I hated the dream walking habit I’d gotten into. It was torture, teasing myself with a fake reality. I couldn’t actually feed, just play pretend at it. Every dream only made me crave her more. Only made me realize how desperate I was to touch her in reality.

Yet I knew that once I fell asleep tonight, I’d crawl into her head again, whispering lies to myself that this time it would satisfy me. That this time would be the last.

The one thing working for me was that Lacey couldn’t remember the dreams. Most people didn’t when it came to incubi and succubi. In dreams she’d come to know me, crave me, beg me not to leave. She’d even whispered that she might love me and I’d whispered it back.

I ground my teeth and swallowed. Dreams weren’t reality. There had been zero recognition when she saw me while awake. That was a good thing, or at least I kept repeating that to myself.

I was terrified she’d bring my control to its knees. That I’d finally explode, the demon taking over entirely. There was no knowing what would happen then. I might be unable to control myself from endlessly drinking her orgasms until she had nothing left to give. My lover left limp in my arms because my desire for them was too much to control.

The door opened behind me, Dullahan coming in and breaking my spiraling thoughts. Embarrassment built in my chest and I refused to look at him. I’d crossed a line with him. My demon was too starved, too needy to allow me to control him easily. One little crack is all I’d given him. A tiny fissure in order to use lust and his fingers had dug into the crack and broke it open for him to crawl through.

He’d tasted Lacey—fed from her—and he was anything but satiated. I was losing it. He was more ravenous and obsessed than ever before. He looked through my eyes at the snapshots on the walls but did so now with the memory of her taste on our tongue. It was maddening.

“I fucked up,” I said.

“I can’t understand this self-hatred,” Dullahan sighed behind me. I didn’t dare look at him. I’d attacked him. I’d kissed the man that was my only friend. I’d betrayed our frail relationship a tiny bit more.

“Of course, you wouldn’t,” I snapped back and he practically growled in response, bending down behind the chair with a snarl. His over-sized hands gripped the back of my seat.

“You think I’m not hated? You think I’m accepted? People have run in fear from me since before my head was cleaved free from my spine and they’ll look on in terror at me for another millenia if I have my way.” I let out a breath and felt idiotic. He was right. He knew better than anyone about being despised. I wanted to be like him. To not give a shit what I was. To be as powerful and unapologetic as he was. But…