Aaron couldn't sleep. The thoughts came in waves--relentless, crashing against his skull every time he tried to shut his eyes. He felt selfish. Unworthy. How could he lie here, in a bed, in a house, when Lior was still with him?
With that
thing.
Daemon had her every night. And Aaron didn't even have the right to call what he felt "suffering." Not compared to her.
They were ghosts to each other now. Ships passing--no, colliding--and sinking each time they crossed paths.
He kept trying. Reaching out. Calling her name in quiet hallways or slipping notes under her door. And she kept moving away. Like she couldn't bear to be near him. Like she was afraid of him, afraid of herself, afraid of what being in the same room would mean. He couldn't... he couldn't blame her.
But he couldn't help but think back to a time when it wasn't like this.
Back when she was in the hospital, he used to think her silence came from how much of a little shit he'd been growing up--how he hadn't understood. Not what she was going through. Not what she was trying to hide.
He was ashamed to say that he'd wanted her to get better because it would make things easier for
him.
Because then maybe their parents wouldn't be so stressed. Maybe they could stop talking about insurance bills and psych evals.
And maybe--just maybe--he wouldn't have to be so alone.
It took him nearly a year to realize that she was pushing him away out of fear. Not hatred.
Fear that what she carried inside her might spread. That if she got too close to the people she loved, they'd suffer too.
But when she finally told him, when she broke down with shaking hands and tear-glossed eyes in that sterile white room, he'd made her a promise. One he swore with every ounce of himself.
If it kills me,
he'd said,
I'll take it from you. Every last piece of it.
Now?
Now, he knew the cost of that promise. And it had already been collected in blood.
The scar on his hand pulsed like it still remembered. It reminded him every time he looked down. What he did. What he'd unwillingly gave Daemon. What he
became
to keep her breathing.
He dropped his face into his hands, elbows braced on trembling knees. The darkness in the room wasn't the part that scared him.
It was the silence.
Until it wasn't silent anymore.
"Another sleepless night? A shame."
Aaron's hands fell from his face. His brow furrowed, jaw tightening into something savage. That voice was impossible to mistake.
"Fuck you," he spat, low and dangerous.
Daemon's laugh was like velvet dragged over broken glass.
"I didn't think I was your type, boy."
The temperature dropped, skin prickling with a chill that hit bone-deep--but it didn't matter. Not compared to the fire that surged behind Aaron's eyes. He stood, still aching, still marked, ribs purpled with the memory of a fight he hadn't won.
He didn't need to see Daemon to know he was there.
He could
feel
him.
"You didn't come for her," the demon said, a taunt carved into ice.
Aaron's teeth ground together. He clenched his fists until his nails bit into flesh. It didn't matter that he knew the words were meant to wound. They still did. He stayed quiet. It was the only move that mattered.
Daemon fed off reaction. And Aaron had already fed him too much.
Daemon, of course, noticed the silence.
"You're learning," he mused. "But it's a shame. I rather liked it when you barked back."
Aaron's fingers twitched.
"Even though you know," Daemon added, voice sliding lower, darker, "that she wanted you to come for her. How... cruel."
Aaron's head snapped toward the voice, but the room remained empty. Still, he felt Daemon. Felt the weight of that malicious presence coiled in the shadows. "What do you
want?
" he snapped, his voice low, sharp, and tight with restraint. "You told her to stay away from me. You made it clear you didn't want me near her--so
what the hell do you want now?
"
There was a pause, brief but thick with menace.
"Careful, boy," Daemon murmured. The air turned colder, heavy with the tang of smoke and something bitter. "You might spoil my good mood."
That was the warning. The one Aaron knew not to push.
Daemon didn't need to shout. He didn't need to raise a hand, not when his power whispered in walls and tightened the air in his lungs. Everything he did was quiet. Precise. Measured in damage.
Aaron's jaw clenched, lips pressed into a hard line. Every inch of him was coiled, tense, ready--but for what? He still couldn't see the bastard. Couldn't touch him. And every time he fought back, it was Lior who paid the price.
So he bit down on the retort, tasted copper on his tongue.
And Daemon noticed.
He always noticed.
"You still think this is about what I want," the demon said. "It isn't. It's about what you gave me. Willingly. That little deal you struck. That moment of weakness."
The shadows warped, and before Aaron could brace, the air in the room shifted--and then slammed.
The breath was ripped from his chest as he was thrown backwards onto the mattress. His ribs flared with pain, but there was no time to react. Invisible weight crushed down on him, pinning him beneath what felt like stone and fire.
His arms fought instinctively, but there was nothing to see--just that creeping, suffocating pressure. Cold fingers around his neck. Sharp phantom points against his collarbones. And then--worse--a creeping sensation crawling under his skin.
Daemon's presence.
"Such a hero," Daemon whispered, and the words slid against his ear like ice. "Willing to offer anything to save her. Admirable."
Aaron growled, body twisting under the weight, but it was useless. His strength didn't matter. Not here. Not like this.
Daemon's voice dipped lower, cruel and intimate.
"But words are only words, aren't they?"
Aaron's throat flexed against the invisible grip, trying to draw in breath, trying to throw him off--but then Daemon kept talking.
And his words changed.
"Lior spreads her legs for me, boy. She
begs
for it. She takes it--any way I want. All for her family. All to keep you alive. But you know what?" There was a smirk in his voice, "We both know it's because she
likes
it."
The fury that surged through Aaron could have cracked open the floor.
His arms shoved blindly, fists swinging into empty air, but nothing connected. A punch landed where Daemon should've been--but instead, Aaron was rewarded with pain. A sharp crack across his face that sent his vision tilting, teeth clacking hard enough to bruise.
