F OURTEEN C AMILLE

I shoot upright and nearly fall out of bed with dizzying nausea, then stumble to the bathroom across the hall with my hand clamped over my mouth. Getting the lid of the toilet up just in time, I fall to my knees and empty my stomach into the bowl. I heave until there’s only bile left, my throat raw and my temples throbbing. My skin feels hot and cold at the same time. I’m sweating and shivering, and I feel as if I’ve been hit by a truck.

Groaning, I rock back until I’m sitting on the floor against the wall adjacent to the toilet. I tip my head back and press a hand to my clammy forehead as I take slow, measured breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth.

I don’t know how long I stay there before I manage to crawl back to bed, and when Noah comes banging on my door sometime later, I barely find the strength to pick up my phone and text him. I’m not going to let a little sickness get in the way of training—he’d never let me live it down.

Be right out. Just need a quick shower.

It’s probably just me, but I can’t help worrying that I reek of vomit.

He calls me immediately, and when I answer and try to speak, my voice is all but gone.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing,” I croak. “Give me ten minutes.” I pull the phone away from my ear as I’m gripped with a coughing fit. I squeeze my eyes shut against the pressure in my temples. My eyes burn, and I will the bile rising in my throat to recede.

“Are you sick?”

“I am the vision of health,” I lie, entirely unconvincing. Still, I add, “I’ll be right out.”

“The hell you will. I’m not letting you train in this condition. Stay exactly where you are. I’ll see you later.”

“Noah—”

“I mean it, Camille. I’m not arguing with you.” He hangs up before I can, in fact, attempt to argue. If only I had the strength to get out of bed, I might try to fight him on it. Instead I leave my phone on the nightstand and roll over, curling into myself as my head continues to throb.

I lose track of the day, and the next time I blink my eyes open, I find Noah sitting in a chair at the end of my bed. He must’ve dragged it in here from the living room.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice still ragged.

He glances up from the book in his lap, and the corner of his mouth kicks up. “Sleeping Beauty wakes,” he teases, nodding toward the nightstand. “I brought you some stuff.”

I look over and find a water bottle, cold and flu meds, cough drops, and my favorite chocolate. My chest swells, and I press my lips together before I can let out a sound of surprise. “Thank you,” I finally say, glancing at him again. “What time is it?”

He checks his watch. “Just after two in the afternoon.”

My brows lift. “How long have you been here?”

“A couple hours. I stopped at the drugstore on my way back from Ballard this morning.”

“And you let yourself into my apartment.”

He nods. “Your dad gave me a spare key when you moved in.”

I exhale a humorless laugh, shaking my head. “Of course he did.”

“You should try to eat something.”

I close my eyes again. “Not hungry.”

“I understand, but you need to keep your strength up, so what can I get you?”

I keep my eyes closed, pulling the blankets up around me. “You don’t have to take care of me, Noah,” I mumble into my pillow as I hug it to the side of my face, enjoying the cool fabric against my flushed skin.

“Would you prefer Scott be here? I can call him, if you want.”

I groan. “No, I don’t want him to worry about me. Besides, I’m fine.”

“You’re sticking with that party line?”

“Don’t call my dad, Noah.”

“Fine, I won’t. But tell me what you want to eat.”

I pry my eyes open, squinting at him. “Are you going to hand feed it to me, too?”

He laughs, then pats my leg and stands, leaving his book on the chair. “I’m going to make you some toast. Try to stay awake for the next five minutes, yeah?”

I stifle a yawn. “No promises.”

I spend the next few days in bed, sleeping on and off for hours at a time. My dad stopped by to bring food yesterday. I couldn’t avoid him finding out I was sick when he texted and asked me to come over for dinner. I guess I could’ve lied, but I felt like I’d done enough of that lately and it hasn’t gotten me anywhere good.

After managing to stomach a piece of toast with peanut butter, I take a heavy dose of cough syrup and a painkiller for my headache, then doze back off.

I haven’t been able to kick this wicked fever, and the sweats and chills happening at the same time have to be the worst part.

I’m not sure how long I manage to stay asleep this time, and when I open my eyes, my vision is blurry. Noah is sitting on the end of my bed, and—wait, no…I blink until the dark figure comes into focus. I must still be asleep, because it isn’t Noah sitting there.

It’s Xander.

Too many thoughts attempt to process at once, making my already fuzzy head inundated with static. I squeeze my eyes shut and—

“I’m here, mo shíorghrá .” His voice is soft, and the bed shifts as he moves closer. “Open your eyes.”

I blink until his face is clear, swallowing against the fire in my throat. “What…are you doing here?” My voice is low and hoarse, my temples still pounding with pressure. Even if I wanted to throw him out, there’s zero chance I have the strength. I barely have the energy to force myself into a sitting position.

His gaze stays locked on my face. “Harper told me you were sick.”

I frown, reaching for the glass of water on my nightstand and downing half of it. “I didn’t realize the two of you were on speaking terms.”

He inhales through his teeth. “More or less.”

Setting the glass down, I look his way again and say, “You didn’t need to come.”

Xander lowers his gaze, his shoulders rising and falling with a sigh, as if his being here is as hard for him as it is for me. “I did. I had to know…that you were okay.”

I ignore the way his words kick up my pulse as I cling to my mask of indifference. “Never better.”

“Camille—”

“Why didn’t you use that dreamscape trick again? I’ve been sleeping more than I’ve been awake.”

“I just needed to see you. For real.”

My eyes narrow. “How did you even get in here?”

“I stopped at the office in the lobby and got a key from the building manager. Nice guy.”

I have a feeling he didn’t just hand it over willingly, but I don’t have the energy to push that line of questioning. “You don’t get to just show up here. Or show up in my dreams. It’s not fair.” I turn my face away, coughing into my shoulder until my temples are throbbing again.

“I know,” he says once the room is silent. “You deserve so much more than what I’ve given you. More than I could ever give you. But when Harper said that you were sick and Noah would look after you, something in me snapped.” Xander shifts closer, and my breath catches when his hand lands on my knee over the blankets.

The butterflies I thought were long dead flutter to life in my stomach as I watch Xander’s thumb brush back and forth. Even with layers of fabric between our skin, I feel him like I’ve felt no one else. He’s ingrained in me somehow—I think he always will be.

“That sounds awfully like jealousy,” I point out, feeling far too glib about it. I’m going to blame the fever.

His lips twitch. “Feels like it too, and I don’t much care for it.”

“I thought losing the human part of you would change things.”

He nods. “It did. As it turns out, I don’t need a soul to feel certain things. I guess I should’ve known that after being friends with Blake all these years. He’s the most emotional person I’ve ever met, and there’s no chance that bastard has a soul.”

I sit in silence, trying to keep up with everything he’s throwing at me. I haven’t let myself consider that Xander could have feelings for me without a soul, but hearing this, I can’t stop myself from thinking about the possibility.

“As conflicted as I am most days, my feelings for you haven’t changed, no matter how hard I fight them.”

I immediately want to kick myself. I’m being too vulnerable around him, but I can’t seem to stop. It’s like it’s always been—feeling connected to him, longing for him, even after all he’s done. Even when I know I absolutely shouldn’t.

So why the hell do I still feel this way?

He squeezes my knee. “You can’t fight the soulmate bond.”

Soulmate.

Xander’s words are a violent kick to the gut, knocking the air from my lungs in a vicious whoosh .

My rib cage ignites with fire, my eyes springing tears as I stare at the most powerful demon in the world sitting on my bed.

Soulmate.

“You’re my…” I trail off, my voice cracking as my vision blurs.

Soulmate.

My heart cleaves in two as an unbearable weight falls onto my chest. I swallow hard, trying to dislodge the lump in my throat as I grip the blanket in my lap until my knuckles turn white. I try to calm my racing thoughts, but can’t make sense of anything through the fog in my head.

I haven’t heard the term outside romance books or considered the possibility of soulmates being real. And yet, there’s a burst of warmth in my gut that tells me it’s true. “What does this mean?”

The pain etched in his features digs deep into my chest, only made worse when he says, “I don’t…Our bond was broken when I killed Lucia and lost my soul.”

I try to take a deep breath, but my lungs constrict, and I choke on a gasp. The room spins, and the bit of food I managed to eat earlier threatens to make a nasty reappearance.

“That’s what I’ve felt,” I whisper and lift my hand to my chest, pressing my palm against the pounding there. As crazy as the notion of us being connected by an otherworldly bond is, I can’t deny the certainty that seizes me. “There’s been this…physical absence of something I can’t put my finger on, no matter how hard I try. That must be it.”

“I’m sorry.” He pulls his hand back, and I feel the loss of his touch more profoundly than it seems should be possible. “You don’t deserve the pain of—”

“Loving you?” I blurt, my chest seconds away from bursting with all the emotions at war in my tattered heart. “Believe me, there are many times I’ve wished I could stop.”

Is the soulmate bond what’s kept me from being able to walk away from Xander even when I know I should?

I resent the idea, especially when this isn’t the first time I’ve been forced to face the possibility that my connection to Xander might be what I thought it was.

I pull my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around my legs. The urge to bury my face in my hands or scream into a pillow has tears spilling down my cheeks before I can blink them away. Here I am, once again having the rug pulled out from under me, questioning everything I believed about my feelings for Xander.

“How long have you known?” I ask in a low voice. I can’t hide it if I tried—I’m fucking drained.

Xander sighs softly. “I think we should save this conversation for when you’re well.”

My jaw clenches, and I shake my head. “ When , Xander?” My voice cracks. “When did you know we were soulmates? Was it after the first time we kissed? After we slept together?”

He looks away for a minute that seems to last forever before his eyes meet mine again, and something inside me cracks wide open when he says, “I knew the moment my mother was going to kill you.”

I stare at Xander, my heart pounding in my throat and my stomach twisted in so many knots, I fear the nausea is going to lead me to vomit as I try to wrap my head around that. The room falls silent, save for the beating of my heart—it’s so intense I can feel it in my throat.

He discovered we were soulmates moments before he lost his soul. He was faced with the harsh reality of losing me at the hands of his own mother, and something must have snapped into place.

I try to think back to that horrific day, to recall what I was feeling. If perhaps part of me knew it then, too. But everything is dark and fuzzy and painful, and I don’t want to feel any of it. Paired with the rush of emotions, I feel as if I’m having an out-of-body experience. Like maybe this isn’t real, just another dream he’s appearing in.

Xander’s gaze holds mine, and with each second that ticks by, I find it harder to keep the space between us. Before I know it, I’m shifting my legs so I can move closer and wrap my arms around his neck. His arms come around me without hesitation, and I bury my face in his chest, the rapid beat of his own heart against my ear making my eyes burn. He slides his fingers into my hair, cradling my head, and I have no idea what’s happening or what it means, just that I don’t want it to end. Because learning about the bond between us also means knowing it was destroyed when Xander lost his soul.

And that’s fucking devastating.

“What does this mean?” I ask again, my voice small, hesitant. I’m torn between wanting to know more and just living with the knowledge I’ve already gained. What else is there to know? I’m not sure it even matters now—I can’t be soulmates with someone who doesn’t have a soul. I guess I’m naively hoping he’ll say otherwise.

Xander’s chest rises and falls as he sighs. “You already know.”

Of course I do. And yet, my stomach still sinks.

“Right,” I whisper.

Demons don’t have souls. They can’t have soulmates.

The hunter organization would have us all believe that demons can’t experience something as pure as love, but I don’t believe it. Blake is the most obvious evidence that demons can feel and care and love . I’ve seen it in his loyalty to Xander, and even in the way he’s spoken to me.

Blake is not a monster, and neither is Xander—not to the people who are important to them.

Xander guides my head away from his chest, tipping it up and pressing his lips to my forehead. I close my eyes, pulling in a shaky breath as the tension in my temples softens, then fades completely.

I pull back, breathing, “What was that?”

He blinks, his expression confused as he shakes his head.

“My headache. You kissed me, and it’s just…gone.”

His brows lift. “I don’t think I’ve done anything like that before,” he muses. “It must be another development in my power. Demons are fallen angels, after all. I suppose healing abilities make sense to some degree.”

“Maybe we are still connected somehow,” I offer, my skin tingling at the thought.

His fingers slip free of my hair as he shifts away, his jaw set tight. “If that’s the case, you’ll be in even more danger as I work through the trials to ascend the throne.”

I swallow, my throat raw from coughing for days. “Good thing I’m in demon hunter training, then.” I sigh, shaking my head. “I never thought I’d say that.”

Xander’s expression darkens. “It’s more complicated than that. You’ll be a target, a liability.”

His words slice deep into my chest, feeling more like an attack than they should. I resent the way my chin quivers, and I clench my jaw against the tears threatening to form. I loathe how weak I feel in this moment, in front of him.

Maybe he was right—now isn’t the time to talk about this.

“I think you should go,” I tell him, unable to meet his gaze.

“You’re upset,” he observes, his brows drawn together.

“I’m sick,” I say instead of admitting the hurt gnawing at me. It’s not untrue, though I am better physically than I was a few days ago. “I just need to sleep,” I add, hoping he’ll take the hint and leave.

Xander nods but doesn’t move from his spot on my bed.

I sigh despite the twisted part of me that finds comfort in his proximity. It begs the question of a lingering connection, even in the absence of Xander’s soul. Maybe if I was more awake, clearer-headed, I’d ask about the possibility, but, instead, I say, “You’re not going anywhere, are you?” My eyelids grow heavier, staying closed longer with each blink.

He tilts his head to the side, surveying my face. “I’m not leaving until you’re feeling better.”

Left with no energy to fight him, I stretch my legs out and pull the blankets up around me as I try to get comfortable. “Stay out of my dreams,” I grumble at him, turning onto my side to face away from him, and close my eyes as I exhale a slow breath.

I think he chuckles, but I’ve sunk too far into the warm, comforting cloud of unconsciousness to hear his soft reply.