Page 6 of The Summoning Spell (The Holiday Glitch #1)

It’s Not Love, It’s Just a Trauma Response?

B lair woke to the smell of something sinful. Not sex, though, no, it was French toast.

She sat up slowly, sore in places she didn’t know existed, her sheets twisted around her like tornado wreckage. Her thighs ached, her hips protested. Her hair probably looked like it had been through an exorcism.

She blinked, and in her kitchen, there was a man at her stove, shirtless, and humming.

“Ashar?” she croaked.

He looked over his shoulder, grinning like the devil he was. “Morning, sunshine.”

She stared. “So, you’re still here.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I kind of thought I hallucinated you into orgasm-induced cardiac arrest.”

Ashar flipped a piece of French toast. “I told you. I stay until you’re fulfilled.”

“Pretty sure I hit that about five times last night. I mean, that thing you did? Like, how does one top that?”

He smirked. “Not the kind of fulfillment I meant. And wait until the next time. I’ll show you exactly how.”

She laughed a little too loudly. “Anyway, you’ll vanish in two days, so who cares, right?”

He didn’t laugh. Instead, his hand reached out, gently wrapping around her wrist before she could grab her coffee again.

“Stay,” he said, not commanding, he was simply asking.

“Don’t run from this one.”

She stilled, every nerve on edge. Flight mode always felt safer than hope.

Her breath caught. Her stomach twisted like it remembered too many goodbyes. She grabbed her phone like it could deflect the weight of his voice.

But his voice didn’t sound like danger. It sounded like it could be home, if she let it.

She groaned and flopped back onto the pillow like it owed her money. Then grabbed her phone.

She quickly FaceTimed Maya.

Her best friend’s face popped up after a few rings, still in pajamas, sipping coffee like a smug psychic.

“Damn,” Maya said immediately, squinting. “Are you alive?”

Blair adjusted the sheet over her chest. “I think so? But, like, what if I’m not?”

“You’re alive. Barely. But you look thoroughly wrecked. Short man finally found your clit or what?”

Ashar, from the kitchen: “Short?”

Blair whipped around. “You heard that?”

“I hear everything.” He raised an eyebrow. “Who’s short?”

Maya leaned into the screen. “Ohhh. Wait, that doesn’t sound like him. Girl, did you finally find a real man? ”

Blair said, “Define man.”

Maya smiled, “Oh, you know, I always suspected you were also into women.”

“I am, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I think I had sex with a sex god.”

“Like, not a real human? Did you lose your mind last night?”

Blair whispered, “I lost it a long time ago. Maybe he’s a post-sex hallucination. Like, a literal afterglow.”

Ashar brought her a plate. “Do hallucinations bring breakfast?”

Maya shouted, “Keep him.”

Ashar smirked, “Until she’s satisfied.”

Maya questioned, “So if he has friends, like hot demon friends, do they need dates for Thanksgiving?”

Blair said, “Absolutely not. No demons at your mom’s dinner table.”

“You’re telling me you get summoned dick magic and I’m just supposed to eat dry turkey alone while my cousins ask why I’m still single?”

Ashar said from somewhere behind Blair, “Tell her it’s not dry if she knows what she’s doing.”

“I LIKE HIM.”

“I swear to Satan, Maya.”

She dropped her face into her hands and hung up.

She sat at the dining room table and poked at her French toast like it might explode.

Across from her, Ashar sat shirtless, drinking coffee like he belonged there. Like this was normal. Like he hadn’t rearranged her nervous system eight hours ago.

How dare he not be losing his mind, too?

“This doesn’t prove anything,” she mumbled.

He tilted his head. “Still convinced you imagined the levitating orgasm?”

“It could’ve been lucid dreaming. Or, like, my final synapses firing off in the afterlife.”

Ashar smirked. “I cooked you breakfast.”

“Lucid coma food.”

“Talked to your friend.”

“Hallucination extension.”

He leaned forward, eyes locked on hers. “Then why does your heartbeat spike every time I look at you like this?”

Her fork clattered against the plate.

“I don’t know,” she snapped. “Maybe because you’re hot. Maybe because it’s been a while. Maybe because the last guy I trusted treated me like a backup plan with benefits.”

Ashar didn’t respond right away.

So she filled the silence. “Look, I’m not saying you’re not tempting. But if you’re real? You’ll eventually leave. Or worse, find someone else who summons you with prettier candles and non-generic glitter.”

His expression darkened just slightly. “Is that what you think I do? Hop from one desperate girl’s trauma to another?”

She stood. “I think men always find a way to move on when we start to fall.”

He stood too, slowly. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not a man.”

Her throat tightened. Her mouth opened, then closed.

She didn’t want to go there. She already felt too bare. Too seen.

“Okay,” she muttered. “But how many other women have you said the same thing to? How many others have you been their pleasure demon before you had to go back where you came from? ”

Ashar went to answer,

Blair cut him off. “I don’t want to know.”

The words hung in the air like smoke. She didn’t know if she meant it; she didn’t know if she could handle the truth either way.

“I don’t want to know,” she repeated, grabbing her coffee like it might anchor her to the floor.

Ashar didn’t speak.

Just stood there, still shirtless, still too calm, with his unreadable demon poker face on. His tattoos pulsed faintly across his skin, moving like ink caught in a slow tide. Even his silence felt intentional.

Blair took a sip and promptly burned her tongue.

She hissed, then groaned. “God, of course.”

Ashar raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize coffee was now the enemy.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t get it. You probably drink souls or starlight or, like, espresso blessed by Satan’s barista.”

He smirked. “Only on Sundays.”

She turned her back on him, pacing toward the window. The sky was still gray outside. Gloomy and haunted, it felt appropriate.

And then she said it, or blurted it, really.

“I’m not catching feelings.”

Ashar paused. “I didn’t say you were.”

“I just want to clarify.” She pointed at him with her coffee mug, her eyes wide, as if to say, ‘Look at me, saying emotionally mature things.’ “This isn’t some notebook-worthy spiritual connection, okay?

You’re hot. The sex was mind-melting. And yes, I might still be vibrating from last night, but that doesn’t mean anything. ”

Ashar crossed his arms. “Blair,”

“I’m just horny, and possibly cursed like, spiritually. Or genetically. Maybe because my whole family has terrible taste in men, statistically, this was bound to happen.”

“Blair.”

She didn’t stop.

Her heart was doing that annoying thing again, tight, sharp, like it was prepping for loss before it even happened. So she did what she always did: over-explained. Rationalized. Threw words like armor.

“In fact, if we’re being honest, this is probably a trauma response. Have you ever heard of oxytocin manipulation? Look it up. I’m basically a cautionary tale with a hair bun.”

He stepped closer. “You’re not catching feelings?”

“Nope.”

“Not even a little?”

She glared at him. “My vibrator has a stronger emotional hold on me than you do.”

Ashar blinked. Once. “That is tragic.”

“And accurate.”

He moved into her space anyway, close enough that the heat of him replaced her coffee like a drug. His voice dropped. “Then you wouldn’t care if I left.”

Her breath caught.

It was stupid. It was irrational.

But it was there.

“I mean, I’d notice,” she said quickly, backpedaling. “Because of the magic, obviously. And because you cooked. And because you still owe me answers about how you levitated me during orgasm, which, by the way, is a hell of a feature for a hallucination, ”

“I wasn’t born. I was conjured,” he said. “In the in-between. The Before. Where unmet needs echo like prayers, and old magic answers in flesh.”

“So you’re like a wish?”

“No.” His voice dropped. “I’m a reckoning. The kind you only call by accident. When the ache gets too loud to ignore.”

He leaned in, brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers, soft, burning. As if he were memorizing the shape of her disbelief.

“But why me? Why did you show up for me?”

“You called. Loudly.” A glint of amusement flickered in his eyes, tempered by something deeper. “Your need hit magical levels, and with Halloween around the corner, the veil between worlds was paper-thin. I also wouldn’t be surprised to find witches in your family tree.”

“So because I couldn’t get laid properly by a human, the universe sent a literal pleasure demon?”

Ashar’s smile faded. He studied her, like he could see something she didn’t want to name.

“You’re allowed to want more than just sex, Blair.”

“I don’t,” she whispered.

His hand slid to her waist; they were firm, gentle, and undeniable.

“Liar.”

“I don’t.”

But it came out cracked, because yeah, okay, maybe a tiny part of her did. Not a relationship. Not love. Not anything with expectations or hope or brunch dates.

Just someone who stayed.

Someone who didn’t vanish the second she started getting attached.

Ashar didn’t press her on it. Didn’t call her out again.

He just leaned forward, kissed her temple, and murmured, “You’re not cursed. And I’m not leaving. Not until you send me away.”

Her stomach fluttered in the worst possible way, because now she wasn’t sure she could.

Great, demon dick and feelings.

She really was doomed.