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Aedon pulls two chairs together. “Come sit.”

I ease myself into the seat and stick my hand out. He lays it in his lap and grabs the tweezers, tugging at each splinter. Every time his skin touches mine it tingles.

“Stop moving,” he commands.

“I’m used to doing this myself.”

“I can tell.” He threads a needle. “Are you ready to be honest?”

“About what?”

“What was the,” he waves his hand around, “about?”

“I don’t want to talk to you about it.”

“I’m probably the only person you can considering you hid all of this from your sister. So, what happened?”

He patiently waits for me to elaborate, and I cave. “Life stopped being a mystery.” He doesn’t say anything, just focuses on each tug. Glass plinks onto a plate he set next to him. I can tell he doesn’t believe me. “I just see things sometimes.”

“Demons or ghosts?” His focus doesn’t drift from my hand.

“Does it matter?”

“I have my own demons.” He says it nonchalantly, but there’s something dark that flashes in his eyes.

I force a laugh. “Mine are fucked up and repulsive.”

“Mine quite like yours, actually.” The air buzzes with something I can’t identify. Dread, or maybe it’s lust?

“Is it over?” I ask hesitantly, avoiding what he said.

Blue eyes peer up at me through dark lashes. “Not exactly. You’re not going to like the next part.”

Aedon pulls the needle from the table with a thick clear thread. Something strikes me about him. Underneath his asshole demeanor he is kind in a rough sort of way. I finally get a good look at him. He’s focused and trying to be gentle.

“Fuck.” I jump at the contact of the needle, causing him to stab me. His grip on my wrist tightens, stilling me.

Aedon smiles mischievously. “I thought you do this all of the time?”

He waits for my reaction, ready to drink it up, and I try not to give him the satisfaction. Aedon wants me to rebuttal, and I can't help myself, so I walk directly into his trap.

“You’re just bad at it.”

I can see the excitement in his eyes. He’s pleased with himself. “Could have fooled me,” he teases.

“Why are you here?”

“In this world, or right here with you?” His words are careful, but I’m too stunned to say anything. I will force him to give in. He ties off a set of stitches and leans back, stretching. “I’m interested in you, Josie. I thought I made that clear.”

“Before or after you fucked me?”

“Both.” He smirks again. I’m plagued by a wave of need. I didn’t miss him, that would be against all my beliefs. His presence just throws me for a loop, and he knows it. It’s confusing. I want to be annoyed, but I can’t. I just feel relieved. He’s distracting me from this awful process.

“How many of your conquests do you sew together and cook dinner for?”

He ignores my prying statement, focusing back on the split skin. “We have a lot in common.”

With each tie off and snip, I fall deeper into a strange sort of comfortability.