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The couch is stiff and uncomfortable beneath me, but that’s not what’s keeping me up. It’s her scent—orange blossom and something scorched beneath it. Sulfur and smoke. Possession.

I cleaned the cushions the best I could, but no amount of soap can wash away what I saw. Not what happened between her and that beast—though that alone is enough to hollow me out—but what came after.

The way she looked curled in the shower. Shaking. Silent. Ashamed.

I close my eyes, but all I see is her fingers pressed to the tile, her mouth open in a sob, and me—useless. Too late. Too slow. Too wrapped up in my own anger to see what she really needed.

I scrub a hand down my face, the memory of her pressed to the tile playing on loop. Her broken voice when she told me she couldn’t breathe. The way she flinched at the silence. How small she looked when she finally reached for me—like she wasn’t sure she deserved to.

She asked me to stay. So I did.

I sat beside her bed until her breaths evened out and her hand went limp in mine.

And still I couldn’t sleep. Not when my mind keeps circling all the ways I failed her.

I let my ego drive a wedge between us. I judged her. I lashed out when I should’ve listened. I turned her pain into something about me, and that makes me no better than the monsters who’ve stalked her from the start.

The room is bright, early afternoon light spilling through the windows like a lie. Everything looks soft and golden, but the weight of last night still presses down on my chest like a fucking anchor.

That shadowy fucker is always watching, always lurking, slipping in through the smallest cracks. And he wants Parker.

I know because I felt it.

I felt it again last night when I went to the bathroom to check on her. My limbs went weak. My vision tunneled. Something drained the strength right out of me, just like it did on the porch when I almost…

The second he was gone, the weakness vanished.

He’s feeding off me. And I don’t know how or why, but I know one thing for sure: I’m running out of time.

And I can’t keep stumbling around blind.

I have no idea how to survive in this world Parker lives in—the one with demons and shadows and things that hunt in the dark. But I know I can’t keep doing what I’ve been doing. I can’t keep reacting out of fear and calling it protection.

If I want her to trust me, I have to be better. I have to learn how to listen .

No more judgment. No more blind rage. Just… understanding. Even if I don’t understand.

Especially when I don’t.

Mind made up, I head for her room.

I knock once—gentle—but I don’t wait. If I give her the chance, she’ll lock me out again, and I don’t think I could handle that. Not after last night.

I push the door open, already forming the words in my head. I’m sorry. I was wrong. Please let me fix this.

What I’m not prepared for is the sight in front of me.

Parker’s on the floor. Yoga mat out. Spandex shorts. Sports bra. Hair piled in a messy knot on top of her head. Her back is arched, her ass in the air, her thighs flexing—and every coherent thought leaves my fucking brain.

All I can think is: Jesus fucking Christ.

And then: Oh no.

My cock twitches to life with embarrassing speed, my traitorous body betraying me instantly. I shift, trying to adjust myself in my sweats, but there’s nowhere to go. And of course, my movements just drag her attention downward.

Her gaze flicks to my groin. To my hard, very obvious cock.

It twitches again.

Fucking traitor.

She drags her icy blue eyes back to mine, one perfectly arched brow lifting. “What is it?”

Her voice snaps me back to reality, and I fumble like a goddamn idiot.

I open my mouth. Close it again. Fuck.

“I—uh—I’ve been thinking.”

Really, Hudson?

I scrub a hand down my face, drag a breath in. “I owe you an apology. For last night. For a lot of things. I didn’t listen. I judged you when I should’ve just… been there. I want to talk. If you’ll let me.”

She stands, arms folding over her chest—and fuck , that only pushes her tits up higher. My jaw clenches, my cock aching painfully now. If her intention was to distract me with that move then… It’s working. I’m at a clear disadvantage here.

She eyes me. “Why are you still here?” Her tone is guarded. Sharp. But not cruel. Just… tired.

I hesitate.

And she sees it.

Her expression shutters, that glimmer of vulnerability disappearing behind a cold, guarded mask.

“Let me stop you right there,” she says. “If you’re here to apologize and still think you get to decide how I live with this—how I cope with it—don’t bother.”

I wince. “Wait. I’m not—I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. I’m fucking this up again.”

She exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Hudson… you and I? We’ve been surviving together the last couple of days. That’s it. We don’t really know each other. But you know my shit. Almost every ugly piece of it now. You’ve been there, you’ve seen it. And I know almost nothing about you.”

Fuck. That’s fair. It stings, but it’s fair.

“I know how I reacted was selfish,” I say. “I made the situation about me. About what I think is right instead of what you needed. I made assumptions where I had no right to, when it’s clear you and I are just starting to know each other… I just… I feel like I belong here Parker, you are unique, interesting, I’m fucking hooked. This isn’t an excuse, but I owed you an explanation.”

I take a deep breath and decide to come clean with what I’ve been suspecting. “I’m scared, Parker. I feel like something’s draining me. Like your monster is still tethered to me somehow.”

Her eyes sharpen, but there’s no surprise in them. Just quiet confirmation. “I wondered,” she says softly. “After the streak in your hair showed up. I thought… maybe he marked you. Maybe he was feeding.”

I nod, the knot in my chest tightening. “It’s like every time I get too close, something sinks its teeth in deeper. And I don’t know how to fight it.”

Her expression flickers—guilt, worry, something else I can’t name. She looks like she wants to apologize, but doesn’t. I’m glad she doesn’t. This isn’t her fault.

“But that’s not why I’m here,” I add, stepping closer. “Are you okay?”

She exhales a shaky breath and crosses her arms tighter, like she’s trying to hold herself together from the outside in. “I don’t think I am,” she whispers.

The honesty of it slays me. Not just because she’s hurting, but because she’s finally saying it out loud.

“You’re allowed to not be okay,” I say gently. “You’ve been through hell, Parker. You don’t have to pretend.”

She doesn’t meet my eyes. Her gaze stays locked on the floor like it’s safer, like if she looks up everything between us might crack open again.

“I don’t know what’s real anymore,” she murmurs. “My body reacts to things I can’t explain. My thoughts feel like they’re not mine half the time. And the dreams. God, the dreams…”

She pauses, her brows knitting together. Something shifts behind her eyes.

Then her head snaps up, her voice soft but urgent. “Hudson… the dream. The one where I—where we…”

She can’t say it. But I already know.

My heart kicks into overdrive as I wait for her to continue.

Her voice lowers to a whisper. “Did you have it too?”

I hold still. Barely breathing.

“Yes,” I say. “I thought it was just… a fantasy. Something my brain conjured up because I wanted it so badly. But it felt real. You felt real.”

Her eyes shine, wide and searching, vulnerable in a way I don’t think she even realizes.

“I remember everything,” she says. “The way you looked at me. The way you touched me. I remember begging for it. Begging for you. And I remember thinking... if this is a dream, I never want to wake up.”

My chest tightens.

Because that’s exactly what I thought, too.

I step toward her, drawn like I always am, like she’s gravity and I’m too tired to pretend I’m not falling anymore. I reach out, slow and careful, giving her time to flinch, to step back, to put those walls up again.

She doesn’t.

I brush a strand of silver hair from her cheek, and she leans into it without thinking—like it’s instinct, familiar. Like she’s been waiting for something gentle.

“I’m still here,” I whisper, barely trusting my voice. “If you want me. I know it’s complicated. I know it’s dark and messy and terrifying. But I’m not running. Not again.”

Her breath shudders. Her eyes close, lashes trembling. And when they open again, there’s no fire in them—just that same vulnerability I saw in the shower. That same ache.

And then—she steps into me.

No hesitation. No demand. Just… need.

Her hands slide up my chest, not to pull, not to control—but to anchor. When her lips touch mine, it’s not desperate—it’s deliberate. Slow. Searching. Like she’s trying to memorize the feeling of something gentle. Something that doesn’t take.

I kiss her back with everything I have, not to claim her, not to erase what’s happened—but to remind her: she still belongs to herself. That not everything that touches her has to hurt.

My hands find her waist, not gripping, just holding. She feels so small in my arms, and I don’t know how she’s still standing. But she is. Somehow, she is.

She pulls back a little, her forehead resting against mine. Her breathing is unsteady, her fingers trembling slightly where they curl in the fabric of my shirt.

“I’m not okay,” she whispers. “But I want this. I want you.”

“I know,” I murmur. “And I’m not here to fix it. I’m just here. For you.”

She nods. Just once.

We move together without words after that, a silent understanding sparking where there was once hesitation. Her fingers curl around the hem of my shirt, a steady insistence in their grip. I let her tug it up, helping her pull it free. The fabric is barely gone before her hands move to me, trailing slowly across my chest. There’s no teasing in her touch. Just a need to feel something solid under her fingertips, to ground herself.

My lips find her shoulder, her collarbone, her throat, the need to finally worship that pale skin too much to resist. The kisses are soft. Slow. Reverent.

I slowly pull her sports bra over her head, groaning when her tits bounce free.

God, she’s perfect.

I help her with her shorts next, sliding them down her legs. She steps out of them, standing before me in nothing but a pair of black lace panties. The contrast against her snow white skin makes my breath catch in my throat.

“You’re beautiful,” I murmur, unable to stop the words from spilling out.

A faint blush colors her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away. Instead, she hooks her fingers in the waistband of my sweats, tugging gently. I let her pull them down, kicking them off along with my boxers.

We stand there for a moment, both naked, both vulnerable.

I let her guide me back to the bed, allowing her total control of the moment. She pushes me down onto the bed, and I obey, following her lead without words. She slowly straddles me, the weight and heat of her sinking into me, and I shift, holding her close. Letting her know I’m not going anywhere.

There’s nothing frantic in the way we move. Nothing rushed. It’s not about forgetting or drowning out the dark. It’s about finding something brighter.

It’s about feeling something that isn’t fear.

Her silver hair falls in loose waves around her head, and I take my time tracing the bruises on her hips, kissing her lips like a vow. My hands stay gentle. Her gasps are quiet. Her touch is tentative, but it grows steadier with every heartbeat.

“I’m here to stay,” I whisper again, against her mouth.

And this time, I think she believes me.