Page 27 of Devil Wears Nada
“What’s this?” he asked, curiosity lighting his features.
“Something I made for you,” I said, suddenly nervous. “For us, really. For our six-month anniversary.”
His expression softened. “Six months since I woke up in your bed with no memory and somehow had the good sense to stay.”
“Best decision you ever made,” I said lightly, though my heart was racing. “Open it.”
Van approached the bed and carefully lifted the lid of the box. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, was a silk robe—a near-perfect recreation of the one he’d worn during those first chaotic days after falling into my life. Deep blue with subtle shifting highlights that caught the light, it was both a practical garment and a physical embodiment of my memories of our beginning.
“Lucas,” he breathed, lifting it from the box with reverent hands. “It’s exquisite.”
“Try it on,” I encouraged, my voice thick with emotion I couldn’t fully hide.
He shed his clothes without hesitation—some things truly never changed—and slipped the robe over his shoulders, the silk settling around his perfect form as if it had been waiting for him.
“How does it feel?” I asked.
He ran his hands over the material, his expression one of profound pleasure. “Like it was made for me. Like I’ve worn it before.” He looked up, confusion briefly crossing his features. “Have I? Did I have one like this before my… accident?”
I stepped closer, adjusting the collar of the robe with practiced hands. “Not exactly like this. But similar. It was the first thing of mine you wore, that first morning.”
Van’s eyes unfocused slightly, as if trying to grasp at something just beyond reach. “Blue silk,” he murmured. “I remember… refusing to wear cotton. Being absolutely horrified at the thought of polyester.”
I froze, my hands still on the collar of the robe. He couldn’t possibly remember that specific detail—it was part of our supernatural beginning, covered by Hell’s bargain.
“You still hate polyester,” I said carefully. “Some things are just ingrained, I guess.”
He nodded, but his expression remained distant, searching. “Lucas, I’ve been having more of those dreams lately. The ones that feel like memories but can’t be. Last night…” He hesitated, then continued, “Last night I dreamed I fell from the sky. Literally fell, naked, onto a Los Angeles street. And you were there, in your car, looking at me like I was the most terrifying and wonderful thing you’d ever seen.”
My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it. “That’s… quite a dream.”
“It felt so real,” he insisted. “And in the dream, I knew things. Impossible things. I knew what it felt like to fly between realms.I knew what hellfire tastes like. I knew I wasn’t human.” His eyes found mine, piercing in their intensity. “But most of all, I knew you. Not like I know you now, but like I’d been watching you for lifetimes, waiting for the moment our paths would cross.”
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. This was dangerous territory, perilously close to violating Hell’s bargain.
“And the strangest part,” Van continued, his fingers absently stroking the silk of the robe, “is that when I woke up, I wasn’t frightened by the dream. It felt… right. Like I was finally remembering something true.”
“Van—” I began, not knowing what I was going to say, only that I needed to steer us away from this precipice.
But he pressed on, stepping closer until we were inches apart. “What if my amnesia isn’t from an accident, Lucas? What if there’s something else—something impossible—that you’ve been protecting me from?”
The air between us seemed to thicken, reality itself holding its breath. I thought of Lilith’s warning, of the consequences if we violated the terms of the bargain. But I also saw the desperate need for truth in Van’s eyes.
“I can’t—” I started, then changed course. “What do you think happened?”
He took my hands in his, his expression deadly serious. “I think I wasn’t always human. I think I came from somewhere else—somewhere most people would call mythological. And I think I gave up something enormous to be here, with you.”
My breath caught. How close he was to the truth, guided only by dreams and instinct.
“That sounds like fantasy,” I said weakly.
“Does it?” he challenged. “Then why does it feel more real than the story we’ve been telling? Why do I sometimes know things I shouldn’t possibly know? Why do I feel ancient and newborn at the same time?”
I closed my eyes, torn between terror of breaking Hell’s bargain and the desperate desire to have Van—my Van, with all his memories—fully restored to me.
“Lucas,” he said softly, releasing one of my hands to touch my face, guiding me to look at him again. “I’m not asking you to confirm anything. I understand there might be… reasons… you can’t. But I need you to know that whatever the truth is, whatever I was before, this is what I choose now.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice barely audible.
