CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

ELLA

"YOU KNOW, I THINK HE STILL HAS FEELINGS FOR YOU," Mandy SAYS AS SHE DRIVES ME home. "Honestly, I’m surprised he didn’t just ask you out right then."

"Ask me out? Ace?" I give her an incredulous look. "I’m probably the last person he’d ever want to date."

"Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure," she says with a knowing edge. "You two only went on one date, but when you disappeared, he was really torn up. And the way he kept watching you tonight..."

I force out a nervous laugh. "Mandy, seriously, that’s ridiculous. Ace and I have a complicated past. Tonight was just about closure, nothing more."

The thought of dating him—or anyone—feels strange, almost unnatural. Deep down, I still feel like I belong to Lucifer, and the idea of someone else touching me fills me with an uneasy tension.

"Right. Closure." Mandy’s voice drips with sarcasm. "Because staring at you like you’re the only girl in the world definitely screams closure."

"Oh, come on—"

"No, really," she insists, glancing at me as she slows at a red light. "You should give him a chance. He’s a good guy, and you liked him once..."

I look at her, torn between wanting her to understand and my overwhelming need to keep my guard up. "Mandy, that was before," I say carefully, choosing my words. "I’m not that same person anymore. I can’t be with someone like Ace… not after Lucifer."

She stays silent, turning her focus back to the road as the light changes.

When we reach my apartment, she shifts toward me, her voice quieter now. "I’m sorry," she says softly. "That was insensitive of me. You seem so okay sometimes that I forget..."

She pauses, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "If you ever need to talk, I’m here, you know that, right?"

I nod, offering a small smile. I’m lucky to have her, and maybe someday, I’ll open up.

But not yet—not while the wounds inside me still feel so raw.

THE NEXT FEW WEEKS DRAG ON SLOWLY, EACH DAY BLENDING INTO THE NEXT. I MOVE THROUGH LIFE one task at a time, focusing only on the present.

Every morning, I write out a list of things to accomplish and force myself to stick to it, no matter how much I’d rather stay buried under my blankets.

Most of the time, my lists are filled with routine activities—eating, running, going to work, grocery shopping, and calling my parents. Occasionally, I add bigger tasks, like applying for the spring semester of college—which I do, just as I promised Mandy.

I also sign up for shooting lessons. To my surprise, I’m a natural. My instructor praises my accuracy, and before long, I start researching what it takes to get a firearms license in Illinois.

Alongside that, I enroll in self-defense classes, picking up a few basic techniques. I know I’ll never stand a chance against someone like Lucifer or the men who took me and Daphne, but learning to shoot and fight gives me a sense of control—something I desperately need.

Between my new training, my job, and my art, I keep myself too busy for a social life, which is exactly how I want it. Making new friends doesn’t interest me, and the ones I had are all away.

Ace and Mandy have both returned to Michigan. Ace messages me on Facebook now and then, and we chat occasionally, but he never asks me out.

I’m relieved. Even if he weren’t hundreds of miles away, we’d never work.

Ace is smart enough to understand that nothing good could come from being with someone like me—someone who, in every way that matters, still belongs to Lucifer.

I dream of him almost every night. Like an incubus, he visits me in the dark, slipping into my mind as effortlessly as he once took my body.

If I’m not reliving his death, my dreams are laced with something far more dangerous—desire.

I dream of his mouth, his hands, his body. They consume me, claim me, ruin me. I dream of that wicked, breathtaking smile, of the way he touched me, of the way he owned me completely.

Of the way he used to torment me until everything else faded, until I lost myself completely in him.

I dream of him... and wake up aching, my body pulsing with need, empty and desperate for his possession. Like an addict suffering through withdrawal, I crave a fix—anything to dull the relentless hunger inside me.

I’m not ready for a relationship, but my body doesn’t care. Eventually, I decide to give in.

Dressing up, I grab my old fake ID and head to a nearby bar.

THE MEN FLOCK TO ME LIKE MOTHS TO A FLAME. IT’S ALMOST TOO EASY—A GIRL sitting alone in a bar is all the invitation they need. Like predators sensing weakness, they pick up on my desperation, my silent plea for something more than an empty bed tonight.

One of them offers to buy me drinks. A shot of vodka, then one of tequila... By the time he asks if I want to leave, the world around me is hazy. Nodding, I let him lead me outside to his car.

He’s a handsome man in his thirties, with sandy hair and blue-gray eyes. Not particularly tall, but well-built. He tells me he’s an attorney as he drives us to a motel.

I shut my eyes while he talks. I don’t care who he is or what he does. I just need him to take away this cold, suffocating emptiness.

At the front desk, he pays for a room, and we head upstairs. Inside, he removes my coat and pulls me in for a kiss.

I taste beer on his tongue, mixed with the faint hint of tacos. His hands are hot, impatient, roaming my body—but suddenly, I can’t take it.

“Stop.” I shove him away, harder than I intend. Caught off guard, he stumbles back a step.

“What the hell—” He stares at me, eyes wide with confusion.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, snatching my coat. “It’s not you, I swear.”

Before he can react, I rush out of the room.

I catch a taxi home, sick from the alcohol and drowning in misery.

There’s no cure for this addiction, no way to satisfy the craving.

Even drunk, I can’t stand the touch of another man.