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He looks devastated. ‘Luca.’ He uses the sign name Dante has for me.

I shake my head again. ‘No. I don’t want to hear it. You came to me first. You wanted me first. You sucked me off and crawled into my head, and now I can’t get you out. You have no idea what I’m going through.’ The dam has cracked, and it’s all pouring out now. I couldn’t stop this if I wanted to, but there’s something about him that makes me so fucking vulnerable.

I don’t know if I hate it or love it.

I don’t know if I want less or more.

‘My life is falling apart. My brother’s company is going to go under unless I find a financier, but no one wants to care about people who need accessibility. Just like me, his visions are a joke to them. A gimmick. I spent an entire week in Vegas trying to make contacts and found nothing but people who want to laugh at dick cookies.’

Eissa’s eyes are on me, unwavering. I wish he would say something, but his hands remain still.

‘And then there’s you. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. You’re in my head, and I’m in yours. I don’t know why, and fuck, even if I don’t understand it, I can feel what we have—what it means—and it’s killing me every time you wall me off. I can’t sleep, I barely eat. I dream of nothing but you.’

His lips part and his chest contracts like he’s sucking in a breath. I give him a moment to see if he’s going to say anything at all, but again, he remains quiet. I push into his head, but there’s just darkness waiting for me.

Baring my teeth in a grimace, I shake my head. ‘Either take me or let me go. But you can’t storm into my life and scare off people who want to be there for me, then turn around and ice me out. That’s not how it works. You say leave you alone, fine. But you leave me alone too.’

I don’t wait for an answer. I turn on my heel and storm out the door, waiting to see if I feel the vibrations of his clawed feet on the floor chasing after me.

But just like everything else, the only thing that follows me is his continued silence.

Being drunk is awesome.

Well, okay, it’s not awesome. Alcohol and I have been good friends in the past, but it always leaves me hungover and feeling like I want to die. My body doesn’t process it well, so the momentary reprieve I get from booze is rarely worth it the next day.

But right now, I deserve this. Not just the way I feel all floaty and nice, but also for the pain I’m going to feel tomorrow because I shouldn’t have done what I did at the gym.

I don’t really care if I hurt Eissa…

Well, no. That’s a lie. I don’t want to care that I hurt Eissa, but I do. I can’t help that.

But it’s mostly Tyler I’m worried about. I sent him half a dozen texts with half a dozen apologies, and he replied to each one telling me it was okay. Insisting it wasn’t my fault. But it was.

I knew I was provoking Eissa. I wanted him to feel the kind of pain I did. I wanted him to be jealous. I wanted him to step in and stake his claim. I didn’t think about what it would do to Tyler.

Quilliyn also sent me a text promising that Tyler was fine. Eissa didn’t actually hurt him, and if he had, he had herbs to fix it. But that doesn’t make me feel better. I shouldn’t have put my friend at risk like that just to make someone jealous. It was petty and wrong.

And immature.

I’ll make it up to Tyler later. For now, I’m going to keep getting drunk until I hopefully pass out and forget about all of it for a little while.

It sounds simple, but it’s not when I keep getting flashes of Eissa in my mind. I don’t know where he is. He doesn’t let me see through his eyes anymore, but I’m getting pulses of feeling. Anger, envy, regret, sorrow.

Want.

I wonder if he’s like the other Vyastil—untested, untouched before me. No concept of how good a body can feel.

How pleasure works.

I have no idea because I don’t know him. I take another swig of my drink, straight from the bottle.

I hiccup and for a moment wonder how it sounds. Is it loud? Can others hear me? No one is around right now. Thankfully Dante hasn’t come outside, and Gia and Amara are out of town, so it leaves me with plenty of time to wallow.

“Fucker,” I say aloud, wondering how my words settle into the cool air around me.

I move to take another swig, but before I can, a hand pulls it from me. My eyes take in the Vyastil’s clawed feet, and for a moment I wonder if Eissa found me. If he’s coming back to apologize, but they don’t look the same as Eissa’s feet, and as my crossed eyes move up the scaly skin, I realize it’s not a Vyastil after all.

Someone similar, but not the same.