled around and saw nothing, at first; then slowly, a faded human silhouette formed before her eyes. It was see-through, undefined, but the voice she'd heard had been deeply masculine, a tad playful. It rang as familiar in her ears, but she had no clue how or why she'd find anything remotely familiar in this place.

"I can't reach the trees?" She set her fists on her hips and widened her stance. Whatever or whoever this was, they couldn't be benevolent if they lived on the demonic plane. Friendly or not, this person was no ally to her, and she needed to be on her guard. "So I just get to chill out here, in the open, for the rest of my life?"

"Being in the open is safer here," he said, as his body continued to reveal, his outline growing sharper. Long, muscular legs formed beneath a pair of ripped jeans. Arms with bulging muscles and a sprinkle of obscure tattoos. A chiseled chest covered by a white t-shirt with a spray-painted band-logo. A wide, pulsating neck, a strong jawline, thin but defined lips. Dark blond stubble on the chin and under the nose. High cheek-bones. Rounded, hazel eyes. A prominent forehead with creased lines across it, and a mop of messy, dark blond hair matching the stubble—

Jessamine stumbled backwards, nearly losing her balance. Her heart raced in her rib-cage, and she felt faint, nauseous. Understanding why she found this person familiar, she pinched her arm once, twice, three times. No, it wasn't a dream. "What the... how the..."

That was no random man, no coincidental meeting. That face, the replica or real-life format of one of those hunky models on a steamy romance novel cover. Without omitting that body, straight out of a sports magazine. Those same eyes she'd once melted into, and the hair she'd been allowed to graze her fingers through. Now the voice recognition made sense—it was a voice she'd heard in her dreams so many times she'd thought she'd brought it back to life. That he'd been next to her, in bed, running his hands over her, causing goosebumps in his wake.

Oh, he was causing goosebumps now, all right, but not for the same reason.

"Landon?" She gulped, her throat dry. "Is that... is that you?" Her hands formed fists as she narrowed her gaze on him.

He'd manifested as a normal-looking human, only slightly transparent. Real, and walking towards her with an outstretched arm. Not a spirit, not a blue orb of light, not a floating mass of red with malevolent intent.

How the fuck is he here?

"Hey, Jess," he said, using her nickname—no one used her nickname, ever. No one really had since he'd deserted her at the house in the forest in the middle of the night. Never to be seen again. Presumed dead or kidnapped or disappeared by choice. "We have a lot to talk about."

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