Page 17 of Devil Wears Nada
“I’m saying I don’t want to go back,” he admitted, the words rushing out as if he’d been holding them in for too long. “Even if they restored all my powers, all my glory—I don’t want that existence anymore. Not after knowing this one.”
The magnitude of his confession stunned me into silence. A prince of Hell, choosing mortality, choosing a simple life of creation and… what? Partnership? Love? He hadn’t said the words, but they hung in the air between us, unspoken but undeniable.
“What about your immortality?” I finally asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “Your supernatural nature?”
“Fading already,” he said, holding out his hand to show me. “I notice small changes each day. I get hungry now—really hungry, not just appreciative of flavors. I feel temperature more acutely. I even found a gray hair yesterday, which was frankly traumatizing.”
“You’re becoming human,” I realized.
“It seems that way,” he agreed, looking equal parts terrified and exhilarated by the prospect. “My choice to embrace this life appears to be accelerating the transformation.”
“And you’re… okay with that?”
He looked at me then, really looked at me, with such naked emotion that it took my breath away. “More than okay. For the first time in my existence, I feel… real. Substantial. Like my presence matters not because of what I am, but because of what I create and how I…” He hesitated, then finished softly, “…how I love.”
The word hung between us, enormous and fragile.
“Lucas,” he continued, reaching for my hand. “I don’t know what this is between us. I have no frame of reference for these feelings. But I know that the thought of returning to my former existence, away from you and what we’ve built together, is more painful than any punishment Hell could devise.”
I entwined my fingers with his, feeling the warmth of his skin—warmer now than it had been when he first arrived, more human.
“I don’t want you to go either,” I admitted, finally voicing what I’d been afraid to acknowledge. “These past two months have been the most creative, most alive I’ve ever felt. And it’s not just the supernatural stuff, though watching you shatter glass with the force of your orgasms is pretty memorable.”
He laughed, a genuine sound of joy that made my heart swell.
“It’s you,” I continued, emboldened by his honesty. “Your perspective, your passion, your surprising kindness beneath allthat demonic arrogance. I’ve fallen for you, Van. Completely and impossibly.”
“Impossibly,” he echoed, his free hand coming up to cup my cheek. “Yet here we are.”
“Here we are,” I agreed, leaning into his touch.
For a moment we just looked at each other, the weight of our confessions settling around us like a comfortable blanket. Then, with a gentleness I hadn’t known him capable of, Van leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine.
It wasn’t like our usual kisses—hungry, demanding, leading inevitably to torn clothing and broken glass. This was soft, almost reverent, a sealing of promises we were just beginning to make.
When we parted, Van rested his forehead against mine, eyes closed as if memorizing the moment.
“I should warn you,” he murmured, “that loving a fallen prince of Hell, even one who’s becoming increasingly mortal, comes with certain complications.”
“Like what?” I asked, tracing the perfect line of his jaw with my fingertips.
“For one, I still break things when I’m particularly… moved.” His lips curved in a smile. “And I have absolutely no experience with healthy relationship dynamics. The closest thing to romance in Hell is soul-binding contracts and eternal servitude.”
“Not exactly what I had in mind,” I laughed.
“Also,” he continued more seriously, “there’s the possibility that Hell may try to reclaim me. My banishment was meant to be a lesson, not a permanent exile. If they realize I’m happy here, that I’m choosing humanity, they might take… action.”
A chill ran through me at the thought. “What kind of action?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “This situation is unprecedented, as far as I’m aware. No prince has ever chosen to forsake their nature for…” he gestured vaguely, “…all this.”
“All this being a small apartment in Los Angeles with a struggling fashion designer?” I asked, partly joking to mask my concern.
“All this being love,” he said simply, the word still new on his tongue but gaining strength. “Creation. Partnership. The messy, beautiful complexity of mortal existence.”
I kissed him again, unable to resist the vulnerability in his eyes. “Then we’ll figure it out together. If Hell comes knocking, they’ll have to deal with both of us.”
“My brave mortal,” he murmured against my lips. “So confident, yet so fragile.”
