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“Gwendolyn, my bittersweet, I love a liar as much as the next demon, but I would appreciate it if you leveled with me. Why did you run away?”
“It’s Gwen,” she said, before letting out a long sigh. “Just Gwen.”
Ambrosius blinked.
“Gwen …Gwen,” he cooed. “Be good now, and tell me why you ran away.”
The curtain was still between them, obscuring her from him, but Ambrosius had other ways of seeing. He could picture her face, the doubt and fear in her eyes. The way she bit the plump flesh of her lip.
“I’ve seen this before in my dreams,” she confessed. “I’ve seen you in them, and I wasn’t sure if this is real or not…”
A partial truth, but not the entire truth. Ambrosius felt the corner of his mouth go up. He found it funny how much like him she really was. Ambrosius had every intention of treating Gwen like the brat she was, but that had changed when she ran from him. Whatever lecture, whatever torment he had been contemplating was nothing compared to her confessing to him, as if he were some priest that would forgive her sins.
The thought amused him, and there was a strange pleasure to it. Ambrosius could sense fear and guilt rolling around in her soul, weighing her down. Yet another odd flavor to her intricate making.
“Do you often dream of me?” he asked.
“I…”
His hand tightened, and he could feel her skin ready to give beneath his fingers. Ambrosius wanted her to say it. He wanted to know if a part of him had slipped into her nightmares, if it had buried itself into hermind.
“Not on purpose,” Gwen relented. “What are you going to do to my hand?”
Once again, her clever mind managed to avoid the question. Gwen had been learning—another good trait to have in a warlock. Their connection gave him more access to her than if she had simply been a human. He doubted she was even aware that something had fundamentally changed within her.
“Whatever I please,” Ambrosius replied with terrible satisfaction.
He could feel his demonic nature coiling, rearing back with an open jaw as it readied a lethal strike. She winced as one of his jagged fingers pressed a little too hard into her hand. Yet, she still didn’t try to escape him. He’d take a cautious and cunning warlock over a brave and foolish one.
“But, I’d be willing to give it back to you,” Ambrosius giggled—a game, the familiar game rushing through his body, causing the ink to swirl along his unnatural skin. Without meaning to, his voice grew more distorted. “Promise me you won’t run away again, and I’ll let you take your hand back. Promise me, my bittersweet, and I’ll let you go.”
“I promise,” Gwendolyn said, all soft and docile.
Ambrosius could tell thatshe believedshe wouldn’t run away. A personal truth that he had to consider as he slowly cracked his neck. Pushing the boundaries of his human formwas always easier than shoving his demonic form back into it. He gathered his long limbs and crooked spine. Slowly, Ambrosius pulled them back towards the center, melding the monstrous pieces into a semblance of something more human, something that wouldn’t terrify.
All of him, except for the hand holding hers.
“Very well,” he said before burying his true voice as well.
Ambrosius withdrew his spindly fingers from Gwen. As they separated, the tip of one of his jagged claws swept through the pooling blood between her fingers and disappeared behind the curtain. Ambrosius watched as his hand reverted back to its human size, but paused at changing its appearance. He stared at the dark red on the tip of his claw.
Impulsive by nature, he brought his finger to his mouth and licked the small offering. It wasn’t entirely the same as when he first sampled her blood. There was no doubt that she was different now, that she had changed. Another boon for him, one that made the human organ in his chest beat wildly.
“Okay,” she murmured, then more steadily. “Okay … I’m going to—”
Before she could finish her sentence, Ambrosius manifested behind her. His arms snaked around her body. His human hand gripped her shoulder while his more demonic hand clutched her abdomen. Gwen gasped, her own hand clutching the arm across her chest while the other bit into his wrist. Ambrosius rested his head on her shoulder, eyeing her shocked expression with glee.
“What is it, Gwen?” he murmured in her ear. “When did it happen? Tell me everything.”
She squirmed in his arms, pressing her back against his chest in a weak attempt to dislodge him. His warlock didn’t have the spirit to will herself to be physically stronger, it seemed.
“When did what happen, you unhinged dick?!” Gwen snarled, turning her head to glare at him.
“Don’t play coy, Gwen,” Ambrosius wiggled his monstrous fingers, tapping them down her ribs. “Tell me what you’ve been eating!”
Gwen strained against his hold, pulling away from his fingers as they finally rested on her lower abdomen. Ambrosius wanted to know—wasachingto know what terrible thing sustained her. What made her salivate, what made her stomach lurch in pain? What fooled the organ inside of her into thinking she was eating?
There was a chance she had taken on more of his own traits. The leaching of his power came with funny side effects. How that power manifested depended entirely on the warlock. When she had revealed her pink hair—her own unique aspect of him—Ambrosius had found it fitting. Of course, such a creative soul would boast such a loud color. Naturally, Gwen was just as independent and flamboyant as he was. She just needed guidance, and she would be the mostdreadfulwarlock the world would ever see!