When the Demon Calls Her Name

The days seemed to stretch and compress simultaneously.

Each moment with Lucian was a subtle game of give and take—two forces circling each other, testing the boundaries of their strange alliance.

His promise to share more of himself haunted Evie’s thoughts, stirring both curiosity and apprehension.

Lucian, however, appeared completely at ease. If he was unsettled by his own words, he didn’t show it.

He adapted to her world with startling ease, slipping into human routines with a practiced grace that set her on edge.

They walked through the park one golden afternoon, the crisp breeze carrying the scent of fallen leaves.

Evie pulled her coat tighter, watching Lucian out of the corner of her eye.

The park was alive with sounds—children’s laughter, the rhythmic thud of joggers' feet against the pavement, the occasional bark of a dog.

But to Evie, it all felt distant, like background noise in a dream she couldn’t wake from.

Lucian walked beside her, silent yet all-encompassing, his presence like the pull of a magnet she couldn’t resist.

The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting a golden glow on his sharp features.

He didn’t belong here.

Not in this world, not among these ordinary lives. And yet, somehow, he fit seamlessly, more at ease in his borrowed humanity than she was in her own skin.

“You’re too good at this,” she said abruptly, the words tumbling out before she could stop them.

Lucian turned his head, one dark brow arching in that maddening way of his. “Good at what?”

“Blending in,” she said, gesturing toward the people around them. “You’re supposed to be this otherworldly, terrifying... thing. Like, I don’t know, a demon prince or whatever. Not someone who can walk through a park without causing a scene.”

His lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk. “If I blend in, it’s because I choose to. Don’t mistake my adaptability for conformity.”

Evie scoffed, shoving her hands deeper into her coat pockets. “Adaptability? That's what you’re calling it?”

His gaze flicked toward her, his crimson eyes gleaming with mischief. “Would you prefer I announce my presence with fire and brimstone?”

“Honestly? It might make me feel less... unnerved,” she shot back.

Lucian chuckled a low, velvet sound that sent a shiver racing down her spine. “You mortals are endlessly fascinating,” he mused, shaking his head. “So eager to put everything in boxes. Good. Evil. Human. Demon. Does it make you feel safer, I wonder? To label the unknown?”

The question hit her like a gust of icy wind, stealing the air from her lungs.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “Maybe it’s easier to make sense of things when they fit into a box. When you know what to expect.”

Lucian stopped walking, his expression shifting.

The playful spark in his eyes faded, replaced by something softer, something raw. “And what happens, Evie,” he said slowly, “when the box no longer fits?”

She froze, the weight of his words pressing down on her like a physical force.

Memories surged unbidden—her mother’s sharp voice slicing through her childhood, always telling her she wasn’t good enough, wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t enough.