I hadn't meant to upset Ian. I just hadn't been able to resist the temptation to tease him; not when he'd looked like he'd wanted to lick me like an ice-cream cone on a hot day. He could tell himself whatever lies he needed to, but I know what I saw.

Even so, I shouldn't have done it. Not after what he'd told me. Still, that waiter had pissed me off, and I guess I was feeling a little possessive. Ian is mine, after all. He just doesn't know it yet.

It's late when I finally turn off the TV. I used to stay up all night watching it in the room where Karin kept me; watching the people on the screen and wishing I could reach through it and touch them; wishing they could look back and see me. I feel almost as cut off from Ian now, even though he's only a few feet away. He's asleep, snoring softly, and as oblivious to my presence as if I weren't here.

When I crawl into bed, I discover a new disappointment. Ian was so adamant about sleeping in a motel that I kind of expected something amazing. Instead, the mattress is lumpy, the sheets are scratchy, and the coverlet is too thin. I'm cold, uncomfortable, and lonely, and that is not a recipe for a good night's sleep.

After half an hour of trying anyway, I give up. Rising, I cross the room and stand over Ian, hoping he won't be too mad at me in the morning.

First, I press two fingers to his brow, using a tiny bit of demonic influence to make sure he stays asleep. Then, I slide beneath the sheets and curl against his back. I don't want anything he doesn't want to give me; I just want to be close.

A sense of relief washes through me as I relax into his heat. This is what I need: what I crave like a drowning man craves air. I press my face against his solid shoulder and breathe deep, taking in the warm, masculine spice of his scent. I wrap one arm around him and let myself melt into the comfort of living contact.

Even as I drink in Ian's warmth, I realize that this is what Karin had kept from me; this is how he'd starved me and maintained his control. I hadn't understood how cruel my deprivation had been until this moment.

It's as if a part of me is a withered plant, slowly dying in the dry dust, and now water—pure liquid relief—reaches its roots, soaking the soil and returning it to life. With each breath it revives, until I am fully restored, and a strange sense of power tingles over my skin. I feel fully content, and at the same time as though I'll never get enough.

I don't care what Ian said. I don't care if he's messed-up and dangerous, or if we're basically strangers brought together by random chance. I don't care if all I'm feeling is the effect of the pact I forced on him. He's all I want, and I don't plan to let him go.

He shifts in his sleep and sighs, and I know that he feels it, too, as the tension he carries around with him leaves his body like ice melting in our shared heat. He keeps himself wound tighter than an over-tuned string; it's no wonder something snaps now and then.

Ian rolls over and tangles his legs with mine, pulling me against him reflexively, and I smile as I absorb the healing comfort of his unconscious embrace. I let myself rest in the feeling of being fully alive—fully myself—for the first time in...forever, really.

And just as I reach the edge of sleep and drop into it, I'm distantly aware that something inside me slowly unfurls dark wings, and wakes up.

~☆~

When I open my eyes, I'm alone. Sort of. The space next to me is empty, but when I raise myself on my arm I see Ian sitting in the room's one, badly-upholstered chair. He's staring at me with a grim, unhappy expression.

"So, you're awake," he says. "Care to explain yourself?"

"Nothing happened," I assure him. "I just wanted to be close to you."

I swallow, trying to clear the roughness in my voice. Maybe I slept with my mouth open or something.

He frowns. "That's not how it felt to me."

"I don't understand," I say, starting to feel worried. Had I done something in my sleep? "I swear all I did was touch you—not in a bad way," I hasten to add, "—just to make sure you stayed asleep. I promise."

"Oh, I stayed asleep alright. Slept pretty good, too. Enjoyed the hottest dreams I've ever had," he says. "And then I wake up next to...whatever this is." He gestures at me.

"What do you mean? I thought you were okay with what I am." I try to keep the sting of hurt from my voice, but I'm not sure I succeed. He gives me a funny look, like he can't tell if I'm trying to trick him or not.

"Maybe you oughtta take a look for yourself," he says at last, pointing to the bathroom.

I climb off the bed and go over to look in the mirror. And then I understand why he seems a little freaked out. What stares back at me is not my usual self.

The least alarming change is that I seem taller, and I have more muscles than I did before. The rest gets weird.

My skin has turned a light shade of gold, my ears are definitely pointed, my eyes are blood red, and my teeth are decidedly sharp. I look at my hands and see that my nails have grown long and hard, like claws. Worst of all, a pair of small, ivory horns grow from my head. I look like a fucking demon.

"What...the...fuck?" I breathe, touching my face. The creature in the mirror mimics my movements perfectly, and after several difficult moments, I have to accept that it really is me.

"So, what happened?" Ian asks, coming to stand at the bathroom door. "You didn't tell me you had another form."

"I—I didn't know," I say, meeting his eyes in the mirror. "I swear this is...new."

Suddenly, a whole crowd of unpleasant thoughts enters my brain. I can't go out like this. I'll have to hide under a blanket or something. And that's if Ian even lets me come with him. From the way he's looking at me now, that doesn't seem too likely.

The thought constricts my chest. I've been with him for less than two days, but already there's so much I'll miss if he leaves me here.

No more meals together.

No more riding in his truck.

No more crappy motels...

Well, that's about it, actually; but those things aren't really what I'd miss.

I'd miss what I felt last night. That feeling of being whole, and safe, and...loved. Even if it was just an illusion, it's one I'd wanted to keep.

"Jesus," Ian says, swiping a hand over his mouth, "this isn't what I signed up for."

He turns away and leaves me in front of the mirror. I wait, eyes fixed on my own awful form, and listen as the motel room door opens and then shuts once more.

I stand for a few heartbeats in the silence, and then I start to cry.