Page 9

Chapter 9

Jasper

W hen Jasper woke in the morning, it was to faint sunlight falling over Caleb’s face, bringing out the copper in his dark beard, the smoothness of his cheeks. His lips were pink and soft, and Jasper licked his own, remembering the taste of them.

But he didn’t wake because he was feeling better. He hadn’t felt the usual pull of energy when Caleb came. Hell, Jasper normally needed that to get over the edge himself, but with Caleb holding his hands, close enough that the hair on his chest tickled Jasper’s and their breaths mingled, all he’d needed was Caleb.

It was perfect, and Jasper wished he could’ve had it again and again forever.

If he couldn’t eat, though, he couldn’t keep Caleb. He supposed that was the trade-off, and it’d been worth it to know that, for one night, Caleb really wanted him. It’d been about the both of them. Caleb hadn’t wanted to hurt him, and Jasper hadn’t tried to take too much. It hadn’t been a mindless fury; Caleb had put his forehead on Jasper’s and kissed him. After, he hadn’t passed out, exhausted from fucking and Jasper’s feeding. He’d held him against his chest.

Jasper felt his smile began to tremble. He’d wanted that so much, and he got it, and now? He wasn’t sure. Couldn’t think about it. The demonic part of him that needed Caleb’s energy was too empty or broken or weak to take it. And maybe that was okay.

Caleb had said every day—Jasper could give him all the days he had.

His throat had gotten tight while he watched Caleb’s eyelids flutter softly in sleep, and thought about how much he wanted those days to last. Quietly, he got out of bed and pulled on Caleb’s big shirt. He needed to do something more than sit there and be sad.

Caleb had spent the last couple days taking care of him. This time, Jasper would make breakfast for Caleb instead.

In the kitchen, he tried to stay quiet. He didn’t eat a lot of human food, so he wasn’t a very good cook, but he’d watched Caleb make eggs, and that seemed easy enough—crack them, whisk them up with some salt and pepper and milk and maybe some cheese, then cook them in a pan. He could manage that.

He cracked half a dozen eggs into a bowl and turned on the stovetop so the pan could heat up. He put a pat of butter in it before he moved to season and whisk the eggs.

Something about the spin of broken yolks or the way the heat from the stovetop hit him in the face when he turned around made Jasper sway. Before he knew what was happening, he stumbled.

The bowl clattered on the stovetop, splashing raw egg across the heating plate to seep under the pan and drip down the front of the oven. Jasper had barely had time to catch himself on the oven’s handle before he sagged against it, the smell of burning egg and cheese right under his nose.

Slowly, he lowered himself to the kitchen floor. “Shit,” he whispered, bracing his forehead on the oven’s cool steel front, vaguely aware of Caleb calling his name as he scrambled out of bed.

Then, Caleb was right there. He flicked off the burner and knelt in front of Jasper, still clinging to the oven door.

When he grabbed Jasper’s face, Jasper finally let go.

“Are you okay?” Caleb demanded. His rough-skinned thumbs brushed his cheeks, his pretty eyes swam with concern.

Jasper smiled sadly and nodded.

With furrowed brow, Caleb remained unconvinced. His hand pressed Caleb’s forehead. “You’re freezing.”

That was it, wasn’t it? Incubi who couldn’t feed turned all that hunger inward, taking it from their own bodies until their blood stopped pumping.

“It’s okay,” Jasper whispered. Last night, Caleb had given him exactly what he’d always wanted. Lots of people never got that much. “I’m so sorry I made a mess.” His gaze wandered to a drip of yellow down the oven’s front, and Jasper grimaced. “I wanted to cook you breakfast.”

Caleb shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. Here—” He scooped Jasper up in his arms and carried him over to the couch. He set him there, nestled in the corner between the back and the arm rest, lifted his feet to tuck in against the cushions, and wrapped a soft blanket around him.

Then he sat on the coffee table and leaned toward Jasper, reaching out to set a hand on his knee. “Is this—was last night too much?”

Jasper couldn’t help laughing, which only deepened Caleb’s frown. He couldn’t have that, so he reached for Caleb’s hand and slipped their fingers together. “No. It’s not that. Last night was really, really, really perfect, Caleb. The best. This doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

He wished Caleb would smile for him. He looked so damned concerned. If he knew Jasper was a demon who wanted to feed on him, maybe he wouldn’t bother caring.

“Will you please tell me what’s going on?” Caleb asked, turning his hand so he could rub his thumb over Jasper’s knuckles.

Jasper swallowed. It might be kinder to tell Caleb the truth and set him free of this whole mess. Or maybe, Caleb, sweet as he was, would feel even more responsible. But he didn’t have a magic dick—a fantastic dick, yes, but not a magic one. The problem was Jasper’s.

“If there were anything you could do, I would tell you,” Jasper whispered, his voice catching on renewed tightness in his throat.

Caleb looked ready to argue with him, so Jasper shook his head. He forced a smile. “I’ll be fine,” he lied. “I’m just hungry.”

That, Caleb could fix. He nodded, rising immediately. “I’ll make you something.”

“Actually”—Caleb froze and looked back at him, ready to do whatever it took. It broke Jasper’s heart that it wouldn’t matter. “That hot chocolate you made me the first night? It was really good. Could I have that?” Caleb looked pained, but something about the warm, rich brew reminded him of the man. “Please?”

With a jerky nod, Caleb said, “Okay, but you’re going to eat some real food too.”

“Deal.”

And before Caleb pressed a plate of bacon and eggs and more toast than any one man could eat on him, he handed off a mug of hot chocolate that Jasper cradled to his chest.