Page 43 of Thane's Demon
I sent it and waited, marveling at how her eyes closed a second as she sighed, as if my words held some magical elixir for her bruised soul. The painful exchange with her father was already a thing of the past and now forgotten.
As long as it’s not to buy a shovel, I’m in.
Again, my grin could not be helped, and it was quickly starting to feel less foreign. I couldn’t remember a time I had ever smiled this much in my entire life, having no cause to before now. As for my reply, it was short and sweet.
Funny, little fluff.
A reply that made her touch her hair, knowing now why I called her the endearment, and seemingly basking in it. Good. She needed to know how beautiful she was. She needed to be praised for all that was her and not berated for it. Which was why I sent her one last message, not ending it the way I wanted to by confessing the sins of my obsession.
Until tomorrow, little dreamer. Good night and sweet dreams.
I lingered there, watching her for a few moments more, already wishing for morning and knowing that whatever dreams found me would be the same ones I wished for her.
Ones filled entirely with the inescapable pull of…
Our girl.
18
DECISIONS
By the time I returned to my apartment, the quiet felt heavier than usual, as if every shadow carried the echo of her voice. The door clicked shut behind me, and for a moment I stood there, staring into the dim room I had once thought adequate. A place built for a man who needed nothing but silence, weapons, and the illusion of solitude. Now the walls felt too narrow, the rooms too bare, the air too cold for someone like her.
Bringing her into my life, even in the smallest way, had made something painfully clear. She deserved more. More than worn floors and peeling wallpaper, and a view of a city that thrived on greed. She deserved color and warmth and something that didn’t whisper violence with every passing hour.
She deserved a home.
A real one.
Not a gilded cage. Nor this ashen box I had allowed myself to rot in. But anything was better than that polished prison her father kept her trapped in.
I walked farther inside, my boots echoing softly against the worn floorboards, my mind already turning over the possibilitieslike stones in a restless river. I could move. I could find a place somewhere quiet, somewhere safe, somewhere the darkness didn’t seep through the cracks. Or I could leave Shanghai entirely. There were other cities, places where no eyes watched her, where she could breathe without being judged for every inhale. Places where I wouldn’t feel the weight of my past pressing against my spine every time I walked the streets.
Leaving would be simple enough for me. I had done it before. Too many times. But for her…
Her father’s voice rose in my memory, sharp and cold, echoing through her home like a blade. The disgust when he said the word friend. The disrespect when he mentioned her mother. The way her body had curled in on itself under the weight of disappointment she didn’t deserve.
I wondered if she stayed because she thought she had no choice. That truth hit me harder than I expected. She stayed because she believed it was all she had. After all, every threat he muttered, every pressure he placed upon her, had stripped pieces of her until obedience felt like survival.
Tomorrow, I would ask her why. Why she remained, just to be sure if I was right. Why she let him put out her light out instead of running toward the life she deserved. I needed to hear it from her own lips, to know if she truly believed she was trapped or if she did not realize how many walls I would tear down to free her.
My demon stirred at that thought, restless, pacing, already imagining the taste of blood and the scent of fear.
‘Set her free.
Take her away from this place.
Away from him.
Away from all of them.’
Soon,I thought, not yet trusting my voice to contain the truth.
I moved to the shadowed side of the room where an unremarkable stretch of wall hid the only truly valuable thing I owned. To anyone else, it was nothing more than ageing plaster and cracked paint, but beneath the surface lay a highly sophisticated safe crafted by hands that were not entirely human. Janie had acquired it for me years ago, calling it a favor owed by creatures she refused to name, and I had trusted her enough not to question it.
I pressed my palm flat against the wall and let a thin line of blood break the skin of my thumb with a slow drag of my fang. The moment my blood touched the surface, the plaster shimmered like disturbed water, ripples pulsing outward before the illusion dissolved altogether. The safe emerged from the distortion, forged of dark metal laced with runes that glowed faintly in response to my presence, as if waking from a long slumber.
It had no dial, no keypad, no human mechanism. It obeyed only blood.My blood.The lock pulsed once in recognition, and a soft, almost organic click followed, like a creature uncoiling itself after being disturbed. The door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing the relic resting within.
