"Damon came to see me last night," Aidan said, his voice low as he watched Penn munch on a cupcake in the cafeteria.
Penn, mid-bite, froze. Her hazel eyes widened in surprise before narrowing in thought. She swallowed slowly, wiping a stray crumb from the corner of her lips.
"Oh," she muttered, clearly caught off guard. "He's not supposed to."
Aidan frowned. "What do you mean?"
Penn didn't answer right away. A worried crease settled on her forehead, and she tapped her fingers idly against the table. Her face betrayed nothing, but Aidan could tell something was off.
"You can tell me, you know," he prompted, trying to read her expression.
Penn's gaze flickered to him. "Tell you what?" she asked, her voice sharper than before, a defensive edge creeping in.
"What you're thinking."
Her jaw tensed. "I'm not thinking anything," she dismissed, reaching for her bag.
Aidan exhaled through his nose. It was pointless pressing her knowing how guarded she was with her thought process, but it was obvious something was on her mind.
Without another word, Penn pulled out her tarot deck, the well-worn cards slipping between her fingers like second nature. She shuffled them once before spreading them out, face-down, on the table.
"Pick one," she instructed.
Aidan sighed. Here we go again.
Penn and her tarot cards. He had no idea if she actually believed in them or if it was just part of her theatrics, but either way, she was committed to the act.
Not bothering to overthink it, he grabbed a random card and handed it to her.
Penn took it, tilting her head slightly as she examined the image. The seconds stretched into minutes, and she just kept staring at it, unmoving.
"Uhmm... interesting," she finally murmured, then slipped the card back into her bag as if it had never existed.
Aidan's patience snapped. "Is that it?" he demanded. "You're not going to tell me what you saw?"
Penn looked at him blankly, blinking a few times in rapid succession.
For a second, Aidan wondered if she was having a brain freeze—or worse, if she was actually broken. She always had that faraway look, like she was physically present but mentally floating in another realm. It was maddening, like trying to have a conversation with a brick wall. Or worse, a lunatic.
Just as he was about to give up, she finally spoke.
"Damon might look like an innocent man to you, but he's not." Her voice was quiet, slow, and distant. Her gaze locked onto the wall behind Aidan, her pupils slightly dilated. "He is a demon. A night dweller. He feeds on sexual energy. Don't mistake his attention for anything but a trick."
Then, just as suddenly, her trance-like state broke. She blinked a few times, coming back to herself, and turned to him with a serious expression.
"You better stay away from him, Aidan."
Aidan opened his mouth, ready to argue, to deny—but he stopped short.
He had nothing to say. No defense. No justification.
Because Penn wasn't wrong.
He was attracted to Damon.
And despite knowing exactly what Damon was, despite being fully aware of what he was capable of, Aidan still found himself fantasizing about him last night.
Dark, sinful thoughts. Thoughts that should have sent alarm bells ringing in his head, but instead, they had only made him crave more.
He swallowed, his throat dry. "I understand," he said accepting defeat.
Penn just gave him a knowing look.
Before the tension could thicken further, an annoyingly familiar voice cut through the air.
"Look at these dorks!"
Molly sauntered toward their table, a smug, sharp smirk on her lips. She was pissed—her walk, her tone, the way her arms crossed over her chest—all of it screamed bad mood.
And now, unfortunately, Aidan and Penn were in her warpath.
"Don't they look perfect together?" Molly sneered. "One gay, the other a lesbian! How adorable."
Aidan clenched his jaw. His first instinct was to ignore her, but his patience for Molly's bullshit had long run out.
Penn, on the other hand, barely spared her a glance. Instead, she rolled her eyes, zipped up her backpack, and stood up like she was bored rather than insulted.
Aidan, however, wasn't as composed.
"Is that the most offensive remark you could come up with? Gay? Lesbian?" He scoffed. "I almost feel bad for you, Molly. Your insults are about as creative as a toddler's scribbles."
Molly's smirk faltered. Just a fraction. But Aidan caught it.
He wanted to keep going, to really dig under her skin, but before he could, Penn grabbed his wrist and yanked him out of his seat.
"Come on," she muttered, dragging him away before he could add fuel to the fire.
As they walked, Aidan turned to her, still fuming. "You didn't have to pull me away. I was this close to wiping that smug look off her face."
Penn ignored his complaints. Instead, she muttered something under her breath, her voice just low enough to make the hair on his arms stand up.
"She's affected by evil powers surrounding her. It's been in her family for generations."
Aidan blinked. "Excuse me?"
Penn sighed, like she was explaining something simple to a child. "I can sense it. There are people like her everywhere. They come from toxic families, and they inherit that toxicity. They don't even realize it, but they're haunted by negative energy. They will never be happy with what they have."
Aidan frowned. "That... doesn't make any sense."
Penn simply shrugged. "It doesn't have to."
And with that, she walked ahead, leaving Aidan standing there, wondering if she was just messing with him...
Or if there was something more to her words than he wanted to believe.
"Let's get to our class," Penn said, slinging her backpack over one shoulder as she walked into the lecture hall.
Aidan followed, his mood already sour, but it worsened the moment he spotted him.
Damon sat a few benches away, looking effortlessly at ease, lounging in his chair with that usual cocky slouch of his. But what really got under Aidan's skin wasn't the way Damon looked. It was the way Mrs. Banerjee—their middle-aged sociology professor—was practically glowing under his attention.
Aidan narrowed his eyes.
Mrs. Banerjee, the ever-strict, no-nonsense academic, was now giggling—giggling!—at one of Damon's pathetic jokes. She tugged a loose strand of graying hair behind her ear, her cheeks dusted a faint pink as she adjusted her blouse.
Aidan bet the demon was thoroughly enjoying himself. The smug bastard knew what effect he had on women. Hell, he thrived on it.
Mrs. Banerjee blushed harder when Damon leaned in slightly, murmuring something low enough that Aidan couldn't hear, but he could see the way the woman's breath hitched, the way she momentarily forgot whatever she had been saying to the class.
Aidan clenched his jaw so hard it hurt.
He knew Damon couldn't see him right now, but he sure as hell hoped the bastard felt his glare boring into the back of his head. If looks could kill, Damon would have been incinerated on the spot.
Or maybe... maybe it was Aidan himself who was burning.
The realization hit him like a slap. Was he—was he actually jealous?
Oh, hell no.
Damon could do his little voodoo seduction thing on random women all he wanted, but not on their professor. That was crossing a line.
Aidan shot up from his seat, his chair scraping against the floor. "Ahem, Mrs. Banerjee," he called out, keeping his voice carefully neutral. "Could you explain Weber's Interpretive Sociology again?"
Mrs. Banerjee's previously dreamy expression hardened in an instant. She did not appreciate being interrupted when she was busy giggling like a schoolgirl.
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she fixed Aidan with an unimpressed glare. "Please pay attention in class when I explain things the first time, Mr. Martinez."
Aidan shrugged, keeping his face blank despite the heat crawling up his neck. He had been paying attention—just not to sociology.
Still, she begrudgingly turned to the class and gave a rushed, clipped explanation of Weber's concept of interpretation, her voice lacking the warmth she'd had just moments ago.
As soon as she finished, the bell rang, and the entire class erupted into movement, eager to escape.
Aidan was just about to shove his books into his bag when Mrs. Banerjee's saccharine voice rang out—
"Darian, stay back, please. I need to discuss a few things with you."
Aidan froze.
He turned, staring at her in disbelief.
She was smiling—smiling—as if she hadn't just snapped at Aidan minutes ago.
Damon, the absolute menace that he was, didn't even try to hide his amusement. "Sure, Mrs. Banerjee," he drawled, his voice carrying that low, syrupy cadence that sent unwanted shivers through Aidan's spine.
Mrs. Banerjee sat down, smoothing her hands over her desk, cheeks pink with pleasure.
Aidan was going to kill him.
He stomped out of the classroom along with the rest of the students, his fists clenched at his sides. But as soon as he reached the hallway, he paused.
His fingers twitched.
His feet refused to move.
Nope.
He was not leaving.
Not when that damn incubus was in there, whispering sweet nothings into their professor's ear.
Aidan turned on his heel and pressed himself against the wall just outside the door, shamelessly eavesdropping.
Inside, Mrs. Banerjee's voice was softer than usual. "I heard you were best performing student in your last university." A nervous giggle slipped through at the end of her sentence.
Aidan rolled his eyes so hard he nearly saw his own brain.
"Yes, ma'am," Damon's voice rumbled, smooth as silk. "Hope you will help you reach the same heights here as well."
Aidan gritted his teeth.
Mrs. Banerjee let out a pleased little hum. "You can come to me anytime if you need extra help. I am always there for my students."
Aidan nearly gagged.
Then Damon's voice dropped even lower, almost a whisper. "Anytime?"
Aidan snapped.
He shoved the door open so hard it slammed against the wall, making Mrs. Banerjee flinch.
"Sorry, Mrs. Banerjee," he said, all but spitting her name. "I need to talk to Darian. It's an emergency."
Without waiting for permission, he strode up to Damon, grabbed his wrist, and yanked him out of his seat.
"Aidan—" Damon started, but Aidan didn't let him finish. He dragged him out of the classroom, ignoring Mrs. Banerjee's sputtered protests.
The moment they were in the empty hallway, Aidan shoved Damon against the wall, his fingers curled tightly around the front of his shirt.
Damon's eyes widened in surprise, but it lasted only a second before his lips twitched into a barely contained smirk.
"Well, well," Damon purred. "If you wanted me alone this badly, you could have just asked."
Aidan's pulse pounded as he glared up at Damon, fingers still clenched in the front of his shirt. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Damon cocked his head, amusement curling at the edges of his lips. "What?" His voice was light, teasing—infuriating.
Aidan's scowl deepened. "She is our professor, for God's sake, Damon!"
Damon shrugged, the very picture of nonchalance. "She's single."
Aidan threw his hands in the air. "Do you have no shame?"
"No." Damon's grin turned wicked, his sharp canines just barely visible.
Aidan hated the way his heartbeat stuttered at the sight. Damn it. No. He had had enough.
"Stop doing that!" Aidan snapped.
Damon arched a brow. "Doing what?"
"You know what." Aidan waved his hands at him, frustration bubbling up. "That thing—that magic you pull on people. Making them act like... like that!"
Damon took a slow, deliberate step closer. "Like what, exactly?" His voice dipped lower, husky, his eyes gleaming with playful challenge.
Aidan stood his ground, tilting his chin up. "Your tricks won't work on me."
"Is that so?"
Damon reached out, his finger hooking under Aidan's chin, lifting it just a little higher. The warmth of his skin sent an unwelcome shiver down Aidan's spine.
The air thickened. The scent of Damon—something dark and intoxicating, like burnt sugar and midnight—wrapped around Aidan, making his thoughts fog.
He blinked rapidly.
The smooth skin of Damon's forehead suddenly shifted, his curved black horns emerging, gleaming under the dim hallway lights. The fabric of his shirt stretched taut over his broad chest as his wings unfolded, leathery and immense. His canines, sharp and glistening, peeked past the corners of his lips as his smile widened.
Aidan's breath hitched. His eyes traveled the smooth surface of his skin, zoning on his lucious looking lips.
Damon's finger trailed lazily down Aidan's throat, grazing the sensitive skin. "No one can escape my charm, Aidan." His voice was a deep, seductive rumble. "Not even you."
Aidan swallowed hard, his body betraying him with the way his stomach tightened, the way his skin burned where Damon touched him.
Damon's lips hovered just over his throat, the heat of his breath sending electric jolts straight through Aidan's core. "But you see..." His tongue flicked out, barely tasting the bead of sweat at the curve of Aidan's neck.
Aidan shuddered. His cock jerked inside his pants. A sensation he was starting to be very familiar with whenever he was around Damon.
"The only difference with you," Damon murmured against his skin, "is that you affect me just as much as I affect you. Maybe even more."
Aidan felt his entire world tilt. He eyes snapped up to meet Damon's. Was this some kind of confession or just another trick?
Because the worst part? He wanted to believe the trickster. Wanted to give just right in. See what would happen if he would surrender to his desires.
He didn't want to push him away. Rather pull him close an taste his lips. Feel the heat of his body.
"The fuck?!"
A sharp yank tore Damon away from Aidan, breaking the suffocating heat between them. Aidan stumbled slightly, his head spinning from the abrupt loss of contact. His skin still tingled where Damon's lips had barely brushed.
Penn stood between them, her grip tight around Damon's arm, her usually detached expression contorted in fury. Her eyes burned with a rare intensity, her lips pressed into a thin, unyielding line.
"Did you forget what you promised my grandpa, demon?" she spat, shaking him once before letting go as if his very touch scorched her.
Aidan had never seen Penn like this before. She didn't look like the quiet, dreamy girl who spent more time shuffling tarot cards than paying attention to the real world. No, this Penn was raw—furious. And for a brief moment, Aidan couldn't understand why.
Damon rolled his shoulders, his wings folding back into nothingness, his horns retreating beneath his tousled dark hair. His expression flickered between defiance and something far heavier—guilt.
"What if someone saw you?" Penn hissed, her voice just short of a snarl.
Damon gave an exasperated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "All they would have seen was Aidan pinning me to the wall," he said, flashing a smirk at Aidan, who flushed instantly. Then his gaze snapped back to Penn, suddenly serious. "You know normal people can't see my demon form. Not unless I let them."
Penn's hands curled into fists at her sides. "That doesn't matter!" Her voice was a low, heated whisper. "You can't keep glamouring him! You're giving them a clear trail to follow. You're making it easier for the evil spirits to find him—"
Damon's jaw clenched.
Silence stretched between them.
Then, in a rare moment, he lowered his head.
"...I'm sorry." His voice was strained, reluctant. His usual arrogance had melted away, leaving something raw in its place. His fists flexed at his sides before relaxing, the guilt settling in his shoulders. "You're right." He swallowed hard, looking away for a moment. "I shouldn't have done that."
Aidan heart constricted. He wanted to pull Damon close and tell me he didn't care if the entity found him. That he didn't feel scared when Damon was around him.
Damon's gaze flickered to Aidan, something unreadable in his grey eyes.
Then he took a step back.
Another.
Aidan's chest tightened, an unfamiliar ache twisting through him as Damon turned and strode away, his retreating form disappearing into the hallway.
And yet, Aidan remained frozen in place, aching for something he had no name for.
***
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