Page 37 of Incarnate

"That is a drawing of Naramere." He pauses. "Of you."

My cheeks warm even more, aware that this is some kind of courtship. "Who drew it?"

"I did."

I set it down carefully, as if it might shatter, and move to the windows.

He's now nearing me before I reach them, not blocking my path but present in a way that makes the air between us feel dense. I can feel him behind me as I pull the curtains aside, wondering what he might not want⁠—

The ocean.

It stretches to the horizon, iron-gray under a dreary sun, waves breaking against black crags far below. Sea stacks rise from the shallows, white caps dancing along the sand. The salt air hits my face, and I inhale so deeply my ribs ache.

I can hear it.

My eyes sting. I'm crying before I understand why. “Where are we?”

“No longer in Carden. This was a special creation, just for you. To be near the water,” he says, close enough that I can feel the warmth of him at my back.

He built a woman an ocean home because he locked her away from the real one. The romance and control mix tightly together in my chest. I turn to face him, and the proximity is a mistake. He's right there, close enough that I can see the gold rings of his irises shift like molten metal, close enough that I can smell him without trying. Leather and embers and that sweet vanilla underneath, and my body responds with a warmth that starts in my navel and spreads outward like a stain.

"Your powers will surface over time," he says, his voice lower now that we're this close. "The necklace will keep them from overwhelming you. When the bind is resealed, we can discuss removing it.”

I touch it, instinct telling me to take it off. But as I do, it shoots right back down to my chest.

“It won’t come off unless I remove it.”

Our gazes connect once more, his gaze dropping to my mouth for a fraction of a second before returning to my eyes. I want to be furious at the attempt to control me, but I’m so immeasurably weak to him. "I have waited decades, Penelope. It will not come off for a while."

"Nara," I correct, and don't know why. It’s not even for the sake of being correct, but I want to watch what he does…

Something ignites in his eyes, and he’s not fast enough to cover it. "Nara,” he quietly says.

I step around him, putting distance between us that my body immediately protests. The bind thrums harder the moment I move away, as if punishing me for the retreat.

He doesn't pursue me. He stands at the window with his back to me, gazing at me over his shoulder and I watch the tension in his shoulders tighten, along with his hands curling at his sides. He is not calm. He is performing calm, but he is well contained for now.

"The craving will start soon," he says, slowly turning toward me. "Your body will demand the consummation. It will feel like hunger, then thirst, before it takes over your body. I have a tonic that will dull it, although not for forever. Just long enough to allow you to settle."

"Well, how long is ‘not for forever?’” I ask, my eyes widening. “And what hunger?”

"A few days… and the need for the bind to be resealed.”

As he fully turns to face me, he looks less like a man and more like something carved from the night itself. His expression, though, is entirely human. Entirely wounded. Kallúm nears me, slowly, the muscles of his jaw working. Then, the demon king slowly leans in, and I stand still, something about the faintest scent of the ocean calming me.

He’s so close that his breath is on my ear. “And I will be here to oblige whatever you need.”

My eyes roll slightly as I’m faintly lightheaded before stiffening my spine. He’s far too effective on my body, like he’s genuinely influencing something over me. He must be aware, because as he pulls back, a hand rises to touch my hair, holding it between his fingers. I stare at it until it dawns on me, “My hair is blonde.”

“As it should be,” he says with frustration, as if changing it back was the first thing he did, removing his hand swiftly as if things will happen if he doesn’t. "I'll be able to sense you, and I will be close," he says, gently. "The tonic is on the nightstand."

“You’re just leaving me in here?”

“I, too, need to collect myself,” he croons, sighing heavily. “If I remain, I won’t be able to restrain myself from touching you much longer.”

My knees weaken, ensnared in this man. As he leaves, the door stays open, a crack of torchlight from the hallway painting a thin gold line across the stone floor.

I stare at that line of light for a long time.