CHAPTER TEN
DAMIEN POV
Don't talk," I murmur, my voice lower, rougher. "Just feel."
"I can't—" Her fingers claw at my shoulders, desperate. "I can't catch it…"
Of course she can't.
Because I am taking it.
Not just her essence.
Not just her energy.
Her fulfillment.
The part of her that can be sexually satisfied is being stripped out and swallowed whole.
The Allo digs its hooks deep.
From this moment on, no matter who touches her, no matter how many bodies she shares a bed with, there will be a void at the center of every experience.
Pleasure will start.
It will rise.
But it will never complete.
She will always be reaching for something that isn't there anymore.
Her breath hitching, Emma presses closer, like proximity can save her.
"What are you doing to me…" she chokes.
"Shh," I whisper, though my monster is anything but soothing. "Just a little more."
The hunger howls. It's not satisfied with a little. It wants all of her.
Anger spikes.
Not at her.
At myself.
At Ashley.
At this entire twisted existence.
I take more anyway.
Her aura flickers, then drops, like a candle guttering in a breeze.
Her knees fully give out this time.
I slam my palm against the glass wall behind her to keep her from collapsing, pinning her gently between my body and the cool surface.
The lights above us flicker.
Emma sobs once into my mouth, a confused, breaking sound.
"Stop… I… I can't… it's too much… but I can't feel… I can't—"
The words stab somewhere I don't want to examine.
I tear my mouth away.
The severing is sharp.
Energy stops rushing in. The connection snaps.
Emma sags against me, completely limp for a heartbeat, then clutches at my shirt again, shaking.
"I can't feel," she whispers. Her voice is shattered. "I can't feel it anymore. I was so close and then—" Her eyes fill with tears she doesn't understand. "What did you take?"
Her stare is wild.
That's the Allo speaking now — the soul-level shock of suddenly being cut off from completion.
Humans don't know how to categorize it.
So they panic.
Or they break.
Or they chase.
Emma trembles violently.
"Tell me," she begs. "What did you take from me?"
Your ability to ever be satisfied.
The answer sits heavy on my tongue.
I swallow it down.
"You're tired," I say instead, in a voice that sounds utterly unfamiliar to my own ears — low, flat, defensive. "You've overworked yourself. You're crashing."
"This isn't just tired," she insists, tears now spilling over. "Something's wrong. I feel… hollow. Like something was there and it's gone and I can't get it back—"
Her hand goes to her chest, fingers clawing at her blouse like she can rip open her ribs and find it.
"Emma." I grip her wrists gently, forcing her hands down. "Look at me."
She drags her gaze up to mine.
Her mascara has smudged; her lips are red and swollen. Her aura is dimmed, but still alive. I didn't take enough to kill her.
But I took enough.
Too much.
"You're not dying," I say. "You're not broken."
"I feel broken," she whispers.
"I know," I say.
The admission slips out before I can stop it.
Her eyes widen. "You know?"
I let go of her wrists and step back, putting a little distance between us. She sways where she stands.
"I know what exhaustion does to a human body," I cover smoothly. "To a nervous system. To hormones. You're burned out. Your mind is crashing. That can feel like… emptiness. Like nothing is enough."
It's not a total lie.
It's just not the truth either.
She squeezes her eyes shut. Tears leak out, tracking down her cheeks.
"I didn't want it to be like this," she says. "I just wanted… I just wanted to feel like I mattered. Just once."
My throat tightens.
This is why I hate feeding when I'm angry.
Someone always bleeds emotionally.
"Go home," I say.
She shakes her head weakly. "I can't… I can't walk properly."
"You can," I say. "And you will."
The command in my voice is subtle — a thin thread of supernatural compulsion laced into the tone.
She shivers, then nods slowly.
"Tomorrow," I add, "take the morning off. Tell HR I approved it. They'll confirm."
"Will I…" She swallows hard. "Will I see you again?"
My jaw clenches.
"Yes," I say. "You work for me. This isn't a romance, Emma. This was a mistake."
The lie tastes bitter.
Not because it wasn't a mistake.
Because it wasn't the right one.
She flinches like I slapped her, then nods, hurt flashing across her features. She turns away and starts down the hall, each step wobbly but determined.
Halfway to the elevator, she pauses. Her voice drifts back, small and shaky.
"I can't feel anything," she whispers. "Not really. Not the way I did before. Is that… is that normal?"
I close my eyes briefly.
"Yes," I say.
She believes me because she needs to.
The elevator swallows her.
The doors close.
Silence floods back into the floor.
---
COLLISION
I stand still for exactly three seconds.
Then the rage hits.
Not a snap. Not a flare.
An eruption.
I spin and slam my fist into the glass wall.
The tempered pane shudders. A thin spiderweb of cracks bursts across the surface before it settles.
I breathe hard.
The air around me tightens, pressure spiking. The lights flicker once, twice — long enough that the darkness feels alive.
"Pathetic," I snarl at myself.
This is what I promised I wouldn't become again — an animal tearing through whatever is closest just to stop feeling.
Emma will never know what I did to her. Not clearly. She'll think she's broken from stress. From overwork. From bad choices.
She'll try to fix it with relationships. With meaningless nights. With beds that only leave her more frustrated, empty, confused.
And somewhere deep inside, that emptiness will echo with my fingerprints.
The Allo is permanent.
I did that to her.
I chose to.
Because I was angry at a girl I haven't even touched.
"Ridiculous," I whisper.
Ashley's face swims up in my mind. Not soft. Not smiling.
Defiant.
Frightened.
Bright.
I picture her in that cheap office chair, hands fisted on her lap, spirit bristling like a cornered animal when I stepped closer.
My heart beats once. Hard.
The hunger inside me surges again — not as sharp as before the feeding, but darker. Focused.
It wants her.
Not just her body.
Not just her energy.
Her light.
The part that pushes back.
The part that would break differently.
I let my head fall forward against the injured glass, breathing slowly, steadying the tremor in my hands.
If I touch her, I will ruin her.
Not like Emma, who will be drained and hollow and still ultimately human.
No.
Ashley is something else.
Half human.
Half something older.
If I feed on that—
I don't know if there will be anything left of either of us.
The thought should repulse the monster inside me.
It doesn't.
It excites it.
I push off the wall and straighten, forcing my shoulders back, resurrecting the CEO mask over the incubus.
One more layer of control.
One more day.
One more lie.
The floor is still.
The air is cold.
The crack in the glass glints faintly under the low lights.
I adjust my cuffs, smooth my tie, and head back toward the elevator.
My hunger is quieter now.
But my danger is not.
Because tonight proved something I didn't want to admit:
Ordinary souls no longer satisfy me.
Only one does.
And if I ever let myself reach for her…
There will be no Allo left.
Just ash